-3. vr

THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

BRITISH REGISTER

or

POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART, SCIENCE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

PRESENTED
_ S8DECJ943

JULY TO DECEMBER.

VOL. XVI.

LONDON :

PUBLISHED BY A. ROBERTSON, JOHNSON'S-COURT,
FLEET STREET.

1833.

LONDON :

BAYLIS AND LEIGHTON, JOHNSON'S COURT,
FLEET STREET.

'

INDEX

TO

VOL. XVI.

ORIGINAL PAPERS.

Page

Anecdotes of a Detenu . . . . .18

A Dinner at Poplar Walk . . . .618

A Day on the Moors . . . . . 638

An Oxford-street Reminiscence . . .657

A Tale of Giblets . . ... 33

A Poet's Passion . . 191

Art of Toad-eating . . . .193

Amobilis Insania . .... 196

A Word or Two touching every Man's Master . . 273

An Escape from the Guillotine . . .311

A Sonnet ...*... 321

An Attack upon the Rights of Man • . .411

Architectural Taste .... 442

An Author's Rent-Day .... 688

A Few Chirps from the Gresham Grasshopper . .691

A Question for Alchymists .... 447

A Chapter on Annuals . . . . .481

Agricultural Report . . 118—238—359—480—712

Babbage's Calculating Machine . . . 340

Cockney and Cory don . . . . 676

Courting in Greece '. . . . .16

Commutation of Taxes 141

IV INDEX.

Page

Confessions of a Toad-eater . . , 295

Culinary Reflections on Reform . . . 333

Compliment to the Clergy . ... 349

Copy of an Autograph Letter from Allan Ramsay . . 372

Domestic Summary . . . 476—599—710

English Vocal Music . . . .73

Exhibitions . . . . .217

England and her Critics . . . . .505

Every Man his own Story-teller . . . 569

Fragment of a Farce . . . . . 553

Foreign Summary . . 97—235—478—600—710

Goethe's Songs . . . 35

Hints to Archres, by Captain Cram . . . 365

Hints to Sportsmen, by Captain Cram, H.P., R.H.M. . . 677
Ibraham Pacha's Syrian Campaign . . . 283

Jesuit Gresset, Author of " Vert- Vert" . . .571

Joint Stock Banking . .... 361

Lament of the Half- Pay Club . . . 558

Legislative Peers . . . . .121

Lay of Sir Roland . . . 135

Literary Notices . . . 116 — 476—711

Love . . 672

Military Organization of Prussia . . .26

Meeting at Munchen-Gratz . . . 406

Mr. Bulwer and his Book .... 374

Notes of the Month . . 218—355—460—588—698

Next Year . .177

National and Domestic Education . . . ib.

Origin of the People . . 437

On a School-Boy . ... 173

Operation of Monopolies . . 605

Plik-and-Plock . . 316

Progressive Degeneracy of the Human Race . 660

Practical Observations on the Gulf-Stream . .151

Prospects of Portugal x . .179

Percy Bysche Shelly . 24

Real del Monte Mines . 543

INDEX. V

Page

Recollection of the Old Actors . . . 10—516

of La Marquis de Crequy . .69

of a Free Trader . . .322

of Brazil . . . 301—384

Scrapiana , . • 382

Scheme of a Legislative Assembly . • ' 2^3

Specimen of the Black Art . . . 270

Some Gentleman's Autobiography . • .155

Socrates in his Cups . . • .174
Servetus and Calvin . ....

Scenes on the Neva . •

Strange Companie . • . • • "10

The Politician's Primer . ...

The Love-Child (continued) . ... 39

The Three Presidents ... 56

The Capadji Bachi . • 76

The Handsome Model ... 86

The Slave Pugilist . .130

The City as it Was and Is . . 137

The United States . . . .174

The Conscript's Father .... 186

The Fat Brigand ... .148

The Varangians . ... . .197

The Gentleman Usher . . . . .211

The Pious Thief ... .215

The Ministry, the Aristocracy, and the People . .241

The Courteous Retort . . . 252

The Liverpool Buccaneers . . . . 256

The Free Chasseurs of Poland . . .280
The Child's Grave .... 329

The Rejected One . . . .330

The Riots in 1780 . . 341

The Three Forms of Government . . • . 350

The Restoration , . . . 373

The Saints of St. Bride's . . . 383

The Widowed Wife . . 393

The Man with the .... 414

VI INDEX.

Page

The King, God bless Him! . . . 426

The Triumph of Taste . . . 448

The Life and Letters of Pope Pius II. . . 452

The Trial Scene from Queen Anne Boleyn, an unpublished

Tragedy . . . .528
The Chrystal, a Record of 1605 . . .533
The Tuskar Rock . . . .545
The Moslem . . . .551
The Brigands of Apulia . . . 559
The Delights of the « Deep" . . .564
The Romance of the Self .... 579
Tilt a' L'Outrance . . . . .51
To a Magdalen . . . 451
The Sanctuary : a Tale of 1415. By the Author of the " Bond-
man" . . . . .611
The Polish "Fourth of the Line" . . .624
The Living and the Dead . . . .629
The French Convulsives . . 646
To the Warriors of Poland . . . 659
To a Tear . . . . .664
The Catalan Capuchin . . . .665
The English National Opera . . 673
To our Subscribers .... 601
Tolzonia . . . . .680
The Phenomena of Magnetism . .681

INDEX OF WORKS REVIEWED.

Page

A Letter on Shakspeare's Authorship of the Two Noble Kins-
men . , . 114
A Practical Treatise on Stammering . . .116
Mental Culture ... . . . 691

Library of Romance :— Waldemar, 594, Slave King . 115

Pearson's Draining Plough ..... . 597

Hortus Woburnensis . ... . . 598

Pindar in English Verse ... . .468

Family Classical Library . . . . . 468

Greek Classics 469

Edinburgh Academy .... . ib.

Lyric Leaves . . . . . ib.

The Archer's Guide ... . . ib.

Illustrations of Political Economy .... 470

Benson Powlet . . . . . . 472

Lives of Statesmen ... . . 473

Europe : a Poem ... . ib.

Encyclopaedia Biott .... . 475

England in 1833 . . . . ib.

Incarnation, and other Poems ... . ib.

Delaware ....... 130

The Maidservant's Friend . . . .131

Sharpens Peerage . . . . ib.

The Teeth . . . . ib.

Demetrius .... . . 132

The Tea Trade . . . . ib.

The Poor Laws 233

viii INDEX.

Page

The Shelley Papers 233

Princes of India . ... ib.

Resources of Turkey . . . . 108

School and Family Manual . . „ 109

Last Gifts of Mary, Queen of Scotts ; engraved by Phillips . 110

Heads, after the Antique . . ib.

Byron Gallery . . . ib.

Portraits of Waverley Novels . . 110

Mason's Sonnets . . . . ib.

Waltzburg 113

United States : Remarks on . . . ib.

Tales for an English Home . . . 114

Apostle Paul : Life of . . -. . ib.

Twelve Maxims of Swimming . 115

Hood's Comic Annual .... . 707

The Forget Me Not 704

Memoir of Mr. John Dungett ... . 709

Decision and Indecision . • . . 709

Social Evils and their Remedy • . . . . . 709

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XVI.]

JULY, 1833.

[No. 91.

THE POLITICIAN'S PRIMER.

REVENUE, DEBT, MILITARY AND NAVAL FORCE, POPULATION, GEO-
GRAPHICAL SUPERFICIES, ARMY EXPENCES, AND AGGRESSIVE POWER
OF EVERY STATE IN EUROPE.

THOSE sources of error that render it so difficult at all times to
ascertain the exact superficies and the population of states, are still
more numerous when we seek to determine their revenue and the
amount of their debts. First, we know nothing positively of these
two statistical elements in all the absolute governments, where they
are too often enveloped in the greatest mystery. All that we do
know of them is confined to some documents, exact enough, it is true,
but of an ancient date ; or to others recently but partially and im-
perfectly compiled. They are, however, to a certain extent very
valuable ; serving, as they do, as a basis to the skilful statistician for
acquiring a knowledge of the total amount of the revenues, by com-
bining them together and by comparing them with similar documents
of other countries whose finances are better known. The bouleverse-
ment of so many states during the last forty years, the constitutional
or republican governments adopted by so many nations during this
short period, have enabled the geographer and statistician to calcu-
late with tolerable precision the revenues and debts of a great num-
ber jof states. But this abundance of materials has been the mean,s
also of propagating a host of errors arising from a want of due care
in their selection.

To prove in some degree this to our readers, and to demonstrate
how necessary it is to receive with the greatest circumspection the
figures that are daily presented to them, we shall exhibit the contra-
dictory estimates of some of the principal states of Germany adopted
by the most skilful statistical writers of that country for almost the
same periods.

Cannebich

Leicliten
stein,
in 1819.

Richard,
in 1822.

Hassel,
in 1822.

30,258,000
8,357,000
8,162,000
11,000,000
7,890.000
4,997,000
3,900,000
1,500,000
2,800,000
2,500.000

B

Stein,
in 1825.

34,638,000
9,666,000
12,000,000
14,496,000
9,1/0,000
5,816,000
4,500,000
1,8/5,000

2,000,000

Malchus,
in 1826.

36,791,000
11,010,000
11,500,000
13,500,000
9,466,000
5,816,000
5,200,000
2,250,000
2,830,000
2,955,000

Hassel,
in 1826.

29,946,000
8,357,000
11.700,000
11,000,000
9,185,000
6,077,000
4,500,000
1,875,000
1 ,950,000
2,000,000

25,000,000
10,009,000
9,058,000
9,000,000
6,000,000
4,000,000
4,000,000
1,500,000
1.5.57,000
2717,000

.91.

20,000,000
16,000,000
9,450,000
13,500,030
5,500,000
3,500,000
4,000,000
1,500,090
1,55/,000
1 ,800,000

30,600,000
9,350,000
10,000,000
10,000,000
5,278,000
6,000,000
•4,000,000
1,500,000
l,.r)50,000
2,250,000

Wirtemberg....

Saxony

Baden

Electoral Hesse.
S^ixe Weimar..
Nassau
Brunswick

M. M. Nr

We shall now briefly analyse the numerous causes that are the
sources of error in determining the revenues and debt of a state.
First, then, there is the year to which these statistical elements must
be referred; this circumstance alone, paying a due regard to the dif-
ferent phases of prosperity or misery through which a state may pass,
presents results that differ in a most astonishing manner in the short
interval of a few years. We shall cite Spain, whose revenues in 1802
amounted, independently of those she derived from her rich colonies
and from several other sources, to the sum of £7,900,000, whilst in
the year 1789 they only amounted to £6,000,000. We should find
the difference still more considerable were we to compare the reve-
nues of that monarchy in 1807 with those of 1809.

The estimate of the debt calculated at different periods presents
still greater differences. The Russian and Austrian empires, and the
Prussian monarchy, which now have all very considerable debts, had
scarcely any before the first French revolution. In the short period
of eight years, from 1816 to 1823, France augmented the nominal
capital of her debt by a sum of l,998,787,720frs. From the year
1803 to 1815 our own debt was increased £491,940,407. On the
llth October, 1824, the federal debt of the United States was
90,797,920 dollars: towards the close of 1826 it was only
74,000,000 dollars, and it is calculated that it will be perfectly ex-
tinct by 1834.

A no less remarkable difference arises from the mode of calculating
the revenues. Some take the total amount of receipts, including the
expenses of collection and of administration, which they call the
gross revenue. Others, on the contrary, deduct from the total
revenue the sums expended in its collection and the administration
of the state. The difference between these — the gross and the net
revenue, will be more or less according to the imperfection of the
administrative systems. The states of Europe in this particular, as
in every other, present the greatest differences ; for while it has been
calculated that the expences of collecting the revenue and the admi-
nistration of government amount in this country but to 11 per cent.,
they constitute in France a ninth part of the receipts. In the budget
of the kingdom of Hanover they figure for rather better than one-
ninth, in that of Bavaria one-eighth, and in Portugal one-third.

In the compilation of a statistical table, which we are about to
offer, we have given, whenever it was possible, the gross revenue of
each state, because the expences of collecting it and of administering
the government form a real part of the sums paid by the con tributa-
ries— they represent a part of the resources of a country. But there
are certain sums which appear in the column of receipts of some
budgets of which the statistical writer ought to take no account,
because they are only deposits or capitals advanced for the purchase
of salt, tobacco, and other articles which the government resells at a
very considerable profit. There are also several states where, what
is called the state domains have an administration of their own, and
the revenues of which, notwithstanding their great importance, never
appear in the budget. We may say, that, in general, almost all the
state revenues of the small states of the German Confederation are

THE POLITICIANS FllIAIEE. 3

more considerable than the public or national revenues. And yet
some statistical authors and many geographers, either through igno-
rance of this statistical element, or that they deem it better to follow
the example of the respective governments of those states, make no
account whatever of the revenues arising from these domains, and
thus give estimates which differ in a most extraordinary degree from
those of the authors who admit them in the budget.

There is another difficulty which appears to us to have escaped the
attention of many statistical writers, and of some of the most distin-
guished geographers : — whether in a comparative table the consider-
able revenues which arise from property situated out of their
respective states, or transactions with other states ought to be included
in their budgets. We are of opinion that it would be better to
exclude them altogether, as they may be said to be foreign to the
resources of the countries in question.

The receipt of extraordinary means arising from loans, or the sale
of public possessions, must be reckoned among the causes that pro-
duce the discrepancy which we observe in the estimate of the revenues
of states. In a statistical table of Europe, published in 1818, in the
Ephemerides Geographiques de Weimar, the revenues of the British
empire were only estimated at 199,273,833 florins, or about
£20,760,000. In that of Fredan, published in 1819, they amount to
290,000,000 rix-dollars, or £58,000,000, and in that of Baron Lee-
chenstern, published at Vienna in 1819, they are rated at 465,000,000
florins. Hassel, in his Geographical Dictionary, published at Weimar
in 1817, estimates them at 421,000,000 florins or about £43,850,000.
Stein, in his Geographical Dictionary, printed at Leipsig in 1818,
rates them at £57,368,691. We perceive at a glance that these great
differences arise from the circumstance that some reckon as income
only the revenues which cover the expences of the government, ab-
stracting sometimes those employed in paying the interest of the
debt, sometimes the sinking fund, and sometimes both ; while, on the
other hand, others include in their estimates every source of revenue.

Those states that possess colonies offer in their budgets another
fruitful source of the most absurd estimates of their revenues. See-
ing that in almost all of them the expences of administration and of
defence leave scarcely any net revenue. Most statistical and geogra-
phical writers made no account of them previously to those political
revolutions that have changed the face of America. Others have
included in the receipts of the mother country the net revenue
arising from those distant possessions, while others again, have in-
cluded the gross revenue. We ought not to be astonished if a table
compiled according to these three different modes of considering the
revenues of the Spanish monarchy should shew a difference of some
millions. How much greater still would be the discrepancy of these
results were we to apply these different methods to the financial
system of our own country. It is for this reason, and taking into
consideration the numerous difficulties that the estimate of the
revenues of these distant establishments would present, that we have
resolved not to admit them in the column of revenues of the states of
Europe.

4 THE POLITICIAN S PRIMER.

Before quitting this important subject, we may perhaps be per-
mitted to make some observations relative to the revenues of states
whose budgets offer certain branches of the receipts, which we may
assimilate to the sources of revenues of states that we consider are not
in the domain of statistics. For instance,in the receipts of the kingdom
of Sweden, we must take into consideration the considerable revenues
which the possessors of military fiefs enjoy, either for the support of
the " indelta," or the unpaid permanent army, or that of the unpaid
crews of the fleet. Very considerable sums, which never appear
in the budget, must also be added to the general receipts of the
Austrian empire, on account of the immense landed possessions of
the government, which serve to support the numerous army of
agricultural soldiers established along her military frontiers. We
shall not speak here of the military colonies of Russia, because the
extraordinary expenses which their foundation naturally required,
has increased the budget of expenditure rather than that of the
receipts. But the finances of the Russian empire present, more than
any other state in Christendom, a host of direct or indirect revenues,
of which due accounts should be made in a comparative table. We
shall discover them in Schnitzler's important work on the Russian
empire, in which he has given, with singular talent and industry, the
most authentic data that have yet appeared upon the statistics of that
large portion of the globe. Certain particular revenues, says this able
author, such as the fisheries on the river Oural, never appear in the
budget, seeing that they serve to pay, or are assigned over in perpetuity,
either to individuals or classes of men. Whole governments are
sometimes required to furnish the necessary objects for the supplies
of the army, instead of taxes, levied upon others ; and the value of
these are never introduced into the budget; besides, the rates at
which the government receives these supplies, enables it to make
considerable profits on the transaction. Labour in the mines, the
transport of metals and of salts, replace in some districts the capita-
tion tax, or at least a portion of it. Whole tribes, again, are exempt
from it on condition of doing military service whenever they are
required by the Emperor. Some nations pay their tributes in skins
or furs, which are wholly employed for the use of the army, and
which never appear in the budget: neither do the marbles and
precious stones, which the state derives from its own domains ; the
cannon-balls furnished by its founderies ; and a thousand other
objects, that in any other country would swell the budget of expen-
diture. In carrying into that of income the net produce of several
public works carried on to the profit of the government, no account
is made of the expense of transportation and labour : charges which
fbr other articles figuring in the same list, are deducted from the net
produce. All these different sums, added to the budget of income,
would augment it considerably. And thus it is that so many objects
of supplies, equipment, and construction — so many hands, which
elsewhere must be paid, and which in Russia are at the free disposi-
tion of the government, explain more or less the comparative small
amount of her expenditure. If to this we add, that the public

THE POLITICIANS PKIMER. 5

t/rtployes are, it is true, numerous, but that they, as well as the army
and navy, are badly paid, we shall be the less astonished at the
astonishing contrast which the Russian budget presents with those of
states even much less important.

Generally speaking, the debt of a state arises from sums borrowed
by the government either at home or abroad. But we must not sup-
pose, a's is but too often the case among statistical writers, that we
can form a correct estimate of the debt of a state, even though we
should exactly know all the sums it has received by loans. There
are many other sources which may augment its debts — either by
arrears of payment for services done ; by creating a paper money ;
or by putting into circulation coin much below its nominal value.
And even then, although we know with the utmost exactness
all the debts of a state, we should, in their estimation, arrive at
erroneous results, if we were ignorant of the sums that had already
been redeemed. As to debts, properly so called, there are several,
distinguished from the national debt, and which, in some states,
amount to very considerable sums. In fact, were we not limited for
space, we might present the reader with a comparative table, in
which the estimation of national debts would offer the same discre-
pancies as that of national revenues.

Persons unacquainted with statistics, can form no idea of the
numerous difficulties met with in the estimation of debts ; especially
if we take accounts of the paper money, which is really a debt con-
tracted by the government to the nation, and the annihilation of
which either requires new loans or new taxes. But, in adding to the
debts of states, the sums which represent the mass of their paper
money, we have been careful, in our table, to keep accounts of the
quantity that has been destroyed by the different governments down
to 1820. Before the creation of the bank, Russia had not less than
873,537,920 paper roubles in circulation ; of these, in the space of
five years, they burnt 191,109,420, and 44,768,230 in 1822; so that,
in 1826, there only remained in circulation 595,776,310. The
Austrian empire presents equally favourable results : the amount of
paper money, which in 1811 exceeded 1,000,000,000 of florins, was
in 1822 reduced to 78,500,000. Hence her funds, bearing 5 per cent,
interest, which in 1817 were down to 48, have succesively risen — to
56 in 1818, to 73 in 1820, to 83 in 1823, to 90 in 1826, and latterly
they have gone up to 92 and 93.

It sometimes happens that governments contract, at certain periods,
considerable loans for the purpose of making some financial opera-
tion, the execution of which may be retarded from different causes.
Such sums, therefore, as are only received should be carried to the
debit of the debt for that year, and the remainder must figure among
the resources of the ensuing year. Thus, of the loan of £5,625,000,
contracted in England by the King of Denmark, the Danish govern-
ment had not received the half by the end of the year 1826.

[TABLE

THE POLITICIAN'S PRIMKII.
TABLE

OF THE COMPARATIVE STATISTICS OF EUROPE.

Superfices Populatio
States. iu — _
Geog.Mls. A!)soiute.

n.
~Rti.

REVKNUE.

DKBT.

Military
Force.

AVEST. EUROPE. (CENTRAL.)
French Empire

154,000
1 1,200
22,120
5,720
11,125
4,341
4,480
2,826
3,344
1,070
3,582
578
1,880
1,446
1,126
731
691
397
261
253
240
109
156

182
306

270

330
157
347

293

82
40

129

69
51
114
88
13
194,500
80,450
8,326
9,700

21,000
1,660
1,570
312

32,000,000
1,980,000
4,070,000
1,520,000
1,550,000
1,400,000
1,130,000

700,000

592,000
222,000
431,000

77,ooo

241,000
237,000
242,000
145,000
130,000

107,000

56,000
38,000
34,000
24,100
30,000

27,000
57,000

48,000

76,000
26,000
54,000

^38,000

15,000
6,000
21,000

54,000
50,000
148,000
46,000
2,859
32,000,000
13,092,000
2,302,000
3,816,000

4,300,000
440,000
380,000
143,000

208
177
184
266
139
314
252
248
177
204
120
133
128
233
215
199
188
270
215
150
142
221
191

151
187

178

230
166
156

130

183
150
168

783
980
1302
523
220
165
162
277

205
264
238
464

£.
39,506,800
416,000
2,800,000
800,000
1,100,000
1,200,000
800,000
500,000
440,000
197,000
240,000
60,000
152,000
240,000
251,000
100,000
77,000
61,000
56,000
44,000
25,200
14,490
13,420

32,000

24,000

50,680
24,140
41,360

20,000

12,400
2,000
16,000

65,300
41,360
214,000
41,360
1.600
17,000,000
8,000,000
3,600,000
4,000,000

2,800,000
220,000
200,000
68,000

£.
156,000,000

10,260,000
2,400,000
2,560,000
2,800,000
1,590,000
1,080,000
200,000
651,300
820,000
120,000

380,000
320
460,000
320,000
120,000
64,000
68,000
124,100
20,680
72,800

72,800
24,800

21,600

60,000
41,360
124,000

104,000
28,000

46,000

680,000
312,000
1,600,000
360,000

68,000,000
29,000,000
113,000,000
3,400,000

4,000,000
500,000
60,000
25,000

410000
33,758
35^00
13,955
13,054
12,000
10,000
6,195
5,670
2,100
3,580
717

1,650
3,028
2,096
1,394
1,268
1,026
529
374
320
206
280

260
539

451

690
246
518

320

145
55

200

473

385
1,298
406
28
270,000
570,000
26,000
. 47,000

46,000
1,800
1,780
800

Kingdom of Bavaria . .

— of "VVirtemberff

— of Hanover . . . .

— • of Saxony

Grand Duchy of Baden...

• of Hcssc .

Grand Duchy of Saxe Weimer.
— of MecklenburgSchewrin.
— of Mecklenburg Strelitz..
— of Oldenburg..

— of Saxe Coburg Gotha.. . .

— of Saxe Al ten berg

— of Anholt Bernbourg ....
__ of Anholt Koethen

Principality of lleuz Greiz. ...

— of Reuz Loben stein E- )

— of Schwarzburg Rodol- }
stodt S

— of Schwarzburg Son-\
dershausen. . . |

— of Lippe Schauenburg....
of Waldeck ...

— of Hohenzollern Lag- ^

— of Hohenzollern He- )
chingen S

— of Liechstenstein
Landgravate of Hesse Horn- )

Republic of Frankfort ,

__ of Hamburg

of Lubeck ... .

Holland

SOUTHERN DIVISION.
Sardinia

Duchy of Parma. ...

of IVIodena . . ....

of Lucca

THE POLITICIAN S PRIMER.

States.

Superfices
in
Geog.Mls.

Populatio

n.

BKVBXUK.

£.
4,800
2,500
680,000
1,800,000
3360,000
6,800,000
2,000,000

1,320,000
1,600,000
46,424,440

17,000,000

DEBT.

Military 1
Force.

Absolute.

Rel.

SOUTHERN DIVISION contin.

38
17
6,324
13,000
31,460
137,400
29,150
144

16,500
223,000
90,950

1535700
373
112,500
9,000
21,600
11,600
11,800
754

6,500
7,000
1,275,000
2,590,000
7,420,000
13,900,000
3,530,000
15,000

1,950,000
3,866,000
24,000,000

56,500,000
114,000

7,100,000

380,000

970,000

450,000
600,000
176,000

171
412
302
199
236
101
121
104

119
17
263

37
308
63
42
45
39
51
234

£.

14,000,000
20,000,000
160,000,000
8,000,000

6,000,000
3,600,000
800,000,000

63,000,000
7,000,000

4,000
7,400
51,510
90,000
29,000

30,838
45,201
122,000

870,000
300,000

Republic of San IVTarino . .

Kingdom of Two Sicilies . • •

NORTHEUN DIVISION.

EASTERN DIVISION.

Ottoman Empire . . • . . •

14,400,000
155,000
540,000
240,000
240,000
146,000

11,800

Greece . • . •

Of the navies of Europe the following is a table, including the
ships in ordinary, in commission, and building. The smaller vessels
under the head of SWEDEN are chiefly gun-boats.

NAVIES OF EUROPE.

States.

Line of
Battle
Ships.

Frigates.

Small

Vessels.

Tofal.

165

117

324

599

France

53

74

213

320

Austria ..

3

8

61

72

0

0

0

1

Holland

12

33

56

101

Sardinia ,

0

3

7

10

Tuscany . .

0

o

1

1

Papal States

0

o

8

8

Kingdom of Two Sicilies

2

5

1$

17

4

Q

37

47

Spain , .

10

16

30

56

Denmark •

4

7

14

95

10

13

238

261

Russia . .

32

25

107

164

Turkey

18

24

99

112

Greece . .

0

23

25

Not less difficulties are encountered by the statistician is estimating
the naval and military forces of states, than in estimating their debts
and revenues. In our table we have given only the peace establish-

8 THE POLITICIAN'S PRIMJ.K.

ments of the different powers, with the exception of Prussia, whose
army, by including the first and second ban of the landwehr, we have
rated so high as 570,000 men. But it must be recollected that from
her peculiar system of military organization, she could mobilize the
whole of this force in a very short period. Holland and her rival
Belgium have each of them at this moment a force of 100,000 men
under arms. In Switzerland, too, from the late measures of the Diet,
a force of 100,000 well drilled and equipped soldiers might be assem-
bled in the space of twenty-four hours. But it is not by extraordi-
nary efforts produced by still more extraordinary circumstances that
we must measure the resources of a state.

The annual cost of the armies of the great powers of Europe we
find by access to official documents to be nearly as follows: —

STATKS.

PEACE ESTABLISHMENT.

COST.

.Prussia ... . ... . .....

300,000 men

£.3,^70,000

Austria .

270 ooo

5,000,000

870 000

8,000,000

France

410 000

10,358,000

Great Britain...

122,000

9,029,968

WAR ESTABLISHMENTS.

Prussia 570,000 men

Austria 500,000

Russia 1,200,000

The contrasts which the above table presents, are, on a superfi-
cial view, startling, and to those unacquainted with all the circum-
stances upon which are based the respective military systems of the
powers, would lead to the most erroneous conclusions of their re-
sources and military power. Thus, from our table, it would appear
that, for the same money, Russia can keep on foot, within her own
territory, eight times as many men as Great Britain ; nearly three
times as many as France ; twice as many as Austria, and one and
two-ninths as many as Prussia : or, in other words, that every soldier
costs this country i'73 per annum; France £25; Austria £18; Prussia
£11, and Russia £9. But this calculation would be founded on an
imaginary basis ; for in the Prussian army, not more than one-third
receive pay on the peace establishment : — viz. the army of the line,
and the Cadres of the first Ban of the Landwehr. In Russia and
in Austria, as we have already observed, certain sources of revenues
that are paid in kind, and which never appear in their budgets, are
devoted solely to the maintenance of their armies. No accurate
line of comparison could therefore be drawn without knowing the
value of these items. Again, allowance, and a very great one too
must be made for the difference in the value of money in the respec-
tive countries, and for other circumstances that materially affect the
resources of a state. There is also a wide difference between the no-
minal and effective force of the continental armies. The former but
too often relates only to the Cadres. This observation applies with
the greatest force to the Russian army, whose effective strength is pro-

THE POLITICIAN'S PRIMER. 9

bably more than one-third below the number we have stated it to be
in the table. But when the Cadres of the army are preserved,
possessing, as she does, such an admirable system of military organi-
zation and recruitment, she would find no difficulty in filling up her
regiments on a war footing. But to mobilize this force lies the great
difficulty. In the event of a war not one of the three northern powers
could put their numerous military machines in motion without subsi-
dies from some foreign ally, or unless they carried their operations
into the enemy's territories, and made the war feed itself, or levied
extraordinary requisitions on their own subjects, otherwise the slender
resources at the disposition of their governments would be soon ex-
hausted. Thus then it would appear that the aggressive means of
these powers have been so studiously magnified that the rest of Eu-
rope has, in reality, cowered beneath their imaginary power ; but like
the optical delusions of the phantasmagoria, a near inspection reduces
their colossal proportions to proper dimensions.

While thus glancing at the military resources of the great conti-
nental powers, and at their " materiel" means in the event of a war,
we are led to the consideration of what would be the position of our
own country should any adequate cause oblige her once again to
unsheath the sword. The question is one of the deepest importance.

Were this country again involved in war, government must have re-
course to loans. Our great superiority over the nations of the continent
is founded on our enormous capitalists, our admirable system of public
credit, and superior financial organization. But splendid as are these
sources of national greatness, we may be allowed to question the possi-
bility of rendering them subservient to the prosecution of a war.
War would bring in its traces increased taxation, and burthens which
the people of this country, paralyzed as are their energies by those
already in full operation, have neither the capability or the will to
endure. In our populous towns we behold the majority of our species
struggling with suffering and misery, heaped together in miserable
habitations that barely shelter them from the inclemency of the sea-
sons, living on the most unwholesome food, and exposed every moment
to the loss of even this, from some of those numerous causes that, in
this country, oftentimes throw large bodies of men out of employ-
ment. At the sight of so many evils that we cannot redress, then it
is that we may be permitted to regret a savage life, where man dis-
putes his existence with the elements — with the wild denizens of the
forest, but is, at least, the master of his own destiny, and where the
fruits of the earth, and the productions of the air and waters are the
property of all. But how different the fate of the poor man in our
boasted civilized society. He beholds around him riches and luxury —
every thing appears constituted to charm and embellish existence —
but is he hungry — is he naked ? — Every fruit of the earth, every gar-
ment has a proprietor. There are laws, it is true, but what boots it
to him that the scales of justice are held with an equal balance, and
that her sword punishes with undiscriminating severity ? Politically
he may be may be free, but socially he is a slave. That broad line
of demarcation that formerly existed between the noble and the citi-
zen— the liberal and the monarchist — the whiff and the tory — have

M. M. No. 91. C

10 THE OLD ACTORS.

been destroyed in the debate by the appearance of a new element,
deprived until now of all influence — the people. There no longer
exist various degrees of privileged classes — they are now reduced to but
two, or as, with aristocratic irony it has been expressed, to " those
who have, and those who have not." The great question " of the
Poor" is now agitating the surface of modern society as violently as
did formerly the question of Slavery the Roman world, when at the
summit of its greatness. From these causes, then, arises an inability
on the part of this country to go to war. All the aspirations and
sympathies of the nation have taken an internal direction. We are
aiming towards a higher freedom than even political freedom — at
an organization founded on the wants of the people, and not of the
aristocracy ; an organization that shall provide for all those changes
which the effects of machinery have and may still further produce
upon our social system ; an organization which will ultimately lead
to a more equal distribution of property. It is round these points
that the attention of the nation is now gravitating.

Meantime England must resign herself to the stern necessity of
abdicating her proud rank of the arbitress of nations, and see her
foreign influence decline. That she has already done so, is evident
from the passive endurance, the almost cynical indifference with which
government has looked on the fate of Poland, and on what is passing
in the East.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS.

BY A SURVIVING SPECTATOR OP GARRICK.

No. I.

IT was a rule of my family to let all the children see a given number
of plays yearly, at each of the theatres, winter and summer; by this
practice we saw the most favourite pieces, and the most eminent
performers, as they passed in succession before the public. In that
course I witnessed the last scintillations of Spranger Barry, the once
formidable rival of Garrick ; of 'Powell, who received instructions
from Garrick; and of Garrick himself, during the last three or
four years he trod the stage. I repeatedly saw him in several of his
comic characters ; in tragedy he performed but seldom, and when he
did the crowd was so great, and the avenues to the theatre so incon-
venient, that, young as I then was, it was thought too dangerous for
me to make the attempt. He was so different from, as well as
superior to, every other actor, that I preserved his intonation,
accentuation, and other peculiarities of speech, as well as his general
mode of representing his characters; and for several years afterwards,
when the same characters were performed by others, I compared

THE OLD ACTORS. II

them with him. This practice fixed Garrick indelibly in my
memory, and left an impression which, though weakened by time,
leaves me in a condition to say his equal has never since been
seen.

The theatres were to me a constant source of pleasure ; I saw
every play, and every performer of consequence, as they came into
view ; compared them with their predecessors at the time, and their
successors with them, as they arose, preserving notices of the whole,
until within the last twelve years, during which I have never been
within the walls of a theatre, and in consequence know nothing of
theatres, plays, or performers, as they now are. But having seen
everything connected with the subject for such a number of years, I
have thought it possible that extracts from my notices of the persons
and things that have passed away, may afford amusement to some
who are curious in such matters.

The first play I ever saw was Cymbeline. Powell performed
Posthumus ; Smith, lachimo ; Yates, Cloten ; Hull, Pisanio ; Clarke,
Bellarius; Wroughton and another, Guaderius and Arviragus ; and
Mrs. Yates, Imogen. Those who now look to the stage for, at least,
attempts to imitate the costume of characters represented, will be
amused by learning that Cloten, being the King and Queen's favourite
coxcombly son, was dressed in a court suit, as near the fashion of the
time as a theatrical wardrobe would afford ; it was made a la mode
de Paris, of rich figured yellow silk, lined with blue; his wig was in
the fashion of the day, with bag and solitaire ; and he wore a chapeait
de bras, with a delicate small sword at his side. Caius Lucius, and
his soldiers, were attired in something which the wardrobe-keeper
sported for Roman costume ; King Cymbeline and his courtiers, with
lachimo and Posthumus, in rich fancy dresses, which, in the thea-
trical language of that time, were technically called " shapes ;" the
three exiled Britons, with Posthumus himself when in exile, wore
dresses of green, trimmed with fur, time out of mind devoted
to countrymen or savages, of whatever nation they might be, as
shabby scarlet coats, black wigs, and cut-throat Tyburn-looking
faces, were the appropriate livery of bullies, bravos, and murderers.
Imogen, in her disguise, (no doubt for sake of concealment), wore a
Vandyke dress, made of rich sky-blue sattin, slashed with white, and
richly trimmed with spangles and silver lace ! Her man, Pisanio,
no doubt to mark the difference of his rank, was attired in a serving
man's habit of similar fashion, but of materials more modest.

This neglect, or rather contempt of costume, was invariable and
universal. Quin, Barry, and all their successors, till long after I was
familiar with the theatre, played Othello in a general's full-dress
scarlet uniform, richly ornamented with gold lace, the face as black as
burned cork could make it, and a white bushy wig, which I believe
the cognoscenti in such matters call a bob-major, though the citizens
termed it a real " Dalmahoy," the name of a leading city dandy of
that day, who competed with the courtiers for superiority in such
matters. I ago and Cassio, conforming, as good officers should do,
with orders issued from the War-office, dressed in the uniforms of

12 THE OLD ACTORS.

the same corps, proportioned to the difference of their ranks.* The
last time I saw the Moor of Venice performed in this costume, was
when Stephen Kemble was started at Covent-garden in the character
of Othello, under the following circumstances. The reputation of
John Kemble had been for some time on the increase, particularly in
Dublin, where he was said to have displayed astonishing powers,
especially in the Count of Narbonne, in Jephson's tragedy of that
name. The proprietors of Drury-lane theatre filled the newspapers
with reports that they had secured this eminent new actor, by a
lucrative and honourable engagement, to fill the first rank of cha-
racters at their house, and the day was said to be fixed for his debut.
Previously, however, to the arrival of that day, counter-announce-
ments, superior in number, whatever they might be in value,
appeared, stating that the Drury-lane people had said what was not
true, for that the proprietors of Covent-garden, had engaged the
really great Kemble, whose first appearance, in the character of
Othello, was to be in their theatre a few nights before the other
Kemble came out at Drury-lane. By going early, and sustaining as
severe a struggle as I had ever before been engaged in to see Garrick,
or afterwards to see Mrs. Siddons, when she excited the greatest
curiosity, I got an excellent seat in the pit, close to the orchestra. It
was impossible the house could be fuller : as many were turned
away from the doors as would have filled it twice over. Stephen had
dressed himself for Othello, in the scarlet invariably allotted to the
character at that time j his only deviation from preceding practice, was
that instead of the white bob-major of Quin, he wore a wig as black as
the cork had made his face. His voice was the loudest I ever heard
from any human being ; there seemed to be no limit to its compass,
and it filled that large theatre to its utmost verge ; he seemed to
think the great merit of acting was to speak every word distinctly.
Henderson, who had deviated from the usual costume of lago, by
dressing in a blue frock coat, with scarlet facings, was eminently
annoyed at the vocal energy of the debutant. On the following
morning, the newspapers praised the new and great Kemble to the
skies ; there was a good, but not an overflowing house, the second
night ; the third was a failure, and Stephen the great was heard
of no more, till upwards of twenty years after, when he became re-
markable for playing Falstaff with out stuffing. On the following even-

* Macklin; who in his century played many parts, was, when they happened
to be in the same theatre, lago to Quin's Othello ; but the resemblance between
them was too complete to make their agreement cordial. Quin, whose ex-
cellence lay in keen, biting sarcasm, upon some occa ion is recorded to have
said, " Mr. Macklin, by the lines— I beg your pardon, I should say by the
cordage in your face — if Nature writes a legible hand, you must be a con-
summate villain." To this Macklin, who Knew the inferiority of his own
powers, in what was the great excellence of his opponent, made up by the
pungency of his fist for the acerbity of his opponent's tongue, and knocked
Othello down. The hero started like Anteus upon his legs, and they had a
regular set to, « la mode de Broughton, (the fistic hero of that time,) in which
Charley would have been victorious, if Manager Hich had not separated and
fixed them in different pieces, where each could have every thing his own
way.

THE OLD ACTORS. 13

ing John Kemble made his first appearance at Drury-lane in the cha-
racter of Hamlet. So many critics have described his powers, that I
will merely notice his costume on the occasion. It consisted of a
full dress court suit of black velvet; his hair was dressed in the
taste which then prevailed; he wore a bag, and a cocked hat with
feathers outside the brim. All the characters in the piece were
dressed in the court and military dresses of the time.

Every body, I suppose, has heard of Gentleman Smith, who figured,
for almost thirty years, as the principal tragic hero, as well as " the
man of Grosvenor-square/'as Jesse Foote called him, " upon the stage."
I was personally acquainted with him, when he was an eminent actor,
and some relations of mine knew his father before I was born. In Al-
der sgate- street is a house that was built by or for, and once inhabited
by, the well-known Earl of Shaftesbury ; afterwards it was divided into
several tenements ; one of these was inhabited by Smith's father,
who was a grocer, and it is remarkable that the last time I walked
through the street, I saw the name " Smith" fixed in conspicuous char-
acters upon the house in which I know the actor was born, and visible
signs of the same trade being carried on within, perhaps by a member
of the same family. If so, it is a singular instance of one family
continuing the same business on the same spot for more than a
century. Smith's father had several children, and to this his eldest
son, he made the following offer, viz., that he would bring him up to
his own trade, and leave him in it, with capital enough to carry it on,
providing for his other children in different ways ; or he would
educate him for any profession he chose to engage in, and leave him
to follow his own course afterwards. The youth said, " Give me
the education of a gentleman, and I will then make my own way in
the world." When his private education was completed, he went to
Cambridge, and when prepared to engage in life, he obtained
introductions to Rich, at Covent-garden, where he made his first
appearance as Theodosius, in The Force of Love. Barry played
Varanes to him. Even in such company, Smith stood his ground so
effectually, that he obtained an advantageous engagement, and re-
mained a first-rate actor in the capital till he quitted the stage.

In early life he married a sister of the dissipated Earl of Sandwich;
his Lordship affected great indignation at the match, but after a time
he relented, representing to Smith that, as he was now become a
member of his honourable family, he should abandon an occupation
that was so degrading to them. To this, it is said, Smith replied,
"My Lord, the stage is my profession; I am fond of it, and it
enables me to live with independence in the rank I have always held
in society, and at the same time to support your sister with pro-
priety, in that situation in which she has united herself with me ; I
am sensible of the honour derived from my alliance with your Lord-
ship's house, and would do every thing practicable and becoming to
deserve it, but / must live ; yet if you will, in any way consistent
with your own honourable feelings, insure to me for life the same
income I now gain by my profession, I will sacrifice my inclinations
to your pleasure," The conditions were not accepted, and he
continued on the stage.

14 THE OLD ACTORS.

The lady died early in life, and Smith remained single : within
the theatre he was the associate of all who preserved respectability of
character ; but when away from it he left every thing attached to it
behind. He associated, upon equal terms, with the connections he
made at Cambridge, and others that were added to them in his pro-
gress through life ; he never committed himself improperly with the
public but once, and as there was something peculiar in the affair, it
will bear to be related. Smith had for several years been the
amorous tragic hero of the theatre, when Mrs. Hartley, a most
beautiful woman, was engaged there as the heroine. They became
lovers, of course ; at first in the way of business, and afterwards par
amour. Every thing went on smoothly for some time, till one even-
ing, while the tragedy of Henry the Second was performing, some
misunderstanding arose suddenly between Smith, the royal Harry
for the night, and his Fair Rosamond; and at length the King,
behind the scenes, swore he would not go on the stage, ' ' till that
vixen was discharged." The lady, on the ether hand, vowed that
she would not utter another syllable of her part till he was sent out
of the house. The rage of both parties increased, notwithstanding
the remonstrances of all who were in the green-room, so that the
curtain was necessarily dropped, and the audience dismissed.

When Garrick ceased to be a constant regular performer in the
general business of his own theatre, and Barry went over to Covent-
garden, Smith was engaged to hold the first rank in every depart-
ment of stage business in Drury-lane. He did so, not only until that
theatre was transferred to Sheridan and his associates, but for several
years afterwards. At length he retired to Bury St. Edmunds, in
Suffolk, where he lived more than twenty years, in healthy enjoy-
ment of the gentlemanly independence he had obtained. His last
appearance in London, was at Drury-lane, many years after the public
had ceased to think of him. King, in hopes of making a good benefit,
wrote, offering a large fee by way of inducement, to request Smith
would play Charles, in the School for Scandal, his original character in
the piece, for his approaching benefit. Smith rejected the money, but
came to town, and played the character to serve his old friend. The
benefit produced as much as the house would hold. ; Those who
were present, and remembered Smith when he performed Charles
originally, saw but little difference between his first and last repre-
sentation of the part. He died nearly at the age of a century, leaving
property to the amount of eighteen thousand pounds.

Smith's friend, King, became eminent at an early period of his
life, married, and plunged more deeply into dissipation than is
common at the present time. He returned home late one night, so
drunk that he could not speak intelligibly ; his wife, on searching
his pockets, found them crammed full of Bank notes to a very large
amount. She rose early in the morning, and went to consult Garrick,
who immediately returned with her to King's residence, and when
he had risen and recovered his senses, the friend and wife questioned
him as to where he had passed the preceding night. He did not
know; he remembered having played at some place, and with some-
body, but that was all he could recollect. The notes were now laid

THE OLD ACTORS. 15

before him, and he was as much astonished at the sight as they had
been. Garrick now addressed him in the following terms : — " You
have thus obtained what, if you have prudence to preserve it, will
render you independent for the rest of your days ; and that you
may do so (producing a Bible) I insist that you do most solemnly
swear upon this book, that you will never hereafter play at cards, or
gamble in any manner whatever, even for the merest trifle. If you
swear to do this, and keep your engagement, I will be your fast
friend^ as long as we both live ; but if you break or evade it in any
manner, or in the merest trifle, I will thenceforth abandon you for
ever."

The oath was taken, and King, who had always been active in
performing his duty, became Garrick' s deputy manager and con-
fidential friend in everything relating to the theatre. He grew
affluent, purchased the property of Sadler's Wells, which he im-
proved, made money by, and at last sold to great advantage.
I remember him living many years in one of the best houses in
Gerard- street, Soho, at that time a becoming abode for gentlemen of
consequence ; he had a country house, a chariot, with all suitable
accompaniments. In consequence of having tried and proved him in
every way so many years, Garrick recommended him to the new pro-
prietors, as the most valuable assistant they could employ ; they felt
that he was so, and received him as such. I was present when he
delivered the opening address. Every thing went on with him well
until Garrick's death j but shortly after that event King returned to
the gaming-table, with energy increased by long abstinence. At no
great distance of time, he came home one night at a late hour, and
announced to his wife that the two houses, the carriage, and whatever
property he possessed, was lost, and must immediately be sold to
satisfy the fortunate winner. They removed to a small house in
Store-street ; he lost the management of the theatre, and was now
obliged to act for his daily bread, when he could gel an engagement.
His salary gradually decreased, and he was put into characters of less
and less importance, as age and infirmities came upon him, and the
last time I saw poor Tom King, he enacted the Grave-digger in
Hamlet.

COURSING IN GREECE.

IN the year 1827, I chanced to be at Cranicli, in the South of
Argolis : The famous Suliote chieftain, Kitso Tzavella, was there
with four or five hundred Palicari and some of his friends and per-
sonal adherents. Civilities — for Tzavella knew the amenities — passed
between us; and, in return for an entertainment I had given him, he
invited me to a day's coursing. We met at six o'clock in the morn-
ing, and as Tzavella had promised me a horse, I made my appearance
in top-boots and buckskins, — an attire rarely seen out of merry Eng-
land, and I may venture to assert then for the first time published in
Greece. At all events it was quite new to my Albanese friends, and
as they had never known me but in the Albanian costume, they were
as much astonished as a party at Almacks would be by the sudden
introduction of a Sandwich Islander or a native of Timbuctoo. My
spurs were minutely examined, and no one would be satisfied till he
had pricked his fingers on the rowels. My servant followed me
with an European saddle, which I had taken the precaution to bring
out with me, but the Arnaout objected so strongly to having it put
upon the back of any one of his steeds that I was obliged to give
in.

Behold me then with my buckskins and tops, dropped into a sad-
dle, with an excrescence a foot and a half high, by as much broad
behind, and a pummel rising eight inches before — stirrup leathers not
more than a foot long at the utmost stretch — (I stand five feet eleven,
without my shoes) — and stirrups of the size and shape of a fire
shovel without a handle — the whole adorned and bedizened with gold
lace spangles and bits of coloured glass to represent jewels. My
knees were so fearfully approximate to my nose, that at every move-
ment of my steed I dreaded a collision : however, I had a consolation
left, which was that "come what come might," there was no possi-
bility of my being thrown out of the saddle.

About thirty of the Greeks, all dressed in superb costumes of vel-
vet and gold embroidery, were armed to the teeth — each man carrying
two or more pistols, atayhan, and sabre, some having in addition a
carbine or short Damascus rifle, and all mounted on beautiful
Arab horses. We rode gaily along, each following the bent of his
humour, now urging his horse to his utmost speed, and then — after
flying like the wind for a hundred yards or so — suddenly throwing
him on his haunches by means of the tremendous bit, which is used
all over the Levant. In fact, putting a horse to the top of his speed,
stopping him in a second, twisting him suddenly round, and other
similar manoeuvres, seem to constitute the beau ideal of horsemanship
in the East. I never recollect to have seen either a Turk or a Greek
trot : for them there is no medium between a full gallop and a walk.
I believe there are none but the Turkoman horses that do trot with-
out being trained to it ; these are very extraordinary animals — long-
barelled, big-headed, ugly-looking "varmint ;" but, in despite of their
want of beauty, they will carry a rider a hundred miles a day for

COURSING IN GREECE. 17

several successive days, working at the pace of five miles an hour,
twenty hours out of the twenty-four.

We were accompanied by fort}^ or fifty men on foot,, some leading
the dogs, which were principally of the jet black, long haired,
Turkish breed, far surpassing our greyhounds in beauty, but not per-
haps equal to them in speed ;* others were armed with long poles for
the purpose of beating the bushes. The ground selected for the
sport was a narrow valley, plentifully covered with brushwood and
shrubs, and watered by a small mill-stream that meandered along its
centre. The only level opening into this valley was that by which
we entered, the gorge at the other extremity being blocked up by a
hill that ran transversely to the two which formed its sides, giving it
the form of an elongated amphitheatre. The game-finders spread
themselves in all directions over the plain, while those who held the
dogs took their stations at its skirt, just at the base of its acclivity.
The horsemen, separating from each other, rode a few paces up the
hill, where they remained intently watching the operations of the in-
fantry in the valley. Knowing that a hare, when pursued, will take
a hill, if there happen to be one near, I thought the arrangement very
judicious, and was the less prepared for the scene that presented itself,
when at last the game was started. At the cry of " LAGOS! LAGOS!"
(Hare ! Hare !) — all the dogs, and there were at least twenty of them,
were immediately let loose ,- all the infantry ran, and all the cavalry
rode to the spot whence the cry proceeded, as fast as their respective
legs and beasts could carry them ; and as soon as poor puss came in
sight, the bullets whizzed about her ears in all directions. The first
victim was the foremost dog : he was shot through the head by acci-
dent, or perhaps "pour encourager les autres;" but, be that as it may,
the hare escaped unhurt from twenty dogs, and a running fire from
fifty or sixty small arms. She crossed the brow of the hill and was
seen no more. At the end of the day's sport the return of killed and
wounded was as follows : —

Killed.

Wounded.

Hare

.

. 1

Hare

0

Dogs

. . .

. 3

Dogs

. . . .

4

* There is a breed of these beautiful dogs in Scotland, in the possession of a
gentleman of Aberdeenshire.

M. M. No. 91. D

ANECDOTES OF A DETENU.

Antipathy of David the Painter to Wigs. — I had frequent opportuni-
ties of visiting David during his residence at Brussels. A friendof mine,

Mr. P , had requested him to paint the full-length portrait of his

mother — a lady nearly eighty years of age ; who, however, wished
to be represented in the splendid attire she wore when first presented
at the court of Louis XV. It is well known that David had the
greatest aversion to paint persons in the costume of modern times.
I have heard him say, that he had once intended to have exhibited
Napoleon, in his painting of " The Crossing the Alps/' without a
cocked hat, which might, he observed, be supposed to have been
blown off by a gust of wind ; then, said he, the fine head of the hero
would have been seen to much greater advantage. " I will not
prostitute my pencil in drawing falbalas, hoops, and powdered
periwigs," exclaimed David with violent rage, when my friend
requested him to humour the whim of the old lady; — " Sir, under
somewhat similar circumstances I once gave great offence to Napo-
leon, to the Pope, to Talleyrand, and to Cardinal Caprara ; but not-
withstanding solicitations, and even menaces, I carried the point.
These are the facts : — At the period of Napoleon's coronation, while
the Pope was in Paris, I received an order from the Emperor to
paint a large picture of the coronation.* I represented Cardinal
Caprara, the Pope's minister, bareheaded. It was, in the opinion of
every one, a striking resemblance ; but the Cardinal, only anxious
about his vile perruque, begged of me, in the most pressing terms, to
paint him wearing it. ' I will never consent to do so,' said I to the
Cardinal. ' I have depicted your head as God made it, and I will
not spoil his work.' The Cardinal applied to Talleyrand, who was
then minister for foreign affairs, and several diplomatic notes passed
between them on the occasion. The former insisted upon appearing
with his wig, and he assured the minister, that to him it was a mat-
ter of great political importance. The Pope alone does not wear a
wig ; and it might appear that, in the event of the papal chair
becoming vacant, he had some pretensions to fill it. Talleyrand sent
for me, and told me that it was the Emperor's wish that I should
represent the Cardinal with his wig. f I do not care,' said I, ' who
requests me to put on his wig: — he is without one, and without one he
shall remain/ In order to conciliate all parties, Talleyrand sent for
another painter, and ordered him to adapt a periwig to the head of
the Cardinal. This was accordingly done. Napoleon, the Pope,
and Caprara, were all satisfied ; but no sooner had his holiness left
Paris than the wig disappeared — having only been painted in colours
d-la-gouache, which a little water easily effaced."

I once asked David why he placed the \ettersfac. at the bottom of
his pictures, instead of fee. which is used by other painters.
"Because," said he, " I consider no production of man to be perfect;

* This is now at New York.

ANECDOTES OF A DETENU. 19

and byjaciebat, I mean to intimate that the composition might be
improved. Fecit expresses perfection — complete termination — ' Deus
fecit mundum/"

The Cannons of Austerlitz. — The column of the Place Vendome is
formed of the cannons taken at the battle of Austerlitz, The Duke
de Gaete, minister of finances, after a long conversation with Napo-
leon on the resources of the country, requested his majesty to let him
have twenty of these cannons. " What ! " said the emperor smiling,
" does our minister of finances intend to declare war against us ? "
" No, sire, not against you, but against some old worn-out machines
that threaten danger to the men employed at the mint. If your
majesty will give me these twenty cannons, I will have them con-
verted into engines for the purpose of coining, and there will be
enough metal to supply machines for all the mints in the empire. I
will, moreover, if it meets with your approbation, cause the name of
Austerlitz to be engraved upon them/' This idea pleased the empe-
ror, and he wrote to the minister of war the following order : — tf I
hereby place at the disposal of our general in chief of the finances, a
battery of twenty cannons." These machines are still in use at the
different mints. The Emperor of Austria, when at Paris in 1814,
visited the principal of these establishments, where it has long been
a custom, when a sovereign honours the place with his presence, to
strike a medal bearing his effigy. The name of Austerlitz having
caught the eye of Francis, " Nothing can be more beautiful," said
he, looking at the medal ; te the machines work admirably well.
They are no longer the ultima ratio regum, but the ultima representa-
tio regum."

A distinction WITH a difference. — Talleyrand said that the difference
between Louis XVIII. and his minister was, the former wishes for
the happiness of his people, and the minister wishes for their property.
(Le roi veut le bonheur de son peuple et le ministre veut son bien.)
This is a witty play upon words. Bien not only signifies property
but prosperity, welfare, happiness.

A distinction WITHOUT a difference. — At the meeting which
took place at Erfurt between Napoleon and Alexander, the latter
did all in his power to persuade the former that he entirely
coincided with his views, and that thenceforward, they were to be
inseparable friends. One day they entered, arm in arm, the room
where dinner was prepared. Alexander placed his hand to his side,
intending to take off his sword, before he sat down to table, but per-
ceived that he had forgotten to put it on. Napoleon, who had now
taken off his sword, immediately presented it to the czar, and begged
him to accept it. " I receive it," said Alexander, ee as a testimonial
of your friendship; and your majesty may rest assured that I will
never draw it against you." When this circumstance was related to
Talleyrand, he said, " Alexander will not draw his sword against the
emperor, for a very good reason — he will very soon throw away the
scabbard."

The Conscription. — Chambarlhac, who had been a private, raised
himself by severe and cruel conduct towards the Vendeans to the
rank of a general. He was so great a dolt, that Napoleon never

20 AX EC DOTES OF A DETENU.

entrusted him with any command in the field, and he remained.,
during the whole of the emperor's reign, in one of the military divi-
sions— his duty being to raise as many conscripts as possible for the
service. The heart-rending scenes which I have often witnessed,
when the unfortunate youths were dragged from their families, and
brought before this republican general, baffles all description. The
son of a farmer residing in the neighbourhood of Lisle was drawn for
the conscription. The youth possessed considerable talent as an
engraver, and by his exertions was of great assistance to his parents
in the support of a numerous family. A substitute was obtained at
the price of £300. At the period I am alluding to, it was extremely
difficult to procure a person to replace him who had been drawn. I
have frequently known so much as £2,000 given for one. The sub-
stitute for the farmer's son was presented to the board, at which
Chambarlhac presided. " How dare you," said the general, with his
usual acerbity, " bring such a man to me as this ? He is con-
sumptive, and can't live three months !" " Well, general," replied
the indignant farmer, " that can be of no consequence, he is going to
join the army." The same general once addressed the 52d regiment
of the line, which was about to proceed to Spain, and the following
was the termination of his eloquent harangue :- te Fight like devils !
If you are commanded to mount a breach, fear not wounds ! Should
you lose an arm or a leg, consider the loss as a gain — you will be
raised to the rank of an officer on the field of battle !" This speech
produced a caricature. A conscript was represented with a joyful
countenance addressing a female in the following manner : — " My
dear mother, I am going to make a rapid fortune. I will have my
arm cut off, and I shall be made an officer. I will have my leg off
too, then I shall be a colonel ; then I will have my head off, and I
shall be qualified for a general."

Junot and his Steward. — Junot, the Duke d'Abrantes, was extremely
kind to his servants, and it was well known in Paris that they robbed
him to a considerable amount. " They may take a few bottles of
wine, or a few pounds of meat, I believe," said Junot, when his
friends referred to the circumstance, " but the real robber is my
steward, and I do believe he plunders me by wholesale." — " Then
why not get rid of him ?" — " It is of no use," replied the marshal ;
" he is in other respects a good man ; he is attached to me, and has
rendered me some services : besides, if I were to dismiss him, I should
be cheated in the same way by another." On the first day of the year,
a grand day in France, the numerous servants belonging to the marshal
came to offer their customary congratulations. On each of them he
conferred a gift — " As to you, sir," said he, addressing his steward, " I
will make you a present of every thing you have robbed me of during
the past year." The steward made a low bow and retired.

Fanny Beaukarnois, Dinners. — The viscountess was in the custom
of giving a weekly dinner to a numerous party. The fare at her
table was invariably so bad that her guests were compelled to lunch
before they came to her house. The dinners given by Napoleon to
those whom he honoured with an invitation were, on the contrary,
served up in the most magnificent style : his chief cook, with the

ANECDOTES OF A DETENU. 21

exception of that of Cambaceres, was the most celebrated artiste of
the day. Napoleon seldom remained more than twenty minutes, or
half an hour at table, and the instant he rose all the guests departed.
ft When I dine with Fanny Beauharnois," said Lauragais, " I cannot
help thinking that I am exactly in the situation of Lazarus picking
up the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table. At her cousin,
the emperor's banquets, I endure the punishment of Tantalus, sur-
rounded with luxuries, and deprived of the power of enjoying them.
The difference between Napoleon and Fanny is this : the one is a
potentate, and the other is a tate en pot — (a dirty scullion, or saucepan-
scraper.)

A Proverb falsified by Napoleon. — The emperor, when much
pleased with a favourite, would sometimes show his satisfaction by
pulling his ear in a playful manner. While conversing with Junot,
in the presence of other generals, the emperor seized the duke by his
ear, and pulled it with more violence than he probably intended.
" Diable ! " exclaimed Junot, " you seem to think that I have a sow's
ear." — " Come, come," said Napoleon good-naturedly, " don't be
offended. We will falsify the old proverb, and convert the sow's ear
into a silk purse." He then presented Junot with a purse containing
an order for 500,000 francs ; which, however, it is necessary to state,
he had provided himself with for the purpose of rewarding his
faithful marshal, who had just arrived from La Rochelle immediately
after the convention of Cintra.

Corn conducive to Patriotism. — During the war in Russia, in 1812,
the King of Naples gave orders to General Nausouty, who com-
manded a division of cavalry, to charge the enemy. The horses being
worn out with hunger and fatigue, the attack was unsuccessful.
Murat having complained to General Nausouty, the latter answered,
" I don't know how it is, sire, but the horses possess no patriotism.
Our soldiers fight pretty well even when they are without bread, but
the horses will absolutely do nothing unless they get their oats."

A Common Occurrence. — After the passing of the celebrated Berlin
decree, it became totally impossible to procure any colonial produce,
and consequently the price of sugar, coffee, &c. was raised so exor-
bitantly, that these articles were sold at the rate of from six to twelve
shillings a pound. At this period Napoleon's treasury was nearly
exhausted. " I want twelve millions of francs," said the emperor to
his minister of finance. — " It is out of my power to give you that
sum," replied the Duke de Gae'te ; " but if your Majesty will grant
twelve licenses in order to permit a similar number of merchants to
proceed to England and bring back colonial produce, I can obtain
the sum in twenty-four hours." The licenses were granted, and the
money was obtained j it is a well known fact, that the minister also
pocketed twelve millions of francs, as he sold the licenses for twice
the amount that had been agreed upon. The merchant, although
allowed to import colonial merchandize, was, of necessity, obliged to
sell it, in consequence of the extortion, at a proportionate rate. The
Parisians, notwithstanding the vigilance of the police, wrote lam-
poons, and published caricatures against Napoleon and his minister. I
was present at one of the minor Parisian theatres to witness the per-

22 ANECDOTES OF A DETENU.

formance of a man, something like the celebrated Mazurier, a kind of
boneless, gelatinous fellow ; the farce was Polichinelle Hoi : Punch
is represented sitting upon the throne, but he has not a farthing in his
treasury. While he is reflecting upon his situation he hears a man
crying macaroni in the street: he immediately sends for the vender,
and inquires the price of a portion. " Three sous," replies the latter.
" Three sous, thou Arabian Jew !" exclaims the king ; " is this the
way you extort money from my poor subjects ? Come, give me im-
mediately three portions for one sou, or I will cut off your head."
The poor man complains that he will be ruined, but he must obey.
" Well, well," said his majesty, " you are a devilish good fellow, and
I will now allow you to sell macaroni to my subjects for just what
you please." The author and actor were forthwith sent to the
conciergerie.

A Crime Unknown in this Country. — F , celebrated for his bon

mots, had a brother who was in the church. One evening, while
sitting in company with some of the most fashionable people in Paris,
Talleyrand thus addressed him: — (f I believe you have a brother?"
" Yes." — "To what profession does he belong ?" — "He is a priest." —
" How does he spend his time ?" — " In the morning he says mass." —
" And in the evening ?" — " In the evening — he does not know what
he says."

Beautiful Cow for Smoky Chimnies. — When the celebrated Mdlle.
George was in high favour with the public, the Theatre Fra^ais was
nightly crowded to such an excess that it was with much difficulty
sitting room could be obtained. " I have consulted all the fumistes
in Paris," said Daru to Talleyrand, " and none of them are able to
prevent the chimney of my drawing-room from smoking." It was
generally believed that the count had put himself to much incon-
venience, by supplying the fascinating actress with large sums of
money. " I'll tell you what to do," said Talleyrand, " put George
on the top of your chimney, and you may rely upon it she will DRAW."
(Vous savez que George attire tout a elle.)

Religious Economy. — Madame de R. was said to be penurious —
she had led a gay life — but when religion was a la mode, she became
a devotee. " This lady," said Cardinal Latil to Talleyrand, " per-
forms her religious duties with the greatest strictness." — " She is
highly to be praised," replied the prince, " and the more so that she
does not deem it a work of supererogation to take care of the morals
of those who compose her household. I am told that she never
fails making all her servants fast, at least twice a week."

The Schoolmaster in France. — A cockney detenu, who was residing
at Verdun in 1810, kept a little shop : he took it into his head to set
up a school, and in his window was to be seen a bill, on which he
had written in a cramped, crooked hand, " LEARNS TO READ AND
WRITE ! " — " That is an honest fellow, at least," said Sir James
Lawrence, " I will call next month, and if I find he has made suf-
ficient progress I will send my two nephews to his seminary !"

Unplumed Biped. — M. de Jourches, an insufferable, bandy-legged,
grey-headed coxcomb, the very quintessence of ugliness, bore a
striking resemblance to the bird of Minerva. He was, one evening,

ANECCOTES OF A DETENU. 23

relating his amorous adventures, in the hearing of Talleyrand, and
terminated them by saying that he did not believe he had slept in his
bed for the past six months. " He tells the truth, you may rely upon
it," said Talleyrand ; " he sits all night on a perch"

Too Much of a Good Thing. — Madame Bacciochi, Napoleon's sister,
had invited Fontanes to an evening party, desiring him to bring a
few friends with him. " As many beaux esprits as you please," said
the princess ; " I am low spirited, and I want them to make me
laugh." Half a dozen Parisian wits accepted the invitation, and the
evening was spent in what the French term assauts d'esprit. When
Fontanes was taking leave, the princess said to him, " Wits, sir, I
find are like roses ; one is very pleasant, but too many are overpower-
ing— they make one's head ache."

Milord Hom-dy'e-do. — Mr. W., a detenu at Brussels, used to wear an
enormous shirt-frill, and the French nick-named him " My Lord
Jabot." He resided a dozen years in France, and the only correct
phrase he was ever known to utter was " Comment vous portez vous?1'
He would call a herd of oxen, un troupeau de bouilli. Genders
he never could comprehend. You might have knocked him down
with a feather, when he was informed that a huge grenadier, with a
long bushy beard was called la sentinelle. It was he whom Mathews
imitated when he said, lc I have been learning the language these
twenty years, and yet that little French brat, who is not taller than
my leg, speaks more fluently than I."

High Life Below Stairs. — Jerome Bonaparte, King of Westphalia,
seemed to anticipate that his reign would be short, and he was deter-
mined that it should be a merry one. His revels at the palace at
Cassel equalled, and probably surpassed, those of any other cotem-
porary crowned head in Europe — Great Britain, as Elliston would
say, included. A gentleman, with whom I was acquainted, arrived
at the palace, bringing dispatches from the grand army. He was
dressed in the uniform of a French colonel, and the sentinels of course
allowed him to enter without difficulty ; he proceeded through several
apartments in which the servants were dancing, drinking, or playing
at cards ; he at length came to a large room, the door of which was
partly open; shouts of laughter echoed from within. My friend peeped
through the aperture, and beheld the monarch almost in a state of
nudity, with his eyes bandaged, playing all sorts of wild pranks,
hallooing with all his might, and holding in his arms a young and
fair damsel whom he had just secured. The lady represented some
nymph, or goddess, and like the immortals she was not encumbered
with needless attire. My friend deemed it prudent to withdraw.
On the following day he called upon the king, who scolded him for
not coming into the room. " We were only having a little fun,"
said the monarch. " The Pagan deities, to get rid of heavenly ennui,
would frequently visit our terrestial dames. We transformed our-
selves into gods and goddesses ; my saloon was Mount Olympus, and
the deities were playing at blindman's buff."

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

THERE was a time when it would have been the height of impru-
dence to have bestowed praise upon the poetical genius of Shelley,
or to have judged with lenity his frailties as a man : but Time has
already done justice to the former, and the " remorseless deep/7 in
closing over the head of Lycidas, has now left no more of the latter
for his enemies to triumph over. What a solemn and tender thing is
Death ! How many prejudices are laid at rest when their object has
found a shelter from the bitter tempests of the world in the shadow
of the tomb ! Even those who waged fiercest contention with him
when alive, seldom deny their tribute to the glory of a man of genius
when he is at length gathered to the Kings of thought. The appear-
ance of " The Masque of Anarchy," and of some other touching memo-
rials of Shelley's brief career, will enable us to form a more correct
estimate of his character and history than we could have done at any
former period; and the more that is added to these remains, the more
proofs do we find of his beautiful and mysterious genius, and the
more refined traits of his amiable disposition.

The imaginative literature of Britain was graced a few years ago
with a number of writers, like Maturin and Shelley, whose works
betray the fondness for German literature, which at that period was
fashionable and which nourished the romantic ideas that agitated
their brief ekistence. Of all these, the fame of Shelley is alone post-
humous : for it is only since the waves of the Mediterranean have
"wafted him to sweet Parthenope," that it is generally conceded to
his former admirers that he was a true poet. The reaction is strong,
and the desire of doing justice to his merit daily becomes more and
more extended.

The few remarks which we have to make have been partly suggested
by the appearance of the new and original portrait which adorns the
Illustrations to Lord Byron's works. It represents Shelley when
very young, and does not convey an accurate idea of what he really
was at the period of his lamented decease. It is to be regretted that
no more authentic bust or picture of the poet exists. The expression
of his features was mild and good. His complexion was fair and his
cheek coloured. His eyes were large and lively, and the whole turn
of his face, which was small, was graceful and full of sensibility.
The upper part was not perfectly regular, yet his expression was not
unworthy of the Angel, whom Milton describes as "holding a reed
tipt with fire." He was a man of a feeble constitution, and of an
ardent and ill-regulated imagination, — greedy of all sorts of novel-
ties. This immoderate taste for whatever was new is displayed rather
too much in his writings, and leads him often beyond the end he
wishes to attain. He sacrifices all to the idea which rules him for the mo-
ment, or to the effect he is desirous of producing. If he makes a smiling
description, he multiplies epithets until we are lost in their brilliancy.
He scatters a luxury of words which fatigue the mind in the same
manner, as colours, too glowing and varied, fatigue the sight. If, as

PERCY liYSSHE SHELLEY. 25

in his tragedy of the Cenci, he paints hideous manners and atrocious
crimes, he darkens still more the natural hues of the portrait, and
strives to render it more odious than the reality itself. Yet the poe-
try of Shelley is full of mind. In perusing it we feel that we have
arisen into the beautiful world; his genius has been well likened
to the old Church pictures of the Cherubim,, — a winged head unable
to walk the earth, but at home when soaring through the heavens.
Such, however, was his love for nature, that every page of his writ-
ings reflects the loveliest scenes of the countries which he visited.
There is no modern poet who betrays such an intimate knowledge of
Nature in her various aspects. The memory of Switzerland and
Italy was ineffaceable in him. In all his books, says Captain Med-
win, he used to scrawl pines, and alpine summit raised upon alpine
summit, only to be scaled by Oceanides, with some spectral being
stalking from peak to peak. Judging from the abstract and symboli-
cal taste of modern poetry, one may perhaps be allowed to predict
that a time will come when the works of the most imaginative of
poets — the poet of metaphysicians will be more read and understood
than they are at present. His poems, as Passeri said of Guido's
heads, "have an air of Paradise," and this characteristic element
runs throughout all his works whatever be their subject. " The
Masque of Anarchy/' lately published, is an instance of this, which
although written in the familiar style of his " Rosalind and Helen,"
and intended to be as forcible and energetic as language could speak,
is full of poetry and elegance. It would seem that his Muse, like
the Delia of Tibullus, in whatever she does, and to whatever employ-
ment she turns, is sure to betray the furtive grace which pervades
her soul and animates all her motions —

Illam quicquid agat, quoque vestigia vertat
Coraponit furtim, subsequiturque Decor.

M. M. No. 91.

MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA.

THE Prussian monarchy, in spite of her vicious delimitation, is, by
her interior organization, one of the states whose influence on the
political system of Europe is the most remarkable. Floating like a
ribband over the surface of continental Europe, from the Oder to the
French frontiers — Russia threatens her in the east and France in the
west, while Austria, by debouching from Bohemia, strikes at her
very heart. Warned by the sad experience of the past, and by the
geographical configuration of her territory, Prussia feels that her
existence as a state depends solely upon her army, and every faculty
of the government has, in consequence, been put forth to bring it to
the highest degree of perfection of which it is susceptible. Immense
sums have also been lavished in the creation of new fortresses, or the
improvement of the old ones, and on the repairs and construction of
barracks and other military edifices. The new strong places are
Cologne, Coblentz, Minden, and Posen ; Stralsun and Smeednitz,
which had been dismantled, and Thorn, which is so altered and im-
proved that it may be considered as a place of a new creation.
Immense repairs and improvements have also been made at Wittem-
berg, Erfurt, Torgau, Juliers, and Sarre Louis, and all the other
strong places are kept in an excellent state of repair.

The Prussian engineers have followed in the fortification of the
new fortresses, and in the alterations made in the old ones, a new-
system, which is attributed to the Prussian General of Engineers
Aster, but the idea of which, is in reality borrowed from Montalem-
bert. They surround the body of the place with a wall pierced with
loopholes and embrasures, or with a revetement capable of resisting
a coup de main, and they construct round this envelope forts or
simple towers so as to occupy a sufficient space of ground for assem-
bling a body of troops destined for an offensive operation. In these
constructions masonry predominates ; there is a profusion of case-
mated and blinded batteries, souterrains, and loopholed walls. The
system appears to have received a complete application in the con-
struction of Fort Alexander, which occupies the height of Chartreuse
that commands Coblentz, a height situated between the right bank
of the Moselle and the left bank of the Rhine. The polygon on
which is built the fort is a square. There are two bastions over-
looking the country, and two half-bastions on the side of the city.
There are only three curtains, and in the place of the fourth, which
would have belonged to the front opposite the city there is a defen-
sive barrack and a loopholed wall terminated by two bastions. There
are casemated batteries and souterraines constructed under the flanks.
Before each curtain, in the place of the demi-lune in the system of
Vauban, they have built a tower a la Montalembert. These towers
have a considerable elevation above the surrounding ground ; they
have several stages of batteries, the highest being " a ciel ouvert" for
guns of light calibre. These works have not properly speaking
" fosses :" the ground is regularly sloped from the crest of the glacis

MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA. 27

to the foot of the walls. The walls are flanked by the flank fires of
bastions and by casemated batteries constructed at the gorge at the
extremity of each face of the towers. The communications with the
batteries of the bastions and with the towers are subterraneous.

The towers may be placed in three very different positions ; they
occupy the place of the ancient te demi-lunes" or they may be posited
as a " reduit" in the interior of a bastion, or lastly they may be isso-
lated. In the first case, they have only two faces like the ancient
demi-lunes, and their walls are flanked as we have described. If
again they are isolated, they may have two, three, and even four
faces, and are closed at the gorge by a loopholed wall, in the centre
of which there is sometimes a defensive caserne. Their walls are
flanked, when they have more than two faces, by casemated batteries
constructed on the middle of their faces, perpendicularly to those
faces, and with which there is no communication but through the
interior of the towers. When they serve as a reduit to a bastion
they are circular.

The destructive effect of artillery upon thick and solid masonry
like that of the towers in question, would be rapid and decisive in
their operation, but at a very short range, like the breaching batteries
of Vauban established on the crest of the covered way. Thus,
although a great part of the masonry of these towers may be seen
from the ground in their vicinity, it would only be possible to breach
them with batteries established at a very short distance. The author
of the Prussian system appears to have relied principally on the
action of artillery to retard, if we may judge from the number of
embrasures, which in some instances are so near each other, that the
merlons are not of a sufficient width. The sap and artillery are the
principal agents in the attack of fortified places, but in the defence
artillery is but an accessory, and it is only with the bayonet that they
are to be successfully defended. Should experience in the end prove
the goodness of the Prussian system, it will not be owing, in our
opinion, to the fire of its numerous artillery, but because it is adapted
to the execution of sorties.

If we consider the great roads and the fortresses which Prussia has
constructed prospectively to the military operations that may result
from a war with France, Russia, or Austria, we shall find that it is in
the hypothesis of a war with the first mentioned power that the most
important of these works have been formed. In fact, the three new
fortresses, Cologne and Coblentz on the Rhine, and Minden on the
Weser, have been constructed in the Rhenane provinces, and in
Westphalia, Juliers upon the Roer and Sarre Louis upon the Sarre,
have been greatly enlarged. Two permanent bridges of boats are
thrown <tver the Rhine at Cologne and at Coblentz, and numerous
great roads have been made in Westphalia and the Rhenane pro-
vinces. The principal great roads are, that from Berlin to Luxem-
bourg, through Halle, Cassel, Coblentz, and Treves ; that from
Berlin to Aix-la-Chapelle, through Brunswick, Minden, Munster,
and Wesel ; lastly, the road from Aix-la-Chapelle to Sarre Louis,
through Treves, along the frontiers of Belgium, Luxembourg, and

28 MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA.

France : the object of this last is purely military. Some of these
roads traverse the dominions of other princes, but they are equally
well kept up along their \vhole line.

Prussia has, therefore, on the Rhine three fortresses, Wesel,
Cologne, and Coblentz. She possesses besides Juliers near the Bel-
gian frontier, and Sarre Louis near that of France, and as a member
of the German Confederation, she furnishes a part of the garrisons of
Mayence and of Luxembourg. Coblentz and Cologne are very im-
portant places, because they command two passages across the Rhine,
and may serve as a place of refuge to a considerable number of
troops, and also, because a triple line of communication, by water and
by excellent roads on both sides of the Rhine, would facilitate the
rapid concentration of all the troops in the vicinity of the river in one
of these places in order to resume the offensive.

We may estimate at 300,000 the forces which Prussia could
mobilise, supposing her finances permitted such a developement of
strength.

Army of the Line 100,000 men.

Kreigs reserve, (War reserve) . . . 50,000 „
Landwehr, 1st Ban 150,000 „

The Prussian Minister of War spends annually about £3,370,000,
an inconsiderable sum for the support of an army of 300,000 men,
numerous fortresses, and an immense fe materiel" of war. The mili-
tary institutions by which Prussia is enabled to keep on foot such an
army, acquire an additional interest from being peculiar to that
nation.

Prussia is divided into military provinces, in each of there are re-
cruited a certain number of regiments, the depots of which are
constantly quartered in them. Every Prussian must take arms at
the age of twenty years. A part of the levies serve to fill up the
cadres of the army of the line, and the other part are classed in the
landwehr. The recruits, who have been placed in the line, serve for
three years, after which they are sent to their homes until the age of
twenty-five, and form the war reserve : they may, however, be
called back to their colours should the government deem it necessary ;
but at the age of twenty-five they are drafted from the line into the
first ban of the landwehr.

The non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who, after completing
the term of service in the line of three years fixed by the law, may
wish to continue the career of arms, engage themselves for six years
longer ; and if they contract at the end of that period another
engagement, a higher rate of pay is allotted to them, with the pro-
mise of a civil employment at a future time.

In order to alleviate towards the upper classes of society the rigour
of the obligation which the law imposes on every Prussian of serving
in person, the government allows voluntary engagements upon
certain conditions. Young men who wish to follow the military
career may enlist at the age of seventeen in which corps they choose,
provided they prove on examination to possess the necessary ac-
quirements. Six months after they may undergo a further examina-

MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA. 29

tion in order to become ensigns,* and it is from these ensigns that the
sub-lieutenants are chosen. Those on the other hand who do not
wish to follow the military career, obtain the authorisation of the
government voluntarily to enlist on the condition of furnishing their
own uniforms and equipments. But they must also pass the exami-
nation we have alluded to ; they are then only obliged to serve one
year, at end of which they obtain a leave of absence for two years, on
the expiration of which they are classed in the landwehr of the
first ban.

The landwehr of the first ban is a reserve in which only a part of
the cadres receive pay. It is assembled twice a year for exercise,
eight days during the spring, and three weeks during the autumn.
At the age of thirty-two the Prussians cease to form a part of the
landwehr of the first ban, and are classed, until the age of thirty-nine,
in the second ban, which is a second reserve that is never assembled
for exercise, destined in time of war for the service of the interior, and
only marched against the enemy when the country is in danger.

The rank of officer is obtained in time of peace in the Prussian
service, but by undergoing an examination before a superior military
commission appointed for that purpose, presided over by a general
officer. The candidates are exclusively pupils of the first class of the
schools of cadets or ensigns, and both must have obtained those first
steps by passing an examination. Every soldier non-commissioned
officer and volunteer, may be examined in order to become an ensign
on contracting an engagement to serve beyond the term prescribed
by the law.

When the post of sub-lieutenant falls vacant in a regiment, the
colonel proposes for the appointment to the king, the senior ensign,
provided no charge of misconduct can be brought against him, and
that he has obtained the approval of all the officers of his corps.
Seniority regulates the promotion of officers from the rank of sub-
lieutenant unto that of major. Beyond this it depends on the choice
of the king. But in the artillery, in order to rise from lieutenant to
captain, and in the engineers from second captain to first captain, it
is necessary to pass an examination. Among the first and second
lieutenants who serve more than three years, those who have
most distinguished themselves in the compilation of memoirs are sent
to follow a course of study at the military university at Berlin. A
part of these officers subsequently enter the topographical bureaux,
and the rest return to their regiments, but they are from that time
eligible to staff appointments.

Among the civil employments that may be filled by military men,
in some instances the totality, and in others only a part are reserved
for them, but they must have served a determinate number of years
in order to be eligible. These employments are given according to
their importance — to officers, non-commissioned officers, and soldiers:
thus, the state has but a moderate pension list. There are besides

* An ensign ranks between a serjeant- major and serjeant — there is one per
company. An ensign in the Prussian service is therefore a non-commissioned
officer.

30 MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA.

other advantages resulting, for with the perspective of obtaining
these situations, the nation retains under arms non-commissioned
officers and soldiers whom she would otherwise have lost, at the
moment when they were scarcely formed. Consideration is likewise
given to the profession of arms, and the army is attached to the
government by new ties, and a sort of fraternity is established be-
tween the military and civil services, instead of a spirit of jealousy
and rivalry.

The officers of the landwehr are composed mostly of officers of the
line who have quitted the service to look after their own affairs, and
who are almost all landed proprietors in the circle in which their
battalion is recruited. When there is not a sufficient number of
officers of this class, the rank of sub-lieutenant is given to non-com-
missioned officers and soldiers of the landwehr who had previously
served as volunteers in the line, but they must undergo an examina-
tion, and be approved of by the officers of the corps. Seniority
regulates the promotion of all officers in this branch of the service.

The Prussian army possesses most excellent cadres ; her officers
are attached to public life by the social position of their families, for
in the examination they undergo they must not only prove them«
selves proficient in all the requisite branches of study, but also that
they possess a fortune to support the rank to which they aspire. The
Prussian officers are in point of education on a level with the highest
classes of society : in a military point of view this would be indif-
ferent, but in a political point of view it is of vast importance. Such
are the advantages of the Prussian system — let us now contemplate
the reverse of the picture.

The organisation of the Prussian army requires in the heads of this
army an unceasing surveillance, and in the officers of the line and of
the landwehr who receive pay an unrelenting vigilance. The sol-
diers of the army of the line are too young, totally unaccustomed to
the fatigues of the march and the privations of the " bivouac" — full
a third of them must be looked upon in the light of recruits ; such a
state of things is of course highly prejudicial to the efficiency of the
special arms, especially of the artillery. The organization of the
landwehr is exempt from this inconvenience ; but the soldiers of
which it is composed have contracted on entering again into the
bosom of civil life, interests, habits, and customs, that render their
military duties extremely irksome ; again, they are almost all married,
and this circumstance alone is sufficient to prevent their becoming
good soldiers. Lastly, it is very difficult to maintain a strict dis-
cipline in corps that are only assembled during some weeks every
year, and composed of free citizens, who, during the remainder of the
year, have occupations and interests of their own.

Should the conduct of the Prussian army in the war of 1813 and
1814 be cited in support of the goodness of these institutions, we shall
answer that in consequence of the astounding evils which Napoleon
heaped upon Prussia, that it was not only Prussia but every Prussian
who made war on him. Ages may elapse before the like occurs
again, and when the recollection of these evils shall have become ob-
literated, it will perhaps be difficult to mobilise the landwehr for any

MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA. 31

other service than that of the interior, and even now the government
would with difficulty obtain its active co-operation in a war unpopular
with the majority of the nation.

There likewise exists a great difficulty, in the event of a serious
war, that would necessitate the calling out of the war reverse and the
mobilization of the landwehr, of reaping every possible advan-
tage of the Prussian army. This difficulty arises from the enormous
disproportion between the expenses of the army on the peace and
war establishment, a difference of such magnitude that unless Prussia
were subsidized, or could carry the war into her adversary's terri-
tory, or levied extensive requisitions upon her own subjects, which
they are not in a condition to bear, the treasure amassed by the go-
vernment, and the money she might raise by loans, would be soon
exhausted.

The landwehr has evidently been organized to resist an invasion,
and sustain a defensive warfare; but Prussia would with difficulty
reap all the advantages she expects from this organization, if the war
were protracted, not only on account of the expense which she is not
in a condition to support, but owing to the difficulty of maintaining
discipline in such a militia, fighting on their own territory, and per-
haps even of preventing them deserting. On the other hand, this
militia would render almost the same service as the line, were the
war carried into the enemy's territory ; there discipline would resume
its empire, and desertion to the interior of their own country be ex-
tremely difficult. The military institutions of Prussia have never yet
been sufficiently tried : the first serious war which that power will
have to sustain will teach us if their advantages counterbalance their
inconveniences.

Prussia, for the administration and organization of the army, is
divided into eight provinces. To every province there is a military
chief, having at least the rank of lieutenant-general, bearing the title
of military commandant. The general officer concerts with the
superior president on every affair in which their common intervention
is necessary, such as the recruiting, movements of the troops, the
billets, &c. The corps d'armee, which each province is obliged to
recruit, is composed of two divisions, each of which is composed of
one brigade of infantry of the line, one brigade of cavalry, one bri-
gade of infantry, and six squadrons of the landwehr ; one brigade of
artillery, to which is attached three batteries of six guns, twelve-
pounders, and two ten-inch howitzers ; three batteries of horse artil-
lery of six guns, twelve-pounders, and two seven-inch howitzers ;
one battery of eight seven-inch howitzers; five batteries of foot artil-
lery, each of six guns, six-pounders, and two seven-inch howitzers ;
one detachment of pioneers, one detachment of rifles, one battalion
and one squadron of the landwehr of reserve, six garrison companies,
two companies of invalids, and a detachment of gens-d'armerie.

The province is divided into arrondisemens or circles, each of
which furnishes a battalion ; and these arrondisemens are subdivided
into sub-arrondisemens, each of which furnishes a company. The
recruiting of the cavalry of the landwehr cannot however be effected

32 MILITARY ORGANIZATION OF PRUSSIA.

with the same regularity, because men fit for this arm are not found
in proportion to the population, and all the localities are not equally
provided with horses fit for the service of cavalry. However, as
nearly as it can be done, every arrondisement furnishes a squadron.
The cannoneers of the landwehr are incorporated in the companies of
infantry ; they are assembled by companies once a year, and exercised
by artillery officers.

There is in every regency a general officer, or a superior officer,
inspector of landwehr, who concerts with the civil authorities as to
all that concerns their organization, their instruction, &c. The re-
cruiting of the line is executed by a commission composed of the
Landrath, or of the burgomaster of the large towns, of the major of
the landwehr, and two notables of every circle.

The peace establishment of a regiment of infantry is one colonel, a
lieutenant-colonel, three majors, one paymaster, sixty-four officers,
one hundred and forty non-commissioned officers, thirty-six musicians,
two physicians, twelve surgeons, and 1440 rank and file. A detach-
ment of chasseurs is composed of two captains, two first lieutenants,
seven second lieutenants, one surgeon, and one hundred and ninety
soldiers.

The strength of a regiment of cavalry is one colonel, or lieutenant-
colonel, one paymaster, four captains, sixteen lieutenants, forty-eight
non-commissioned officers, four hundred and forty troopers, one phy-
sician, and four surgeons.

A company of foot artillery is composed of four officers, twelve
non-commissioned officers, sixteen bombadiers, and sixty privates.
The company of horse artillery is of the same strength. A company
of pioneers in time of peace is only one hundred strong.

The uniform of the Prussian army is dark blue turned up with
red. The cuirassiers wear white and the hussars sky blue. The
greatest attention is paid to the cut of the uniforms, which are admi-
rably made, and the whole equipment of the soldier is simple and in
the best military taste. Twice a year camps of instruction are formed,
when the troops have an opportunity of manoeuvring en masse, and
of combining the evolutions of the three arms to every variety of
ground : it is here that a knowledge of the coup d'ceil is to be acquired.
In fact, in no country in Europe are the military sciences more
studiously cultivated or more advanced than in Prussia.

A TALE OF GIBLETTS.

" WHAT can ail the poor man ? Surely, surely, Fortune hath suf-
ficiently bastinadoed him — hath amply wreaked her vengeance on
his physical nature. There needs no mental sting, no bruised heart,
to complete the misery of his destiny. Or is it guilt — is it the recol-
lection of some terrible crime — some awful act, that in its appalling
circumstances continues to be present to him ? Who knows, but,
maddened by hunger, sneered at by a heartless world, reproached,
goaded, cast aside as a poor despised remnant of humanity, he may
have imbrued his hands in his fellow-creature's blood ! And now, it
may be at this very moment, the eye of his victim may be glaring
upon him ; he may hear the blood of the dying rushing in his ears —
may feel at his fingers' ends the last workings of the gasping throat !
All the recollections of this horror may envelope him as a cloak !
Alas, we are fearful and mysterious creatures ! "

The scene of the above speculations was Bond-street ; the specu-
lator Mr. John Spasm ; the subject of his doubts and fears a wretched
looking man, who, handling the badge of his profession — a broom-
followed with a dolorous whine those forgetful pedestrians who
passed his crossing, yet paid not. Mr. Spasm was one of those men
who could not only see very far into a mill-stone, but, helped out a
little by his imagination, could absolutely perceive what was doing
there ; what creatures were lodged in it ; what were their affinities,
their feuds, their affections. It was his passion to " pluck out the
heart of a mystery." He was a great discoverer — he could detect
hints in a rush — could shear hogs for their wool.

Let us, however, do Spasm justice : he sometimes encountered an
extraordinary secret, and it must be confessed the present subject of
his inquiry bade fairly to repay his curiosity. The sweeper had
neither shoes nor stockings j his trowsers had much ado to pass for,
respectable, and in truth his coat, as Wordsworth says of his nutting
jerkin, was " more ragged than need was." His face seemed wan
with continued anxiety. There wanted not the extraordinary acumen
of Mr. Spasm to discover in it either the lineaments of a guilty or
an oppressed man. You may pass — that is, if they are not very assi-
duous— every crossing-sweeper in the metropolis ; but not the sweeper
of Bond-street, that is, if your journey lies that way about the time
of the sun's meridian, an hour before or after : — him, unless you are
often travelling from Dan to Beersheba, you must note. Never did
countenance betray more continual or deeper wailing. Is the man
possessed ? Hath he sold himself to our arch-enemy, who, lawyer-
like, hath juggled him? There have been mysterious persons of the
tribe of crossing-sweepers — witness that well-authenticated legend of
the sweeper who, having for a quarter of a century received a penny
per day from a merchant, refunded all with an enormous addition to
the sum, to assist his once thriving benefactor. Or — the cost is but a
shilling — let any sceptic wend his way to Doctors' Commons, and
there read a copy of the ancient negro's will, who having for many a

M. M. No. 91. F

34 A TALE OF GIBLETTS.

long year swept from Waithman's corner to Ludgate-hill, " being
of sound mind," left, we forget how many hundred pounds, as a por-
tion to Miss W. ! In truth, there have been strange doings among
sweepers : it behoves us to keep an eye on every man with a broom.

Let us return to Bond-street — there is the subject of our paper,
with the same restless visage ; and there is Mr. Spasm, eyeing him
with a mixed feeling of sympathy and curiosity. Observe the men-
dicant's face ; mark his large, black eye — how anxiously it glances at
every customer entering yon butcher's shop : he half quits his sup-
plicating tone, and lets the passenger, unprayed, pass on, at every new
arrival. There — another servant-maid — he glances at her, watches
her like an ogre ; rivets his eyes upon her ; the butcher's man enters
into new orders. All the stronger passions seem to animate the
sweeper's visage ; fear, suspense, a hundred different emotions ripple
his face — the butcher's men exeunt with their loaded trays, and take
no note of him. Again he sinks into comparative composure. Mr.
Spasm is about to cross the path; the sweeper, with one eye still
watching the other side of the road, approaches him — doffs his hat — •
begs. Mr. Spasm plunges his hand into his pocket, and drops some
halfpence — into the hand of the sweeper ? — No ! For at that critical
instant, unmindful of his loss, the sweeper, making but two steps of the
crossing and pavement, leapt like a tiger into the butcher's shop ; he
urged his way through a crowd of customers to the tradesman him-
self, uttered the emphatic monosyllable — ." THERE ! " and again re-
sumed his station in the road.

Mr. Spasm rushed at once into the shop : — " Heavens ! Mr. Gib-
letts ! what is on the poor creature's mind — what has the miserable
man done?"

" Done?"

" I have watched that poor sweeper these two hours ! His eye has
never been off your customers; and, but this instant, he let my half-
pence roll into the road, to rush here, exclaim ' There,' and again
vanish ! What is it all about ? "

" About a rump of beef. — You see, Mr. Besom is very particular
in his cut — Bill, take this pound-and-a-half of steaks to the Blue Lion
— he likes it not too near nor too far, but just in the middle. So you
see, with one eye he watches my customers, and with the other his
own. When my knife gets to his particular cut, all he has to do is
to cry ' There,' and it's done. Very particular in his cut, sir !"

«• Cut — and is this the meaning of his anxious looks — his — Why I
declare he's gone ! "

" Gone to the Blue Lion, sir."

GOETHE'S SONGS.

SOME idea of the merits of Goethe may be formed by a glance at
the list of his multitudinous works. These consist of lyrical poems
of different descriptions ; natural, sentimental, and caustic epigrams ;
songs of a light and cheerful description ; others full of the most pro-
found feeling, hiding under a thin veil the most earnest seriousness ;
elegies after the ancient and modern taste ; odes which deserve to be
reckoned among the loftiest productions of that kind of writing ;
romances and ballads, some gay and some sad ; Idylls, full of grace,
tenderness, and depth of feeling ; three romances, each in a different
tone, style, and spirit : — Werther, lyrical and sentimental ; Wilhelm
Meister, natural and epic ; the Apprenticeship, tragical ; tragedies,
in each of which a different inspiration pervades, and which it is dif-
ficult to imagine the productions of the same mind : — Gotz von Ber-
lichingen, full of true-hearted ancient German simplicity, but also
strength and dignity; a Shakesperian composition, wild as the
German mountain, yet with a unity of design and effect like the
straggling domes and spires of Strasburgh cathedral; Egmont,
breathing more of the south, seeming at times to overstep all truth
and nature, and to wander into the fantastic ; Clavigo, in his bour-
geois sphere, transplanted from the French tragic theatre ; Iphigenia,
full of Grecian ideality ; Tasso, of Italian warmth and mildness, of
grace and tenderness, and yet not devoid of power and dignity ;
Eugenia, with its polish and metaphysical analysis; Faust, in which
he is supposed to have reached the summit of his power ; The Acces-
sory ; The Humour of Lovers, so true to the French comic stage ;
Stella, with its southern glow ; the Sisters with their German cor-
diality; Erwin and Elmira, with their romantic flights; The Triumph
of Sentiment, with its wit and wonderful force of truth ; The Fan-
tastical Lila ; the singular Claudine von Villa Bella ; The Pastoral,
Serand Vatchj ; The Artist's Pilgrimage and Apotheosis, so unpre-
tending, and yet so deep and full of meaning ; Palseophron and
Eoterpe, &c. He has left specimens of the drama in all its forms,
and yet as an epic writer Goethe is by no means contemptible ; as
witness, in addition to his three romances above-mentioned, his
Homeric epic, Herman and Dorothea, or the Fragment of Achilleis,
or his smaller poetical tales and descriptions in the manner of Hans
Sachsen. That no field of poetry might remain unattempted by him,
he next appears as a didactic poet, in his epistles after the manner of
Horace. Such and so various has Goethe been as a poet ; but what
has he not also done for art and its improvement in his several
writings, more especially in his Appendix to Benvenuto Cellini's
Memoirs ; his strictures upon Winkelman and his times ; in his letters
from Italy ; and in his correspondence with Meyer as a Weimar
amateur ! Among his heterogeneous labours he has a work upon the
Metamorphoses of Plants, and a valuable treatise upon Optics and
Colours. That he should have written upon a legal subject was by

36 GOETHE'S SONGS.

no means remarkable in a Doctor of Laws, but we may well be sur-
prised at his letters upon the Revelations and other theological sub-
jects, which have had such influence over the opinions of certain
schools of Catholic philosophers in Germany.

His Roman Elegies or Erotics are as sweet and elegant as Pe-
trarch, and as luscious as Catullus ; his hexameters and penta-
meters move with an ease and grace which remind us of Ovid, and
there is a native truth and simplicity pervading them infinitely pre-
ferable to the studied graces of the Petrarchic Sonnet. Of all Goethe's
poems these appear to us to be best adapted to an English taste ;
but although the ideas might be popular, there is a great difficulty
offered to the translator in their metrical form. In the following
songs some faint notion of the delicacy and playfulness of the original
may be preserved ; but whoever would desire to know Goethe must
study him in the original, for there is no language loses so much in
translation as the German : they are mere " esparcidas flores," as
Lope says, which have been selected at random. The melodious
originals seem to have been the types of Shelley's varied music.

THE WORLD'S PHILOSOPHY.

Go ! but hearken to my preaching !

Cast aside thy youthful folly,
Be by times thy young soul teaching,

Of mortals the immortal folly :
Calm and cruel — calm and strong,
Like one who does not suffer wrong,

Live from love and passion free :
Thou must swim or thou must sink,
Thou must venture or must shrink,
Thou must serve, or thou must reign,
Thou must lose, or thou must gain —

Hammer or an anvil be !

MORTAL BLISS.

Wherefore doth mortal bliss but seem .';
A fleeting summer dream ?
Friendship's tender hours

Die like the taper's ray —
The drooping of pale flowers

Fading away !

We hope, we long, we scarce enjoy
Life's transitory gleam,
When a despairing sorrow

O'ertakes our jubilee,
Our brief and anxious hour

Becomes eternity.

THE LOVED ONE IS EVER NEAR !

I think on thee when the sunlight wanes dimmer,

And the day declines ;
I think^on thee when the pale moonlight's glimmer

On the ocean shines ;

GOETHE'S SONGS. 3^

I see thee, when far on the mountain ridge

The dust clouds rise, —
In the dark night, when o'er the trembling bridge

The wanderer hies.

I hear thee, when, soft as thy sweet voice, yonder

The light brooks leap ;
In the still forest, dreaming on thee, I wander,

When all things sleep.
I companion thee still : wer't thou ever so far

To me thou art near ;
The sun sinks — soon lights me the evening star : —

O ! wert thou here !

TO THE DISTANT ONE.

And have I lost thee, then, my fair ?

Hast thou from me for ever flown ?
Yet sounds in my accustomed ear

Thine every word, thy every tone.

Even as the wanderer through the field,
In vain his eyelid upward flings,

When, in the azure heaven concealed,
High over head the lark she sings —

So gaze I anxiously along

Mountain, rock, and tree, and plain ;
Thee remembers still my song,

O ! come, my love, to me again.

FIRST LOVE.

Who will recal the happy hours,

The hours of love, unmixed with pain ?
O ! who will bring me back the days

Of the young time again ?
Vainly now my heart essays
Wounds to heal ; for Time devours

All our joys, but leaves the pain ;
O ! who will bring me back the hours

Of the young time again?

SELF DECEIT.

The curtain waves to and fro

Upon my neighbour's floor ;
Methinks she peeps across to know

If I'm at home no more.
And if the love reciprocal

Which I to-day displayed,
Be now, as it for ever shall,

Deep in my heart inlaid —
But ah! alas ! the fair, I find,

Such passion never sways —
I see it is the evening wind

That with the curtain plays.

38 GOETHE'S SONGS.

THE TREASURE.

Far in the forest,

I up and down
Wandered, ne'er hoping

Sorrows to drown.

In shadows saw I
A small flower there,

Like a star shining,
Or bright eye fair.

I would have plucked it —

It said to me,
" Shall I to wither

Deserted be ?"

I raised it gently

With all its shoots,
And in my garden

Planted its roots.

Once more it blossoms

In quiet bowers —
Once more it branches,

And gaily flowers !

THE SHAM DEATH.

Weep, maiden, weep ! by Cupid's gravestone here,
He sank by nought — by a denial slain :

And is he really dead ? To that I will not swear :
Nothing — an accident awakes him oft again.

SONG.

A dark deep ocean sweepeth on
Our earth, and lives within its zone ;
Billows upon billows roll,
Clouds on waves, from pole to pole
Darker seems the Future's scroll :
Now the present hour divine
Mortal seize — 'tis thine, 'tis thine !

Lo ! from Bergli's summit proud
Soars the eagle through the cloud;

Every note sinks in the air,
As he mounts to heaven's high portal,
And man cries — He is immortal !

Whither fled he ? Tell me where !-
Now the present hour divine
Mortal seize — 'tis thine, 'tis thine !
Like day now shines thy forehead fair.
Like the night thy flowing hair,

Thy lips Aurora's bloom outvie ;

Day and night and morning sky,

Though the fairest, onward fly ! —
Now the present hour divine,
Mortal seize — 'tis thine, 'tis thine !

THE LOVE-CHILD.

[Continued from page 640, No 90.]

IT was one of the happiest moments of my life. Lavolta — the
magnificent Lavolta, spangled from top to toe, a king of the fairies
on a large scale, the supreme lord of Mr. Mountebank,— had told me,
on pushing me down the narrow passage from his platform, to con-
sider myself a member of his troop. I had attained the zenith of
human felicity — Fortune could do no more for me — I had not a
wish.

The passage was horribly dark, circuitous, and queer. I did not
know what to make of it. Sometimes I had to feel my way down
two or three steep stairs, then, after groping along a few feet of level
floor, to climb up a ricketty ladder ; it seemed to be destitute of
plan — without any fixed principle. The architect, as I conceived, had
rendered it as difficult as possible, for what reason I could not exactly
understand. Presently I heard footsteps ; somebody was rapidly
careering over the course on which I had been crawling like a snail.
I stood on the prong of a ladder ; I was descending, but to what
depth I knew not. I looked down, but all below me was dark and
terrible. The unknown intruder on my solitude came on like a
thunderbolt. For a moment I thought of getting out of his way by
dropping into the abyss; but just as he had familiarly clutched the
upper part of the ladder, a sudden thought struck me that I had
better twist myself underneath, and allow the gentleman to pass. I
did so ; but the consequences were by no means propitious. He
thought proper to slide, not to run down the ladder, and I, hoping to
avoid any unpleasant collision, had unfortunately left the cross bars
clear, and clung with my hands and feet to the two uprights, so that
he carried me down with him in his descent, and at such a prodigious
rate, that the wood seemed to be red hot iron in my hands. I con-
trived to clutch him by his leg before we reached the bottom ; and
this so threw him off his guard, that he lost his hold, and down we
came together in the most disagreeable manner imaginable. The
instant we alighted on terra firma the wretch began to punch my
ribs, and I, in self-defence, took a large mouthful of his hard calf
betwixt my teeth, and bit so vigorously under his infliction — a flogged
soldier has been known to flatten a bullet — that he not only desisted,
but roared like a calf. By his voice, I recognized him as Mr. Merry-
man. Relinquishing my grip, I ran up to the little platform above
with all possible speed, and tried to lift the ladder, so as to cut off
my enemy from the possibility of pursuit, but in vain — it proved
too heavy for me ; for, though I could bite like a badger, I was still
a mere child in physical power; there was no precocious development
about me, except, perhaps^ in the muscles of my nether jaw : but all
boys can bite — most fearfully too — if, as old women say on other
acquirements, they only give their minds to it. At that period of my

40 THE LOVE CHILD.

life, if an ox had kicked me, my first thought would have been to
make my teeth meet in the tough integuments about his heel.

Finding that I could not lift the ladder, and being in mortal fear
of Mr. Merryman, I ran on in the dark, heedless of impediments,
and accidentally plunged into a branch passage, which, after many
windings and turnings, brought me into daylight at the back part of
the booth. It occurred to me that I had better cut a hole with my
pocket knife — an instrument without which no ragamuffin urchin
considers that he exists — through the outer canvas, and retire, or, to
use a better but more vulgar term, bolt. While debating the pros
and cons on this point, and biting my little nails to the quick, I was
suddenly and most prodigiously assaulted by an unseen antagonist.
I received the horrid shock just between my shoulders and fell prostrate
under its influence. On recovering my breath and my senses, I
perceived an animal about the size of a ram, with huge horns and a
long grizly beard, standing in a belligerent attitude, a few paces from
me. It was old Llewellyn, Lavolta's goat, the first of the species I
had ever beheld ; my intense dismay at the spectacle may therefore
be easily imagined. I ventured to crawl a few yards, but the mo-
ment I attempted to rise, the mysterious beast floored me again by a
blow betwixt my shoulders. He played with me as a cat does with
a mouse. If I ran, he soon overtook me ; and at last I was precipi-
tated by one of his assaults down four or five rude steps, through a
slit of the canvas into a little room containing some of the oddest
people I had ever beheld.

A woman, dressed like a queen, was blowing a miserable fire that
glimmered between three bricks, with an asthmatic pair of bellows.
Mr. Merryman was pouring gin into a glass of grouty coffee with one
hand, while, with the other, he was dabbing a sponge dipped in
vinegar on that part of his leg which had been exposed to the ope-
ration of my teeth. In one corner a beautiful young girl, fresh and
blooming as a Dryad, was pipe -claying a pair of white satin pumps —
in another, a fine-featured dark woman, haggard and wrinkled, but
evidently not old, distributed a roseate hue over her wan cheeks with
a hare's foot. A boy and a girl — the former looking grave and
important — the latter wearing the symbolical ring of matrimony — pale,
rakish, and depraved, yet ennobled by one expression — that of a
mother's love for her offspring — were feeding a small, ill-tempered,
goggle-eyed brat, wrapped up in a sky-blue mantle, powdered with
spangles in the shape of stars. In the centre of the place sat a re-
markably coarse woman, with two fellows beside her. She had
thrown an arm over the shoulder of each. One had a bruised eye —
and from the blue, tumid, shining nose of the other, blood occasionally
trickled : — they had, as I conjectured, been fighting about her, and
she was reconciling them over a treat of beef sausages, which they
ate out of a frying-pan. Immediately on my right a beautiful bay
pony, with milk-white mane and tail, richly caparisoned, was occupied
in nibbling a large lump of bread and butter, which he had evidently
purloined from a lad of about my own age, who was foaming, stamp-
ing, and screaming with rage at a little distance. He had nothing on
but a dingy night-gown — except that a man's neckcloth, apparently

THE LOVE-CHILD. 41

stained with gore of yesterday's date, was bound tight about his brow
— but with so little care, that, judging from the clotted locks which
dangled over his eyes, some of his long black hair had been bandaged
into the wound. The pony curled his upper lip outward, and re-
peatedly tossed his head, on account of his disrelish for the butter —
but his eyes flushed with malicious delight at the spoliation which he
had perpetrated. On his back, a little girl dressed in blue and silver,
who bore a slight resemblance to the boy, was timidly trying to jump
through a hoop. Every body was talking at a high pitch, to make
themselves heard above the crash and din of the fair — every body was
busy — and neither the little girl nor any one else took the least notice
of the boy's wrath at the loss of his bread and butter — it was entirely
an affair between him and the pony. On the other side, a barber's
apprentice, with dismay depicted on his countenance, was mowing^
the bristles from the chin of a terrific gentleman, attired in a very
shabby shirt, splendid red silk pantaloons, and brimstone-coloured
boots.

The goat had tossed me between two trusses of hay — my debut
from the cleft in the canvass had been unnoticed, and I might have
remained snug in my berth, had not the approach of the pony to
within my reach tempted me to put out my hand and deprive him of
the crust, for the purpose of restoring it to the roaring boy with the
bandaged head, to whom I triumphantly darted off with it at full
speed. I calculated that this little bit of good nature would con-
stitute a capital introduction — but it turned out exceedingly cala-
mitous. The pet pony was the most vicious little villain alive — he
pursued me with open mouth, and I had to dodge successively about
every individual in the place to avoid his teeth. All this of course
created a frightful uproar. The little girl in blue and silver was
thrown off — the saucepan of sausages was upset — the barber's boy was
bitten by mistake — the terrific gentleman in the brimstone boots
climbed a pole that supported part of the roof — the women uttered
appalling screams of ' ' murder ! " and ' e the pony ! " — a dozen huge
fellows with enormous cudgels broke through the back of the booth-*-,
but nobody attempted to put in a blow on my behalf except the boy-
father of the hobgoblin infant, under the folds of whose immense
mantle I had sought security as a last resource. The lad stood up in
front of us, and struck out at the pony right and left ; but it was not
until he had dealt him two or three staggering hits on the nose, and
received a bad bite on the wrist in return, that he could prevail on the
fierce little brute to withdraw. At this instant Lavolta appeared —
and the sight of him struck the pony with such terror, that he retired
trembling to his corner, but not without several severe kicks on his
seat of honour from the terrific gentleman in the brimstone boots.

This personage was prodigiously indignant at what had occurred.
He threatened to throw up his engagement if more consideration
were not displayed for the feelings of a gentleman. Who, he would
venture to ask, was Master Nicholas Green, that he was not to be
kept with the other tumbling boys in the company ? What business
had he, giving him full credit for his bad head, to intrude on the
toilet of ladies and gentlemen — with pantaloons or without — but

M.M. No. 91. G

42 THE LOVE-CHILD.

particularly without? He detested brats of all descriptions,, espe-
cially tumbling brats, except (turning with a smile to the girl- wife
of the boy-father), sweet interesting babies in arms — natives of the
booth — children, as it were, of the troop. And who was Miss Betsy
Green, that she could not practice her mountebank mummeries in a
proper place ? Why should the quadruped and two trusses of hay
be brought into an apartment nominally devoted to ladies and gen-
tlemen, for her especial honour and convenience? He abhorred
favouritism in all its shapes. For his part he could see no such
wonderful talent in the little Greens ; on the contrary, he felt sure
that if their ambition were fostered, they would both within a month
have the cock-robins crying over them. With such views he could,
perhaps, have tolerated the " twin talents/' as Mr. Lavolta called
them in his speeches; but to have a ragamuffin little wretch, dropped
from the skies to create a bobbery amongst them at so critical a
moment, it was really — with all proper respect and submission — to
be most energetically deprecated.

All this eloquence was not thrown away. It had a vast effect on
the Merry-Andrew. He knit his brows, folded his arms, drew him-
self up to his full height, and looked as heroic as he could. Mean-
time Lavolta had been pushing and persuading the bumpkins to
retire; and as soon as he had effected his object, after having given
hasty directions to two of his operatives for the reparation of what
trifling injury had been done to the booth, he stepped up to the
orator, and in a level, business-like tone, just as though nothing had
happened, informed him that in five minutes the stage would be
waiting. " If/' added he, " you" are not ready, Mr. Rugg, I shall
be under the necessity of fining you half-a-crown. Now ladies,
pray bestir yourselves !" " Must I go outside and dance, sir,"
plaintively inquired the girl-mother, e( my baby's bad to-day/'
" Umph ! well ! Babies ! babies ! But you must shew yourself
at night, child, and be lively again. Now, Warwick — there's nobody
in front."

This was addressed to the Merry- Andrew, who replied with in-
sulted dignity — the gentleman in brimstone boots, Mr. Rugg, having
slunk behind to back him up — that he had received a mysterious
wound in the calf, which totally incapacitated him from doing the
attractive. He then displayed his leg, and told his story. He had
been bitten by something on Mr. Lavolta's premises. He conjec-
tured it might have been by a baboon from Polito's menagerie ; and
if so, the animal must be still about, so that it was highly dangerous
to go on. At this the ladies gave themselves airs, and vowed that it
would be cruel and unmanly to expect them to stir a foot, until
every corner in the booth was searched. The boy-husband now
looked at Mr. Merryman's leg, and confidently asserted that the in-
dentations displayed were decidedly made by the mouth of a dog.
"This begins to be awful," said Mr. Rugg; " really more care
should be taken. Blood to a slight extent seems to have been
drawn, and we don't know but what the animal might have been
rabid."

Mr. Mountebank, who seemed to regard the tragedian in brim-

THE LOVE CHILD. 43

stone boots as an oracle, stood aghast. His nether-jaw dropped, his
lips turned blue, and his yellow painted mustachios became edged
with green, from the blending of the natural with the artificial
colours. Big drops of agony oozed from his forehead, and rolling
across the crimson crescents above his eyebrows, fell on his fat parti-
coloured cheeks like blood. As soon as he could speak he called for
gin, and began to blubber like a child. " My shagreen watch," said
he, displaying the valuable ; " a shagreen watch, ladies and gentle-
men, with a pinchbeck chain and three seals — one a genuine Scotch
pebble — besides the key, for any body who will suck the venom from
my wound."

All this time I had been nestling with the hobgoblin child, under
the blue mantle. The poor little creature was teething, and per-
ceiving its intense desire to gnaw something, I had given it my
thumb, the mumbling of which appeared to afford it infinite delight.
It looked up in my face and smiled, with that touching expression
which invariably creates interest in the bosom of boy or man, girl or
woman. I forgot its ugliness — I loved it for a moment, and kissed
its poor little paw, which had convulsively grappled my thumb. In
every emergency of life, from infancy upwards, I have invariably
placed my reliance upon woman, and I was never deceived. The
girl-mother had assisted me to conceal myself beneath the blue
mantle that covered her child ; and when she saw the pale haggard
infant mumbling my thumb, and looking gratefully into my eyes,
she had snatched me up, and nestled me close to her young heart.
There I should have remained, in perfect bliss, but for the offer of
Mr. Merryman. But his watch and its appendages were irresistible.
I leaped from my shelter, and snatching my reward from the Merry-
Andrew's hand, took that portion of his calf which I had previously
bitten into my mouth, and began to suck. Lavolta, apparently
occupied in putting a new point to his whip, but, as I thought, evi-
dently uneasy at what he had heard, now began to be jocose, and so
rallied the Merry- Andrew on his fears, that — Rugg, his influential
spirit, having departed to dress himself, under the apprehension1 of
being fined — he began to recover his spirits, and at last exclaimed,
in so jocose a tone, that I burst into a violent and uncontrollable fit
of laughter,, " By the pigs, my master ! but the youngster's teeth fit
to the greatest nicety the bruises in my calf."

This led to an explanation. Lavolta charged me with having
bitten the mountebank. I candidly pleaded guilty, but justified
myself on the score of his having punched my ribs, which I pro-
tested were as tender as those of a sucking-pig. Mr. Merryman
took me in his arms — kissed every inch of my face — pilfered the
watch out of my pocket, and, I being ignorant of the larceny, we
were all at once the best friends of the world.

Every body now began to be busy : a little old man in iron spec-
tacles brought me a loose ginger-coloured dress trimmed with scarlet,
which did not at all strike my fancy, and after hastily cutting and
frizzing my hair, and plastering something highly unpleasant on my
cheeks, took me out on the platform and told me where to stalk. I felt so
ashamed that I would fain have dropped through the planks, especially

44 THE LOVE-CHILD.

when Lavolta, lifting me on his arm, exposed me to the gazing mul-
titude, protesting that I was the greatest prodigy the world had ever
produced — that I lived on fire, and slept on a bed of boiling water —
that I could squeeze myself through the eye of a needle, and dance
barefooted on its point — that I was stone-blind, yet never wanted a
guide, a stick, or a little dog, to thread my way through populous
cities which I had never visited before — that I had no idea whatever
of time, space, or eternity — that young as I seemed I had seven black
sons in Morocco, all by one mother, who was a mermaid, each of
them seven feet high, and all cannibals except the youngest — Ben
Bohomo Bibbitti von Egg, an honest and well-known knife-grinder
in the town of Tripoli. This, with slight variations, was frequently
repeated in the course of the morning, by Lavolta, Mr. Merryman,
and the gentleman in the brimstone boots, and I was far from liking
it. Lavolta played a principal, but very short character in the piece
performed within, and he amazed me by the dexterity with which
he enacted it. Once in every half hour, a woolly-headed white
negro would thrust his head through a slit in the front canvas, just
between the legs of Jupiter, and exclaim, " Now massa." At this
signal, Lavolta gradually drew back from the front of the platform,
inviting more vehemently as he retired, the public to walk up at two-
pence each : on reaching the slit he would suddenly dash in — utter
on the stage two or three very heroic lines, in the character of a
mighty monarch, with sufficient energy to be heard by those who
stood on the platform, and rapidly emerge again, exclaiming as he
advanced towards the front, " Only two-pence, ladies and gentle-
men— at the small charge of one-sixth of a shilling."

About three o'clock I began to feel very sore, stiff, and weary.
My walk to Caddiscombe — the drubbing I had received from the
Merry- Andrew — the blows inflicted on me by Llewellyn the goat —
rny exertions to escape from the poney, and the pranks I had played,
after I became a little bold, on the platform, had now completely
worn me out. After sitting down and falling asleep for a quarter of
an hour, I could scarcely move — all my joints seemed to be in fetters —
I was in pain from top to toe. Lavolta told me to " go down ;" and
the boy-father, who filled the post of harlequin, carried me to his
little wife. This darling little creature, though hagged and depraved
in appearance, had a delicious heart. Her hobgoblin was asleep, and
she became lavish in her attentions to me. When stripped she
rubbed me with her soft palms, moistened with almond oil, until I
besought her to let me sleep. She then pinned me up in a blanket,
placed me on a temporary shelf, and it was not until long after sun-
rise the next day that I awoke. I was in a profuse perspiration, but
I felt vigorous and more free from pain than I had a right to expect.
The kind young creature brought me a cup of tea with a deal of gin
in it, so that when I got up, for the first time in my life, I felt nearly
drunk. Her husband threshed her severely for this well-meant act of
kindness, alleging that Lavolta intended to make me stand on my
head on a pole sixteen feet high, and that through her silliness I
might fall and break my head as the boy Green had, two days before,,
from the same reason.

THE LOVE-CHILD. 45

Shortly after Lavolta came in and asked me how long I could
stand upon my head. I replied, " For a week, if I had plenty of
victuals." He then told me to practice on a post which had been
driven into the ground, but not used, as a stay to the booth, and that
the next morning he would put my abilities to the proof. In two
hours I felt perfectly satisfied that I could do all he desired, and
went to the platform for the purpose of telling him that I abhorred
my loose ginger dress. He promised me a better one, and about two
o'clock the next morning, the little old man in iron spectacles brought
me, where I lay, on a little mattress by the side of the young mother
and her hobgoblin child, a splendid velvet hat and feathers, a
spangled tunic, white shoes with gold rosettes, and long green silk
stockings, clocked halfway up the calf, with mock bullion embroi-
dery. I went to sleep in Elysium. Once again I had nothing to
desire, or if I entertained a wish, it was that little Agnes might see
and recognise me in my regal attire.

On awaking shortly after day-break, I cast an eager glance to-
wards the little bundle on which the old man in iron spectacles had
carefully deposited my dazzling attire. Beside it stood an appari-
tion ! — half-clad in orient taffeta, but hoofed and horned — Beelzebub
attired for a gala. At first its form was indefinable, but in a few
moments I discovered that it was Llewellyn the goat. The beast
had been on a prowl about the booth ; his climbing endowments had
enabled him to get on the little elevation or platform where, concealed
by a piece of old canvas by way of curtain, I and the youthful father
and mother reposed. In nozzling about, an old taffeta robe had be-
come entangled in his horns, so that its graceful drapery concealed
the whole of his figure except the head, chest, and fore-legs. But
what was the detestable brute about ? I felt conscious of having dis-
posed of the whole of my supper. What could he be champing then
with such evident satisfaction? — Bundling the bed-clothes about me
I sniggled towards him, and soon ascertained that he was devouring
my dress !

One of the pea-green stockings had already disappeared — the
other he was in the act of masticating — the very extremity of the toe
was curling round his nose as he munched. Scarcely knowing what
I did, I screamed and pitched into him. After a short squabble I
found his pert, upstart, bit of a tail in my mouth, and, its underside
being bare and somewhat tender, I gave it so emphatic a bite, that
he howled with amazement and agony, caprioled as though he were
dancing on a sheet of red-hot iron, and when I thought proper to let
go, bounced and gallopped at full speed about the booth, shaking
his little tail with tremendous energy, and shrieking in such a man-
ner, that almost every body got up to ascertain who was being mur-
dered. Lavolta appeared in all his spangles, — he had apparently
slept in them. There was a deuce of an uproar, but nobody could
tell what was the matter, until the little old man in the iron spec-
tacles (which seemed to be riveted to his bald scull, for he never was
seen without them) perceived the toe of my beautiful pea-green
stocking, defiled by foam and slaver, dangling from the goat's nether
lip. Instantly clutching it, he dragged forth a ruin of the hose from

46 THE LOVE-CHILD.

Llewellyn's throat and stomach ; it was gnawn into net-work, but
still hung together, displaying the most pitiable wreck of finery
imagination can conceive. I wept at the sight of it, and being
noticed, frankly explained. The horrid goat, seeing me erect, in-
stantly made at me, and my endeavours to escape his assaults pro-
duced such prodigious laughter, that Lavolta at once decided on
attiring me as " the monkey," a character which Master Nicholas
Green, the boy with the bandaged head, had sustained with great
eclat, previously to his fall from the pole. When the monkey
raiment was brought to me, my antipathy towards Llewellyn be-
came mortal. Thirty times a day I had to exhibit my agility on
the platform, in avoiding his terrible punches, and I was not always
successful. I detested — I loathed him — I only wished that I was Sir
Simon !

Master Nicholas Green, perceiving I was unhappy, vouchsafed me
his friendship — we made common cause against the goat, and con-
spired to destroy him. Both of us were enjoined to practise standing
on our heads, and thus we were often placed at his mercy. He
would suddenly appear from some dark corner, and knock the brace
of us down like a couple of nine pins. He had no objection to our
sitting, lying, or crawling in his august presence, but a perpendicular
position, natural or reversed, excited his ire, and he felled us. No
one liked him but Lavolta, for he took the wall of every body. The
huge blear-eyed wretch had in his youthful days been Mrs. Lavolta's
pet kid, her zone had often graced his neck, and she had left a fare-
well billet for her husband on the animal's budding horn when she
eloped with his friend the fire-eater. Mint, the head carpenter,
whispered that Lavolta kept the ugly revolting brute not so much on
account of his services on the platform, as by way of a memorandum
or memento not to commit matrimony again, Mrs. Lavolta having
long since, in a fit of infuriate jealousy, swallowed a bowl of boiling
lead, in which her paramour, to the wonderment of a bumpkin public,
had just washed his hands. Mint was the mildest of human beings,
but he abhorred the goat, because, as the Merry Andrew protested,
the creature had been presented to Mrs. Lavolta by the Fire-eater,
instead of whom he himself would have run away with the beautiful
rope-dancer, if she would have let him ; but Mint was far from per-
sonable. Though standing only five feet two, he cast a broader
shadow than any other man in the troop. There were objectionable
peculiarities too, touching his attire. Nothing could induce him to
put on a coat, or to wear pantaloons of any material thicker than
nankeen at Christmas. Lavolta called him his comet, and jocosely
recommended him to insure himself, no matter at how high a pre-
mium, against personal damage from spontaneous combustion.
Master Nicholas Green had conceived a plot against the goat which
could not be carried into effect without the loan of Mint's glue-pot; but
over every thing appertaining to himself, or his vocation, the roseate
little carpenter kept so sharp an eye, that to purloin it was impossible.
The position in which we were placed was delicate, and Master
Nicholas and I held numerous consultations as to the modus in quo
we could effect our darling object. It was clear that Mint, who prided

THE LOVE-CHILD.

himself on his dignity as a man, would not, however deeply he de-
tested Llewellyn, become confederate in a scheme for the goat's
extirpation with a couple of boys. What was to be done ? The
brute's delinquencies daily increased — his tyranny had become insuf-
ferable— our loins were alway blue, and one of these days he would
kill us. Between Master Nicholas and Mint there was a feud —
Master Nicholas therefore could not think of asking a favour, or
hoping to obtain it, besides Master Nicholas, in taking chesnuts
from the fire, possessed parts that adapted him rather for playing the
monkey's part than that of the cat. It was proposed, therefore, that
Mint, with whom I had not exchanged a word, and to whom I could
not possibly have given offence — thus argued Master Nicholas —
should be solicited by me for the loan of his glue-pot. To this I
moved an amendment, that some day, while Mint was busy, I should
venture either to engage him in amicable conversation, or to put him
in a passion by playing with his tools, whichever plan might prove
most feasible, while Master Nicholas purloined the glue-pot. I had
now gone through the ordeal of playing at seven fairs, and while
Mint was busy in getting up our portable magnificent booth for the
eighth, we determined, if possible, on carrying our project into
execution.

We had travelled all night : the goat, who regularly trotted along,
during our migrations, beneath the front axle-tree of our foremost
caravan, (containing the properties, the wardrobe, the old man with
the iron spectiicles, the ladies and their children,) had played on the
platform, alternately with Master Nicholas and myself, until a late
hour on the preceding afternoon. He was tired, and gathering his
feet beneath him, he dropped on the cool dewy sward, before the
first pole of our enormous tent was planted. Every body assisted,
and by breakfast time we were so far ready for immediate operations,
that Mint was employed at his bench, in repairing such of the fragile
properties as had been damaged at the preceding fair, or during the
journey. His glue-pot was behind him, on a little charcoal fire in
an elevated brazier. I strolled up and asked him to teach me the
tune he was whistling. As Master Nicholas, who loitered at hand,
had told me, it was the only known composition of Mint's father, an
itinerant trumpeter. Mint was gracious, and we became familiar.
I told him, I liked him because he was always so merry. At this he
threw down his chisel and sighed, but still by some fatality kept his
eye upon the glue-pot, so that it was impossible for Master Nicholas
to operate. " Sir," said Mint, forgetting that I was a child, " the
world thinks me jovial, but I am wretched. There is a frightful dif-
ference betwixt me and my fellow mortals. I stand alone in society.
In perfect confidence, and under the seal of inviolable secrecy, I
commit to your friendly ear the dreadful fact, that, although for ever
hot as a bar of iron fresh from the forge, I NEVER SWEAT \"

Hoping to console him, I begged to suggest that he was only in
the same dilemma as dogs, creatures that got through the world very
comfortably, though they couldn't perspire. " Ah !" said he, " you're
a Job's comforter, my little man. If all the world were in the same
predicament it wouldn't matter a shaving. But that I, and I alone,

48 THE LOVE-CHILD.

of the whole human race, should be so marked out — so separated —
visited with such an infliction — oh, God ! 'tis almost beyond endu-
rance— I can't support it much longer." The fellow began to cry,
and, never having seen a man shed tears before, I was frightened
and sneaked off; but Master Nicholas insisted that I should return
to the charge. I told him that I could not, for Mint had let out a
dreadful secret. " Pooh ! Pooh !" said he, " he has only been
making his grand confession, which he does to every new-comer.
All the world knows it — the fat fool can't sweat. Go back, pretend
to pity him, and he'll tell you more ; he has a yard and a half of
troubles on his tongue's tip about this. Your patiently listening to
them is the only chance we have of making him forget his glue-pot.
While we were friends he used to talk to me for hours of the plea-
sure he should feel of finding f one liquid inborn pearl begemming
his sultry brow.' If he doesn't use those identical words within five
minutes, I'll forfeit you half my bread and butter at breakfast time."

I went back to the carpenter — tears stood upon his mallet — I tried
to cheer him, but he seemed disconsolate— still, however, keeping
his keen grey eye fastened on the glue-pot. " Lavolta says," quoth
he, " that I consume one minute out of every five in wiping my
forehead ; but it's a pleasant fiction, which he would forgive if he
had the heat of six-and-thirty sultry summers boiling in his veins. If
next year's dog-days don't bring about a change, I shall go abroad and
try the effect of the tropics." I did not know what " the tropics"
meant, and, in the utmost simplicity of heart, begged him to enlighten
me. He took a piece of chalk and drew some explanatory lines upon
his bench : meanwhile, his back being turned, Master Nicholas ap-
proached and purloined the glue-pot. The goat was drowsily
bobbing his head up and down at a few paces distant; Master
Nicholas, with admirable alacrity, placed the pot just beneath
Llewellyn's long, thick, grizly beard, and at the next bob of his
head, the surface of the boiling glue nearly reached his chin. He
started, but was too sleepy to rouze himself. Master Nicholas ven-
tured to let him have another bob, and then quietly replaced the
glue-pot on the brazier. It was not until long after he had retired,
unseen, that Mint's illustrations on his carpenter's bench were con-
cluded, and I left him whistling the tune composed by his father,
the itinerant trumpeter.

Meanwhile the goat dozed, and by the time he thought fit to get
up, his long hoary beard had become a solid mass, jutting down
many inches beneath his chin. If he attempted to pick up a cabbage
leaf, the hard shaft of glue embedded in hair, prevented him from
bringing his nether lip to the ground. After having experienced
repeated shocks on his lower jaw, he began to grow savage, but find-
ing ferocity of no avail, he slunk into a corner, disconsolate and
hopeless. Lavolta of course soon discovered what had occurred;
Master Nicholas and I, rejoicing, kept our secret, and nobody could
conceive by what calamity Llewellyn had been brought to clip his
beard in the glue-pot. Mint was petrified. The utensil he solemnly
affirmed had never been out of his sight. Various expedients were
tried to unglue the goat's beard — it was boiled, but without effect —

SEHVKTUS AND CALVIN. 49

the glue still stuck to it, and when dry, the hairs were as hard and
compact as ever. Mint tried to saw it off., but Llewellyn protested
against this operation with such heart-piercing shrieks, that the car-
penter, much as he loathed the goat, felt compelled to desist. The
creature pined hourly, and in less than a fortnight expired, not from
want of nourishment (for everybody tried to make him eat from the
hand), but to all appearance broken-hearted. Boys as we were,
Master Nicholas and I, one stormy night, dug a grave for him be-
neath an old yew-tree, in the consecrated ground surrounding a
village church, and, to this day, I bitterly regret having had act or
part in glueing his beard.

SERVETUS AND CALVIN.

MICIIAL SERVETUS, a celebrated Spaniard, after having published a
theological system, under the title of Ckristianu'imi Restitutio, while
proceeding to Naples, imprudently took his way through Geneva,
where Calvin, who indulged against him the full bitterness of theological
hate, induced the magistrates to arrest him on a charge of blasphemy
and heresy, brought forward by a person who had been a servant in
Calvin's family. In order to insure his condemnation, his various
writings were rifled for accusations, and as a proof of the malignity
and ID justice which he encountered, one of the charges was extracted
from his edition of Ptolemy's Geography, in which he asserted that
Judea had been falsely extolled for its beauty and fertility ; modern
travellers having found it both sterile and unsightly. As he refused
to retract his opinions, he was condemned to the flames, and his
sentence was carried into execution the 27th October 1553, in the
44th year of his age ; he remained in the fire more than two hours,
the wind blowing the flame in a contrary direction, and Awhile his
most horrid torments were being prolonged, he cried out, t( Misera-
ble man that I am, cannot I die in these flames ? Could you not, with
the 200 pieces of gold, and the rich collar you took from me when I
was sent to prison, purchase wood enough to consume me ?"

While imprisoned, his condition, judging from three autograph
letters, of which we subjoin tranlations, appears to have been truly
pitiable.

LETTER I.

" MOST HONOURED LORDS, — I most humbly entreat you to be pleased to
bring me immediately to trial, or to set me at liberty. You see that Calvin
does not know what answer to make, and merely for his satisfaction I am
left to rot in prison. Vermin devour me alive, my nether garments are all in
tatters, and I have no means of changing them; neither have I coat, nor a
shirt, except a very bad one. I had presented a petition to you once before,
a religious one — (la quiele cstoyt selon Zh'ew.) — In order to destroy its effect
Calvin has quoted Justinian. This is very harsh on his part to produce
tilings against me in which he does not believe. He does not and cannot
place any faith in what Justinian has asserted, De sacrosanclis ecclesiis et de
episcopis et clericis, and other things in matters of religion. He knows that
at that period the church was alreadv corrupted. It is a great shame, on his

M.M. No. 91. "H

50 SERVETUS AND CALVIN.

part, and a still greater one is it to have kept me locked up here without being
able to point out a single passage against me. My lords, — I had also asked
you to allow me a counsel, or a lawyer, as you allowed one to the adverse
party, who does not stand so much in need of them as I do/ who am a
stranger, ignorant of the customs of this country. You have, however,
favoured him, to me you have granted no favour, and have let him go out of
prison without examining him. I request that my cause may be placed be-
fore the council of the two hundred, as well as my petitions. And if I am
allowed to appeal to it, I do appeal, protesting against my first accuser, as
well as Calvin, his master, who has espoused his cause, and that they be con-
demned to all the costs of the suits and to the pcena talionis.

Written in your prison of Geneva, the 15th September 1553. Michael
Servetus, in his own defence."

LETTER II.

MOST HONOURED LORDS, — I am kept in prison, and criminally accused by
Jehan Calvin who falsely states that I have written : — First, That souls are
mortal; and also secondly, That Jesus Christ had only received from the Vir-
gin Mary the fourth part of her body. These are horrid and execrable accu-
sations. In every other heresy, or any other crime, there can be nothing so
wicked as to say that the soul is mortal. For in every other heresy there
may be hopes of salvation, but not in this case. He who asserts this,
neither believes in God nor in justice, nor in the resurrection, nor in Jesus
Christ, nor in the Holy Scriptures, nor in any thing, so that I am not only
made to say, but to write, that when a man dies, he is like the beast who dies
for ever. Now if I had said or written publicly such a thing, I would con-
demn myself to death.

I therefore, my lords, demand that my false accuser be punished p&na ta-
lionis, and be committed to prison like myself, until the trial takes place,
which may either sentence him or me to death ; and to carry this into effect,
I require that the pana talionis be applied to him. I shall be satisfied to die
if I do not cause him to be found guilty, not only of this, but of other crimes
which I shall bring against him. I ask justice of you my lords, justice, justice,
justice! Done in y/nir prison of Geneva, the twenty-second Sept. 1553.
Michael Servetus, in his own defence."

LETTER III.

" MAGNIFICENT LORDS, — It is now three weeks since I asked for an au-
dience and have not yet been able to obtain one. I entreat of you, for the
love of Jesus Christ, not to refuse me the justice you would not refuse a Turk.
I have to inform you of important and necessary circumstances.

As to the orders you gave that I should have certain articles to keep
me clean, no attention has been paid to them, and I am worse off than ever.
And, moreover, the cold makes me suffer most cruelly, in consequence of my
colic and rupture, both of which produce other afflictions which I am ashamed
to write about. It is a cruelty that I am not permitted to speak of those things
which I stand so much in need of. For the love of God, my lords, give
orders to that effect, either through pity or duty. Done in your prison of
Geneva, the tenth October 1553. Michael Servetus."

TILT A L'OUTRANCE.

C'est un proverbe et commun ris,
Qu'en la coutume de Lorris,
Si juste que soit la demande,

I,e mort

A tort,
Et le battu paye 1'amende.

LE PLAID DU REWARD.

" WHAT, ho ! master Marcoquet ! — will you give us a lodging to
night in your hostelry, or do you mean to leave us to pass the night
under the canopy ? In the name of the blessed Saint Julian, patron
of travellers and strangers,— let us hear the sound of your voice, for
here have we knocked and called at your door for a full hour ! We
are almost choked by the fog from the Seine, and if we have to wait
any longer shall shortly be buried with our horses in the mud of the
Rue Mortellerie ! "

It was on the night of the 16th of September, 1386, that these
outcries assailed the hostelry, known in the city of Paris by the sign
of the Porcupine ; they proceeded from a squire mounted on a mule,
who appeared to act as guide to two others who rode beside him —
one a tall man on a black charger enveloped in a long grey mantle,
the other, a female figure, whose palfrey's rein was guided by her
companion ; her form was also closely shrouded beneath an ample
cloak, and her features were carefully concealed under a crimson head-
dress of peculiar shape, termed the 'hanin.' *

"No answer !" exclaimed the squire, with an oath, " I think

every body in Paris must be dead, for I hear the sound of neither
children, poultry or dogs, and by the want of these signs we gene-
rally know when towns and villages are abandoned and empty. Ah!
—hark !— the clock of Saint Jacques la Boucherie is striking ! — One, '
— two, — three, — four, — five, — six, — seven, — eight, — nine, — ten ; —
ten o'clock ! Come, nothing remains for us but to reach the sign of
Our Lady, or the Tavern of the Eleven Hundred Devils, which is
open all night, though we must be careful not to tumble into the
basket-maker's swamp in passing along the Planches-Mibrai."

With these words the travellers were on the point of departing,
when a sudden light illumined the darkness which surrounded them.
Six of the watch, dressed in party-coloured coats of black and white,
approached from the quarter of the Greve : they carried flambeaux,
which cast a strong red glare on the dusky gables of the hostelry,
and enabled the travellers to discern an enormous porcupine, sculp-
tured above a door, as narrow and lofty as that of a belfry. The
watch soon drew near the stranger on the black charger, who as soon

* Resembling, with some slight modifications, arising from the quality of the
material used, the cap worn by the Cauchoises of Normandy, at the present
day.

52

TILT A

as he saw them briefly explained the inconvenience of his situation,
and, offering them money, begged that he might be permitted to pro-
ceed to the nearest lodging under their escort. " There is no reason
to give yourself the trouble of retracing your steps, Sir Knight/'
said the Serjeant-at-Arms who commanded the party, and with the
hilt of his sword he struck violently against the door of the hostelry,
crying out in a stentorian tone, " What, oh ! Marcoquet ! thou devil
of an innkeeper, must I tell thee twice to shew thy ugly visage? —
Come — come — up, and quickly too ! "

At the sound of this voice, so dreaded by all the inhabitants of the
Quartier Saint Jean, symptoms of movement were speedily heard in
the interior of the house, and presently the host, throwing back the
frame of oiled paper* which served to admit the light, appeared be-
hind the bars of iron trellis-work. " What does your noble lordship
seek ? " demanded he in a submissive tone, as if he felt conscious of
being surprised in some unlawful occupation. te My lordship," replied
the Serjeant-at-Arms, "requires that you immediately open your
doors, and admit these strangers. Are you not ashamed to leave
them at this hour exposed to the attacks of banditti and cutpurses?
Be assured I will inform the Provost. He is already evil disposed to-
wards thee on account of thy pig which thou leavest to wander about
the Place de Grcve, as if it were one belonging to:the holy brothers of
Saint Anthony." " Worthy Sir," humbly replied Marcoquet, " do not
think that I am unwilling to admit these strangers ; is it not my pro-
fit to allow all such to enter ? But of a truth so many robbers infest
the town after the curfew has sounded, that for the blessing of the
Holy Father I dare not open the door to any man. Besides, my
house is so full that there is not even room for a rat." " Neverthe-
less," said the Serjeant, who saw the stranger produce a well-filled
purse from under his cloak, " nevertheless, you will find room for
this noble gentleman and his suite. There is no barn so full but there

is room for the broom behind the door, and " " I tell you in

honest truth, Sir," interrupted the anxious innkeeper, that there is no
room whatever, save in my own chamber, and you may well imagine
that I cannot allow strangers to come there, of whom I know no
more than Adam or Eve!" "That's a mistake," exclaimed the
squire, who till then had held his peace, very reverently giving pre-

* Glass for windows was not only unknown in France at this period, but was
not in general use till tlie last century : in some parts of the country it found
admission only in the construction of buildings of importance. The reply of
an inhabitant of Limoges is well known,— who on being asked by a professor,
who wished to distribute copies of his thesis, which houses belonged to the most
considerable personages, made answer — " Go, to those where the windows are
glazed."

•f- It was not until the death of a son of Louis VI. (le Gros,) occasioned by
a fall from his horse, which was caused by stumbling over one of these animals,
that the inhabitants of Paris were prohibited from allowing their pigs to roam
about the streets of the city. An edict was then published, which inflicted a
penalty of sixty sols on the owners of such truant pigs, with permission to the
watch to kill them where found, to keep the heads for themselves, and to send
the carcasses to the sick at the Hotel Dieu. The pigs of the Abbey of St. An-
thony, were alone exempted from this prohibition, doubtless from respect to the
companion of the Patron of the fraternity.

TILT A I/OUTIIANCE. 53

cedence to the Serjearit-at-Arms. " If this fog were not so thick you
would have known me at once, Master Marcoquet, for I am no other
than Sebastian Quimbel, own son to your gossip at Poissy." " By
Saint Cosmm, he speaks sooth/' cried the host, "these torches have so
dazzled my eyes, yet blind with sleep, that I question if I should
even be able to recognize those who owe me money. But now I see
you clearly and will gladly admit you, as well as this noble gentle-
man and his lady ; they shall have my wife's bedchamber."

So saying Marcoquet disappeared from the window, and descended
to the entrance, where he unbarred the door as speedily as the numerous
bolts and fastenings would permit him, and allowed the new comers
to enter, giving their horses to the care of his stable-keeper whom he
roused. After the stranger had rewarded the serjeant-at-arms for his
trouble, the host conducted the lady and himself to an upper
chamber, where were two beds, and other appliances for a night's
rest. A good fire was speedily kindled, and the supper prepared.
" Your lordship will pardon me," said Marcoquet, " if I am only
able to offer you for your repast the legs of a goose, some mashed
pease and Chaillot cheese, for so much company has arrived here of

late that " Here the stranger gravely bending his head, pointed

with his finger towards the door, and the host taking the hint, which
he was in the habit of receiving from the greater part of his guests,
perpetually harassed with his eternal clack — quitted the room, and
returned to the kitchen, where he found the squire, Sebastian
Quimbel, doing ample justice to his supper.

" Master Marcoquet," said he, with his mouth half-full, " can
you tell me the reason why so many strangers are just now throng-
ing to Paris ? Are there any new mysteries to be played ? Is there
any muster of men-at-arms — or are there any Jews to be burnt ?" —
" What !" exclaimed the host, " have you not heard that to-morrow,
in the Culture St. Catherine,, will take place a mortal combat a
Tilt a loutrance. — Why, where have you come from, you simple-
ton ? " — " From St. Symphorien, near Poissy," replied Sebastian,
e( where I have been in service since last Pentecost ; in a vil-
lage like that we rarely hear the news of what is going on in
Paris." " But the traveller whom you have brought with you seems
to be a person of good lineage — he must surely have heard the cause."
" As for this traveller," said Sebastian Quimbel, lowering his voice,
" I think he only opens his mouth to eat. Throughout the whole
journey he has spoken no more than the cattle that we have occa-
sionally met on the road; and I marvel much that he even found his
voice just now to speak to that party-coloured serjeant of the watch.
But on what account is this combat to be fought ?" — " I can tell you
after the most approved fashion of the gossips of the Etuve de V Arche
Marion,* whose love of talking makes them forget every hour on the
face of the dial. Listen then to my tale : — Next St. Matthew's day
will be a twelvemonth since the Sire de Carrouges, a gentleman be-

* The shops of the " Barbiers Etuvistes " were the great rendezvous of the
idle from all parts of the city. It was here that all the news was discussed, and
those popular commotions frequently prepared, which were so common in Paris
during the reigns of Charles V., VI., VII.

54- TILT A L'OUTRANCE.

longing to the hotel and household of the Comte d'Alen^on, returned
from Scotland, where, with the permission of his lord, he had been
serving under the banners of the Bastard of Escorailles. He had
left in his chateau of Capomesnil, situated in the marshes of Lower
Normandy, his wife, Marie de Thibouville, a lady, beautiful and
young, who on his arrival received him with just demonstrations of
joy, and welcomed him according to the duty which a wife owes to
her husband. But when the evening came, and the Sire de Car-
rouges was impatient to retire for the night, the lady having re-
luctantly dismissed the attendants, threw herself on her knees at her
husband's feet, and bursting into a flood of tears, addressed him —
' My lord/ said she, ' put me away from you, for in your absence a
great evil has befallen me.' At these words the countenance of the
Sire de Carrouges became redder than the crimson curtains of the
bed of state, and with a terrible voice he cried, f Woman ! what has
happened that you dare not name ? At the peril of your soul and
body have you been false to me ?' ' Not so, dear lord/ replied Marie
de Thibouville, with deep sobs, * I swear by the Holy Virgin Mother !
Listen, and be yourself the judge. But for pity's sake, look not upon
me so fiercely, or I can never tell you. From the moment that I
received the intelligence of your being on the point of quitting Scot-
land, to return to your own castle, I passed the greater part of the
day on the turret which overlooks the road to Falaise j from thence
I expected your approach, and strained my eyes to discover you from
afar. I cannot tell how often I was deceived by dust and vapour,
taking herdsmen for armed knights, and sheep for war-horses ; but
one evening it befel, that being at the window of the turret, wrapt in
fancy, and idly listening to the noise of a thrasher's flail in a neigh-
bouring barn, or the cracking sound of the donjon weathercock,
I felt a hand gently laid on my shoulder. I thought at first that it
was Clotilde de Ners, my cousin, who wished to surprise me, and
without turning my head I strove to take the fair maiden's hand in
mine ; but instead of her delicate fingers, I grasped the armed
gauntlet of a knight ! I was struck with an indescribable dread, for
the idea came into my mind that you were dead, and that according
to the privilege of your noble house, you were returned from the
battle-field armed at all points, to pray for masses for a soul in pur-
gatory. But dead or alive I was resolved to see you, and with a
great effort I turned round, and saw beside me, not your shade, but a
knight of real flesh and blood, beneath whose vizor his eyes gleamed
like burning coals. ' Fair lady/ muttered he in a hoarse voice, c like
the Sire de Carrouges, I also belong to the hotel of the Comte
d' Alen9on, and you may remember to have seen me at the castle of
Argentan. I would not willingly pass the domains of Capomesnil
without presenting you my homage, and asking news of your husband/
' Sir knight/ replied I, very much annoyed that a stranger should
have approached me so suddenly without being announced by some
servant, ' this inquiry honours us highly ; but if you come from a
distance, will it not please you to take some refreshment within, arid
allow your steed to be looked after?' 'Many thanks, fair lady/
answered he, * I cannot linger but a moment, for to night I must be

TILT A I/OUTRANCE. 55

at the castle of Argentan. There are many noble lords of high
degree there at present, whose entertainments you might happily
enjoy yourself, in the absence of the Sire de Carrouges, instead of
remaining alone in this dull castle ; for never was there yet seen so
fair a flower of beauty!' So saying, he half-opened his casque, and
seizing my hand, he imprinted on it so rude a kiss that it seemed like
the stamp of a hot iron. He then addressed me in language to which
I disdained to listen, perceiving the baseness of his purpose. I
endeavoured to escape from the lonely and desolate turret, under the
pretext of calling for lights, for it had become quite dark ; but the

traitor seized me with violence, and ' ' Enough, woman !' cried

the Sire de Carrouges, maddened by rage, and striding furiously
across the chamber. ' Enough ! tell me the name of this false villain,
for if the truth be as you say, I pardon you, but his blood shall flow
to satisfy my vengeance !' e I saw him but for a short time, and in
the dusk/ answered Marie. ' As soon as he had completed my dis-
honour, he departed in haste, closing upon me the door of the turret
that none might hear my cries ; but I should know him amongst a
thousand to be that squire-of-the-body of Comte d'Alen9on whom
you pointed out to me at the Passage of Arms of Palaise, and who
then for the first time buckled on the golden spurs of knighthood.'
' Jacques Legris?' exclaimed the Sire de Carrouges. ( Himself !'
' Jacques Legris,' repeated the knight, ' is it not enough to have
injured me by false reports in the opinion of his lord? Yes, the
word is spoken. He shall die !' In such conversation passed the
live-long night, the lady continuing to repeat her first asseveration.

In the morning, the Sire de Carrouges sent letters to his friends
and relations, and to all of his lineage, desiring their presence at his
castle, where, when they were assembled in the great hall, he de-
livered to them the particulars^ of the outrage which his lady had
suffered. It was then decided that the complaint should be laid
before the Compte'Alen9on, who in his appanage had the right of
administering justice to all, high and low ; and such was accordingly
done. But the Comte d'Alen9on, who was particularly attached to1
his handsome squire, Jacques Legris, would at first hear nothing of
the circumstance, which was resolutely denied by him, expressing at
the same time his astonishment at the accusation. The parties then
appeared before the Count in his court of justice, and pleaded accord-
ing to law, Marie de Thibouville continuing to assert the facts
which inculpated Jacques Legris, who, on his part, steadfastly
denied the whole adventure. He affirmed that the accusation was
utterly false, and that on the day when the act was said to have been
committed, he was on service with his lord, whom he had only
quitted for two hours, and that it was impossible in so short a time
to ride to and fro between Argentan and Capomesnil. To this the
Sire de Carrouges made answer, that the time might not have been
particularly noted, and recurred to the testimony of his wife, who
still maintained her first assertion. On the other side the Count,
very much concerned at the accusation, suggested that without
doubt the lady must have had a dream or vision. By his power he
directed that the proceedings should be quashed, and that the ques-

56 TILT A L'OUTRANCK..

tion should never be raised again, either by the principal parties or
by any of their kin. But the Sire de Carrouges, a bold and approved
knight, has refused to concur in this arrangement, and has summoned
Jacques Legris before the parliament, who has been obliged to de-
liver hostages and security. The case has been again discussed most
formally, and the proof being otherwise impossible than by mortal
combat the Sire de Carrouges has thrown down his wager of battle,
which the bold and handsome Jacques Legris has accepted. The
court of parliament having pronounced that wager of battle was
permitted, the trial has been deferred to force of arms, each cham-
pion having to justify his cause by bodily strength with equal
weapons. A period of forty days has in consequence been assigned
before the combat, during the first twenty of which the champions
have been consigned to the care of their friends, who engaged to
produce them at the proper time and place, save in the three justi-
fiable causes of absence, which are — imprisonment by enemies,
languishing sickness, or death. During the said twenty days, the
champions have been daily admonished to examine their consciences
scrupulously in order not to peril both body and soul in an unjust
cause, but each has persisted in his first avowal.

" During the last period, which ends to-morrow, they have been
closely confined in the Louvre, and there admonished by churchmen
and learned personages, endeavouring to bring them to confess either
their hatred or sin ; but no change has taken place, and to-morrow
they will appear in arms, and the wager of battle, a I'outrance, will
be decided. Whatever may be the result, the consequence is that it
attracts crowds of people to Paris, both from the provinces and from
abroad. So great is the interest excited, that our sovereign, King
Charles, who with his barons was at the mouth of the Scheldt,
intending to pass over the sea to chastise those English dogs, has
sent word that he intends to be present at these jousts. He has
therefore set out for Paris, with the Dukes of Burgundy, of Berri,
and of Bourbon, who are all equally desirous of witnessing the com-
bat. Yesterday they all arrived at the Hotel de Saint Paul ; and so
much is the Court of Lions crowded by knights, squires, and their
attendants, that many are obliged to seek for accommodation wher-
ever it may be found. The Comte d'Alen^on is also arrived, who
bears no great good will towards the Sire de Carrouges, whom he
would have caused to be slain had he not transferred the affair to the
decision of parliament ; and it is my opinion, that if his party get the
upper hand, neither the Sire de Carrouges, his hostages or securities,
will be long on this side of paradise, and that sooner or later the Count
will pay them what he has Promised. On this account they hide them-
selves like rats, for the Count is just the man to cause them to be
put to death, even were they to shelter at the marble table of the palace."

" Threatened men livelong," said Sebastian Quimbel ; " but what is
the opinion of the people of Paris about this affair, which appears to
me very obscure ?" " By my faith," answered the host, " it is not a
very easy question to decide, whether a woman, noble or otherwise,
ought to be believed on such a subject without some further proof; for
well I wot the evidence of women is rarely admitted, save when no

TILT A I/OUTRANCE. 57

other can be obtained. In fact, if she is a wicked and dissolute
woman, may she not endeavour to criminate a loyal man, out
of spite at having had her love rejected? Some say that there may
be sorcery in the case; and, as has been many times known, the
demon may have taken the form of Jacques Legris to involve the
lady in the commission of mortal sin. Again, others think that
Jacques Legris denies every thing on oath, on the strength of a pre-
vious confession for which he has received absolution. Every body,
therefore, is much perplexed what to suppose/'

" I dont imagine, however," said Sebastian, " that a woman
would cause such a disturbance solely to revenge herself for the con-
tempt of her lover/' " Vengeance is the special pleasure of woman,"
replied Marcoquet, " as may be seen in holy writ, in the history of
Madam Potiphar. As to the lady of Carrouges, she has a heavy
stake depending, since, if the matter turn out ill for her cause, she
is sentenced to be burnt, and her champion to be hung, dead or
alive. However, to-morrow we shall know the result, which you
may see with your own eyes, for I suppose you will go to the joust
with this traveller, who must have come hither with that intention."
" I can tell you nothing, Master Marcoquet," returned the squire, " for
I have only known and served him for the last two days ; for the
Sire de Coulibeuf, my proper master, at whose castle he stopped at
Saint Symphorien, gave me orders to attend him to Paris, instead of
his own squire, who has been so much hurt by his horse that he
cannot stir for many a day. Now this knight has never spoken a
word on the journey, neither has the lady, which makes me sup-
pose that they travel to accomplish some pilgrimage or secret vow.
All I can say is, that they spend their money very freely, and I think
I have done you some service in bringing them to the Porcupine."
" For which I render you many thanks, my son," said the host; " and
will take good care of you, giving you the best to eat and drink, and
a bed fit for a priest ; but for this evening, you must put up with
the hay-loft, as I have no other place to offer."

After this discourse, the two worthies withdrew to rest, and for
the remainder of the night all was quiet, except only the cries of a
drunken reveller outside, who was waylaid and murdered in the
Rue de la Mortellerie.* But scarcely had the day began to dawn,
when the silver whistle of the stranger knight summoned the host
to his chamber, who found both the lady and himself up and
dressed, with their mantles carefully shrouding their persons, and
their faces concealed by a covering of serge, which fastened behind
the ears. The knight acquitted the reckoning, desired the horses to
be saddled, and then departed, after giving directions that the squire,
who still slept soundly, should not be disturbed. Marcoquet was at
first somewhat vexed at their departure, having calculated on gaining1
handsomely by them; but was soon comforted by seeing fresh
crowds of new comers, all on their way to the jousts.

When the hour before noon arrived, after mass, and dinner, and

* These " guet-a-pens" were of too frequent occurrence to excite any parti-
cular attention.
M.M. No. 91. I

58 TILT A I/OUT RANCE.

careful admonitions to his household, he mounted the party-coloured
coat, and set out for the place of combat, accompanied by Sebastian
Quimbel, still lost in astonishment at the abrupt departure of the
stranger. They ascended the Rue Si. Antoine, which at that time
was neither town or country, and leaving the Rue des Nonnains
d'Hieres on the right hand, they soon arrived at the Culture St. Ca-
therine.* In this field was a quantity of grain not yet reaped,
several vineyards not yet culled, and vegetables ungathered, and it
was with much difficulty the guards stationed there could prevent
the people from trampling on and destroying every thing, so great
was the press of citizens and strangers, not only from all parts of the
Isle of France, but also from Normandy and other quarters. It
was, therefore, with great difficulty, and not without the liberal ap-
plication of many a hearty cuff, that Marcoquet and Sebastian
contrived to approach the field of combat. Here, according to the
ancient regulation of Philippe le Bel, the said field was so disposed
as to admit of each champion having his share of the sun : it was
formed by a double enclosure of oaken stakes, interwoven with
osiers, sufficiently secure to prevent their being forced by animals
above or below, and strong enough to sustain the shock of an armed
knight on horseback. The field was forty paces wide, by eighty in
length, and the ground was rolled and levelled like the floor of a
barn ; to increase the smoothness of the surface a number of children
had been admitted the night before to play at croq-madame, and
cheval-mallet.

In the outer enclosure were stationed the archers of the Provost,
and the guard of the Marshal of the Field, and at the closed barriers
on either side the kings-at-arms, heralds, and poursuivants, dressed
in their tunics, badges, and coats of arms. Above were erected
galleries, hung with cloth of arras, and that which was intended for
the King was conspicuous from its tapestry, whereon were repre-
sented the history of " Madame Judith," carrying the head of " Le
Baron Holof ernes," and the emblems of the seven deadly sins. The
other galleries were decked in fresh array, and occupied by numbers
of knights, and ladies of high degree, of whom the latter could, on
occasion of ajouste a I'outrance, withdraw at their pleasure from the
lists, by means of a private stair, as soon as they had witnessed the
arrival of the King and the combatants. It was a noble sight to see
these fair ladies, with their party-coloured robes — yellow and blue —
red and white — green and black — according to their design of repre-
senting the colours of their husbands' blazon, as or and azure — gules
and argent — sable and sinople. Their hair, divided in front, was
braided across the forehead, and fastened behind the head; the
greater part wore the hanin, a species of pyramidal cap covered with
lace, embroidered in silver, from whence hung a long veil, floating

* The Culture of St. Catherine was a large open space, situated between the
Rues St. Antoine, Jean Beau-Sire, Pavee, des Trois Pavilions, and des Francs-
Bourgeois. It consisted of fields, gardens, and vineyards, and the lists for the
tournaments were selected there.

TILT A L'OUTRANCK. 59

in the air like the pennant of a vessel. This custom had always ex-
cited the objurgation of the preachers, who said that as it made the
women appear taller than the men,, it derogated from the dignity of
the latter. While these sermons were preached, the ladies laid their
head-dresses aside, to put them on again as soon as the reproof
should be forgotten ; which gave rise to a saying amongst the
jongleurs and wits, that the snails hide their horns during the storm,
but put them out again when it is over. Within the field, at the
distance of three paces from the lists, on a table turned towards the
east, and covered with cloth of silver, stood a large crucifix of ivory,
near a missal open at the " Te igitur" of the holy mass, before which
knelt a father Cordelier in prayer. At each extremity of the field
were placed the tents of the respective champions, where refresh-
ment was provided, and where they put on their armour, and
remained in readiness till the moment of combat.

But one thing seemed more particularly to attract the public
attention. In a small niche, formed under the royal gallery, there
lay extended on the fresh straw, a man dressed in a long red gar-
ment, with a hat of the same colour, and wearing greaves of iron ;
a hempen cord twisted round his body formed a belt, in which were
thrust a copper spoon with a long handle, and a double-edged
dagger. As he slept he leaned his arms, which were bared to the
elbow, on the hilt of a naked sword, the blade of which was nearly a
toise in length, and four inches broad. " Gossip," said Sebastian
Quimbel to the host of the Porcupine, with his eyes wandering
about in every direction, " tell me who is that gentleman in scarlet,
who sleeps there as soundly as a judge on the bench ?" " A good
customer for the crows," replied Marcoquet, " and I trust in your
last moment you may not have such a chaplain near you to say
Amen to the In Manus. It is the executioner." " By my faith !"
said Sebastian, e< this seneschal of death does not seem to be so
ready to go whither he sends others. He is really in good case, and
as red as a Lord Abbot." " He makes a good account also of his pri-
vileges ; he receives all the dues of the passage of the Petit- Pont on
the heads of swine, on fish-carts, Epiphany cakes, brooms, cresses,
verjuice, eggs, and hempseed • but he is not allowed to touch any-
thing except with the long spoon which hangs from that gibbet-
noose. Such, at least, is the bearing of his letters of privilege, which
the Chancellor throws under the table after having sealed them. He
claims, besides, the garments of all the criminals below the waist,
and I dare say has some share with the Marshal of the Field in the
trappings and horse of the vanquished, which the executioner drags
away on a hurdle, to fasten them to the gibbet of Montfau9on, after
he has drawn the body of the slain out of the field by the heels."

Meanwhile the chimes from the clock of St. Catherine du Val des
Ecoliers had long struck the hour of noon, and yet the cortege of the
marshal of the field did not appear on the ground, and a murmur be-
gan to spread among the spectators; for the people of Paris were
noted for their turbulence, as had already been evinced in the sedition
of the Maillotins, and still more so in the strife between the Armag-

()0 TILT A L'OUTKANCE.

nacs * and the Burgundians, wherein they little heeded the powerful
lords, who each sought by fair means and courtesies to rank them on
their side. " I would give a franc-a-chcval, full weight, to know
what can be the cause of the joust being delayed," exclaimed Marco-
quet, who began to weary of being so long absent from his kitchen.
" I will tell you for nothing, gossip/' said a butcher ; " they are
waiting for the king, before whose arrival the champions cannot ap-
pear in the lists, and I dare say we shall have to wait long enough, He
perhaps is not the cause of the delay, for he likes the jousts very
much, as he does every thing new, being somewhat flighty ; but most
likely he is detained by Queen Isabeau." " Or by his fair uncle of
Burgundy," added a mercer ; " for these salt Burgu?idians-f command
all things here, even to to the very weathercocks of the Hotel Saint
Paul. It is a sad thing that the white cross should yield in this
manner to that of St. Andrew." " It's a still greater pity," inter-
posed a tanner, " that we should yield to both of them ; and for any
choice between them I would not give the horns of an old ox. It's
clear enough that whether the wind blows from Burgundy or Or-
leans, we are not the less aggrieved, and lose our franchise so readily,
that it were as well to remain taxed and corveable, as become syndic
of one of the six bodies of trades in Paris." "Yes!" answered the
butcher, " but Monsieur de Bourgogne is not of that opinion, and if

King Charles will not learn to govern better " Here an old

woman broke in, " Good folks," said she, " I think if the provost
overhears you, he will soon make you meat for the crows on a new
gibbet. But this has nothing to do with it. Depend upon it the
reason why the joust does not begin is that one of the champions has
recanted, or both perhaps, for men-at-arms are not what they were
in the time of the good Constable, and they don't fight now as they
used to do. In my time the jousters came into the field with no
other armour than their ladies' shifts; while now-a-days they are shut
up in their shells like crabs." " Ay ! ay ! good mother," observed
the butcher, " healed wounds and dead folks are soon forgotten ; we
leave out the bad only to remember the good. To hear you talk one
would think that in your time the cabbages grew ready dressed, and
the cows gave so much milk that people skimmed it in boats to make
mountains of butter. For all this, I don't undertake to defend the

* In a disturbance which took place in Paris in the reign of Charles VI. the
people armed themselves with offensive weapons taken from the Bastille, and
in particular with leaden mallets, which procured for them the name of Mail-
lotins. The " maillet d'armes" differed from the " marteau d'armes," by the
head being square at both ends, while one end of the latter was pointed and
sharp. At the combat of u The Thirty," an English knight "frappait d'un
maillet pesant vingt-cinq livres." And in the chronicle of Duguesclin, that warrior
rushing into the field of battle —

" Assaut PAnglois au martel d'acier

Tout ainsi les abat comme fait un bouchier."

In the time of Louis XII. the English archers still carried the leaden mallet.

•f This phrase was applied to the Burgundians by all the writers of the
period, but its etymology is doubtful. The general opinion is that it was de-
rived from the number of salt-works in the domains of the Duke of Burgundy.

TILT A L'OUTRANCE. 61

present times, for he is a lucky fellow who has not eaten f de chien
ou de chat/ We know what it cost us when King Charles came
from Flanders with his barons, and laid on again the tax upon provi-
sions." " Ay," added the mercer, te and put down our burgess-
counsellors." " Yes," chimed in Marcoquet, (e and raised the tax on
wine from an eighth to a fourth ;" " And took away the chains from
the streets," * interrupted the tanner, c( so that at present we can
offer no more resistance than a flock of sheep; but the winter is
coming, and we shall see if people will cry out as they did last year,
' I am dying of hunger/ f I perish with cold.' We shall see if we
are to pay twelve francs for a calf and sixteen for a hog. We shall
see if the wolves of Vanvres and Gentilly are to come and visit us
every night as far as the Place Maubert." " Patience beats skill,
gossip," said the butcher ; " he who burns his wood too green makes
only smoke, and he who eats his bread too hot chokes himself. I
may answer you too in the words of the song : —

' Take time while yet it is in view,

For Fortune is a fickle fair ;
Days fade, and others spring anew,

Then take the moment still in view.
What boots to toil, and cares pursue ?

Each, month a new moon hangs in air ;
Take then the moment still in view,

For Fortune is a fickle fair, 'f

If the Burgundy plane smooth the knotted club of Orleans let the
flying stagi. beware ! and then " " I have told you already," in-
terrupted the tanner, " I have told you already, gossip, that I would
not give the horns of an old ox to choose between the Burgundian,
the Orleans, and the Flying Stag. They quarrel with one another
like blind men begging in company, but to oppress the people they
understand one another like thieves at a fair. I wish one of them
would break his neck in carrying the other two into Paradise. By St.
Thibaut, what we want now are our franchises, even if we must fight
to obtain them." At this bold speech of the tanner's, the old woman
already mentioned again renewed her monitory exclamations : (( Good
folks, good folks, pray cast a glance this way on the Bastille of St.
Anthony beside us; there are fine cages there, where they feed you
with a fork. To my thinking, unless you keep your tongues between

* The Parisians sought to defend themselves against attack by heavy chains
and doors which guarded the entrances of the streets. A proof of this exists in
the names of many of the present streets which refer to the fact, as the Rue des
deux Fortes, which is so often repeated ; and also the Rue des Douze Fortes in
the Marais, which formed at pleasure no less than twelve separate enclosures.

•j- " Faut prendre le terns comme il vient." — Ilondel by Jean Froissart.

J The Duke of Orleans having taken for his device a knotted dub, with this
inscription, uJe Venme^ the Duke of Burgundy, who considered this a bravado
of his antagonist, in his turn took for his device a plane, thus menacing the
knotted club. The Duke of Orleans being afterwards assassinated in the Rue
Barbette, the children went about the streets crying out, " the knotted club is
planed." The " cerf-volant" is an allusion to the stag which Charles VI. bore
in his shield.

6:2 TILT A L'OUTHANCE.

your teeth, you may find your way to it, for there is no want of spies
and false witnesses hereabouts."

The tanner was about to make an angry reply to this speech, but
the sound of clarions announced the approach of the king, who,
saluting the people very courteously, took his place under the royal
canopy, surrounded by the princes of the blood and the officers of
his household, who made a gallant display. The king, whose man-
ners were very childish, amused himself by munching a large apple,
but on the remonstrance of the Duke of Bourbon he hid it in the
aumomere of Irish leather which hung at his girdle, from whence
however he stole it out occasionally to take a fresh bite, keeping it
concealed in the sleeve of his violet-coloured robe. In the mean
time some of the people set up the cry of " Noel ! Noel ! Montjoye !
St. Denis !" on which others began to shout " St. George for Bur-
gundy ! vive Bourgogne !" and a riot would shortly have ensued
between the two parties and the provost's archers, when the appear-
ance of the champions quieted all.

At the eastern barrier of the lists appeared a knight armed at all
points, with his helmet of steel closed, and mounted on a splendid
Norman destrier, bearing or, a lion spotted and langued; he held in
his hand a banner representing the blessed St. John the Evangelist ;
on his right came his squire bearing his lance and shield, on his left
his ee otage-plege," or security, like his principal, armed at all points,
and helmet closed. The champion's horse was clothed as if in a skin,
with a damask cloth, party-coloured of his coat, and ornamented with
an embroidery in gold ; the charger's mane and tail were also inter-
woven with gold thread, and his saddle was of crimson velvet, like a
German caparison. They were followed by two serjeants-at-arms and
twelve archers. At the western barrier appeared at the same time, a
knight similarly armed, and in similar array, save that he bore
sinople, quarterly a cross gules ; his banner represented the blessed
St. James the Greater, and his charger was simply caparisoned in
buffalo skin, painted with his device and colour. Between the two
lists, directly opposite the royal gallery, was brought in, on a car hung
with black, a female dressed in the deepest mourning, very closely
veiled, with a rope round her neck. The marshal of the field then
rode gently round the lists, and at a sign given, Montjoye, king-at-
arms of France, came within the barriers holding a gold wand in his
hand, which he raised whilst he recited the following proclamation.
" Oyez, — oyez, — oyez, — hear all ! — lords, knights, squires, and all
kinds and conditions of people, what our Sovereign Lord the King
commands under the penalty of losing life and goods, that none ap-
pear armed or carrying sword, dagger, or other arms, whatsoever, save
only the guards of the lists, and those who by permission of our Lord
the King have liberty to do so. Further, the king commands and
prohibits all men, of whatsoever condition, from appearing before the
lists on horseback or upon cars which may serve as platforms, upon
pain, if noble, of forfeiting the horse or car, or if servitors or people
of low condition, of losing an ear.* Those who conduct and escort

* The punishment of cutting off an cur or a hand was specially inflicted on

TILT A L'OUTUANCE. 63

the champions to the field are directed to send back their horses on
pain of incurring the penalty aforesaid. Further, the King our Sire,
commands and enjoins all persons of every condition to be seated on
the scaffolds, cars, benches, or barrels, in order that every one may
see the champions at their pleasure, and this under penalty of having
the hand cut off. Further, the King our Lord commands and pro-
hibits all persons from speaking, crying, or making sign or motion,
on pain of being condemned to lose both life and goods. I have
said !" — The marshal of the field having received the order from the
king, commanded the appellant and his pledge to be called into the
lists, and from the eastern barrier appeared the knight bearing or, a
lion spotted and langued, and advanced towards the marshal, who
demanded of him who he was ? " Jean de Carrouges," replied the
knight. " What seek you here, and what do you desire ?" " I wish
to perform and execute this day my appeal to arms against Jacques
Legris !" te Who is the knight who stands beside you ?" " The
Baron de Ners, my hostage and security, who stands my godfather
in this day's combat!" At this answer the marshal of the field
drew near, and himself opened the helmet of the Sire de Carrouges,
whose face was seen by every one present to be as pale as the marble
effigies of the knights which are sculptured on the tombs of the abbey
of St. Denis. A poursuivant performed the same office for the Baron
de Ners, but no sooner was his casque opened than Sebastian Quim-
bel observed to his friend Marcoquet, " Ah ! that is he !" " Who ?"
inquired the latter. " The traveller of last night, — my patron of the
last two days 1" " By Saint Maclou, you speak sooth," replied Mar-
coquet, " he came and concealed himself in my hotel with the lady
his cousin, for fear of being discovered in other quarters and being
slain by the people of the Oomte d'Alei^on. But silence ! — let us hold
our tongues unless we wish to lose our ears. We had better keep
them to hear what the king-at-arms is going to say." And as he
spoke, Montjoye exclaimed, " Let the defendant appear !" and from
the western barrier appeared the knight who bore quarterly, sinople,
a cross gules, and in like manner presented himself before the mar-r
shal. " Who are you ?" " Jacques Legris !" te What seek you,
and what do you demand ?" "I seek to reply this day to the appeal
of Jean de Carrouges." " Who is the knight that stands beside
you ?" " The Sire Ambrose de Lore, my surety, who stands my god-
father in this day's fight." The marshal now in like manner opened
the casque of Jacques Legris, whom all the ladies looked on with
admiration, for he was a young and handsome knight. At this mo-
ment the Sire de Carrouges approached the spot where the lady his
wife knelt in prayer before the crucifix. " Marie/' he said, " at
your instigation, and on your quarrel, I this day put my body and
soul in peril; — tell me once more, is the cause loyal and just?" " My
lord," answered his wife, in a tremulous voice, and in so low a tone
that she could scarcely be heard by those who stood beside her, " it

" roturiers," which in some instances might however be compounded for on the
payment of a sum of money.

64 TILT A L'OUTRANCK.

is true what I have stated — fight boldly, for the cause is loyal and
just."

At these words, the knight bent forward, and affectionately kissed
his lady's hand, and having crossed himself, he turned towards the
king's gallery, and spoke : " Most excellent and powerful prince
and sovereign lord, you see before you Jean de Carrouges, who
appears in these lists armed and mounted like a knight, to fight with
Jacques Legris, a false and disloyal traitor, for the truth of which
assertion I call to witness our Lord, our Lady, and our patron Saint
George, the good knight ! I purpose this day to do my devoir faith-
fully, and I pray the marshal of the field to allow me my fair share
of the sun and wind, and all that of right is given to combatants in
like situations. Which being done, I will perform ray duty with the
help of God, of our Lady, and of Monsieur Saint George, the good
knight 1"

The same formula was pronounced by Jacques Legris, and the
king-at-arms made his second cry. Then the two champions were
led before the table on which lay the crucifix and missal, and, as they
knelt, the father Cordelier addressed them. " See, noble knights,
before you is the true representation of our Lord and Saviour, who
gave himself to death for your sakes ; pray then to him for grace,
and that he may succour you this day according to your right, for he
alone is the Sovereign Judge of all. Remember the oaths you are
now to take, lest your souls and bodies be in equal danger." The
two champions replying nothing, the marshal of the field placed the
crucifix in the right hand of Jean de Carrouges, and the missal in his
left, and caused him to repeat after him the following oath : —
" I, Jean de Carrouges, appellant, swear by the Holy Evangelists,
by the faith of a true Christian, and by the Holy Baptism which I
received from God, that I have a good and just cause of quarrel with
the defendant, Jacques Legris, whom I stigmatise as a false traitor
and perjured caitiff, whose cause is unjust and wicked; which I will
this day prove by my body against his, by the help of God, our Lady,
and Monsieur Saint George, the good knight ! " A similar oath was
then taken by the defendant, and the marshal then demanded if the
champions were willing to take the final oath, to which both knights
having assented, Montjoye, king-at-arms, exclaimed, (t Oyez — oyez —
oyez — listen to the last oath !" The Sire de Carrouges then said,
<e I, the appellant, swear by the rood, by the Holy Evangelists, by
my Baptismal faith, and by the sovereign joys of Paradise, which
otherwise I renounce for the bitter pains of Hell, by my soul, my
honour, and my life, that I have good and just cause of quarrel with
the false traitor whom I see before me. To do this loyally, I declare
that I do not bear, either upon my person or my horse, any arms
forged by the black art, any characters, words, spells, stones, herbs,
charms, conjurations, invocations, or any other thing which may
injure the justice of my cause : I have no reliance, save in my God
and my good cause, and trust to none other, on which I kiss the
crucifix, the Holy Evangelists, and hold my peace." The same
formula was in like manner repeated by Jacques Legris, and the two
knights, each holding the hand of the other, again repeated the de-

TILT A L'OUTRANCK. 65

claration of accusation and defiance. These last words were uttered
by Jacques Legris in a firm, sonorous voice, while the Sire de
Carrouges, whose body seemed to tremble, articulated them in a hesi-
tating tone.

" Gossip," said Sebastian Quimbel to Marcoquet in a whisper,
" methinks the Sire de Carrouges would rather be in his orchard at
Capomesnil, than at such a feast as this. The poor man seems to
tremble and shake like a dry nut in its shell." '• Don't think, how-
ever," replied Marcoquet, " that he is tainted with fear or cowardice,
for fame gives him the reputation of a renowned and noble knight;
but they say he suffers from a fever which he caught in Scotland,
and perhaps at this moment he may have an access of the disease."
" Methinks, then," said the squire,, " that in this case the joust out to
be deferred." "I have always heard," answered the host, <fthat
three causes alone can arrest the course of the combat — leprosy, the
falling sickness, or madness ; but even these cannot excuse the
appellant, since by him the gage of battle has been required. The
champions ought, besides, to be sound men to defend their bodies in
good earnest ; but if one has a broken arm or is blind, the other
must tie his arm behind his back, or have an eye bandaged, to render
the match equal. But in all likelihood the poor knight will soon be
cured of all his ills, for see, he issues on horseback from his tent, which
the poursuivants remove outside the lists."

The Baron de Ners, and the Sire Ambrose de Lore having now
declared that they had redeemed their respective pledges by pro-
ducing the champions in the field, were released from their guaran-
tee, and with the Marshal and his attendants retired from the lists,
leaving the space free for the combatants. While they waited for
the order from the king to begin the combat, each knight holding his
lance elevated in the air, turned round to gaze — the Sire de Carrouges
on his lady, and Jacques Legris on one of the galleries where it
was said his mistress sat to witness his valour. The marshal of the
field, having at length received the king's commands, approached the
barrier, and raising his baton, threw his gauntlet into the lists, and
cried with a loud voice " Laissez aller !" three several times. At this
signal the knights, who had already taken up their ground, dashed
the rowels in their steeds and spurred eagerly towards each other,
but without taking much effect — their lances glanced aside and they
careered through the field. A silence so profound reigned through-
out the lists and amid the galleries, that the paces of the horses
might have been counted, and the clock of St. Dennis at that moment
striking the hour, it was heard as distinctly as if on the parois of the
abbey. A second time the champions prepared for the onset, and in
this shock they encountered so rudely that their horses staggered
beneath them. At the third encounter the sparkles of fire flew from
their helms and shields, so fierce was the encounter ; and at the fourth,
the lance of the Sire de Carrouges pierced the acton of Jacques
Legris, while the latter unhelmed the Sire de Carrouges, with such
violence, that the blood gushed from his nostrils ; the shock was so
tremendous that both horses reared upright, and the saddles of the
knights remained empty, while the riders rolled upon the plain.

M.M. No. 91. K

66 THE THREE PRESIDENTS.

The first on foot was Jacques Legris, who aiming a fierce stroke at
the Sire de Carrouges, wounded him in the thigh ; but the latter
collecting all his strength, in great wrath struck down his antagonist
to the ground ; they closed immediately, and struggled hard for the
mastery, each endeavouring to gain the upper hand, which at first
seemed to promise for Jacques Legris, who being younger and more
active, closely pressed the Sire de Carrouges. But the latter, ham-
pering the arms of Jacques Legris, disengaged his own left hand, and
drawing his dagger, cried out in a broken voice, " Say, — say, — that
my — quarrel is good — lest your soul — descend — to hell — without ab-
solution." " Never," exclaimed Jacques Legris, and as he spoke
he strove, by violent efforts, to disengage himself; but the dagger of
Carrouges gleaming for a moment in the air, in the next had pierced
his side, and his heart's-blood dyed the blade. He strove, but
ineffectually, to raise his own weapon, but his arm fell powerless by
his side, and, with a deep moan, he gave up his soul to God.

At the same instant, and while a shudder at his violent death per-
vaded the assemblage, a man covered with dust pressed through the
crowd in great haste, and rushed towards the pavilion of the marshal.
*' My lord, my lord," said he, in a hurried whisper, " the baillie of
Caen has sent me in all haste to you, in order to inform you that we
hold in prison the wretch who confesses to have committed the crime
on the lady of Carrouges ! the proof of which is contained in this
parchment." And he presented to him a long scroll, to which were
appended the seals of office ; while the corpse of the unfortunate
Jacques Legris was being dragged out of the field by the feet.

THE THREE PRESIDENTS.

THE British Institution has recently opened with an Exhibition of
some of the works of Reynolds, West, and Lawrence ; a room is
devoted to each of these masters, so that their individual, as well as
their comparative merits may be estimated. The comparison be-
tween Sir Joshua and Sir Thomas is certainly unfavourable to the
latter ; but at the same time it is unjust, for his genius was of so
opposite a character that it is difficult to appreciate it, when brought
into close contact with that of Sir Joshua. There is too much devilry
in Sir Joshua's pencil for the elegance and suavity of Lawrence — his
force of effect and sunny breadth put out the other's milder light.
The very carefulness of drawing and delicacy of finish of the last
President appear weak, when brought into collision with, the glowing
colour and natural simplicity of style of the other. Sir Joshua knocks
Sir Thomas to pieces. Upon entering the middle room, after having
feasted one's eyes upon the contents of the north end of the Gallery,
the works of the latter appear painted with rose pink and white : the
most vigorous touches seem petty, the broadest effect flat, and the
finest expression insignificant. As well might a comparison be insti-
stuted between the physiognomy of the two painters as between their
pictures. Look at the portraits of the men each by his own hand !

THE THREE PRESIDENTS. 67

The features of Lawrence finely formed and proportioned, bounded
by flowing lines, eked out with the most delicate finish. The eyes,
nose and mouth, of Reynolds, on the contrary, are so many powerful
touches, or dabs, as the ladies would say, wherein any precision of
form or sharpness of coutour are not to be traced.

We lounge through the other rooms, but amongst the Sir Joshua's
we sit down and feel perfectly contented, picking out half a dozen
at once, between which it is difficult to decide a preference. There is
No. 2. An Infant's Head; can anything be more lovely? Sleep
breathes from the open and richly coloured lips, the cheek is like the
side of a peach, a soft shade subdues the closed and handsome eye-
lid ; we are glad it was never finished — it could not be more like
nature, but might have been spoiled. Then we steal a glance at No.
11, Miss Hickey, as if she were a living beauty looking at us from
beneath her overshadowing hat. It is finer than the Chapeau de
Faille, because it is less pretending, is equally transparent, more in-
tensely real, and as unlike a picture as possible. No. 13, Lord Rod-
ney, is as cool and chaste in color as Vandyke. By all that's fine in
art, our Sir Joshua is worth two of the Fleming ! No. 24, Nelly
O'Brien. 4. Contemplation. 49. Countess Cornwallis and her Son, and
50. Lady de Clifford, are all exquisitely painted. The portraits seem
so unconscious of being portraits that we are charmed as by the pre-
sence of the actual sitters. 47' The First Marquis of Lansdowne,
Lord Ashburton and Colonel Barre. In this group of heads, the most
noticeable is that of Ashburton, the eminent lawyer ; he is said to
have made some remark savouring of a strong contempt of the popu-
lace during the riots of 1780; the expression of his countenance in
this picture must have been precisely the same as his imperative and
stubborn features assumed at the moment of this burst of aristocratic
feeling. He paid Dr. Johnson a compliment on his powers of con-
versation which the Doctor appeared to value very highly as coming
from one unused to the gentle mood. " One is always willing to hear
Dr. Johnson/' said his lordship. Johnson, on being told of this, ex-
claimed, " Here is a man willing to listen, to whom the world is lis1-
tening all the rest of the year." Below this group is the Colossus of
Literature. It is the original of the print engraved for the early edi-
tion of his Dictionary.

Now for the children ; first, the Infant Academy. It is like a scene
in some juvenile comedy where there is no guile, and the playful
action is right earnest enjoyment ; nothing can be sweeter than the
little huddled up creature in the corner conscious of a bit of finery,
and laughing roguishly. We love Sir Joshua for giving up so much of
his mind to illustrate the simple manners of life's first stage; such a pic-
ture as thisis worth fifty of Ugolino's; from the starved group we|depart
melancholy, but unimproved; from the children our maturity derives
freshness as delightful as the presence of spring. In 29. Figures by
Torch Light, there appears a young head looking round at us under
the arm of the girl in the fore-ground ; we saw the same beautiful
expression years ago ; it was not forgotten, but hung in memory's
picture gallery, among the best of our choice collection. Scores of
times have we seen all that this room contains, but never has the en-

68 THE THREE PRESIDENTS.

joyment derived from them equalled the present satisfaction. Our
countryman possesses a charm which excites the mind as vividly as
any of the works of the Roman, Florentine, Venetian, Flemish, and
Butch Schools. 18. The Strawberry Girl, is like Rembrandt, (whom
Reynolds took every opportunity to abuse,) but the great Dutch poet
of Chiaroscuro never gave the world such a dear little funny thing as
this. Of 16. The Sleeping Girl, 41. Robinetta, 43. The Infant Samuel,
44. The Laughing Girl, Robinetta carries the day, for she is a cha-
racter and a prettier creature than the others — besides there is the bird.
3. Girl with a Muff; those round eyes seem to be wondering and
laughing at once ; wondering at the President with his palette on his
thumb, looking so eagerly at her, and laughing at her own situation. —
Young painter, whoever thou art that readest these notes, attend to our
advice ; be not misled in thy warranted admiration of Sir Joshua by
his neglect of form, to undervalue the solid acquirement of drawing,
nor in copying his pictures, extract the dross, leaving behind the gold.
What wretched things have we seen done from this crowning glory of
the Gallery — Cymon and Iphigenia ! If any person will take the
trouble to walk from this miracle of colour to the other extremity of
the rooms and look for a moment at West's Venus and Adonis, he
must be blind indeed not to perceive the difference between richness
and poverty, splendour and dulness. How beautifully is the head of
Iphigenia turned backward ; a fore- shortened profile, coming sharp
against the deep bit of shadow it throws upon the arm ! What warmth
and breadth does this intense shadow produce by its contact with the
light! This arm is wretchedly drawn, but one's eye is absorbed
by the colour of the flesh and forgets the outline ; a living soul
breathes through the glowing skin, perfect harmony lulls the mind
into a willing forgetfulness of partial negligence. The effect of this
picture is really magical: so brilliant is the body of the fair Grecian
maiden, that the sun struggling through the trees as if to look upon
her, is dim in comparison. Sir Joshua has glazed him down. This is
snatching a grace beyond the reach of nature ; nevertheless, the trick
is a fine piece of poetical gallantry.

22. The Fortune Teller. — Sir Joshua's usual feeling is not visible
in this picture. If he began it he certainly is not guilty of
having finished it — perhaps young Northcote helped to spoil it.
Either this is a bad duplicate or Sherwin's engraving is much better
than the original picture ; but even that we never liked very much
as a composition. 19. The Death of Dido, though powerfully painted
and richly coloured, is not equal to the Iphigenia.— Sir Thos. Law-
rence took the pains to trace to the original source all Sir Joshua's
compositions — for he stole them every one — as Rubens purloined
many, of his from Raffaelle and the Carrici, but it was to invest them
with an original beauty, to consecrate them anew, under another
sovereignty. — 14. Ugolino. — The Count's head is evidently painted
from nature. The remainder of the picture suffers in comparison.
One of the children is a copy of one of the young Niobes, but the
gaunt grey head of the famishing father, presenting a sickly focus of
light, is fine. Like the Laocoon, Ugolino is absorbed in his own
sufferings, paying no attention to his agonized family, the wild stare

LA MARQUISE DE CIIKQUY. 69

of the glazed eyes, as if his brain were shrinking into a state of
powerless inaction, conveys an idea of intense past suffering. Look
upon this pinched face, and then at the fat cheeks of George the
Fourth, No. 37> in the middle room, painted by Lawrence. Could
these two beings have inhabited the same world ? — We leave Sir Jo-
shua, convinced that, as a portrait painter, he is only equalled by
Titian. Other painters may exhibit more taste for form, and put a
greater variety of material upon their canvas, but our first President
stands quite alone in his creamy mellow colour, and the unaffected
air and vitality of his subjects.

Among the finest works of Sir Thomas are Richard Hart Davis,
Esq., Kemble ay Hamlet, and Lady Dover and Son. In any other
situation, this middle room would be found highly gratifying to the
eye, but we repeat, that with the mind full of Reynolds, it is im-
possible to do the works of Lawrence justice. What then can we say
for West, the venerable President ? No pictures have been more popu-
lar than the American Painter's. — ce His nam plebecula gaudet." — The
English public flocked in crowds to gaze at his Christ Rejected, and
Christ Healing the Sick. But the same public were unable to under-
stand the Cartoons. West, therefore, was just the painter to please
them. Learned without intenseness of feeling — elaborately dull, he
treated, in the most obvious common-place manner, all the noble qualities
of historic art. The difference between West and the two great masters
with whom he is here brought into conjunction, is simply this : — In
their pictures we see something that we can find no where else, but
we can meet with all that he has attempted triumphantly achieved by
others who have preceded him. They were men of genius — he was
a man of talent.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LA MARQUISE DE CREQUY.

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED M.S.

Ire n rlotte Victoire de Froulay de Yesse, Marquise de Crequy,
&c., was one of the most celebrated women of her time. She died
almost a " centenaire" at Paris, where she had the courage to brave
all the horrors of the revolution, and the li exigences" of the emigrant
party. She inhabited a superb hotel, in la Rue de Grenelle Saint
Germain, which, as she tells us, she had purchased " a vie" of the
Marechal de Feuquieres, for the miserable sum of 40,000 francs " une
seule fois paye." We perceive by her M.S. that she had always
" une sante deplorable" and it is to this circumstance she attributes
the good bargain she made, of which she had always " la malice" to
applaud herself, and of which she profited till her death, a space of
70 years, from the day of purchase. It is worthy of remark that the
heir of Marshal Feuquieres, who died 59 years ago, could not be
found in 1801, so that the hotel became the property of the state.
Rousseau used to say of her, that she was " Le Catholecisme en cor-

70 LA MARQUISE DE CKEQUY.

nette, et la haute noblesse en deshabile ;" and the Abbe Delille, in a
letter which forms a part of the Abbe de Tessan's rich collection of
autographs,, to the Vicomte de Ventemille, dated 1778, after express-
ing t( a thousand thanks to Monsieur le Vicomte for the amiable
manner in which Madame de Crequy has just received him," &c.,
proceeds thus : — " She possesses a faculty of observation that must be
rcdoutable aux gens ridicules; and it is in this manner that I
account for her reputation of malicious severity. In fact, she
appears to possess, in a supreme degree, the talent " de bien raconter,"
— a talent that is now almost extinct, and which appears to have been
the privilege of the passed age. This favourable judgment will not
be belied by the memoirs of this lady, in which will be found a
curious correspondence between Voltaire and Madame de Crequy,
relative to the Black Cordon of St. Michel, and the erection of his
estate at Ferney into a Marquesate, which, says the author of GEdipus,
and of the Dictionnaire Philosophique, would have made la gloire et
lajoie de sa triste vie"

The unpublished work to which the Abbe alludes, is certainly one
of the most curious collections of anecdotes that exist. We shall
select some fragments at thirty and forty years distance of dates. These
memoirs, it is proper to observe, were destined for the instruction of
the young Tancred Adner Raoul de Crequy, who died long before
his grandmother.

FIRST EXTRACT, 1772.

" The Princess des Ursenes, was my near relation and godmother. She
was as vain-glorious as it is possible to be when one has been called for the
space of fifteen or sixteen years Mademoiselle de la Tremoille. You may
think that the name of Crequy was sufficiently well known throughout all
Europe, and particularly at Rome, in memory of the Cardinal and the Duke
de Crequy Lesdejuieres, ambassador of France, under the reign of the late
king. Madame des Ursenes accordingly received us there " en perfection."
It would have done your heart good to hear her speak of M. M. de Crequy,
whose first female ancestor was the daughter of the Emperor Charlemagne,
&c. ; but as she always took great care to call me ' my niece/ your grand-
father's gratitude was in consequence diminished. I must tell you that my
godmother appeared to me an artful, insidious, overbearing, and disagrea-
ble person in the extreme. It was said she still preserved some remains of
beauty, but I could never discover them. What she had preserved without
the slightest alteration, was an air of insufferable arrogance, with the habits
of meddling in what did not in the least concern her. She used to make " des
toilettes prodigieurses" with her "vilaine gorge," and her old shoulders in
a state of nakedness. ' You who are one of the family/ said Prince Mans-
feld one day to me, ' do pray tell me why Madame des Ursenes favours us
with an exhibition of such things, and to please whom ?' ' To please us
young women, and more especially the Countess Fagnani/ I replied, shewing
him my neighbour, who had, independently of her ' belles epaules,' a ' belle
passion' for Prince Mansfeld, and apparently some anxiety on his account.
She took it into her head to be angry with him because we had conversed toge-
ther, with a certain * air d' intelligence,' in a language of which she did not
understand one word. I do not know in what mapner he replied to her re-
proaches, but so it is, that he received a coup de poignard from her, which
nearly proved fatal, and obliged him to repair to Venice to get cured, where
my father was ambassador. This accident, I assure you, has tormented my
conscience not a little."

LE MARQUISE DE CREQUY. 7^

SECOND EXTRACT, 1778.

" Although I had never any kind of familiar intercourse with the Palais
Royale, nor with the coterie of the Encyclopedistes, the latter imagined to
make use of me to acquire the protection of the Due d'Orleans. I knew
that D'Alembert had gone to the Marchioness de Sillery to engage her to soli-
cit the Duchess de Chartres to interpose her good offices between her father,
the Duke de Penthievre, and Condorcet. He even threw out some hints to
Madame de Sillery upon the propriety and utility of a treaty of alliance,
offensive and defensive, on condition that she would not cabal with the
Saints, and more especially of her never attacking the writers of the Encyclope-
dia. M. de Schomberghad given Diderot to understand that Madame de Sillery
was preparing to write against them, which greatly alarmed them from the
opinion of the fashionable world, and the coterie of the Palais Royale, of
which Madame de Sillery had become the oracle, and especially on account
of the Bishops and the Parliamentarians, who were only watching their op-
portunity to roughly handle the Encyclopedistes. Besides, they wished through
her to gain the niece of Madame de Montesson, who had married the Duke
of Orleans, secretly it is true, but with as little secresy as she was able.

D'Alembert went so far as to propose to Madame de Sillery to get her
received as a member of the French Academy, with Madame de' Montesson,
Madame d'Angevilliers, Madame Necker, and me into the bargain. We should
have served him as satelites, or rather as an ' Encadrement.' Do you not
think you see me upon the same line with Madame de Montesson,
who was the most ridiculous person in the world, and a daughter of
the Captain of a Slave-ship ? — As Madame d'Angevilliers, the widow of the
king's valet de chambre ? — as Madame Neckar nee Churchod — as she always
wrote upon her cards ? and finally as Madame le Marquise de Sillery, against
whom, at this time, nothing wrong could be alleged, but whom I had always
made sit upon a folding-chair in my drawing-room, to the period of her
marriage with that fool Sillery ? When the Commander de Villaneuve came
to acquaint me with this fine project, I so turned it into ridicule that my
name was immediately erased from the list of candidates for the French Aca-
demy. Mesdames Montesson and d'Angevilliers were not deficient either in
tact or pretensions ; Madame Neckar was sufficiently vain, God knows, and
unfortunately so too for France. She then possessed sufficient credit to bring
about innovations that might turn to her own advantage and personal plea-
sure. In short, the Encyclopedistes had reckoned upon the support of the ,
old Duke of Orleans, to whom the academic honours conferred upon Madame
de Montesson, who had bewitched him, would have appeared the most deli-
cious thing in the world, and if the project they had formed appears at first
whimsical, it must be confessed that it was not unexcusable. I heard after-
wards, from Madame de Genlis, that after an hour and a half of philosophi-
cal argument on one side, and of religious insinuation on the other, D'Alem-
bert concluded by saying to Madame de Genlis, ' You will always have
grace on your side, Madame, but will not have force.' ' Sir/ she replied, with
the greatest good humour, ' our sex have never need of it.' D'Alembert
composed, some months afterwards, under the name of the Abbe Remy, the
first pamphlet that was ever published against Madame de Genlis and her
works.

A-propos of the Montessons, I must tell you that they assumed the airs of
an hereditary rancour against our house, sa'ying always that the Montessons
and the Crequys were mortal foes. ' Truly,' said the old Countess du Gues-
clin, who was a Crequy, one day to us, ' I well recollect their affairs with us,
and you shall see that they are wrong to remember it.' She then told us that
at the period when the noblesse of the second and third orders were
pillaging titles right and left, the eldest of the Montesons modestly seized the

72 LA MARQUISE DE CREQUY.

title of Marquis, which the parliament obliged him to lay down. I have al-
ready told you the last Marechal de Crequy was a great bear. One day,
during a battle, a young officer brought him a letter, the writing and signa-
ture of which were perfectly illegible. * What in the name of the devil ! who
scrawled this? ' said the Marshal, with an oath. ' The Marquis de Montesson,
Marshal/ replied the officer, with a self-sufficient air ; ' my father and your
friend.' ' Mons. de Montesson, is neither^a Marquis, your father, nor my
friend,' retorted the Marshal.

THIRD EXTRACT, 1801.

" The Bishop of Evreux told me that Talleyrand was advising every body
to rally round the republican government, and to solicit audience of the first
consul, for the purpose of obtaining restitution of the confiscated woods. I
told him that Talleyrand would do better by restoring to us the Hotel de
Crequey, Rue d'Anjou, where my son formerly lived, and which this benevo-
lent churchman had nationally acquired by virtue of the laws of the republic,
and, owing to the emigration of my daughter-in-law ; for he lived there
then, and it was long afterwards that he sold this delightful abode to an
Englishman of the name of Crawford. Baron de Breteuil was my nearest
relation and next heir — he advised me to write to Buonaparte, and I at last
overcame my repugnance. It is impossible to imagine the efforts which this
step cost me.

"Two days afterwards, Colonel , (I do not recollect his name,) aid-
de-camp to the first consul, was announced, and I saw enter my apartments
a tall young man, who made me three very low bows, and who told me, in
the most respectful manner, that the first consul wished to see me, and that
he would expect me on the following day at two o'clock. I was utterly con-
founded. I answered that I was very old and infirm, but that I would do my
best, and I immediately sent off for the Baron de Breteuil, to advise with
him on this 'guet-a-pens.' The Baron was of opinion that I ought not to
decline the invitation of the chief of the republic, seing that he was restor-
ing the woods that had been confiscated. He added that he had also sent for
Mde de Coislin, whom he had very well treated, and the Princess de Gue-
menee, whom he had styled 'Your Highness/ and towards whom he had
acted still more generously by restoring to her the forest of L'Orierit. You
must know that these ladies took great care to keep their visits a secret, and
there was nothing to hinder us from acting with the same discretion. I con-
fess that I was seized with a great curiosity, and it was at last arranged that
I should 'repair to the audience of General Buonaparte, but that it should
be mentioned to no one, not even to Mdes de Malignon and Montmo-
rency.

" It was on the 10th November — the consul had just been installed in
the Tuilleries, — ' ce pauvre chateau ' appeared to me dreadfully ill clad. I
was carried there in a sedan, like Mascarille in Moliere's play; or, if you
prefer it, like the Countess Saint Florentine, to the Queen Maria Leczeno-
ka's, and I got out at the door of the last saloon. I must tell you, that
from the want of a dress, such as was formerly or is now worn on such
occasions, I was dressed in my usual costume. The Citoyennc Crequy was
announced, and I found myself tete a tete with the hero of Arcola and the
lord of the Pyramids. He looked at me for the space of one or two minutes,
with an air of profound meditation, which presently assumed one of mock-
commiseration. At last he said to me with an expression almost filial, ' I
have long desired to see you, Madame la Mareschalle/ adding with an air capa-
ble et passablcment impertinent,' ' I have wished to see you, you are a hun-
dred years old.' 'Not quite, General; but very nearly so.* 'What is
your real age ?" I felt an inclination to laugh at such an interrogation, and
especially on account of his active and imperative manner. ' Sir,' I replied

ENGLISH VOCAL MUSIC. J3

he, with a smile, if, alas ! at my age one can smile, and perhaps he did not
perceive it. ' I cannot exactly tell you my age, I was born in a chateau de
chain.' 'Ah! Yes/ said he, quickly interrupting me. 'In your time, the
civil registers of the state were not kept, or rather they did not exist. You
have seen Louis XV.' he continued with a tone of elevation, and almost of en-
thusiasm, ' did you ever see Peter the Great, Madame la Marschale.' ' I never
had that honour, I was in my province.' / 1 know that you were the inti-
mate friend of Cardinal Fleury. Is it true that he conceived the hope of
obtaining the crown for Louis XV. ? Had Louis XV. then, any chance of
of being elected Emperor ? ' ' Why, General, it was thought at the time
that the thing would have succeeded, but for the bad faith of the king of
Prussia, whom the cardinal never forgave for violating his word to the
king.' ' Frederick was more skilful than Fleury, but not more cunning ;
" il etaitfin, ce vieux Fleury — (here there are two lines that are quite illegible,)
— or perhaps in 1718.' ' It was,' replied Buonaparte 'the year of Aguessau's
exile. Did you know the Chancellor Aguessau ? ' ' I have often seen
him, General,' * he was the intimate friend of my father-in-law.' ' Were
you acquainted with Dubois and Cartouche ? ' I looked at him without
uttering a word, and with an air of such severity that I tremble when I think
of it. He appeared to think that it was in bad taste to send, and almost
seize the body of the Dowager Marchioness de Crequy, to question her
about Cartouche, and he smiled so sweetly and with so much expression, that
I was quite desorientfa. 'Allow me to kiss your hand,' he said, and I
took off my glove, with all the empressment used on such an occasion.
' Nay, remove not your glove, my good mother,' he added with an air of
the deepest solicitude, and he afterwards carried his lips to the ends of my
poor decrepid centenary fingers which were uncovered : he then awarded me
the restitution of our woods with the most perfect grace, and next spoke to
me of the noble conduct of the Duke de Crequy Lesdeguieres at Rome,
adding that France was wrong to allow the destruction of that Pyramid of
the Vatican, which proclaimed the reparations the Courts of Rome had made
to that ambassador. He was, perhaps, not aware that upon the monument,
the demolition of which he so regretted, the Corsicans were characterized
as being a nation, infamous and odious to every people, and henceforth un-
worthy of serving kings.

I was also at a loss to explain to myself why he styled me Madame la
Marschale ; but, when I heard that he always said Monsieur 1'Amiral to poor
La Glissoniere, and who had never navigated but between Dovor and Calais,'
it struck me that he wished to deceive himself as to the date, origin, and
nature of his consular authority."

ENGLISH VOCAL MUSIC.

THE grand secret of the talismanic effect which vocal music is
capable of exercising over the human mind lies in expression, and
yet nothing is, in general, less understood or attended to, either in
precept or in practice.

When a celebrated female singer asked Handel how it was that
her execution of the very first bars of his song, " Dear liberty that
gives fresh beauty to the sun," always drew from the audience peals
of applause, though she was not conscious of its being other than a
very ordinary passage, he replied, " It is because you sing the
word ' Dear liberty/ as though liberty were really dear to you."

M. M. No. 91. L

ENGLISH VOCAL MUSIC,

To make a true musician, either as a composer or as a singer, much
more is requisite than is usually considered to be so. A natural
poetical taste, and a highly cultivated mind are essential components,
and a thorough knowledge of the capabilities of the language, and
of the application to it of the principles of elocution, are indis-
pensable. To these should be added, a full acquaintance with the
ancient and modern history of the science, and of the works of those
great men who have contributed to its development and progress.

These things are not thought of, or even known of, by one in a
hundred, and the fruit of this ignorance is, an inundation of (mis-
called) vocal music, in almost every bar of which, is to be found a
violation of some canon of the musical, or of the common English
grammar. There is a well known instance of false accentuation in
the popular song, " The Death of Nelson," the emphasis being,
against all rule, laid on the words we print in capitals : —
THREE cheers our gallant seamen gave ;
Too well the gallant hero fought —
OUR hearts were bounding then.

It is certain, however, that after-experience led the celebrated singer,
whose name also appeared as the author of the song, to correct, in
singing, such egregious errors; and it is more than probable that, at
that period, like Mr. Pack wood, he kept a journeyman composer.

But what shall we say to the vitiated taste of the present day, which
has swallowed such a specimen of false accent as this ! —

DAY HAS gone | DOWN ON the | BALTIC'S broad | BILLOW.
What a splendid alliteration too —

Baltic's Broad Billow !

A course of study in general elocution ought to form an important
part in the education of a vocal performer. Instead of possessing
this or any other accomplishment, singers are, beyond the mere prac-
tice of their art, in general, the most uninformed, unintellectual
persons in society. To this shallowness of mind is mainly to be attri-
butable the unpopularity, among ordinary performers, of the sound
and vigorous compositions of the great German and elder English
masters, and the preference that is by the same class almost univer-
sally shewn for the fiddle-de-dees of the modern Rossinian school.
The giant conceptions and magnificent effects of such men as Handel,
Haydn, Mozart, or Beethoven, are so far beyond the mental calibre
of our mere fashionable artists that, overwhelmed by a consciousness
of their own littleness, they regard with envy, even with hatred, that
excellence which they have not expansion of mind to comprehend.
With such men as these latter for our composers, our teachers, and our
concert-hatchers, what can be expected but that the national taste
should be, as it is, at the lowest pitch of degradation ? Hence the only
successful publications of the present day have been the vilest dog-
grel verse, or nauseating sickly sentiment, linked to the most com-
monplace strains, defaced with some hideous lithographic libel on
one or other of the works of God's creation, and the whole helped off
by two or three deliberate untruths on the title-page ; and a series of
advertisements, in which impudence, ignorance, and falsehood un-
blushingly contend for the pre-eminence.

ENGLISH VOCAL MUSIC. J5

One would think that, with a view to bringing about a better
order of things,, the cultivation of a national school of truly English
music might well be made a public concern, an object deserving of
national protection. Other branches of the fine arts have been deemed
worthy of the national care, and why not our music ? A spark of
this feeling seems to have animated a few choice spirits, who, imbued
with the true feeling of the art, have lately organized a society, whose
object is to elevate the public taste from its debased condition, by
the revival and performance of those splendid productions, for which
this country stood unrivalled in its Augustan age of vocal harmony.
How noble and truly national would be an institution in which, the
mind expanded by a course of liberal study, the foundation should
be laid for a succession of such talents. We should then stand a
chance of hearing English music sung with a purity of expression,
accent, and pronunciation, which would, unlike most of the singing
of the present day, carry with it evidence of something more than a
parish education. A tithe of the patronage that has been bestowed
on the Tenterden-street humbug, directed to such an object, would
have produced a result that would have raised the character of our
music to have been the admiration, instead of the jeer, of Europe.

Of the academy it is no secret to say, that it has been notoriously
a failure. At starting, its professed object was the education of a
constant succession of native talent, which should by degrees render
us independant of foreign artists for our operas and concerts. What
has been the result ? In ten years about three instrumental per-
formers have been produced who will probably attain to some emi-
nence ; but of its vocalists, not one has shown any indication of rising
beyond a barely respectable mediocrity. The young gentlemen seem
to have a greater penchant for exhibiting themselves in the streets, with
dress canes and cigars than for pursuing those severe studies with-
out which, though they may by dint of manual dexterity perchance
become fiddlers, they never can be musicians. A want of a regular
establishment of resident masters, as in the conservatoires of our con-
tinental neighbours, is a great cause of its ill success. The teachers
of the academy are the teachers of all the town ; absorbed in their
private pupils, their concerts, their theatrical engagements, these
hommes d'affaires give their hurried scrambling lessons to the academy
pupils who catch just what they can, and guess the rest. Mark the
trickery of their exhibition concerts. The same set of faces eke out
their inefficient ranks, year after year ; once a pupil always a pupil —
veterans of threescore are still post-boys !

THE CAPEDJI BACHI.

IT was a day of festivity at Galata-Serai, for the Sultan conde-
scended to visit the Itch Oglans who were there educating for his
own private service. Unhappy the children whom the chief of the
white eunuchs has chosen for the purpose of making itch oglans. No
cloister, no monastery, had ever so severe discipline for their novices.
During fourteen long years they are taught to preserve the most so-
lemn silence, to keep their eyes bent on the earth, their arms crossed
upon their breasts, to pray five times a day, to read the Koran, to
trace its sacred characters ; to ride on horseback, to hurl the djerid,
to wield the lance. In addition to these martial exercises they are
taught music, to sing Persian ghazels, to sew, embroider, shave the
head, trim the nails, arrange, gracefully, the folds of the turban ; to
serve in the bath, to break-in dogs and hawks, and all this under the
cruel surveillance of eunuchs. But when they have gone through
this probation, if they are handsome, modest, and taciturn, then they
commence their service near the person of the Sultan.

A splendid djerid had been prepared to receive his highness. The
Arabian horses, their young and skilful grooms, the varied and pic-
turesque costume, rendered it a magnificent spectacle. A number of
single combats, and tumultous melees had already offered to the spec-
tators a faithful image of war, when the gaze of all present was
arrested with a fixed intensity upon the horsemen whom chance had
not yet opposed to each other. One was named Mustapha, the other
Ahmed. Mustapha was the son of a vizier who had been strangled
through the intrigues of an ancient barber-bachi, the father of Ah-
med. The hatred these two youths bore each was known to all. The
most lively interest was, therefore, excited in the bosoms of the
spectators, when they beheld them spurring their chargers to attack
each other. For a length of time they fought with equal advantage,
and were on the point of separating without either being declared
the conqueror, when Ahmed, profiting by a plunge of his adversary's
courser, hurled his djerid, with such skill and force, that he unhorsed
him. Cries of admiration resounded on all sides, and the Grand
Signior himself even condescended to inquire the name of the
victor.

After this defeat the hatred of Mustapha assumed that character of
intensity of which alone the soul of a Turk is capable. In order to
satisfy it, an Osmanli will wait, if necessary, the half of his life, during
which time not a word or gesture ever betrays the sentence he has
pronounced, but, once sworn, vengeance becomes the object of his
existence. Under ordinary circumstances, he may live in apparent
peace with his enemy, but all his actions have but one motive prin-
ciple— the accomplishment of the ruling passion of his soul, cost
what it may. Some months afterwards, both Mustapha and Ahmed
were admitted into the service of the Sultan. The place in which
they had been educated was a prison, surrounded by high walls, like
a fortress ; and from their infancy they had been watched with the
same jealous care as the women of the Harem. But a career of am-

THE CAPEDJI BACHI, 77

bition was now before them — the court of the Sultan, that had so
often haunted them in their dreams, was suddenly opened to their
dazzled imaginations. Mustapha was delighted with his new exist-
ence. It was the feast of the Buram, and the gorgeous ceremonies
that mark its duration were unusually magnificent. But amid this
intoxicating scene, so calculated to captivate his youthful imagination,
the idea of revenge was uppermost in his thoughts, and he therefore
eagerly sought the friendship of the chief of the eunuchs, in the hope
of in time making him share his hatred of Ahmed, whose haughty
and impetuous character could ill bend to the discipline of the Serag-
lio. The son of the barber-bachi, in consequence, soon became
exposed to a system of the most bitter persecution.

One day that he had to present to the Grand Segnior the sacred
turban, he let it fall, and by this accident interrupted the august ce-
remony of prayer. Ahmed, who foresaw, but too well, the treatment
that awaited him at the Seraglio, for there, as all over the empire, the
bastinado reigns, resolved to make his escape. Seizing, therefore,
the moment when the Sultan, his court, and the people were absorbed
in their devotions, he glode furtively from the mosque, and covering
his rich costume with a soldier's berich, he gained the residence of an
old servant of his father in the environs of the capital, and all search
for the fugitive proved fruitless. Mustapha, in the meanwhile, of a
intriguing and persevering character, got on in the Seraglio, and was
made, for some trifling service that he rendered the Grand Signior, a
Capedji Bachi.

The Capedji Bachi are the telegraphs of the Porte. It is through
them that the will of the Sultan flies rapidly and mysteriously from
one end of the empire to the other, and is executed when and where
it is fitting. Mustapha was on the high road to fortune, and might
without fostering a vain illusion, aspire one day to the Viziership
But a momentary caprice had elevated him, and through caprice he
lingered unnoticed in his post of Capedji.

Ahmed had lost no time in quitting Constantinople. The Porte
was at war with Persia, and he took the road to Bagdad, the headr
quarters of the Turkish army. Throwing aside the courtly manners
of the Seraglio, which would have infallibly betrayed him, he skil-
fully assumed the careless arrogant tone of a soldier of fortune. With
his Tripoli turban, placed low over the right brow, the ayatagan and
pistols in his girdle, a shortened pipe for the journey, a mandoline
hung at the pommel of the saddle of his small Austalia horse — in this
guise he entered Damascus.

Noble and holy city of Damascus ! a Pacha reigns over her, but
reigns in fear. The Kawas dare not insolently traverse her streets.
She accepts from despotism but what she pleases, makes even a
compact with it, and supports it so long as it is faithful to the treaty.
Then she is the high-road to Mecca, the pilgrims place of rendezvous,
and she appears to respect her Pacha merely because he bears the
title of the Prince of Pilgrims. Ahmed waited for some days the de-
parture of the caravan for Bagdad. This caravan resembles an army
on its march — a town in the midst of the desert when it halts — its
course is like that of an immense fleet, for like it, it is obliged to often

THE CAPEDJt BACHI.

tack ere it reaches the final destination ; the wells being rarely met
with in a straight line, and in order to find them, it is obliged to de-
viate from the direct course. What a long and painful navigation —
for such it is. The desert appears to isolate you more even than the
ocean — the prison of sand that surrounds you is more dreary than
that of the waves. The former is monotonous, motionless ; while the
latter, by their undulations, recall to your mind some remains of
animated nature. But in the Desert, nothing reminds you that life
exists beyond the sphere of your own person ; and then the desert
between Damascus and Bagdad is a desert formed by the hand of
man, more dreary than those of Africa, the work of nature. A ruin
in the desert — 'tis the idea of nothingness, coupled to that of de-
struction.

After forty days' march, Ahmed reached Bagdad— the brilliant
wreck of two eras, that recalls to the memory the glory of Babylon,
and the days of Aroun al Raschid. Since she ceased to be Babylon
she has often changed masters, religion, and name ; but her manners
have never varied, she has impressed them upon every religious and
political form to which she has submitted. Ahmed repaired imme-
diately to the Turkish camp, where Hussein Pacha, commanded in
person. Hussein Pacha was not one of those courtly favourites, more
a eunuch in mind than even the Arabians of the Seraglio, their rivals
— he was not one of those scourges of the East, who look upon
power as upon merchandise — who take a pachalic from the Sultan as
a farm, and at the end of two years having exhausted its resources,
returns it a desert to the Porte. Neither was he one of those restless
chiefs who, by raising the standard of revolt, speculates upon the
feirs of the Porte, in order to obtain exile with a rich pachalic.
Hussein was a brave and active pacha, hated by the eunuchs of the
harem and the minions of the court when the state was tranquil, but
around whom the whole empire appeared to rally when the tempest
roared. Then it was that the gallant Pacha quitted his retreat on the
shores of the Bosphorus, and girding on his Khorassan scymitar, re-
turned to it but when he had appeased the storm. In fact it was
quite inexplicable that, having rendered the state so many services,
his head should still be on his shoulders. All allowed that although
he possessed so many brilliant qualities, his good fortune was some-
thing miraculous.

Ahmed went straight to his tent, full of confidence in his generosity,
and in the hope that he might preserve some grateful recollection of
his sire, who as barber-bachi more than once protected the saviour
of the empire. It was a beautiful green tent, with a gold border — a
Persian carpet concealed the entrance ; an Egyptian mat was laid
along it; at the extremity was a red divan, with green fringe. The
Pacha was alone, seated on the angle of the divan — a crowd of
kawas and officers stood at some distance round it, in most respectful
attitudes. Ahmed advanced up to the divan, and raised its fringe to
his mouth and forehead, not daring yet kiss the garment of its mas-
ter. This done, he retired silently towards the other extremity of
the tent. Then Hussein Pacha cast his eyes towards him, and re-
vealed the face of an old man, martial in spite even of his venerable

THE GAPEDGI BACIII. 79

white beard, and strongly marked with that expression of innate be-
nevolence, that when found united to genius, likens man to the
Divinity.

" Young soldier," said the Pacha, " what wilt thou ?" " The
palace of Khosroes and its enervating splendours could not satisfy a
soul parched with a thirst of glory. Thus have I prayed to fortune,
to exchange with me the luxury of the imperial seraglio for the din
of the camp \"

It was by this Persian quotation that Ahmed replied, wishing to be
understood by the Pacha alone.

The Pacha directing an eagle's glance towards the kawas, to make
sure that none of them had understood what had passed, by a gesture
motioned them to retire — " Approach," said he, addressing Ahmed ;
but suddenly casting a look of suspicion on the arms that glittered in
the girdle of the young adventurer, he appeared to revoke the order
by a kind of hesitation. But his great mind grew ashamed of his
fears ; although he was but too well acquainted with the bloody,
treacherous policy of the seraglio. Ahmed, who understood the
cause of his hesitation, carelessly threw aside his arms, as if to dis-
encumber himself of them, and advanced towards him — ec Speak :
from whence comest thou ? Can it be possible that thou comest from
that fatal and mysterious place ? Thy youth has prepossessed me in
thy favour, and I cannot believe that it harbours treachery."

" Pacha, I am the son of Ibrahim Bey, barber-bachi of our august
Sovereign. I might have vegetated in the tranquillity of the seraglio,
but I preferred the career of arms, under the banners of Hussein
Pacha, the friend of my sire."

" Yes, by Allah ! boy, I was indeed thy father's friend, and richly
he deserved my friendship ; for more than once methinks, he rendered
vain the labours of the Scribe, who had passed two days in embel-
lishing the firman of my death : but, my son, what evil genius led
you to quit the nest of mercy and of felicity ? "

" My dreams, Pacha. I was haunted by visions of neighing steeds,
of glittering scymitars, of long and pointed lances. Methought I was
in a melee, amid the din of battle : I awoke and wept bitterly, when
I found myself in the silence of the seraglio, and my dream of glory
vain."

The Pacha smiled bitterly.

ff Boy, who thinks that glory follows the warrior, spurring his
charger to the fight ? — Glory — it is in the seraglio that she is found —
beautiful, attractive, voluptuous, and gorgeously attired. Here it is
seen soiled and dishevelled, covered with dust and gore, concealing
behind her the envoy of the Porte, who punishes deserters, and
avenges success." Then quitting this melancholy tone — " By Allah,
boy, if thou comest in the name of thy father, thou art right welcome ;
I will not give thee up to our glorious Sultan — no ! not even should
he send the Grand Vizier himself, at the head of 20 hortas of janiza-
ries, to demand thee." Ahmed bent low on approaching the Pacha,
and raised with respect his hand to his lips and forehead, when the
Pacha took him by the arm, and said, — " Sit my son. Hast thou not
lived in the seraglio, breathed the same atmosphere as our august

80 THE CAPEDGI BACHI.

sovereign ? Pshaw ! thou mayest sit in the presence of a vizier ;
for I am blind if thy youth and thy noble sentiments have not inter-
ested me." Then a sinister idea would flash across his soul. " But
no/' he added aloud, as if to silence the suspicions that tormented
him — " the Porte does not confide to such young hands the execution
of her bloody orders ; when she wants an assassin to get rid of a
vizier, she selects one of those old courtiers whose bosom can conceal
without shuddering, the death firman whose hand is skilful in seizing
the favourable moment to strike the mortal blow. Oh yes ! one must
have lived long to be trusted with such a mission. No, my son/'
said he, observing that Ahmed was affected : " I will banish all sus-
picion. Though I knew that thy bosom concealed the fatal writing,
that the Grand Vizier had given thee his secret instructions, with the
poison that was to end my existence, I should be unable to resist the
favourable impression thou hast made upon me/' A profound emo-
tion was Ahmed's only answer. " Oh yes, child/' continued the
Pacha ; " thou hast a noble soul — the air of the seraglio — that at-
mosphere of eunuchs, has not corrupted thy heart — the name then of
the old jannizary has reached thy ears. Glory is then no chimera,
since her voice is heard within those redoubted walls ; for there it
was, that germinated in thy heart the desire of learning the glorious
trade of arms under old Hussein. Praises be to God ! thou hast come
at a favourable moment ; for the red-headed Persians appear at length
resolved on accepting battle: to-morrow, God willing, thou shalt
fight by my side."

This reception decided Ahmed's fortune : it is true that he fought
with courage, that he took Bassorah ; but all these successes were in
his reception, for had he not obtained them, the friendship of the
Vizier alone would have ensured his elevation. In fact, the Porte
soon made him a Pacha of two tails, without knowing whom they
elevated to this dignity. But what did that matter ? Hussein Pacha
had solicited it. There are moments when nothing is refused a vizier,
but then this is the time when his enemies begin to rejoice.

Fifteen years had elapsed : Mustapha was still at Constantinople,
a simple capedgi-bachi — he was ignorant of Ahmed's elevation — he
might even have forgotten him, if his hatred had not constantly
brought him back to his recollection. One day he encountered in
the streets of the capital, a man who had just arrived from Aleppo; he
heard him with indifference relate the lofty deeds of Ahmed Pacha,
governor of that holy city ; but his amazement was extreme, when
this man added mysteriously, that it was suspected that this same
pacha was formerly an itch-oglan, who had fled from the seraglio,
and of whom no tidings were ever heard. Mustapha returned like
lightning to his house, summoned Suleeman his confidant, and ordered
him instantly to depart for Aleppo. " The Pacha who governs there,
they tell me, is Ahmed, my mortal enemy. See with thine own eyes
if this be true, and return and tell me."

" The son of the barber-bachi, a vizier !" he exclaimed, when alone
— " that Ahmed whose glory and name was wormwood to me, with-
out knowing him — while I am but an obscure capidgi. But no ; —
fate cannot thus persecute me : if she refuse to realize my dreams of

THE CAPEDGI BACHI. 81

ambition, she will not at least make me feel my nothingness by hold-
ing up to my eyes the glory of my rival. " Suleeman returned at the
end of two months from Aleppo ; he had seen the Pacha, he was in-
deed the son of the barber-bachi. " It was written on high," said
Mustapha. — " But God is great !" he added, as if he counted
upon the assistance of the deity to avenge his wrongs. — " The more
splendid the fate of Ahmed, the more splendid shall be my revenge !"
and in this idea was the secret of his resignation.

Mustapha was long in studying the disposition of the Porte to-
wards his enemy : he was too well acquainted with its doctrines, to
be the first to create suspicion : the Porte gives ear but to those that
she conceives herself — those that they seek to inspire her will recoil
upon the head of the informer. It was a cruel probation for Musta-
pha ; for Ahmed long continued to be in great credit with the divan.
At last, one night that Mustapha had retired to his harem, two men
knocked violently at the gate of his residence ; they wore the splendid
Mameluke costume, and carried long silver-headed canes. They
were the kawas of the Grand Vizier, and were ordered to conduct
Mustapha before their master. Concealing his emotion, Mustapha
prepared to obey the mandate — for to be summoned at that hour, by
the Grand Vizier, he well knew to be the forerunner of favour or
disgrace — an invitation to fortune or death !

Traversing a number of narrow and silent streets, abandoned solely
to a population of hideous dogs, they entered a kiak, crossed the har-
bour, and soon reached the Vizier's palace.

At this hour Constantinople resembles an unfinished sketch. The
Seraglio points its vast amphitheatre — its beautiful minarets are
peering indistinctly through the shades of night.

The apartment into which Mustapha was ushered was in a remote
part of the building; a single lamp shed around it a subdued light.
The Vizier was alone ; his countenance wore that deep expression of
melancholy which the satiety of power leaves behind, when we know
by what dear sacrifices it is purchased, and when we cling to it as to
the last plank in a shipwreck — like the malefactor to the pillars of a
temple which shield him from the vengeance of the laws.

" Mustapha Bey, be seated," said the Vizier to the Capidgi. Mus-
tapha raised the robe of the Pacha to his lips, and kneeling down on
the carpet before the divan, awaited in silence the orders of the
Imperial lieutenant.

The Vizier resumed his chabouque, which he had allowed to fall
beside him, relighted it, and continued to smoke for some time,
looking stedfastly at the Capidgi. At length he broke silence : —

" Have you imagined that a Capidgi had nothing else to do than
to shew himself in a rich costume at the Beyrams, or to solicit from,
the Porte favours for his friends ? "

" My lord," replied Mustapha, alarmed at his beginning ; " for a
length of time the Sublime Porte has not deigned to cast its eyes
upon the wretch who now looks in the sunshine of thy glorious
presence."

" I do not reproach thee ; but answer me. Hast thou well re-
flected on all the duties which the office of Capidgi entails upon thee ?

M, M. No. 90. M

0*J THE CAPEDJI BACHI.

Dost thou know, that there is above all a stern and inexorable One ?
Art thou acquainted by what means the brilliant empire of Osman
exists ? Hast thou not often heard that the Sublime Porte cannot
always punish traitors in the face of day, and that for the sake of our
holy religion she is often obliged to strike in the dark ? In short,
when such a mission is necessary, dost thou know that it is to a
Capidgi that it is entrusted ? "

" I know it all," replied Mustapha, with assurance.

" But dost thou know also, that thou must succeed, or pay the
penalty of a failure with thy head ? "

" My lord — let but the Sublime Porte speak. Has she condemned
the Scheref of Mecca, or even the Schah of Persia ? In two months
both shall have ceased to exist."

" No; it is a faithless slave that the Sultan wishes to punish: —
Ahmed, Pacha of Aleppo."

Mustapha's heart beat high, but he concealed his emotion.

" This perfidious Pacha has gained the friendship of all the dif-
ferent corporations of that city. Scherefs or Janissaries all rally
round him, and would no doubt, if necessary, march against the Im-
perial army, for his ambition is unbounded. He has also attached to
his party all the Arabian tribes hitherto constantly in a state of revolt.
Such conduct gives umbrage to the Porte, who has resolved, while
yet it is time, to defeat his designs. But a traitor is always on his
guard ; it was therefore necessary to have recourse to secret means.
Disguise thyself — gain admittance to the Pacha, and stab him with-
out remorse as a victim marked by the finger of the Lord. Depart;
there is the firman of his death."

An hour afterwards Mustapha lay stretched on his divan. If the
Grand Seignior had ceded to him the empire — had he held in his
hand the firman of investiture, he could not have contemplated it
with more complacency than he did the death one of his enemy. He
touched it — he rattled it against his ears, as if to convince himself by
the evidence of all his senses that it was no dream — he admired it —
he examined it, and found it beautiful. A most admirable chancel-
lery is that of the Turkish empire : whether she sends death or for-
tune, her firmans are written in a rich harmonious style. The Im-
perial cipher is always pompously drawn. An ink alternately blue
as the azure of heaven, red as blood, glittering as gold, is used
whether she makes a pacha or proscribes a head.

Some days afterwards a caravan was seen on the road to Aleppo ;
it was not one of those formidable caravans with its thousand camels
and warlike pomp, destined as they are to cross the desert in spite of
the myriads of Arabs who scour it in every direction, with the eye of
a lynx or the avidity of a Greek pirate. It was a pacific caravan ; a
singular assemblage of travellers of every description, who disap-
peared, were changed, or renewed at every station : it was an entire
family emigrating — soldiers of fortune seeking the service of some
warlike pacha — pilgrims proceeding to the tomb of Christ, or to kiss
the block-stone of the Cabashi — merchants in pursuit of gain — Jews,
Turks, and Christians — every form of worship was there represented :
Christianity and its numerous sects; Islamism and its inexorable

THE CAPKDJI BACHI. 83

unity ; Judaism and its stigma ; all for the time appeared to have lost
in a sense of common danger the fanaticism of their several creeds.

One person, however, commanded the veneration of the whole,
though nothing announced in him that power so dreaded in the east.
He was unaccompanied either by servants or slaves, but there was
not a member of the caravan who was not eager to do him service.
He rode a white horse ; his luteri was of striped damascus stuff; his
benich of red cloth; a sky blue pelisse entirely covered him. His
head, which wore an expression of the deepest abstraction, was
covered with a turban, the regular folds of which announced his
profession to be that of the law. He was a scheik.

If in a Turkish town you see a man without a train, whom the
true believers profoundly salute, whom the women dare to look on
with admiration and respect, whom the pacha receives as his equal,
by making him sit near him, and by giving him his own pipe, you
may boldly pronounce that man to be a scheik ; for in a Turkish
town a scheik is more even than a Spanish monk ; he acts upon
every imagination — he is looked upon as an inspired prophet, and his
power is thought to approach the miraculous. At his presence
Turkish despotism grows pale, and the insurrections of the east are
quelled.

Thus at every halting place it was who and who should spread
the carpet of Hadji Joussef Effendi, prepare his repast, light his
pipe, in order to obtain from him in return a word, or even a look ;
while he, on his side, received all these services with imperturbable
dignity, smiling sometime s on the Musselmen, but the Chris-
tians and Jews, he looked upon as if they did not exist, notwith-
standing the humble and creeping posture with which they ap-
proached his presence. His silence, which was only broken by short
sententious phrases, opened a wide field of conjecture to the caravan.
Some said he was a vizier disgusted with human grandeur, and
whose mind was now bent upon God and the prophet. Others, that
he was the scherif of Mecca, who had just paid a visit to the grand,
signior. Others again, looked upon him as a magician who knew
the Koran by heart, and who could reveal the future ; while another
party maintained him to be a holy martyr, who had languished
twenty years in the prisons Frankistans in the land of the infidels ;
and each of these suppositions was accompanied by an ejaculation
breathing the most ardent enthusiasm. May God shorten my
existence to lengthen his days 1 May his mother be as happy as
Mariam ! May the earth of his grave weigh lightly on him after
death ! May his guardian angel have cause then to rejoice ! And
when the caravan halted in a town, he was surrounded by crowds of
the faithful, in the hope of learning some new means of escaping
from those infirmities the lot of our nature.

They reached Aleppo. The scheik repaired to the Zeke of Mew-
levi Dervises. At that period, when the isolated individual saw
himself without defence against the arms of despotism, corporations
were open to him in which he might escape from his isolation.
Those of the dervises and the janissaries spread their nets over the
whole empire, and there was not a single small town in Turkey that

THE CAPEDJJ BACHE.

had not its Teke of Dervises. The people were pleased with the
mystical ceremonies they celebrated, consisting in a music that wore
the character of religious inspiration, and a dance at first grave and
solemn, to which succeeded a rapid and circular movement, that
worked up the initiated to a state of phrenzy.

Besides, these rites are destined to direct the attention of the
people from the dogmas of the dervises, which are said to be of the
purest deism. Hadji Jousef Effendi waited upon the chief of the
dervises with a symbolical letter. It bore some mysterious «charac-
ters, that in an instant brought the dervises to kiss respectfully the
garment of the scheik.

Hadji Jousef was no other than Mustapha the Capedji Bachi.
The Porte, skilful in hiding her own secrets, penetrates those of all
others. There is not a mysterious sect, or hidden association, that
she does not invisibly govern. Mustapha, charged with the execu-
cution of a fatal order, had adopted the revered exterior of a scheik,
and the grand vizier had given him a letter from the Molloh of
Coniah, such as the most holy personage of Islamism could alone
obtain.

A month elapsed, and the reputation of the pretended sheik filled
the whole city. He waited with patience the hour of vengeance.
One day as he lay stretched on the divan of the mosque in the gar-
den of the teke, thinking on the solemn moment that was approach-
ing, the trample of horses and the voices of men awoke him from his
reverie. It was the kiahia of the pacha who waited on him, with an
invitation from his master. Mustapha, without the slightest emotion,
preserving his careless and recumbent position, promised, with
haughty indifference, to wait on the pacha the next day, after the
hour of noon. However, an attentive observer might have remarked
a contraction of the lower lip, that the habitual hollow hue of his
countenance became deeper, and an involuntary motion of the right
hand to his bosom that concealed the murderous firman.

The hour of noon had struck at the palace of Scheik Abou Bekr,
the residence of the pacha. A triple rank of kawas lined the hall
in solemn silence. Achmed Pacha, in a corner, was saying his
prayers upon a carpet, with his face turned towards Mecca. How
noble and majestic he looked ! The unlimited power with which he
was invested ; — the religious act in which he was engaged ; — his
head animated with an expression of lofty dignity ; — the at once
humble and impassioned energy of his manner ; — the splendid win-
dows, the naked and sombre walls, the beautiful divan, the fountain,
the murmur of which appeared to create silence ; — the whole formed
a beautiful picture. Suddenly a man abruptly enters the hall ; the
kawas carry their hands to their yatagans and advance to meet him ;
but they recognize the expected guest, and shrink back with
respect. Mustapha perceived the pacha at his devotion, and spread
himself a carpet at the foot of the divan, and joined in the prayer
with a solemn fervour that powerfully moved the bystanders. The
act of devotion concluded, the two personages seated themselves on
the divan. The pacha first broke silence.

" Dost thou think, my father, that the place that resounds with the

THE CAPEDCI BACH1. 85

silvery cane of the kawas, where the lieutenant of the Grand
Signior sits surrounded by the Acans of the province, is not a spot
worthy of thy holy presence, or that thy words would not bear fruit
in a heart full of loyalty to our Sublime Sultan ?"

" Vizier, I had resolved to see thee, but I waited/' rejoined Mus-
tapha, with a freezing energy.

" Until now, then, the moment was not auspicious," said the
Pacha, with a superstitious and fearful expression. " Whatever is
precipitate is unfortunate. But since thou art come to day to sit
upon my divan, thou hast doubtless read in the stars that our inter-
view would have a better result."

" Yes, vizier, I hope so."

The Kawas were ten paces distant — the eyes of the Scheik glis-
tened like a tiger's — suddenly a poignard glittered in his hand, and,
with the rapidity of lightning, it was buried in the heart of the
Pacha.

" Remember the Itch Oglan Mustapha," said the Scheik, as he
struck the fatal blow. " Strike down the wretch/' exclaimed the
expiring Pacha, and in an instant twenty yatagans glittered above
his head ; but he, mounted on the divan, opposed to them the dreaded
firman. The kawas bent their heads with respect — the order was
executed, while Mustapha, under the safe guard of the bloody fir-
man, returned to the Teke, despatched a Tartar to the Porte, and,
reasuming his ordinary life, left to others the care of governing the
province during the interregnum.

The Tartar, on his return, brought the orders of the Porte, ap-
pointing Mustapha Bey a Pacha of three tails and governor of
Aleppo.

About two years afterwards, a group of Turks, with a grave and
careless air, were contemplating a head that had just been placed in
a niche over the principal gate of the Seraglio at Constantinople.
This head appeared to have been cut off some time ; the skin was
wrinkled and as yellow as parchment ; it had evidently made a long
journey, for in order to preserve it, it had been salted. Above this
head was the following inscription: — " Mustapha Pacha, a treacher-
ous slave of the Grand Signior, in spite of those bountiful looks
which his Highness had deigned to cast upon him from the imperial
stirrup, has deserved this punishment for having tyrannized over
and goaded to revolt the corporations of the city of Aleppo, of which
he was governor, and for having neglected to conciliate the friend-
ship of the Arab tribes."

" Let this be a warning to all unfaithful servants !"

THE HANDSOME MODEL.

Entrez ! entrez ! Monsieur Rossignol — we are right glad to see
you in England. To confess the truth, we were just on the brink of
importing you ourself, when all of a sudden you unexpectedly start
up before us, clad in an English attire, and surrounded by those in
whose society we first made your acquaintance. It will rejoice us to
introduce you to our friends, but we must necessarily keep you
waiting for a brief space, while we explain who these people are
among whom you are seen. It will not do merely to say — this is
Pere Bernard, the water-carrier — this Manette, his pretty daughter
— this Andrew the Savoyard, and this Monsieur Pierre, his good-
natured brother — we owe it to those among whom you will in future
live, to tell them, not merely who your companions are, but what
they have been.

Let us fancy ourselves among the precipices, in the vicinity of
Mont Blanc — little Andrew and Pierre, with half-frozen fingers, are
pelting each other with snow-balls. What glorious sport! But
every thing pleasant must have a termination. Their mother calls
them — day is deserting them — the light is going out in the midst of
the game, and they must be off to bed. The felicity of supper has,
however, to intervene, and while gobbling down their coarse soup,
they hear cries of distress. Out rushes their father, and soon returns
with a gentleman, his valet, and a lovely little girl fast asleep. In
another moment the postillion would have dashed over a precipice,
but Georget, the boys' father, saves them, and they are compelled to
pass the night in his cottage. The gentleman is one-eyed, horribly
selfish, and very sulky; he is a Count, though — the Compte de
Francornard ; the valet is Monsieur Champagne, his rascally valet ;
the little girl Adolphine, his exquisite little daughter. The Countess,
a beautiful and accomplished young woman, patronizes one Dermilly,
a painter : they are always sketching together — the Count can never
catch his wife, poor man ! They are very good friends, but he finds
it remarkably difficult to see her. If while sojourning at Paris, he
hears that she is on a visit to any friend's chateau in the country, he
he instantly sets out post-haste to pounce upon her ; but two days
before his arrival, she invariably starts for a distant part of the
country. He has, however, by extraordinary good luck, lately
surprised her, and by a splendid project flatters himself that he has
completely turned the tables— that henceforth she will run after
him — for he has purloined the child, to whom she is devotedly
attached.

During the night Georget breaks his head in clambering over the
precipices to fetch a smith — the Count's carriage being broken. At
day-break the visiters depart, accidentally leaving a miniature which
had been suspended round Adolphine's neck. With this, Andrew
and Pierre — their father having died, and their mother being unable
to support them — set out for Paris, there to make fortunes by the
glorious art of chimney-sweeping. Shortly after their arrival in the

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 87

French metropolis, the little boys lose each other. Andrew luckily
obtains the commisseration and protection of Bernard, a water-
carrier, who has a nice little daughter, named Manette — papa's
housekeeper, aged eight, or thereabouts.

One day, while looking out for employment in his capacity of a
chimney-sweep, Andrew sees the Count in a cab; anxious to re-
store the portrait, he hurries up, but is pushed off as an importunate
beggar ; and, such is his pertinacity, that the wheels of the cab pass
over him. Bruised and bleeding, he is seen by a young artist, who
takes him to his (the artist's) house. This is Dermilly. Perceiving
the miniature which he himself had painted, he acquaints the
original — his lovely patroness, after having heard Andrew's state-
ment, that he is in possession of a son of that honest mountaineer
who had saved her darling Adolphine from destruction. The grateful
Countess insists on taking him under her own downy wing ; but
before his removal from Dermilly 's, he becomes acquainted with the
handsome model, Monsieur Rossignol, in a manner that can be much
better explained by Master Andrew himself, than by any other per-
son in the world. We therefore give way to him, as in duty bound.*
The boy, it must be premised, has wandered into the atelier, or
painting-room of his benefactor, Dermilly.

I WAS about to withdraw, when a door opened opposite to that at which
I had entered, and a gentleman entirely naked from the head to the waist,
jumped into the atelier, singing and gnawing the leg of a fowl. The new-
comer did not perceive me at first. I heard him laugh and mutter to himself
— " Come this is a good one ! when old Therese misses her leg, and can
neither see nor hear any thing about it, it will all be laid to the cat — Ah ! had
she known that M. Dermilly was gone out ! how would the modest stews
and bashful pastry, have shrunk from my gaze ! Bring what you want to
eat with you,' said she — I did bring all — that I could lay my hands on at
home — a clove of garlick and two onions — a light repast to dispel the
bad air.

'Why did 1 leave my father's hall, my mothers fostering care ?'

A thousand pities her soup was not simmering on the fire ! We feel equal to
the black broth of the Spartans — M. Dermiliy to leave me thus for hours,!
Fortunately, like the hackney coaches, I am hired by the hour."

Just then, the gentleman made a caper, which brought him to my side,
and he cried " Who the devil have we got here ? Who is this little scamp ?
Are you engaged to sit for a model — to sit for the Innocents, my little tit ?
You must eat a little panada for some time first — you are as white as an egg
— you must get a little fat in your cheeks — "

" I am called Andrew, sir ? " said I to the gentleman, who, whilst I was
speaking, waltzed about, and placed himself in attitudes. " I was knocked
down by a cabriolet, and M. Dermilly had tbe goodness to take me in — "

" Ah ! excuse me, interesting victim! I have a feeling heart — I have been
knocked down three or four times myself, but no one picked me up — true it
was that Bacchus had somewhat enfeebled my legs. Stay, my little fellow,
what do you think of this entrechat?"

I could not comprehend how this gentleman could dance and sing so close
to the other, who never stirred, and always held his sabre uplifted. I pointed

* Andrew the Savoyard, from C. Paul de Kock. 2 Vols. London. E.
Marston and Co., 3, New Broad-street Court, New Broad-street.

88 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

my finger towards him, and whispered to the caperer, " Take care you do
not give that gentleman the head-ache."

At these words, the shirtless waltzer threw himself on a chair, ready to
burst with laughter. " Come that is a good one ! the boy is fairly hum-
bugged ! he takes the layman for a grenadier ! Don't be afraid, my little
fellow ; I'll engage he shall do you no harm. It is mere inanimate nature.
He cannot boast, like us, the vital fluid and spiritual brain."

How, nothing but a figure ! I could scarce believe it. I went over to feel
it. " Halt there, abortion!" said the fine singer, stopping me; " touch not
that, unhappy wretch — were you to disarrange but one fold, the artist would
give you to all the devils, and you might get paid in a coin you would never
think of pocketing." " Excuse me, sir, I did not know — " " Now that
you do know, beware of touching — I must practise the step which I have to
dance to-night at La Chaumiere." " But, sir, you must be very cold,
standing so long without your shirt!" "And an't I well accustomed to it !
I that for fifteen years have sat for a torso! You are not aware, innocent
creature, that you stand before Rossignol, the finest model in Paris for a
torso! Ah! did but the rest of my body correspond, I should be worth
twelve francs a-day — but unfortunately there is no swell in my thighs, and I
have little calf to my legs, though I stuff myself with beans in order to make
them grow. But never mind, I have still a fair share ; add to which an in-
teresting countenance, a light and active step, and one would not wonder at
the number of conquests I have effected — un — deux — chassez — assemblez — et
la pirouette de rigueur — what pity 'tis my coat should be so dirty, and my hat
so torn — but M. Dermilly advanced me five-and-twenty francs the day before
yesterday, and I am already quite cleared out. ' Fortune favours the brave'
— I say, you could not lend me four-and-twenty sous for a week, could you,
my little fellow ? I will return you twenty-five." " I have no money about
me, sir — father Bernard keeps my purse." " Well — I'll put a drop of oil on
my pumps to give me a wealthy appearance. Notning strikes people so much
as well-polished shoes."

M. Rossignol took the bottle of oil and smeared some of it with one of the
brushes over the blacking of his shoes ; then pouring a little in the hollow of
each hand, he rubbed it through his hair. Whilst he was taken up with his
toilette, I amused myself by examining him. The model was a man of about
thirty-six years of age, of a sufficiently good height ; his hair was black and
matted ; his grey eyes had a strong expression of impudence and liveliness,
which joined to his snuffy cocked-up nose, and a mouth from ear to ear,
which was ever open in chanting his ditties, made a most original phy-
siognomy.

" It is a great pity," said he, twisting his hair in his fingers, " that I can't
improve my coat by the same process — but I will just rub a drop over my
hat — it smells somewhat rancid — no matter, my beauty will find me suf-
ficiently pleasing — but with thirteen sous, which is all I am worth, I cannot
treat her to a chapon au riz. Perhaps, however, we may meet some friends."

As I saw the gentleman settle his shoes and hair, I took it for granted
that he was going to dress himself entirely, and I handed him his shirt and
coat, which had been lying on the ground in a corner of the room. "Thank
you, my little fellow," said he, " but I shan't dress myself till my patron
returns and dismisses me. One does not stand for a torso with one's shirt
on — but that is all Greek to you. However, my little fellow, as nature is
bountiful to you, take my advice, and never follow any other trade. Make
a model of yourself— it is a business very easily learnt — you have nothing to
do but to stand quiet. Painters and models are all I trouble myself about.
There must be models for painters and painters for models — you understand
that. Ah, if my wife had not humbugged me so, we should have actually
coined money. I married her for her shape, which seemed to resemble that

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 89

of the Venus Callipyga. I said to myself, ' she will sit, and we shall have
children who will sit ! It is hereditary in my family. My father sat for his
arms, my mother for her hips, my uncle for his feet, my aunt for her back,
my brother for his hands, and my sister for her ears/ When I was courting
my wife, I said to her, ' Before we are knit in indissoluble bonds, I give you
fai'r notice that I shall require my wife to sit — no matter for what, and my
children idem.'' To which she replied, ' My friend, I will do every thing
you please.' Perfidious wretch! — deceitful staymaker ! Madame Rossignol
threw dust in my eyes — when I say dust in my eyes, c'est une fapon de parler .
How was I imposed upon ! Impossible she could sit for the smallest thing !
Nothing but cotton from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot ! I
would have quitted her for want of symmetry, but she was enceinte, and I
hoped the child would atone for my disappointment. In fact, I had a son —
beautiful as an Apollo ! quite in my own style ! He will be one of the finest
models in Europe. As soon as the rogue was three years old, I wished to
exercise him in standing — but there was no keeping him quiet 'a moment !
I made use of a cat-o'- nine-tails to calm the vivacity of his blood ; and my
wife had recourse to a broomstick to defend her son, whom she pretended I
made cry. As these conjugal scenes were repeated every day, and made no
little noise, the Commissaire du Quartier found fault with my mode of in-
structing my son, and desired me to leave him to develope himself. This
decided me. I have ever since lived en garpon, and I never go near my wife
except when I imagine she has some little superfluity, of which she wishes
to be disembarrassed — "

As Rossignol finished speaking, we heard a great noisa in the direction of
the kitchen, and I recognized Theresa's voice, crying " Oh it is him, I am
certain! This rascally Rossignol has made some excuse for leaving his
sitting, and has made his way to my kitchen — but I will complain to my
master — things shan't disappear this way, and every thing be laid to my
poor Mouton."

" It is the old woman," said Rossignol, who had been listening ; " she is
coming here. Oh ! what an idea ! Whilst my patron is out I could — ex-
actly— quite a scene in a play — the old woman is easily frightened. — Quick,
my little fellow — down on your knees there, before the layman — a helmet on
your head, the vizor lowered — a tunic over your shoulders — and don't stir

for your life." '« But, sir." " No buts." " What for " " No what

fors — you have nothing to say — play the layman — it is only that she may
not know you — it won't be long — but I advise you not to speak, for if you
do, I will break Hannibal's sword over your back." I was not afraid of M.
Rossignol, but I was curious to see what he would do. Having been so long
confined to my room, I was not sorry of a prospect of some fun. Besides, I
took it for granted that it was all meant as a joke, and that M. Dermilly
would not be displeased. Behold me then on my knees near the lay figure.
Rossignol thrust a helmet on my head, the vizor of which fell over my face,
and threw a large piece of yellow silk over my body. Being completely dis-
guised, he had nothing to do but to think of himself. I saw him run to the
skeleton, which he took in his arms, and bore in front of a large chest which
was in the middle of the room ; he next threw over it an immense brown
mantle, which entirely concealed this frightful personage ; then Rossignol
squatted down in the chest which was behind the skeleton, letting the lid fall
not quite so close but that he could breathe, and hold a covner of the cloak.
All this was but the affair of a moment, and every one was at his post when
Therese opened the door of the atelier.

" Things can't go on in this way, sir — there must be an end put to it,"
said Therese, entering and walking slowly towards the side where she sup-
posed her master was at work. " M. Rossignol is every day playing me
some trick — this very morning the rest of the fowl — an entire leg — and then

M.M. No. 91.' N

90 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

the cat is blamed. I entreat you will forbid his putting his foot in my
kitchen, or close up the door of communication. Besides, it is extremely dis-
agreeable that the neighbours should see men without shirts about me — 1
tell them it is only a model — they laugh in my face — and think things — and
get ideas in their heads — it quite compromises me, sir." Therese had
reached the end of the room, and found herself before the large picture, and
near the chest and brown mantle. She lifted her head and looked about her.

" Stay, is my master out? and Rossignol gone too ? they must have finished
very early to-day. In the midst of this canvass — and these lay figures, one
almost fancies one sees people. Are you here, sir ? No, there is no one
here. I'll be off then, for I don't like being alone in this large room — there
are so many figures — and this poor young man whom they are flogging with
serpents ! what a pity ! so handsome a lad ! It is Monsieur Ixion, I think
they call him — and all because he looked softly at Madame Jupiter — Ah ! if
every one was flogged in this way that ogled a married woman — "

Just then a deep groan issued from the bottom of the chest — Therese
changed colour, and looked timidly round her. " How very odd ! I thought
I heard something — sir — sir — is it you ?" There was no reply ; but a second
and more prolonged groan than the first, redoubled Therese's fright. She
trembled violently, and dared neither stir nor look about her. " Good
heavens ! what can that be ?" said the old servant, who could scarce speak ;
" I cannot stir a step — my legs sink under me." Rossignol disguising his
voice, and assuming a mournful and wailing tone, called Therese slowly
three times by name. " Who — calls me ?" said the old woman, putting her
hand before eyes. " Your grandfather." " He has been dead these fifty
years ? " " No matter — you will be so good as to listen to him, and swear
faithfully to do what he orders you." " Yes — yes — I swe — swear." " Listen
attentively. Rossignol is a most excellent fellow, whom I love and watch
over — he has the very finest chest nature ever formed. We desire that you
allow him to enter your kitchen whenever he pleases ; that you will never
remove the keys of the closet or pantry ; that you will allow him to taste
your soup ; and even to soak a crust of bread in it whenever he shall have a
fancy for so doing ; that you put aside for him sundry and divers jars of pre-
serves ; and that you never mention a syllable of all this to your master ; in
a word, that you pay the aforesaid Rossignol all the attentions so deservedly
merited by the finest model in the capital. Should you fail in any tittle o'f
this, we will launch our vengeance on you. Raise your eyes to wish us good
day."

It was with no small difficulty that Therese brought herself to take her
her hands from her eyes. At length, after a few minutes' hesitation, she
slowly raised her head. At this moment Rossignol, watching his opportu-
nity, pulled the corner of the brown mantle, which, falling on the ground,
discovered the skeleton to the old servant, who screamed with fright. Not
knowing what she was doing, Therese threw herself on the chest, invoking
every saint in Paradise. But Rossignol, who thus found himself deprived of
fresh air, struggled violently, arid sent forth the most hideous cries from
within his hiding place. The old woman thought she was seated on a nest
of demons, for she felt the most violent kicks and blows on what served her
as a resting-place, and from which she quickly started up ; when, wishing
to relieve her from her fright, I advanced suddenly with the intention of ac-
quainting her with the truth ; but I had forgotten to take off the helmet, or
raise the vizor. At the sight of a knight advancing towards her in this way,
Therese could no longer doubt but that all the forms in the workshop had be-
come animated, and sinking under the most profound terror, she fell with all
her weight on Rossignol, who had just raised the cover for a little fresh air ;
not being able to support his burden, he fell back with her to the bottom of
the chest.

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 91

Rossignol roared as he was overpowered by Therese's weight, who for her
part fancied herself delivered over to the evil one. The finest model in the
capital, who was half stifled, pinched and pushed her, swearing like one
possessed. Therese, who had almost lost all consciousness, allowed herself
to be pinched and pushed without moving, being firmly persuaded the atelier
was crowded with a legion of spectres. " Get away — mills pipes — get away
then," cried the fine model. " Sac— position — I am stifled. Come, old
woman, do you mean to stay here till to-morrow?" "Ah! Beelzebub! —
Astaroth ! — Asmodeus ! — do with me what you please — I submit." " No,
sacre bleu! I'll do nothing at all. Get up, old woman, will you?" " My
dear grandfather — it is your orders — your wish — I obey." " To the devil
with your grandfather and all the family ! here is a pretty Venus tumbled on
me !" I laughed ready to burst, when all at once the door opened, and M.
Dermilly entered. His surprise may be imagined at seeing me dressed as a
knight, whilst his old servant and his model, were rolling together at the
bottom of the chest. " What does all this mean?" said the painter, run-
ning to the chest, from whence he drew Therese, whilst I threw from me my
helmet and mantle.

"Ah, it is master — my own dear master! I am safe!" cried Therese,
putting on her cap, which had suffered in the engagement. " And what
were you doing in the chest with M. Rossignol? — and you, Andrew, with a
helmet — a tunic — " "Is it really Andrew ?" said the old woman; "and
it was this rascally Rossignol, then, who was pinching me so."

" Yes, morbleu," said the model, rising in his turn ; " I have been this two
hours crying for you to get up and not stifle me." " Will you explain all
this?" said M. Dermilly, looking at us. But Rossignol was busy curling
his hair, whilst Therese was so exhausted with what she had undergone,
that she could scarcely breathe. I stepped towards M. Dermilly, and told
him candidly every thing that had occurred, at the same time begging pardon
for entering his atelier without leave. During the recital, Therese cried every
moment, " It is all that vagabond Rossignol — I might have been sure that —
Pooh ! how rancid he smelt in the chest — and garlick too enough to poison
one!"

I saw that M. Dermilty had great difficulty in keeping his countenance.
However, when I had finished, he looked sternly at his model, and said,
" You may go, M. Rossignol — and don't give yourself the trouble to come
back again, since you cannot conduct yourself properly. It's a long time
since I gave you warning ; I will have nothing to do with a man who upsets
my house in this way." " What, sir ! " cried Rossignol, who during this
address cast most furious looks at Therese ; " because this old fool throws
herself on me, and thinks I am Beelzebub, you take it all in a serious light !
It was nothing but the joke of an idle moment, and surely you wouldn't for
that — "You have heard what I said?" "Monsieur, I received from
you twenty francs in advance ; I therefore owe you four sittings, which I
will clear off." " No matter ; — I make you a present of them." " Present,
sir ! I am above receiving presents," said Rossignol, walking behind a pic-
ture, where he put on his shirt, coat, and waistcoat. " My word is good
for twenty francs, sir ; and I will repay them honourably. But you will
hunt about a long time before you meet a torso in my style ; — I have an an-
tique trunk, and defy you to paint, without me, a Hercules, a Mars, or an
Apollo. See, where will you get for five francs a chest like this ? You will
think better of it, sir ; — for a spoonful of broth, or a leg of fowl, should never
embroil artists like us."

So saying, M. Rossignol once more made his appearance amongst us.
After bowing to M. Dermilly, he stuck his hat fiercely over one ear, balanced
his body like a drum-major, and twisting a large stick which he had in his
hand, he muttered between his teeth, " Now for an inroad on Madame Ros-

92 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

signol, and a trial to make little Fanfan sit for the sacrifice of Abraham ;"
and withdrew, leaving behind him a smell of garlic and rancid oil which
scented the whole room.

Shortly after, Andrew is removed to the hotel of the Count de
Francornard — clothed, taught, and educated by the masters em-
ployed to instruct Adolphine. He had been in love with this little
blossom of nobility from the time when she slept in his bed, on
Mont Blanc — he had loved Manette, Bertrand's nice little daughter,
since he first felt her fairy attention in the matter of broth and bed-
ding, and danced with her to amuse the old man after his day's
work was done — he is now touched by the traits of Lucile Madame de
Francornard's waiting maid. His boyish penchant for each is most
exquisitely pourtrayed by our author : whose skill in the manage-
ment of this most difficult subject is admirable — surpassing every
thing of the kind that has ever occurred to our notice. The
shades of difference are microscopically minute — still, such is the
author's splendid power — the differences glare out with such breadth
and sharpness of outline, that, however intertwining, they never unite.
Each has its separate identity — it is perfectly distinct from the other.
Love has never been so beautifully anatomized — its phases have
never been so critically defined. Andrew loves three, but loves each
with a perceptible difference, which is brought out by incidents — not
explained : the reader has the delight of discovering it.

Andrew's purse is well filled — and Rossignol, accidentally meeting
him while meditating the purchase of a present for Manette, obtains
possession of its contents, by means of a heart-rending story about
the distress of an unfortunate wretch, who was literally starving.

But Rossignol (as may easily be believed) had been far from relieving any
unfortunate person with the money I gave him. My savings had enabled
the fine model to sport his handsome person, and make fresh conquests in the
cabarets he frequented. Never before had Rossignol been possessed of more
than a louis at a time, and when he found himself master of two hundred
francs, he felt himself equal to the mayor of Paris. However, after the first
emotions of joy had subsided, he bethought him of his clothes. His coat,
daubed over with oil, was not exactly suited to a man rolling in wealth ;
there was another in a certain quarter, which would be restored to him on
the payment of fifteen francs. Rossignol then purchased a pair of pumps,
decorated with large bows ; next he bought a handsome red handkerchief,
which he put round his neck with the broad ends spread over his breast, the
better to hide his shirt, which was more suitable to a shoe-black, than a
milord.

These purchases made, Rossignol counted his money , there remained but
seven louis. He felt it was high time to stop, and that it would not do to
spend all on his dress. His trowsers, rather too tight behind, had received
some rents, and had necessarily undergone repairs which were unfortunately
but too visible ; but on examining this part of his dress, he comforted him-
self with the reflection that it was his fine bust that would attract all eyes.
His hat had received worse usage than any other part of his dress ; but he
thought that by sticking it rather more than usual on one side, and thus
adding to the insinuating expression of his physiognomy, no one would ob-
serve that the rim was much worn, and the top nearly out.

Having thus paraded his wardrobe, Rosignol felt convinced that there was

THE HANDSOME MODEL. *}3

not to be found in the whole capital a man who could compare with him.
Flourishing his bludgeon in one hand, ratling his five-franc pieces in the
other, and with his chin buried in his neckcloth which almost covered his
mouth, he gave himself up to pleasure, escorted his fair ones to /' Ik d' Amour
and Kokoli, and became for three weeks the most admired man in the vaga-
gond society he frequented.

But seven louis will not last long when one launches oat in first-rate
style. Rossignol was brought down to his last crown, and he looked with
horror to the time when, for a similar sum, he would have to attitudinize for
at least eight hours — a much less agreeable way of passing the time
than in waltzing or dancing quadrilles. When one has revelled in pleasure
for three weeks, labour becomes more than ever painful ; besides Rossignol
had always been an idle fellow. He carried back his coat to its old place of
deposit, and the produce enabled him to keep up the ball a short time longer.
But this money spent, he had no resource remaining ; and since he had de-
prived his wife of an article which she thought secure from even his rapacity,
Mme. Rossignol took right good care to leave nothing whatever in her house
which he could turn to any account. It was high time, then, to become
once more a Greek or Roman ; but the remembrance of his departed pleasures
agitated the model, and prevented him from standing motionless. The artists
complained of his restlessness ; and Rossignol attributed to pains in his legs
the gesticulations which escaped him, when he thought of the delicious life
he had been so lately spending.

One fine day, whilst enacting Antinous, Rossignol recollected me, and
thought by putting my good heart and inexperience to a fresh trial, it would
be easy to make money. This bright idea flashed all at once on his mind ;
he was astonished at never having thought of it before, and at the conclusion
of the sitting he ran to take his post before M. Dermilly's door ; but he
waited in vain for several days, for M. Dermilly was not then in Paris.
However, Rossignol was determined on seeing me. The more he reflected
on my simplciity and credulity, the more I struck him as a treasure, to
which, with a little management, he might have constant recourse. The
sum I had been master of made him conclude that I had a great deal of
money at my own disposal. Impatient to find me, he at last recollected that
I told him I lived with M. le Comte de Francornard, where I was over-
whelmed with kindness. At once he set himself en route, and after inquiring
for M. le Comte de Francornard in every quarter in Paris, he at length
found out the direction of his hotel.

Rossignol immediately brushed his old oil-stained coat, cleaned his shoes
with a crumb of bread for want of English blacking, pulled up his trowsers
as much as possible to conceal the rents, covered his mouth with his neck-
cloth, balanced his hat over his left ear, made two immense curls over his
right eye, and his stick in his right hand, the left stuck in his side, he strode
in the most audacious manner towards the hotel of M. le Comte, picking his
steps on tiptoe as if he was afraid of dirtying his dress. When he entered
the court-yard, the porter stopped him : " Where are you going, sir ?" — Ros-
signol replied confidently, " To see my friend/' and passed on. But as there
was nothing in his appearance to recommend him, the porter ran out of his
lodge, and barring his passage, said, " Pray who is your friend ?" — " My
friend, young Andrew — M. le Comte's adopted son." — " Adopted son ?" —
" To be sure — little Francornard, if you like it better." — " Little Francor-
nard?"— " Yes — don't you understand me?" — " M. le Comte has no son;
he has only a daughter." — " Sacre lieu! — I tell you yes. I saw him not
more than four months ago — beautiful as the sun — he came from hence — a
young man of about twelve, but who looks full fourteen." — " Ah, little
Andrew you mean — madame's protegee." — " What the devil does it matter
whether he is the protegee of madame or monsieur ! He lives here, doesn't

94 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

he ?" — " Yes, yes ; I understand you now." — " It's well you do. Show me
his room, then — I want to see him in private." — " Stay — you see the hall
yonder ; turn to the left, the second staircase." — " Good, good :" and Ros-
signol advanced, saying to himself, " what a fuss these blockheads make !
one would think one was going to the Emperor of Morocco's." — When he
reached the vestibule, in which were two staircases, Rossignol was puzzled,
as he had not paid much attention to the porter's directions ; but feeling no
desire for another interview with him, he trusted to chance, and ascending
that next at hand, he crossed several rooms, lost in admiration at the beauty
of the furniture and draperies. " Sacre clieu! my little man is got into
good quarters here ; he is an acquaintance worth cultivating, he will prove a
mine of gold to me." Some servants who were lounging listlessly about
whilst waiting their master's orders, asked Rossognol where he was going ;
and he without being in the least disconcerted, replied in a haughty tone,
" To see my particular friend." The lacqueys looked astonished ; but as a
confident man generally imposes — particularly on underlings — those who
would have repulsed a poor man of gentle manners, allowed M. Rossignol to
pass, who at length arrived before the room, where, according to custom,
M. de Francornard was in deep conference with his steward and cook. A
servant in waiting before the door, asked Rossignol his name. " What
for?" — " In order to announce you." — " Don't you think I can announce
myself?" — " It is not the custom." — " Confound your ceremonies ! here is
a fuss before one can speak to this little rogue ! Well, then announce Ros-
signol, the first man in Europe for a torso."

The valet made him repeat it twice over, and at length carried the message
to M. le Comte, who in his turn required a repetition of the announcement,
and then looking at Champagne and his cook, he muttered " Rossignol— the
first for a torso — Do you understand, Champagne ?" — " 'Egad, no, sir — I
know no Rossignol — torso! — But may it not be some new sauce they have
invented ?"—" What do you say, M. le Chef ?"— " I should rather think,
M. le Comte, that it is a new way of dressing a calf's head." — " Ah ! say
you so ? — this is becoming interesting. This man has been drawn here by
the fame of my culinary knowledge, and the reputation of my dinners. Pray
show in M. Rossignol — I shall be delighted to see him."

During this colloquy, the fine model had become extremely impatient at
being left to cool his heels in the ante- room, and he beat time with his blud-
geon on the floor, whilst he warbled " Wake, dearest, wake." At length
the valet appeared, and said : " You may enter, M. Rossignol." — " Not
without difficulty though," said he ; and he penetrated to M. le Comte's
closet, where his first act was to bestow with hearty good will a violent blow
on the head of Caesar, who jumped on him, and was driven away with :—
" Down, down, rascal — the villainous dog has put his filthy paws on my
clothes — If you do it again, I will give you something that shall lay you on
your back for a fortnight to come."

This entree did not particularly prepossess M. le Comte in favour of the
stranger ; and Champagne could scarcely restrain a smile, as he looked at
M. Rossignol's coat, and thought of the fear he had expressed lest the dog
should dirt him with his paws. However, as a man, who was master of a
new method of dressing calves'-heads, was not an every day character, his
little peculiarities were to be overlooked ; and M. le Comte motioned him to
be seated, which Rossignol obeyed, saying to himself: " It would seem the
little fellow is out, but, of course, he will soon return. I suppose these are
his protectors —I must, therefore, be on my guard, and show that I am quite
at home in good company." And in order to evince his perfect knowledge
of the world, Rossignol continued twisting his stick and singing between his
teeth, then looking at M. le Comte, he said half aloud, " Here is one who
would never answer for an Apollo, but he would make a pretty little Cydops

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 95

enough." — Pray, my friend, who sent you to me?" said M. de Francornard
to Rossignol. — " No one sent me ; I came of my own accord, because
I choose." — " Oh, I understand ; you have heard mention of my dinners ;
and you called to offer yourself for the first I may give." — " Your dinners !
devil take me if ever any one mentioned them to me ! but no matter, if you
please, I shall taste them with the greatest pleasure, and you will see a chap
who will make no wry faces." — " He taste them !" said M. le Comte to
Champagne ; " he means, I suppose, that he will let me taste them. This
man must be very clever indeed, for he seems extremely confident." — " I am
precisely of that way of thinking, M. le Comte."—" But, after all, M. Ros-
signol, who told you my name ?" — " Parblcau ! why, the little fellow whom
I met some time back." — " The little fellow !— ah, the little fellow who is
in my kitchen, no doubt?" — " I don't know whether he is in your kitchen —
but I shouldn't wonder, for I found him in right good case." — "Yes, yes," said
the chef to his master; " no doubt it was my little turnspit, who gave M. le
Comte's address."—" M. Rossignol, 1 shall have the greatest pleasure in
putting your abilities to the test." — " Is M. le Comte a brother artiste, or

does he amuse himself en amateur?" — " Oh I am a professor; M. le

Chef here will tell you how I discuss my three courses." — " Three courses !
I have never sat for that." — " Is your head adapted to an important posi-
tion ?" — " My head ! is it my head, then, that you wish ? " — " To be sure."
— " Because, generally, I am only taken for my body." — " What ! are you
master of the body also ?" — " To be sure I am — that is what I pique myself
upon, But no matter ; if you consider my head a V antique, you may com-
mand me for five francs a-sitting." — "Five francs!" said M- le Comte,
looking first at Champagne, and then at his chef: " upon my word, it is not
dear." — " It may be dear enough, for all that," said the cook to himself." —
" And you assure me, M. Rossignol, that I shall have a fine calf s-head r"
rejoined M. le Francornard.

At these words the model started up suddenly, and angrily slapping his hat
down over his head, exclaimed, " Who do you call calf s-head ? It be-
comes you, indeed, miserable model of Vulcan, thus to insult a man who is
every day made a Jupiter or on Achilles !" — " What does all this mean?"
said M. le Comte, who, alarmed at M. Rossignol's movement, shoved back
his chair suddenly, and set Caesar barking again, whilst the model held out
his stick to the dog as if distrusting him. " I entreat you, sir, to explain
yourself; what brought you here ? " — " Not to see you, you may be depeiid
upon it." — " Did not you come to offer your services to dress calves'-heads
after a new fashion?" — " Here is a good one! pretty humbug, upon my
soul ! tell me, my old buck, who has been quizzing you at this rate ?" —
" What the devil do you want then ?" cried M. le Comte, angrily." — " Mbr-
bleu ! I wish to see Andrew, my friend, my old colleague at M. Dermilly's,
a boy that I love, and whom you are bringing up gratis. 'Tis to speak to
him I came." — " What, rascal ! you have had the audacity to introduce
yourself, to penetrate my very closet !" — " How did 1 know it was your
closet ? don't I tell you, it was Andrew I was looking for ?" — " Impertinent
scoundrel ! and to dare strike Csesar ! So you are the friend of the little
Savoyard — a handsome specimen this of his friends." — " More handsome
than you, I hope, you — one-eyed Polyphemus." — " This conies of Madame
la Comtesse's countenancing these vagabonds — Lafleur, Jasmin — turn this
rascal out of doors — throw him out of the window if he is impertinent."—
" What do you say !" cried Rossignol, flourishing his stick over his head.
" The first who dares lay hand on me will bitterly repent it. As for you,
you old one-eyed sinner take care I don't qualify you for a Belisarius."

M. le Comte screamed out, and sheltered himself behind Champagne and
the cook ; Caesar made a fresh attack on Rossignol, who, with one blow of
his bludgeon, stretched him at his feet. The servants ran at the noise, but

96 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

his determined look kept them at bay, and he effected his retreat, followed by
the lackeys, who made a pretence of attacking him, but were sufficiently well
pleased to let him withdraw quietly. Rossignol had reached the vestibule
when he encountered Mile. Lucile, who had come to learn the cause of the
uproar she had heard in M. le Comte's apartment. She asked him what he
wanted ; Rossignol related in a few words all that had passed, and the busi-
ness that had brought him to the hotel. Lucile was struck with his appear-
ance ; nevertheless, she pointed out the way to my room, where my intimate
friend, at length, arrived without further mistake.

He attempts another inroad on Andrew's replenished purse ; but
Lucile, who listens to his story, interferes, and the handsome model
retires indignant and vituperating. Andrew grows apace — he
arrives at maturity — a rascally nephew of the count makes love to
Adolphine — insults the Savoyard, and a duel is the consequence,
in which Andrew obtains the advantage. His adoration of Adol-
phine is revealed — the lovely countess cuts him — and he takes up
his abode at the house of Dermilly, who, dying, has left Andrew his
heir. Adolphine is married to her cousin — and Andrew, maddened
by the event, wanders away, nobody can discover where. Previously
he had discovered in an honest labourer his long lost Pierre, clothed,
and as far as externals could go, made a gentleman of him ; and when
it seems improbable that Andrew would ever be heard of again, Pierre
assumes supremacy in his apartments. Antecedent to Andrew's de-
parture he had fallen in with Rossignol, who had contrived to
wheedle him out of a splendid dinner, involve him in a fight, and
send him home drunk, bruised, and degraded. In his new state of
ease and opulence, Pierre becomes ennuye ; he does not know how
to employ himself; he convinces himself that he ought to be un-
happy.

One morning that Pierre was making these or similar reflections, the bell
was rung violently. Pierre started and ran to open the door, saying, "That
is ringing like a master ! Can it possibly be Andrew ? " He opened : but
instead of his brother, he was greeeted by the sight of his old customer, who,
as usual, had his hat stuck on one side of his head — but it was no longer the
old and mis-shapen beaver. At the dinner, where Pierre had lost his new
hat, this bosom friend had most probably found one, which he had mistaken
for his own, although there was not the slighest resemblance between them.
Unfortunately, not having been able to make a similar mistake with respect
to any other part of his dress, M. Rossignol (for he it was who had intro-
duced himself to Pierre under the name of Loiseau) had still the old coat
and tight pantaloons, which he wore on the day he presented himself to M.
de Francornard ; but in order to hide this part of his costume, he had bor-
rowed an old box coat from a coachman of his acquaintance, in which he
had carefully wrapped himself, although it was in the month of June ; and
to add to his imposing appearance, he had suffered his moustaches to grow,
which he was moistening and twisting every moment, first wetting his finger
for that purpose.

Rossignol was not aware of Pierre being my brother, till he had learnt the
fact the day of my dinner ; for whilst in his cups Pierre had related all his
adventures. My name, and that of M. Dermilly, soon put Rossignol on the
right scent ; but having very little doubt of the sort of reception he would
meet with, he had not dared call on Pierre, and bitterly regretted the loss of
so easy a prey. But one day, whilst loitering about the residence of his inti-
mate friend, he learnt that M. Dermilly was dead, that Pierre was living

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 9?

alone, and that his brother Andrew had disappeared, no one knew whither.
Rossignol was no sooner master of this pleasing intelligence than he flew to
the porte cochere, and was about to mount to Pierre, when a glance at his
dress arrested him. His coat could now boast of but two buttons, his pan-
taloons were worn at the knees, and torn down the leg. Pierre might have
servants, and his toilette wouldn't much prepossess them in his favour.
But Rossignol was never at a loss. He ran to a coach-stand, and hailing
a coachman with whom he had fought three times, and been reconciled a
fourth, clapt him on the shoulder, saying " Francois, lend me your box-coat
for two hours." — " My box-coat ! are you mad ?" — " I have a most par-
ticular occasion for it — two hours only, and I'll will bring it back again." —
" Why how can I ? I've only a light waistcoat underneath." — " And is'nt
that enough for such a hot day as this ?" — " How could I drive with bare
arms ?" — " You have quite the look of a Phaeton." — " Leave me'alone, will
you." — " Besides you are the last on the stand, you are sure not to be called
for two hours, and long before that, I shall have brought back your wrap-
rascal. Francois, would you desert a friend in the hour of need, who has
often shared his bottle with you ? My fortune depends on it — mine, do I
say, yours, perhaps ; for, once in funds, I will use no other jarvey, and I
will pay you three francs the course." — " Psha, you are humbugging." —
" No, on the word of the first torso — stay, here are fifteen sous, go wait for
me at the Carpe travuilleuse, and treat yourself to oysters." — " Oysters with
fifteen sous ? " — " I will answer for all — four dozen. Come Francois, you
feel for me — slip off the sleeves." — " But my carriage !" — " Look at the
weather, blockhead — no fetes, a working day — you will have nothing to do
till the evening.' "" But — " — " Order some white wine you know — and as
far as a pennyworth of Jerome — come, off with the other sleeve." — " Now
mind you promise faithfully, to return in less than two hours !" — " By Her-
cules and Antonous I swear."—-" I never heard of those gentlemen, but if
you fail me recollect it will be no laughing matter." — " Make your mind
easy — go drink till I return, and don't spare the wine." So saying, Rossignol
ensconced himself in the box-coat, and lounged away, humming " Gentle
maid believe, I never can deceive."

Pierre stared for some moments at Rossignol without recognising him, for
half his face was lost in his moustaches, which curled up to his ears ; but
Rossignol had already thrown himself on Pierre's neck and pressed him
in his arms as he would a bear that he was trying to suffocate. " Ah leave
me, will you," cried Pierre, who knew his friend at once by his manner.
" No, let me embrace you once more, my dear Pierre ; I am so delighted to see
you again." " Can it be you Loiseau — when I say Loiseau, my brother pre-
tends that your name is Rossignol." " He is in the right." " Why then do
you call yourself Loiseau ?" " My dear friend is not one as much a bird as
the other?" "True." "Well then, you see I did not change my name."
" That's true, certainly — I never once thought of that." " Besides what
imports a name — Rossignol or Loiseau, I am not the less your sincerest,
your best friend — as well as your brother's — although I did him a slight
injury once — but it was the thoughtlesness of youth — ' When young I was
thouyhlless and giddy.' I came to claim his friendship, of which I feel my-
self worthy, and throw myself in his arms — where is my dear Andrew ? let
me see him — I will not leave the house without seeing him, as well as M.
Dermilly, my old drawing master — a man who always honoured me with his
friendship and advice. My bosom pants to embrace the worthy man, whom
I revere as a father. My friend, lead me to him, you will witness how de-
lighted he will be to see me." " If it was to see M. Dermilly and my bro-
ther that you called, you have just lost your time." " How ? what would
you say? speak — explain yourself?" " M. Dermilly is dead — along time
since." " Dead — my master, father — oh ! my friend what a blow — let me

M.M. No. 91. O

98 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

seat myself." "Are you unwell?" " I fear I am — give me something?"
" Will you have a glass of water?" " I should much prefer a glass of
brandy, if you have it." " I believe so — and good too — Mr. Dermilly
was well supplied with liquors ; we have at least fifteen sorts in a large chest
— and the cellar — ah ! there is such capital wine." " What a truly respect-
able man he was." " Stay, tell me what you think of that ?" " Old as time
itself — and so you say he is dead ? Oh ! sacrilegious death, to meddle thus
with talents of the very first order. What a progress I should have made
under him had I been but less volatile. He looked on me as his son."
" He did not exactly speak of you in that way, though." " 1 tell you I have
acted wrong ; I confess my faults, and all is over ; what would you have
more? — another drop if you please." " Do you feel better?" "Yes, I am
somewhat revived — but Andrew, where is he ? call him, that I may throw
myself on his neck." "Alas, I might call in vain." " Heavens, you make
me shudder — can he be dead also — half a glass if you please — stay, give me
the bottle, I prefer helping myself. Well, my poor Pierre, your brother ?"
" Has disappeared six weeks since, and we know not what has become of
him — we have never heard from him." " Good God ! — my dear Andrew ! —
and I who came to ask him to take a family dinner without ceremony— no
matter, I'll dine with you. But what vertigo seized on him ?" " No verti-
go at all-— but a passion — a most violent love— -but I cannot tell you more,
because it is a secret.'' " Right, quite right, I ask no questions ! besides you
will tell me every thing at dinner." " The most distressing part of the bu-
siness is, that he has authorised me by a paper to dispose of all that belongs
to him ! and Mile. Manette says that is a sure proof he will never return."
" Mile. Manette reasons like a judge, and there is no doubt in the wTorld that
every thing which belonged to your brother is now your's." " Well, my
friend, would you believe it, notwithstanding my riches, I am as dull as a
hog." " I am not the least astonished at it." " At first my grief, my un-
easiness, respecting Andrew — " " Very true — and then the loneliness of
living by yourself, the having no one near you with whom you might laugh :
talk dries up your soul. Pierre, you know whether I am your friend or no
— I will fill Andrew's place, I will be a brother to you — and from this very
moment I establish myself here, and will quit you no more." " Ah ! my
dear Loiseau — that is to say, Rossignol — " " I have already told you to call
me whatever you please." " I often thought of you, and said to myself, if he
were here now I should not be yawning all day." " Egad, I will not give
you time for it — we'll laugh, drink and sing from morning till night. ' Trim
the lamp and fill the bowl.' — I'll teach you to spend your money." " With all
my heart and soul— -but when I think of my poor Andrew. — " " Oh ! we
will always have him in mind---pleasure and feeling go hand in hand---we
will weep for him every morning before we get up-— but after that we will
divert ourselves. But do you know you are lodged here like the grand Turk
— sofas and arm-chairs everywhere." " Oh, you have not seen half yet
— come, I'll shew you the whole of my lodging."

Rossignol followed Pierre, who already felt his heart lighter, since he had
met with him whom he looked upon as a sincere friend. The young Savoy-
ard was as inexperienced as ever : he took every man by his word, and judged
of every thing by its appearance. He now believed all that Rossignol said,
and was convinced that however much he might have erred, the frank manner
in whichhe confessed his faults would have exculpatedhim with M. Dermilly and
his brother. The handsome model exclaimed in admiration, as he entered each
room ; and in fact, he had never before seen them, being acquainted only with
the atdier and kitchen. He stopped before several pictures, saying : " Do you
see that Roman ? That is me ; and that handsome Greek, that's me again." " I
see no resemblance whatever." " I don't tell you it*s to my face, but to my

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 99

botly — and I flatter myself that is striking." "On that side is the kitchen."
" Oh, as for the kitchen, I know it well : I always passed that way when I
came to work with the good, the respectable Dermilly. A propos and old
Therese?" "And who is Therese pray ?" "The patron's cook?" Oh, I
think I have heard that she died." " She did right ; she could not even make
a soup." " Since Andrew left, I have taken no servant — at first, I felt
ashamed to ask any one to wait on me." " Mark me Pierre, servants are a
set of scoundrels that always rob us : it is much better to wait on one's self.
It is I that will give you lessons of economy. As for dinner, we will get it
at a traiteur's — it is much pleasanter — and if you wish to dine at home, send
for it from the nearest wine-shop — that is more healthy. No kitchen in your
house, the smell is bad. As for the rooms and beds, a little shoe black will
settle them every day, when he comes to clean your boots ; and in a twinkling
of a bed-post all is over. Instead of which, a housekeeper would pass a
morning in making your bed ; and then she must meddle wite every thing
— know all that is said and done in the house — we will have none of her —
second economy."

" This devil of a Rossignol, how economical he is become!" — " Oh, I have
not told you half yet. Ah ! this, doubtless, is your brother's bed-room." —
" Alas ! yes — it is now useless." — " It will be my care to make it useful,
and we will settle the rent between us— -third economy." — " But stay---if
you go on in this way, instead of spending my money, you will only make
me the richer." — " Don't let that make you the least uneasy--- as to the
money, that is my affair. But you must admit, that a lodging like this for
you alone is quite out of the question."---" I only stay here in hopes of my
brother's return." — " We will wait for him together-— that will be much
pleasanter. But I think you mentioned a certain chest well filled with
liquors— -suppose we just take a look at it."

Pierre ushered his friend to the room where were all the liquors. He
laid on the table the remains of a. pate, which he had left at his breakfast,
" Have you nothing else?" said Rossignol. " Is not that enough r" " No,
niggard — when one welcomes an old friend, one gives him something better
than the fragments of a pate." " But what can we get? There is nothing
else here." "Ah! how very simple you are! And the traiteurs, what do
you think they are for ? Come — be quick — call your porter — desire him to
go the first cook's shop— tell him to order some cutlets, eels, pigs' feet, a
good omelette ; and whilst they are getting ready, we will pay a visit to'the
cellar, with which I shan't be at all sorry to make acquaintance.'

Rossignol's liveliness, and the facility with which he made his arrange-
ments, roused Pierre from his habitual indolence. His bosom friend had
already gained the casement, from which he cried at the pitch of his voice,
*' Hollo, porter ! here, my man ; leave your magpie for a moment, and mount
subitb." " It is not a porter ; it is a porteress," said Pierre to his friend ;
" and, egad! she gives herself the airs of a mistress." " Because you are a
novice, and don't know how, when time and place suit, to stop her mouth
with a fifteen-sous piece. One must be generous at times — it brings all the
world to your feet, and one can do without servants — fourth economy."

The porteress came up ; she was a little woman about fifty years old, of a
sharp vinegar visage, and who spoke with great pretension. " She had for
some time cast an evil eye on Pierre, as she was no longer employed
about his rooms. "What do you want?" said she, in a sharp tone of
voice ; " and why scream in a way to annoy the whole house ?" /' Madame

Roch," said Pierre, " I beg pardon ; but I — I would " " Hush!" said

Rossignol, passing before Pierre, and rolling himself in his box-coat as if he
was playing Catiline ; " you cannot clothe your thoughts in words : leave
me to speak for you. My dear Madam Roch, my friend and I are desirous
of a capital breakfast. We wish to celebrate the day which has re-united

100 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

us ; when old friends meet, they are not sorry, in discussing a bottle of bur-
gundy, to flavour it with a cutlet. Pray take upon you to order every thing
in the very first style." " Monsieur, I am not the lodger's servant ; be-
sides, I have no longer care of Monsieur Pierre's rooms." " The fact, is,
he feared a tete-a-tete with you, Madam Roch — when one is still so bloom-
ing— " Monsieur, I entreat of you " " So extremely well pre-
served." " Yes, Monsieur, I flatter myself on being preserved." " What a
capital model we should make of a Medea, or an Agrippina !" " Monsieur,
I don't exactly know — " " How old are we, Madame Roch ? " Forty-
four, Monsieur." " Upon my soul, I should not have guessed within
twelve years of that. Come, Pierre, the money — Madame Roch will settle
every thing." " But, Monsieur—" " And no one could think of reckoning
with so interesting a porteress — ' By the loves and the lures in those dimples that
play /' — fork out."

Pierre fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a five-franc piece which he had,
and put it in Rossignol's hand which he held open behind him. " Get on."
said Rossignol. Pierre put a second. " Once again," whispered the fine
model, and Pierre dropped another, saying to himself, " Fifteen francs for a
breakfast ! the devil is in it if this is the fifth economy."

Rossignol put two of the five-franc pieces into Madame Roche's hand, and
slipped the third under his box coat, at the same whispering the porteress,
'• Make the best bargain you can and keep the change jor yourself." Then
pinching her knee, and pretending to kiss her, he pushed her towards the
staircase. Madam Roch not at all understanding his ways, but perfectly
understanding what to do with the money, settled her dress, which Rossig-
nol had somewhat discomposed, and went down down to order the
breakfast.

" You see," said Rossignol, " I am obeyed ; ah, my friend, money will
make a tortoise run." " That may be true, but fifteen francs for a break-
fast." " What, you live in such superb rooms as these, and yet think of such
trifles ! Listen to me, Pierre — do you wish to be amused, or do you not
wish it?" " Certainly I wish it." " In that case suffer yourself to be go-
verned. Besides, haven't I already taught you five or six economies ? It
isn't my wish, however, to make a miser of you." " Be it so, then ; I leave
you to settle everything — for I must confess I don't know much about it
myself." " Make your mind easy ; let your brother be but six months away,
and he will find a change when he returns. In the mean time let us to the
cellar."

They went down to the cellar, which might contain about three hundred
bottles of common wine, and several dozens of the finest kind. Rossignol
was in ecstacy ; he would willingly have breakfasted in the cellar, but as such
was not the custom, he contented himself with taking four or five bottles of
the finest wine, and loaded Pierre with as many of the common sort ; with
which these gentlemen reascended, Rossignol humming — ' No couple on earth
so happy as we.' — the bottles were arranged handy to the table. Madam
Roch returned with the dessert, and followed by a gar^on-traiteur loaded
with three dishes. At length every thing was settled for 'the breakfast, and
Madame Roch took her leave with a profound reverence. Pierre seated him-
self at table, and his friend placed himself in front of him. " Make yourself
quite at home," said Pierre. " Why do you keep on that immense coat ?
You must be suffocated in it." " Ah my friend, I was about to tell you.
You see my friend I have had a bad pain in my back, and I fear bad drafts —
besides I set a high value on this coat — it was left me by an uncle, who had
passed his whole life at sea." " It doesn't strike me as being very handsome
— it is lined with leather." " Exactly so, my friend — that's just what a ma-
riner wants, when he is keeping watch on deck ; wrapt in this, he cares not
whether it is rain, or sunshine." " So you had an uncle a sailor ? " " And

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 101

a famous sailor too, I flatter myself : he discovered three new worlds, and
was about discovering half a dozen more, when he was swallowed by a
shark." " Good God ! swallowed by a shark !" " Exactly as I have the
honour of telling you : let us drink." '* Poor man ! " '• Ah ! sailors are ac-
customed to those every day events ; they don't think half as much of them
as we do." " But how did you get back the coat ? " " That is just what I
was going to tell you. A short time after, the shark was taken, and as it
was opened with a view of preserving it for the Cabinet of Natural History,
the great coat was found within, whole and sound, and with a^letter directed
to me in one of the pockets. It seems sharks cant digest leather. As for my
poor uncle, there remained nothing of him, but two fingers and an ear, which
I have, preserved in brandy." " I'll never go to sea; I should be too much
afraid of such accidents." •' You are right — nothing like mother earth and
good wine — capital this — Papa Dermilly was a bit of a gourmand — all the
artists are." " It is very odd, Rossignol, but your hat is exactly like the
one I lost the day I dined with you — one would have sworn it was the very
same buckle." '• Why an't all hats exactly like each other ?" "I say, we
were rather tipsy that day." " Tipsy ! for shame, I am never tipsy. Be-
cause a few plates were broken, and a few thumps given to the tables, you
call that being drunk — we were gay, in high spirits, that is all." " But why
do you now wear moustaches ? It completely changes yonr face — Have you
been in the army since I saw you ? " " Yes, my boy, I have seen service —
I have even served in two places." " In the Hussars ? " " No, I was in
the volunteers — wore a fancy uniform — nothing remains but the pantaloons
— but I was not to be seduced — ' Thy charms recollecting, can fancy e'er rove?'
The arts reclaimed me, and I am delighted that I quitted the service, since I
have found again so faithful a friend — let us drink."

Rossignol did full justice to the repast ; it was long since he had made
such another. The corks flew, and the bottles were emptied. In order not
to disturb himself, Rossignol threw the dirty plates on a handsome sofa, and
rolled the bottles on the floor. Pierre, who endeavoured to drink fair with
his friend, was fast losing all consciousness. His utterance became thick-
ened, whilst his friend, quite cool, being much more accustomed to drink-
ing, made every thing the traiteur had brought disappear with an incon-
ceivable rapidity. Seated at a well furnished table, and surrounded by
wines, and liqueurs, Rossignol had quite forgotten Francois, to whom he
had promised to return the coat in two hours. Punctuality was not one 'of
the fine model's virtues ; he thought of nothing but making the corks fly,
arid began, now that his fourth bottle was finished, to partake the drunken-
ness of his host. Warmed by the wine he had drank, Rossignol threw off
the great coat in which he had been wrapped, crying " The devil take the
dressing-gown, what do I want of it ? You know me, Pierre, my boy, I am
your friend, an't I ? An't I dressed quite well enough to breakfast with
you ? I was smothered in that vile blanket." " What, your uncle's great
coat — the shark — that you throw on the ground in that way." " Let my
uncle alone ! who the devil told you of my uncle ? help yourself." " Why
you told me all about it just now." " Ah! true — I quite forgot. No
matter, Pierre, what a merry life we shall lead ! Why you are no longer the
same ; you cut quite another figure now : you are pleased at last, an't
you ?" " I am so merry I scarce know where I am." " Well, my man,
this is the life we'll lead every day, from morning to night. It is settled that
I attach myself to you, I quit you no more — you are rich, I am insinuating ;
you are narrow-minded, I am a man of wit ; I will infuse some into you,
and teach you ' Gaily to swim life's flowing tide !' " " Is that your uniform
you wear ?" said Pierre, who could scarce speak. " No, it is a hunting-
dress ; there are eight buttons off, which a wild boar swallowed just as I
was going to slay him. Let us taste the liqueur : what is this ? — rum —

102 TIIK HANDSOME MODEL.

egad, that's stiff; we must keep that for the last — Curacoa — ah, swallow
that, Pierre, and do your friend justice. You ought to bless Providence for
having granted me to you, for^you were living alone, like a wolf." " Oh,
no ; I used to go see father Bernard, and Manette — very good friends — of
Andrew — " " Bernard — Manette — I think you mentioned them before — is
not he a water-carrier ?" " Exactly." " Fie, for shame ! What, Pierre,
in the situation in which destiny has placed you, to keep company with
water-carriers ! That is not right, my man, one should never forget one's-
self — now for the aniseed." " But I, what was I but an errand-boy ?"
" To be sure you were, but you are no longer so, d'ye see — that's passed,
just like a rogue who becomes an honest man, no one thinks of calling him
a rogue— one sees that every day of one's life. I tell you again — you must
keep up your consequence — though I don't mean to say you are never to
speak to the water-carrier : you may even go and see him now and then,
when we have nothing particular to do — but I mean that you are not to put
yourself on a level with him, because you will pick up low-lived manners
and habits, whilst I wish to make a gentleman of you — brandy ! taste that
— how do you like it?" " Every thing seems to me to taste alike."
" Psha! you don't know what you are talking about. Pierre, I will take
upon me to collect a few friends together — lads in my own style — capital
good fellows ; I will take you to the best balls of La Courtille, at the Por-
cherons, at the Barriere du Maine — I know the best places — Hey, for plea-
sure, and to the devil with your friends who would preach sermons to you.
This very evening we'll go waltz at the Barriere de Vaugirard. where they
waltz all the week : you merely lend me a coat, waistcoat, and trowsers,
and I will find the rest. Come, join in the chorus of Robin-des-bois — do
yon know it, tra, la, la ; tra, la, la, la — I sing it every Monday with a
turner and a baker's wife, and you can't conceive the effect ; its tra, la, la,
from this till to-morrow — not at all difficult."

By dint of drinking, singing, and tasting every bottle, Pierre and Rossignol
at length became completely drunk. Pierre, who swore that every thing in
the room turned round, insisted on waltzing to keep himself steady, and was
soon stretched under the table ; whilst Rossignol, after chucking the dishes
and plates to the other end of the room, rolled himself in Francois's great
coat, and fell fast asleep between the skeleton of a fowl, and a bottle of oil
of roses.

Manette finds out Andrew, and by dint of the most quiet and affec-
tionate attention, soothes, and brings him back to Paris, from the
neighbourhood of those scenes, where, in boyhood, he had freely
sported with Adolphine. On his return he finds his apartments de-
spoiled of their principal valuables — all about him indicates ruin,
riot, and recklessness. Rossignol and Pierre come in, both drunk,
the former dressed in Andrew's clothes. He is soundly threshed by
Andrew, and kicked out. Pierre repents, and resumes his porter's
knot. Andrew marries Manette, and goes with Pierre to the house
of a traiteur, near the Pont d'Austerlitz, to order the wedding dinner.
While making a bargain — but let us give a final extract.

As we passed before the window of a summer house, we heard the noise
of people disputing, and a loud voice, that Pierre and I recognized at once,
said " You can't prevent me from walking in your garden, my good woman
— the fresh air will restore me — ' You tell me, dear girl. I am yiven to rove.' "
" I did not come here to listen to your singing, Sir," said the wife of my
host ; " pay your bill, and be off." " Express yourself correctly, then, my
lovely Niobe ; you desire me to go away, and yet you won't let me go out —
you don't argue logically." " It is Rossignol," whispered Pierre. " Yes,
no doubt it is he. What is this quarrel about?" said I to the traiteur.

THE HANDSOME MODEL. 103

" Ah Monsieur, the devil has sent here a good-for-nothing vagabond, that
there is no getting rid of. He has been upwards of a week here. He called
one evening, and in a gentlemanly manner ordered supper. It was served,
and as he sat very long over it, he then begged to be allowed to sleep in the
room, where he had supped, saying that he had made an appointment with
his man of business, and wished to wait there for him. Although not in the
habit of doing so, we consented to lodge him. Next day he fared sump-
tuously, and still stayed ; in a word, as I told you before, this has been
going on for a week, and he pretends he is waiting for the arrival of his man
of business, to settle with me. But I have no desire to harbour him for a
year in this way ; he had the impudence to offer to attitudinize for me, and
give me a statue in payment. What the deuce should I do with such a ras-
cal's statue ? He must settle with me and be off. I have no intention that
he should remain here for your wedding party. He has the impudence to
claim acquaintance with every body that comes here, and deafens every one
with his chorusses, which he is for ever roaring out. But I have sent for
Monsieur le Commissaire, and in the mean time, I have ordered my wife to
watch the rascal, whom I caught yesterday climbing a wall, in order to do —
Adonis I think he said. The scoundrel ! I'll give him time enough to do
Adonis in prison. He would have devoured one of my fowls every day if I
had let him." " Let's be off, brother," whispered Pierre, who felt no desire
for a meeting with his old friend. I was yielding to his wish, but it was too
late. A man jumped from the window of an entresol into the garden, and
placed himself in the attitude of Cupid. He stood exactly opposite to us,
and exclaimed joyfully, " Oh God of artists, I thank thee gratefully. Behold
two friends whom I meet at the nick of time, and who will pay for me.
Monsieur le Traiteur, my bill- --quick-- behold Castor and Pollux---intimate
friends who will never leave an artist in durance." Pierre reddened with
anger, and I was thunderstruck at the fellow's impudence. The landlord
stared with astonishment, as he stammered, " What, gentlemen, are you
really friends of this good-for-nothing vagabond?" " Good-for-nothing va-
gabond ^" cried Rossignol ; " how dare you address such language to me,
you rascally roaster of cats?" These words rendered the traiteur furious.
" Make yourself easy, Jupin," said Rossignol ; " your bill will be paid ; but
mind, we have done with you ; your rabbits have rather too suspicious a
look. Come Pierre, my little man, shell out a few crowns for your old
playmate."

Pierre was silent from very shame. I stepped'between him and Rossiguol,
who carried his audacity so far as to offer to shake hands with me. " If you
had been satisfied with cheating me of my money," said I, " I might have
forgotten it ; but you endeavoured to render my brother as despicable a.
a wretch as yourself — and yet you dare to call us your friends ! Such a title
from your lips is the greatest insult. Think yourself happy that I do not
join this gentleman in getting you punished as you deserve." "That is the
way is it. Preaching morality to your friends in misfortune ! Well, my
little chimney-sweeps, we'll manage to do without you — we don't depend on
you alone for sweeping our chimneys clean." "As Rossignol uttered these
words, the hostesb who had run in search of the guard, the instant she saw
her guest jump from the window, made her appearance at the entrance of the
garden, followed by a corporal and four fusileers, whilst the commissaire with
the waiter appeared at another door. Rossignol, at the sight of the soldiers,,
knit his brows, and I heard him utter, "No, sacre bleut the most admired
antique torso shall never go rot in a dungeon." "There is the criminal,"
said the hostess to the commissaire, pointing out Rossignol, who advanced
towards the man of the law, making a bow down to the ground at every step,
in such a way that the commissaire could never get a full view of his face.
" A truce to your politeness, and answer my questions, sir," said the man of
peace ; whilst Rossignol buried his fingers in an old snuff-box that the cor.

104 THE HANDSOME MODEL.

poral had just opened. "You refuse to leave the house, sir?" "False,
Monsieur le Coraraissaire ; on the contrary, my only wish is to be off."
" But you refuse paying, sir." " 1 never said so, Monsieur le Commissaire
— so far from it, my intention has also been to give the waiter something
handsome to drink." "Well then, sir, settle your bill, and put an end to
all this." "A moment, Monsieur le Commissaire — I don't say that I'll pay
just now, because I am waiting for my man of business ; if he does not
come, surely that is not my fault ! In the mean time, I am a model, and
if by chance, madame your wife should be in an interesting situation, and
would wish to gaze on a handsome man, Monsieur le Commissaire, you may
command my services." " March off the scoundrel, corporal, and let him
be sent to the prefecture to night," said the Commissaire, turning his back on
Rossignol, who sung between his teeth, " I'd be a butterfly." The corporal
advanced with his men, Rossignol at once stepped in the midst of them, say-
ing, " I surrender at discretion, my heroes, well persuaded my innocence will
soon appear, for I am guileless as the chaste Susanna herself; I am, there-
fore well content to follow you." The soldiers did not close upon a man,
who accompanied them with such good will. Rossignol walked in the mid-
dle of them : when they were out of the garden he stopped, and fumbling
in his pockets, said, " Stay, I have forgotten my hankerchief— I have no
idea of making a present of it to them." " I'll get it for you," said the
corporal, making a sign to the soldiers to halt, and retracing his steps. By
a natural movement, the soldiers also turned their faces towards the trai-
teur's house, which was what Rossignol expected, and taking quickly to his
heels, he gained the bridge of Austerlitz. The Invalids on duty asked for a
halfpenny, and received for answer a blow which stretched him on his back.
However, the soldiers and corporal had given chace to Rossignol, crying,
" Stop him, stop him ! " He had almost crossed the bridge, and had hoped
to clear the gate on the other side, but the cries of the invalide and corporal
had been heard, and the gate was closed, A crowd had collected, and it was
impossible to jump over the heads of all. Rossignol retraced his steps — he
was hemmed in on every side. The corporal and invalide had already ex-
claimed with a triumphant air, " We have him ! " " Take care lest he slips
through your fingers," replied Rossignol, and at the very moment that the
corporal had stretched forth his arm to seize him, he jumped on the parapet
of the bridge, and precipitated himself into the river, singing, " deep as the
rolling Zuyder-zee!" The soldiers remained stupified ; the crowd hurried
down to the banks, in search of boats, but the river was running strong, and
the current swept off the fine model to the nets of St. Cloud. Pierre was
horror-struck at the sight ; I hastily led him away, saying, " Behold, my
friend, the frequent end of men destitute of honour, character and urobity."

Such is the end of the handsome model — one of the most finished
and original characters of modern fiction. The substitution of
English scraps of song for his own snatches of French chansons, in-
jure his identity ; but notwithstanding this drawback, he stands out
from the translated pages of Paul De Kock, in the work before us,
with a reality which is at once delightful and startling.

The other characters in the novel are most admirably treated —
each of them might be brought out in such a paper as this with quite
as much effect as Rossignol. Wit or humour sparkles in every page,
and it would be a mere act of charity to pity that individual who is
so wretched — so forlorn — so woe-begone, as not to laugh heartily
over this book.

SUMMARY OF FOREIGN EVENTS.

THE affairs of the continent are still marked with the character of uncer-
tainty and complication. A provisional convention has at length been
signed between Great Britain, France, and Holland. This treaty is, without
contradiction, one of the most extraordinary mystifications which diplomacy
ever made use of to hoodwink nation's. Three years of protocols, two cam-
paigns of the French armies, a months cruise of the combined squadrons —
have produced what ? A peace, if it may so be called, based, not on the exe-
cution of the famous convention of London, but upon the "status ante bel-
lum." Not a single interest is conciliated, not a difficulty levelled ; William
Van Nassau has sported with our boasted diplomacy, has laughed at our
threats, and has at length signed a conventional treaty, in which the independ-
ence of Belgium is not acknowledged by the very power whose recognition it
was her interest, above all others, to have obtained. It is true we have ob-
tained the provisional navigation of the Scheldt, but the right of Holland to
close it at her pleasure has been, at the same time, clearly established.

In France, in spite of the fierce contention of party spirit, constitutional
liberty is making rapid progress. The last act of the Carlist drama is closed
by the departure of the Duchess de Berri. The marriage of this princess is
involved in as much mystery as the history of the celebrated masque de fer.
The attention of the French Chambers has been principally occupied with
the question of the fortification of Paris. Three opinions exist upon this
subject. One party sees no necessity at all for the measure — these are the
republicans ; the two others agree as to its necessity, based upon the politi-
cal axiom, that the independence of nations is in inverse ratio to the vul-
nerability of their capitals ; but they differ as to the mode, one advocating an
enciente " continue!," and the other a chain of detached forts, that would act
equally against an enemy in the field, or the revolted population of the
capital. The earnestness with which the subject has been debated shews
that even on the military soil of France, a feeling of jealousy towards stand-
ing armies is fast disseminating itself among the mass of the French people.
La Vendee, that hotbed of Carlism is to be pierced in every direction with
strategic roads.

In Spain great preparations were making for the meeting of the cortes on
the 20th ; and as the moment approached, the contending parties were
marshalling their forces. Zea Bermudez is playing a deep game, and evidently
wishes to insure the throne to Don Carlos. His accession to power nipped
liberty in the bud. General Sarsfield has already refused to take the com-
mand of one of the divisions of troops destined to entertain the people
with the exibition of a sham fight on the day of the fete. The high clergy
are preparing to protest against the recognition of Ferdinand's daughter, in
favour of the rights of her uncle, Don Carlos. In the mean time, with their
consummate skill and their usual success, they are exciting the population
of the provinces. In Gallicia violent symptoms of fermentation and dis-
content have already manifested themselves. In short every thing indicates
that Spain is again on the eve of a civil war.

The ex-emperor, Don Pedro remains shut up in Oporto, famine and
disease sweeping off his old soldiers as fast as he receives recruits. Of the
non-existence of a strong party in the country in favour of the young queen,
Donna Maria de Gloria, the experience of the last twelve months must have
convinced every unprejudiced mind. The question is therefore purely a
M.M. No. 90. P

106 SUMMARY OF FOREIGN EVENTS.

military one. Solignac, with a strategic eye, sees all the difficulties of an
advance upon Lisbon with the slender means at his disposal, and will not
risk a well-earned military reputation by a campaign " a la Ghengis Khan"
The original error of Don Pedro's plan of campaign, — the making Oporto the
point of disembarkation, is now glaringly evident. But even should the good
cause ultimately triumph, Don Pedro's entry into Lisbon, for the informa-
tion of Portuguese bond-holders, will be, to use an expression of Prince
Talleyrand's, " le commencement de la fin." Captain Napier has suc-
ceeded Sartorius in the command of the squadron, and there is some talk of a
dash upon Lisbon by sea : — " nous verrons."

In Germany popular compromises and military occupations are the order
of the day. The free city of Frankfort appears likely to be blessed for some
time to come with the presence of an Austrian garrison. The Bosnians, too,
have revolted, and the Austrian government immediately offered its assist-
ance to Prince Milosh. Well, indeed, may it be said that God gave the
regions of the air to the German. No one has more exalted ideas of the
ulterior destinies of man than he ; he is intimately convinced of the pro-
gressive march of the human race, that truth, liberty, and justice will sooner
or later be the inheritance of all men ; but to attain this noble consumma-
tion by putting his own hand to the work, is what he never thinks of. The
German may be said to dream away his existence enveloped in volumes of
tobacco-smoke, and imagines that it would be derogatory to his character as
a citizen of the world to trouble his metaphysical head with the affairs of his
own fatherland. To be free Germany must be centralised ; and how that is
to be accomplished, we leave the Germans themselves to discover.

Heroic Poland still bleeds through every pore. Four Polish officers of
the late national army have been shot at Warsaw. Goaded to desperation,
they had joined the bands of their countrymen who, issuing from their
forests, still carry on a pontoon warfare against the Russians. Prince
Paskievitch lately intimated to two Polish ladies of rank, that if they were
discovered writing to their children in Siberia, they should be publicly
whipped. What country will henceforth shelter the ill-fated Poles ? They
are hunted down like beasts of prey ; their presence in the south of France,
say the continental despots, has revolutionized the neighbouring states ; they
must consequently be removed. But on the other hand, they must not either
remain in the north, since they produced the emeute at Frankfort, and would
have revolutionized all Germany had not their march been arrested in
Switzerland.

What must then be done with them ? Must they be thrown into the sea, or
delivered over " en masse" to the Czar Nicholas, to be sent into Siberia ?
The Polish refugees afforded an admirable pretext for interfering in the affairs
of Switzerland. The German diet has already written a menacing letter to
the Swiss diet on the subjec. Soon it will be said that they are in cor-
respondence with the revolutionists of Neufchatel, and Prussia will instantly
take fire, while the late insurrection at Chamberry will afford Austria an op-
portunity of gaining possession of what she has so long coveted — the Pied-
montese fortresses. From the Bosphorus to the Rhine, nothing is heard of
but occupations and the regime of bayonets to keep down the hydra of revolu-
tion and rapine, as the march of liberalism is designated by the military
despots and their minions.

More martyrs in the cause of freedom have perished in Piedmont, the
beral movement has vibrated at Naples, and the political surface of the-
iltalian peninsula is saturated with volcanic matter, but deceived and abari
doned by the doctrinaire ministry of France, her own energies and resources
are insufficient to shake off the Austrian incubus that oppresses her.

Greece under her new king has merely exchanged the regime of the Rus-
sian knout for that of the Austrian baton. The government has usurped all

SUMMARY OF FOREIGN EVENTS. 107

the privileges of the nation — it would lead us too far to even attempt a suc-
cinct analysis of all their acts — suffice it to say that every thing is borrowed
from the laws and customs of Germany, with a laudable disregard to the
habits, prejudices, and institutions of the Greeks themselves. The Palikari
have refused to enlist in the regular army — collision has taken place between
them and the Bavarian troops, and the former have in consequence migrated
into Albania and taken service with the Turks. King Otho's reign will, we
venture to predict, be a short one, and his successor, Nicholas Paulovitch,
by the grace of England and France.

Like the Belgian question, the struggle between the Sultan and Mahomet
Ali, is provisionally settled. Constantinople has been the arena of diplo-
matic intrigue, which will in some measure explain the vacillating conduct
of the Sultan, between the French and Russian party. Admiral Roussin
displayed great energy, and strove to make Mahmoud preserve the analogy
that existed between himself and the last king of Poland, Stanislas Poniat-
touski. The grand Signior, it is said, was so struck with the resemblance,
that he became as anxious for the departure of his Russian allies, as he had
been for their stay. Ibrahim Pacha has commenced his retreat, and as soon
as the last Egyptian soldier shall have passed the Taurus, the Russians would
on their side evacuate the Ottoman capital. But, like the Russians their
prototypes the Romans of old, never conclude a peace without securing to
themselves pretexts for proximate intervention. In this instance they have
acted with their usual cunning. By the first article of the treaty between
Nicholas and the Sultan, it is stipulated, that three months after the return
of the Russian auxiliary force, the Grand Signior shall proceed to pay the
expences of the Russian armed intervention; and, by a secret article it is fur-
ther stipulated, that until the definitive conclusion of those arrangements,
no foreign vessel of war is to be allowed to enter the Dardanelles. The exhausted
finances of the Sultan will not allow him to fulfill the conditions of the
treaty, and Russia will thus acquire a plausible pretext for seizing another
slice of the Ottoman empire. It is rumoured in the political circles at Paris,
that General Sebastiani, at a recent council of ministers, urged the immediate
sending to the Bosphorus of a strong fleet, and an army of twelve thousand
men, and it is asserted that Louis Philippe was not averse to the project. Se-
bastiani has a more searching and prophetic eye than his colleague, Mons. de
Broglie.

From the more distant parts of the world we are without news of import-
ance. In Brazil, there have been some serious provincial disturbances, aris-
ing from the rapacious and insubordinate spirit, of that regular organized
banditti, the army. This force should have been disbanded long ago, they
are far more terrible to their own countrymen in peace, than they would be
to an enemy in war — as a military force they are contemptible.

In the United States, the president has had his nose pulled ; but such an
event, which in Europe would be regarded as high treason, is looked upon as
a mere nothing by brother Jonathan.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

TURKEY AND ITS RESOURCES. BY DAVID URQUIIART. LONDON :
SAUNDERS AND OTTLEY.

WITH the exception of d' Ohsson's celebrated work on Turkey, we do not
recollect having ever met with one, that has afforded us so much valuable in-
formation on that interesting portion of the globe, as the book before us.
The press has teemed of late with notices, recollections, sketches, narratives,
and other mushroom productions on the Ottoman Empire ; but one and all
are cast in the same superficial mould, and convey to the reader but the faith-
ful description of such objects as struck the organ of vision of their authors
during a short sojourn in the land of the " Cypress and Vine." But Mr.
Urquhart's work is of another type, and appearing, as it does, at a moment
when the gaze of all Europe is fixed with deep intensity on the tottering em-
pire of Mahomet, it will be perused with the liveliest interest and attention.

Even when the power and greatness of the Ottoman Empire were at their
meridian, those who attentively observed it, discovered that its predominating
principle was one of weakness ; and its dissolution was consequently fore-
told with mathematical confidence. Still the Tuikish Empire exists, while
this historical prediction, which has been handed down through so many
generations, as the unerring dictum of political wisdota, is, after all, but the
offspring of false estimates of the operation of institutions, dissimilar in every
respect to our own.

It has been finely observed by a profound philosophical writer of the pre-
sent age, that where the general constitution of a state is sound and healthy,
there is a sort of " vis medicatrix," which is sufficient for the cure of political
disorders. Mr. Urquhart has discovered this in Turkey, in the effects of non-
interference in the local administration of the countries beneath the sway of
the Sultan. He has skilfully brought to light that portion of the Turkish
administration, which has hitherto been unfortunately neglected, and which
consists in the popular and elementary parts, through the intervention of
which, the revenue is collected; whence two principles of vast practical im-
portance have sprung, viz. — perfect freedom of industry and commerce, by
the placing of taxation directly on property ; and a rural municipal organi-
zation, which has been the means of neutralizing the effects of Turkish
tyranny, and of replacing patriotism by the means of local affection and
common sympathies, which is after all a fundamental principle of Arabic
legislation. Mr. Urquhart proceeds to the consideration of the finances of
that empire : the simplicity of the system forms a striking contrast with the
more complicated combinations of Western Europe : it is based upon
a principle in force in all the great empires of antiquity — direct taxation. He
has likewise triumphantly shown that elements of reorganization abundantly
exist in Turkey.

" On the chances of reorganization of the Turkish empire," he says, " I
have but one concluding, but very important remark to make. A man who
would be considered in Europe perfectly ignorant, may be, in Turkey, if he is
only honest, an able and excellent administrator ; because he has no general
questions to grapple with, no party opinions to follow, no letter of the law to
consult; because he is never called on to decide on, and interfere in, questions of
administration and finance; therefore it is that Europeans form a false estimate
by an erroneous standard of the administrative capacity of theTurks,and add to
the real dangers that surround Turkey, others gratuitously suggested by their
European prejudices. A Turkish reformer requires no instruction in fund or
bank monopolies, — none in bankruptcy cases, none in the mysteries of con-
veyancing, none in corporate rights, There are no laws of primogeniture or
entail to be discussed or amended. In fact, there are no systematic evils ;

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 109

the reformer requires but honesty and firmnss of purpoese." And this is
Turkey, which from our cradle we are taught to look upon as the region of
tyranny and barbarism. The turbaned Turk may well exclaim to his Euro-
pean brethren — " Quid rides ? Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur."

The most important chapter is decidedly that on the commercial resources
of Turkey, which offers so wide a field to British enterprise.

" Good sense, tolerance, and hospitality, have long ago done for the Otto-
man empire what the other states of Europe are endeavouring to effect by
more or less happy political combinations. Since the throne of the Sultans
has been elevated at Constantinople, commercial prohibitions have been un-
known— they opened their ports to the productions of the whole world.
Liberty of commerce has reigned here without limits : it is thus, notwith-
standing the robberies and violence of legal and illegal bandits, the commerce
of the East, without exchanges or post offices, canals or rail-roads, insur-
ance or credit ; unprotected by courts at home, or consuls abroad ; unpro-
tected by a legislative body where all interests are duly represented, extends
its gigantic operations from Mount Atlas to the Yellow Sea — from the Blue
Mountains, amid the deserts of Africa, to the Bakal in the wastes of Tartary,
and by the slow and noiseless step of the camel, maintains the communica-
tions, exchanges the produce, and supplies the wants of three-fourths of the
globe."

In conclusion, he remarks, " Turkey is a country having 3000 miles of
coast still remaining, a territory of 500,000 square miles under the happiest
climate ; possessed of the richest soil raising every variety of produce ; hav-
ing unrivalled facilities of transport ; abounding in forests and mines ; open-
ing innumerable communications with countries farther in the East,
with all which our traffic is carrried on in English bottoms, where labour is
cheap, industry unshackled, and commerce is free ; where our goods com-
mand every market ; where government and consumers alike desire their
introduction. But all the advantages that may accrue to us from so favour-
able a state of things, is contingent on her internal tranquility and political
reorganization. Here is a field for diplomatic action of the noblest and most
philanthropic character — where our interests are so much at stake as to call
forth our most strenuous exertions, and where that interest is so reciprocal
as to call forth no selfish motives, and to introduce no inviduous dis-
tinctions."

It is to be hoped that our government will not allow so wide and extended
a field as is here pointed out for British enterprise to become a preserve of
the Russian autocrat. The relations of Turkey with Austria, Russja, and
France, and the views of these three powers are ably exposed ; and, lastly, in
a luminous chapter, he considers the affairs of Greece. Mr. Urquhart's ob-
servations should be treasured up by the counsellors of King Otho. They
point out the shoals that surround him, and the means of conducting the
vessel of state safely on her voyage of political regeneration. But from what
is passing in that ill-fated land, we fear that she has yet a fiery ordeal to go
through, and that owing to the egotism and inaptitude of European
diplomacy.

THE SCHOOL AND FAMILY MANUAL. LONDON : LONGMAN AND Co.
IF the rising generation are not clever it will be their own fault, for at no
former period have there appeared so many elementary works on every
branch of science as at present. We never recollect, to have met 'with a
work so well calculated to lay a good substratum of mathematical and
arithmetical knowledge in the mind of the student, as the Conversations on
Geometry and Arithmetic before us. The theorems and propositions of
Euclid, are demonstrated in so clear and so lucid a manner, as to be imme-
diately mastered by the most obtuse intellect. The Conversations on Geometry

110 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

should be put into the hands of every mathematical student as a preparatory
exercise ; they are admirably adapted to facilitate the passage of the ' pons
asinorum,' which, in nine instances out of ten, the pupil passes without
knowing how.

THE LAST GIFTS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. PAINTED BY A. COLIN.
ENGRAVED BY G. H. PHILLIPS.

THE unfortunate Queen, whose beauty appears to be considerably marred
hy grief, is seated in the midst of her weeping friends and attendants, on the
eve of her execution, and is distributing among them various tokens of her
regard. This engraving possesses a richness of surface peculiar to the best
examples of the mezzotint style, and the chiaroscuro is very effectively
managed.

HEADS AFTER THE ANTIQUE. DRAWN ON STONE BY B. R. GREEN, No. I.
LONDON : ROWNEY AND Co.

WE are not quite satisfied with the details in these drawings. In the
Jupiter the eyes are too undecided in form, and the shadows are cut up with
lines. More force of effect, and a greater strength of expression, might have
been given to the whole family — Juno, Apollo, and Diana. The general
air and character of these heads is, however, preserved, and the half tints
are clear and freely handled.

THE BYRON GALLERY. PART VI. LONDON : SMITH, ELDER AND Co.

THE engravings are very creditably executed. In the Maid of Athens from
CHALON, the light is thrown over the subject with much spirit, though the
character of the head is rather namby-pambyish. Mr. RICHTER, or his en-
graver, seems to fall short of a desirable expression in the countenances.
In other respects, we commend this part as worthy of its predecessors.

PORTRAITS OF THE PRINCIPAL FEMALE CHARACTERS OF THE WAVERLEY
NOVELS. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL.

THIS part contains the Fair Maid of Perth, Edith Plantaganet, and
Fenclla, from designs by C. LANDSEER, HART, and H. HOWARD, R.A. The
engravings are spirited and carefully finished, nor is there wanting beauty of
character in the heads. The drawing of the first-mentioned portrait is
executed with much taste for form, a rare quality among English artists,
whose passion for colour is apt to lead them astray from correct outline.
Appended to this number is a beautiful plate, by LE KEUX, of Dryburgh Abbey.

SONNETS. BY EDWARD MOXON. LONDON.

THE attractive-looking livraison before us is printed for private circulation
only. A copy of it has, however, been forwarded to us in our critical
capacity, and courting, as it consequently does, the exercise of our function,
we shall deal with it as we should do with a work regularly published.

The author is a bookseller and publisher, of whom many kind things are
said, and we have good reasons to believe deservedly. He sparkles as a
planet of some consideration in the Cockney system. He has several satel-
lites— some, brilliants of rather fine water — and some, twinklers — as any one
may see who visits his boutique, between the hours of two and four — when,
to confess the truth, it is a most pleasant literary lounge. Even in the hot-
house of Cockaigne there are many flowers, the reverse of contemptible,
though in an exotic state — but which had they bloomed . on the bosom of

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. Ill

nature would have been mountain daisies. We entertain the utmost con-
tempt for the school, while our respect is great for many of the individuals
composing it. There is more than one of them, who might, perhaps (and
this is high praise), had they been excisemen, have approached the excellence
of Burns. They seem to want nothing but a knowledge of Nature, to make
them manly poets. They look at the fields and the heavens, and all the
glorious creations of God, through dandy bits of stained glass, mounted in
metal to imitate silver, and bought in Cheapside. They have no idea of the
grandeur — the breadth — the force — the sublimity of truth. They lack mental
brawn — they have no sinew — their bones are marrowless. They try to
paint pimples into roses. Their conceits are inconceivable. They scorn to
give us facts as they find them — they describe Bardolph's nose as being de-
precated by purple butterflies, who, taking it for a congenial mulberry, have
singed their lady-like toes. They hear the trees talking to each other ; they
rarely, if ever, mention the whinchat — the whitethroat — the linnet — or the
blackcap : — the nightingale, being exclusive poetical property, is almost the
only bird, except the falcon, " with his felon-swoop," or the mavis, of which
they have read, but never saw except in a cage — or the lark, screaming his
artificial notes — imitations of the house-sparrow, combined with those of
the " London cries," from some tailor's two-pair window in a blind alley —
or the raven, known only to them by the recent representative of his species,
at the Elephant and Castle, Newington, or at the George, in Little Chelsea.
The most laughable mistake under which the Cockney poets — who transcribe
from their predecessors, instead of depicting from nature — labour — is that, one
and all, they describe the song of a nightingale to be forlorn and sad. Phi-
lomel, according to their accounts, and we must admit to those of many
more eminent persons, who rank among our poets, is a miserable, whining
creature. Mr. Moxon has fallen into the prevailing error. He calls the
nightingale in his first sonnet, a " lone midnight-soothing melancholy
bird," andjpikens it in his imagination, from its " mournful voice," to some
angelic mind weeping over the sins of erring mortals. He goes on thus : — ^

" In Eden's bowers, as mighty poets tell,

Didst thou repeat as now that wailing call —
Those sorrowing notes might seem, sad Philomel

Prophetic to have mourned of man the fall."

It is a pity that our talented friend Moxon, prior to the perpetration « of
this sonnet — which has but one fault, that of being totally untrue from be-
ginning to end — had not gone so far as Fulham, and heard'a nigthingale with
his own ears, instead of the asinine auriculars oft own-bred poetasters. He
would then — we are satisfied from the taste and judgment he has displayed
in the poems before us — have described the song of the nightingale in a
widely different manner. Nothing, in fact, can be more joyous — it is the
most eloquent out-pouring of a gladsome spirit that can possibly be conceived.
There is but one single note in the nightingale's song which is in the slightest
degree lugubrious — it is the lowest in its gamut, and after having repeated it
twice or thrice, it soars up into a perfect revelry of wild enthusiastic jocund
music, than which nothing, to the human ear, either natural or artificial, is
one-half so exhilirating. Why should the nightingale be sad ? His mate
is brooding in the adjacent hedge — his song is a song of joy — like every other
bird of his order, at the period of incubation, his notes are triumphant and
rejoicing, they cheer his solitary mate in the hawthorn — they constitute a
natural domestic concert — a merry serenade. The nightingale sings as though
he were tipsy with glee.

But the Cockney gentlemen know nothing of this : if they have heard the
chimes at midnight — it has been in the vicinity of St. Clements— not even
in their own darling fields about the hill of Hampstead. If they have seen

112

MONTHLY 11KVIKW OF LITKKATUltE AND ART.

the sun rise, it has been after getting merry with puerile tipple, from " the
big battlements " of Waterloo-bridge. Even when nature is before them they
shut their eyes to it, and paint from bad copies. That which is the most re-
moved from truth, to them is the purest poetry. They aspire to be purely ethe-
rial — all mind — all imagination : they glory in seeing invisible similitudes — to
them a dying dolphin is an expiring monarch — the fish and the king being
equally imaginative. They grapple with non- entities — and complacently
retire, although discomfited, with flying colours. They are ignorant, and
consequently bold ; they smile, with pride, in a pillory of their own fabri-
cation, on the spectators who from motives of pity or contempt, do not think
proper to pelt them according to their deserts.

And yet, some among these men, if they took for their motto a passage of
Shakspeare — of whom they affect to be idolators — " thou nature, art my
goddess," might become poets, of whom the nation to which they belong
would be proud. But they won't. They describe nature — not as she is^-
fresh, blooming, and vigorous, but as a decayed literary old lady — a second
Mrs. Piozzi — of whom some interesting anecdotes have been preserved.
When they copy, they have skill enough to be endureable ; when they venture
to be original — as they sometimes do — they are insufferable. A pure Cockney
bard can only be tolerated so long as he keeps within the bounds of poe-
tical petty larceny.

History, science, and all such trifling matters are set at nought in the
realms of Cockayne — every thing is glazed over with couleur de rose. Even
the amiable, talented, and respectable bookseller before us, eulogizes Walton
the angler, and that pestiferous hive of thieves who came from Normandy,
in the wake of William the Conqueror — one of the most consummate scoun-
drels that ever the Almighty permitted to be dominant over his fellow men.
Speaking of Walton, in his fourteenth sonnet, Mr. Moxon, pensively lauds
" the meekness of his plain-contented mind." Apostrophizing the cruel
old angler, he says —

" From thee I learn
To sympathize with Nature."

How, let us ask, did the good gentlemen sympathize with Nature ? By
dexterously impaling a worm, on a barbed hook, in such a manner as to
protract, to the utmost possible extent, his lively agony, so as to attract and
delude certain individuals belonging to that large class of animatad nature
denominated by the scientific pisces. These, after impaling and half-drown-
ing his miserable bait, he hooked up by the lips, the palate, or the throat ;
and then, wrenching his hook out of their lacerated flesh, tossed the victim
triumphantly into his basket. The hoary villain ! Had the oak been a
caddis — had the stars been May flies, he would, were it possible, have used
them for baits — they would have wriggled in mortal throes upon his infernal
hook. It enrages us to see this piscatory Belial thus eulogized by a man
displaying such powers as Mr. Moxon —

" Methinks ev'n now

I hear thee, 'neath the milk-white scented thorn,
Communing with thy pupil, as the morn
Her rosy cheek displays — while streams that flow,
And all that gambol near their rippling source,
Enchanted listen to thy sweet discourse."

What, if they could understand, would the fish think of it? — the creatures
that gambolled not merely near but in the rippling source of those streams,
about which Walton uttered what is called his sweet discourse. Here is a
striking instance of the vice of Cockney poetry. The people who perpetrate
it will not look one atom beyond books ; in these they find Isaac Walton
and his " calm, sublime philosophy," his " intense admiration of nature, &c.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 113

highly eulogized by men whose experience, like their own, has never
gone beyond the exploits of seeing a minnow caught by a boy in the arti-
ficial brook by the side of Sadler's Wells. Had Mr. Moxon — a man of
good feelings — a good creature who would hesitate to hurt a cockroach — have
thought for himself, and practically considered the enormities of angling, he
would most heartily curse Cotton, and wallop Walton — that ferocious human
pike — in so exemplary a manner, that their works would never have reached
another edition. Fox-hunting, dog-fighting, and bull-baiting, are all bad
enough — but they are humane and venial compared with angling. He who
sniggles for eels, is infinitely below, the fabulous Yahoo in Gulliver's
travels.

In the nineteenth sonnet, addressed to an old oak, at Cheshunt, supposed
to have been planted by one of the followers of William the Conqueror, Mr.
Moxon becomes eloquent and erroneous to the following extent : —

" In him [the planter] pleased Fancy fain would trace
A knight of high emprise and good intent ;

Within whose breast wrong'd orphans' woes found place-
Ever in rightful cause the champion free —

Of his proud times the ornament and grace ;
A wight well worthy to recorded be

In fairest archives of bright chivalry."

Now, nobody out of the Cockney conclave is ignorant that William
the Conqueror's followers were a set of the most ultra thieves and
vagabonds that ever disgraced human nature. They were robbers by pro-
fession, and instead of "wronged orphan's woes" finding place in their
bosoms, they delighted in nothing so much as being assigned the privilege of
robbing the fatherless.

Notwithstanding Mr. Moxon's occasional errors, and these are attributa-
ble solely to the school, to which, unfortunately for himself he belongs, we
beg to assure them, that, in our humble opinion, he possesses considerable
taste, feeling, and felicity of expression ; that were he to emancipate himself
from the thraldom of his clique, to eschew his books, and to study natnre,
he might produce something, which the world would not willingly suffer to
be lost.

WALTZBURG, A TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY, IN THREE VOLUMES;.
LONDON : WHITTAKER & Co,

THOSE who are fond of light novel reading, will find the above an enter-
taining work. The story is very interesting, and though savouring much of
romance, it is free from most of the extravagancies that commonly abound in
this species of writing. Many of the events will be found to terminate in a
manner different from the expectation of the reader ; and for this reason they
give a truer picture of life than is always consistent with the views of an or-
dinary novelist. It is not however without its improbabilities, and not the
least of them is the declaration of the hero Cyril, that a stranger arrested in
his presence is not Martin Luther, merely because he has seen another stran-
ger calling himself Martin, but denying himself to be Luther, captured as
such.

REMARKS ON THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, WITH REGARD TO THE
ACTUAL STATE OF EUROPE. BY HENRY DUHRING. LONDON : SIMPKIN
& MARSHALL, C. G. SULPKE. AMSTERDAM, AND JACKSON, NEW YORK,
1833.

THERE are many sensible, but few original observations in this volume. The
author proposes some important questions instead of discussing them in
M.M. No. 91. Q

114 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LIT £11 tYTUilE AND ART.

reference to the heads of the chapters, makes a few general remarks, quotes
French and German, Barbauld and Paulding, and concludes. His memory,
too, is a parodox ; he gives with great fidelity, in page 74, a passage of some
nine or ten lines from Horace, as the production of the author of Tremaine.
In his examination of an opinion that the wants of an established church in
America has produced want of religion, he draws a parallel between the mi-
nisters of that country and our own, which the latter would do well to read.
His comparison between the British and American females is also in favour
of the latter ; but he is se chary of his facts, and so prodigal of his opinions,
that we could not venture to come to a conclusion upon the point, without
some other statements besides those of Mr.Duhring. What he says, we do not
doubt, but he says so little that we must look elsewhere for more : his work,
nevertheless, is well worth reading.

TALES FOR AN ENGLISH HOME. BY G. M. STERNE. BRISTOL : GEORGE
DAVEY. LONDON : LONGMAN & Co. 1833.

OF the productions of a lady it is unpleasant to speak in any other Ian"
guage than that of praise, and we shall therefore say but little respect"
ing the Tales of an English Home. That they^were well intended, we
would fain believe, but though puerile enough, we doubt the fitness of
their perusal for juvenile readers. The style is commonplace and inflated;
and the moral is left, perhaps, to the imagination ; the authoress says in her
preface, in the words of her relation, Larwrence Sterne, that " she would go
fifty miles a-foot to kiss the hand of those whose generous hearts will give
up the reigns of their imagination into the author's hands ; be pleased, they
know not why, and care not wherefore/' We are unluckily more than fifty
miles from the lady, but were we not more than five, we fear that upon the
above conditions, we should never obtain the happiness she so temptingly
proffers.

THE LIFE OF THE APOSTLE PAUL.

THE life of St. Paul, as the present writer observes, cannot be expected to
furnish much original matter for an author ; but to put together that which
was before known, in an agreeable and instructive form, is a task which he
nj-ay perform, and, as in the present instance, deserves praise for effecting.
The celebrated deist, Anthony Collins, once said to the first Lord Harring-
ton, during a conversation respecting revealed religion, that he would believe
any thing St. Paul said, for " he was such a complete gentleman." If a
compassionating knowledge of the infirmities of his fellow-creatures — a soul
patient to endure — a tongue slow to wound and swift to heal, could give
grace and gentleness to the manners, St. Paul certainly was the most
polished man breathing. As a school, therefore, not only for that lore which
leads to a glorious immortality, but also of those precepts which, if fol-
lowed, will conduce to happness and estimation here, we strongly re-
commend the above volume to our readers, As a matter of mere history it
deserves a perusal, and no one who takes any interest in the " Acts of the
Apostles" should be without it.

A LETTER ON SHAKSPEARE'S AUTHORSHIP OF THE Two NOBLE KINS-
MEN ; A DRAMA COMMONLY ASCRIBED TO JOHN FLETCHER. EDIN-
BURGH : ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, AND LONGMAN AND Co., LON-
DON.

MUCH learning and some pedantry have been employed in the discussion of
the subject of the above book. Out of 1 10 large octavo pages, it will natu-

MONTHLY IIKVIEW OF J.ITKR ATUUK AND ART. 11 5

rally be concluded that there are a few not ouite relevant to the simple
question in point, which, after all, appears to us to be left pretty much in
the same situation as the author found it. All that he attempts to prove is,
what part belongs to the one and what to the other. We may be told that
this is all he has undertaken, but if so, he should have relinquished the
task altogether, than proceeded upon mere inferential probability.

LIBRARY OF ROMANCE. THE SLAVE KING. LONDON : SMITH,
ELDER, AND Co.

THIS story is taken from the Bug-Jargal of Victor Hugo, and a more
powerful or interesting one we never read. The design, too, is good — that of
making the white man turn with abhorrence from the slavery of his brother
and fellow-creature the black, and the execution is worthy of the design.
The principal character, Bug-Jargal, is drawn with the force and originality
of a master-hand ; making allowance for some sublime extravagancies, we
do not hesitate to call it one of the most splendid conceptions which the
history of romance affords. The translator has evidently caught the spirit of
his original ; for there are many portions of the novel too essentially French,
and in this instance too superior to English, to be mistaken. The language,
which is mostly dramatic, is in parts singularly terse and beautiful. ; and in
all of the dialogues where Bug-Jargal takes a part, replete with a dignity
and pathos equally heroic and sublime. In fine, this is one of those few
romances which we can recommend to our readers, who, we shall remark,
will find a considerable portion of information, as well as entertainment, in
the notes relative to the slave trade. We should not be critics if we had no
objection to find. We cannot but condemn the long and tedious description
of the ceremonies which take place at the war council held by the black
chief Biassou ; and the scene which follows his command to one of three
prisoners to stab the other two, is equally harrowing and repulsive.

TWELVE MAXIMS ON SWIMMING. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE CIGAR."

LONDON -. TILT.

A PIGMY Elzevir, gorgeously clad in gold and crimson — the art of swim-
ming enshrined in a gilt and carved cherry-stone ! The author in his preface,
insists on the importance of making the rising generation a generation of dol-
phins. "In a country like this," he observes, " surrounded as it is by water, and
intersected from almost every point of its circumference, by streams, natural
or artificial, we ought to be almost amphibious — the art of Swimming should
form one of the primary elements of our national education. But the very
reverse of this is the case. Swimming is not encouraged — it is vehemently
interdicted to our boys, and the consequence is, that no people on the face of
the earth, approximate to great waters, are so impotent in the liquid element
as the English. Parents, in this country, entertain a perfect horror of the
water— first, because they, themselves, cannot swim, arid secondly, on account
of the immense numbers of accidental deaths annually recorded by drown-
ing. But in prohibiting their boys from getting into the water, they act from
feeling and prejudice — their inhibition is not based upon reason. The num-
ber of persons drowned will always be in exact ratio with that of those who
in their youth have not been allowed to attain a knowledge of the art of
Swimming. The parent acts without forethought, who prevents his child
from acquiring this art — because the chances are full ten thousand to one in
his favour, that, during his noviciate, no accident will occur to him ; while
there is at least the same odds, if, in after life, he happen to be plunged into
deep water, against his being rescued. How many fine young fellows, the
pride-of their families — how many men in the vigour of life, husbands and
fathers, have been drowned in comparative puddles, which a child who

116 LITERARY NOTICES.

had taken ten lessons from an older playmate, could have crossed, lightly as
a cork ! Many a gallant admiral would feel less alarmed at being exposed to
a broadside, than at being precipitated into a brook— a fish-pond would have
more terrors than the field of battle, for the hero of Waterloo. Surely this
ought not to be the case where water solicits us on all sides — where swim-
ming is the most simple of all the arts acquired by man. It may be learnt
sufficiently for the preservation of life, in any of our inland streams, within
a month, and he must be a poor mortal indeed who, after one summer's prac-
tice, could not swim a mile, or half that distance, with one of his own weight
clinging to his back." " Its schools/' according to the writer, " are our
ponds, our brooks, our canals, or rivers, and our seas ; its great professor
is the FROG,— a creature which for ages past has taught the human tyro
gratis."

Not only do we agree to all this— but we are inclined to go further, and
maintain that in the army, much of the time that is devoted to the drill-ser-
jeant might be more profitably employed in teaching the soldier the simple
secret of crossing a river without the aid of a boat or bridge, and thus plac-
ing him on an equality with those continental troops who are regularly dis-
ciplined to pass streams, under the weight and impediment of their clothes
and accoutrements, and holding their arms and ammunition in one hand
above their heads.

Of the style in which our author maximizes the following is a fair speci-
men -.—"As to the time when.— The morning forever! Be at the river-side
before the bee has done snoring— strip while the lark, preparing for his first
flight, shakes the dew from his dappled back — before the trout has taken its
matinal snack. Heed not the trash which old women — male and female —
babble about waiting until the waters are warmed by the rays of the summer
sun — attend to us, and bathe in the grey dawn."

A PRACTICAL TREATISE ON STAMMERING AND NERVOUS AFFECTIONS OP
SPEECH. BY JOSEPH POETT, SENIOR M.R.C.S. FOURTH EDITION.
LONDON : HIGHLEY.

THIS work will be read with intense interest by all those who happen to
be affected with impediments of speech, affording as it does, the consoling
assurance that the misery under which they labour, may not only be alle-
viated, but, except in some extreme and very unusual cases, wholly removed.
Mr. Poett seems to be a perfect master of the subject on which he treats :— on
this point, the certificates appended, from known and respectable parties, of
cures which he has performed, are quite conclusive. Among those who,
from personal observation, attest his skill and success, are the Marchioness
of Ormonde, Lady Dufferin, Mr. Crampton, the Surgeon General of Ireland,
Dr. Prendergast, the Rev. S. F. Fox, Mr. Budd, the bookseller, and Mr.
Greenwood, present Head Master of Christ's Hospital.

LITERARY NOTICES.

WORKS IN THE PRESS, OR RECENTLY PUBLISHED.

The Judgment of the Flood. A Poem. By John A. Heraud, Author of
" The Descent into Hell."

Demetrius, a Tale of Modern Greece. In Three Cantos, with other poems.
By Agnes Strickland.

In a few days will appear an Abridgement of the Rev. Gilbert White's
" Natural History of Selborne," with the omission or alteration of such
passages as are unadapted for the perusal of children and young persons.
The contents of this edition, which is embellished with numerous en-
gravings, have been arranged by a lady for the use of her own children.

British Colonial Jurisprudence. — The Sketch of a Complete System of

LITERARY NOTICES. 117

Colonial Law, being a Summary of all such parts of the Law of England as
are suitable also to the condition of her Colonies in general ; and of those
peculiar regulations required by the relation between the parent and the
offspring states. By Francis Neale, Esq., M.A., Barrister at Law.

A Treatise on Astronomy, by Sir John Herschel, forming the 43d Volume
of Dr. Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia, was published on the 1st of June.

Dictionary, Practical, Theoretical, and Historical, of Commerce and Com-
mercial Navigation. By J. R. M'Culloch, Esq. 1 large Vol. 8vo. with
Maps. A secodd and improved edition preparing.

On June 1st will be published, Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and
Longman's Catalogue of Second-hand Books for 1833 ; comprising a fine
Collection of Books of Prints, including many of the Galleries ; Divinity,
and Ecclesiastical History, Foreign and English ; Valuable Works in various
Foreign Languages, and 'a useful Collection of Works on Topography, His-
tory, Biography, Poetry, Voyages and Travels, &c. &c.

Elements of Musical Composition ; comprehending the rules of thorough
bass, and the theory of tuning. By W. Crotch, Mus. Doc. A new edition
preparing, in small 4to.

Shortly will be published, a Treatise on the Construction, Preservation,
and Repair of the Violin, and of all other bow instruments. By Jacob
Augustus Otto, musical instrument maker to the Court of the Archduke of
Weimar. Translated from the German, with various notes and addi-
tions. By Thomas Fardeley, Professor of Languages and Music, Leeds.
1 Vol. 8vo.

Prometheus Bound, translated into English, and Miscellaneous Poems.

Seager's Graecorum Casuum Analysis.

On the 1st of July will be published, in demy 8vo., the first Number of a
New English Version of the great work of Cuvier — " Le Regne Animale,"
or "The Animal Kingdom." This illustrious naturalist, shortly before his
decease, put forth a final edition of his Animal Kingdom, and in so altered
and improved a form as to give it a completely new character. The work
will consist of 36 numbers ; each will be sold at One Shilling ; it will appear
uninterruptedly on the first of every succeeding month. The plates will
amount to do fewer than five hundred : they will be engraved on steel, and
coloured.

On the 8st of July will be published, price Is., No. I. of The Encyclopaedia
of Romance ; consisting of original novels, romances, and tales. Conducted
by the Rev. Henry Martineau.

The 3d and concluding Number of a Collection of Doorways from Ancient
Buildings in Greece and Italy, expressly measured and drawn for this work.
By T. L. Donaldson. There are in all 26 plates, accompanied by letter-
press, which contains the Latin text, and a new translation of a Chapter of
Vitruvius upon the subject, the original of which is derived from a valuable
MS. in the British Museum Library : 4to.

The Magazine of Botany and Gardening, British and Foreign. Edited by
J. Rennie, M.A. Each Number will contain eight plates of rare and va-
luable specimens of plants, coloured from nature. Also, 16 4to pages of
original matter.

Ten Minutes Advice to the Consumptive. By a Physician.

The Mother's Oracle, for the healthful and proper rearing of infancy.

Early in August will appear Travels in the United States and Canada,
containing some account of their scientific institutions, and a few notices of
the geology and mineralogy of those countries. By J. Finch, Esq., Cor.
Mem. Nat. Hist. Soc. Montreal, &c. &c.

Nearly ready, in 2 Vols., foolscap 8vo., On Man ; his Motives, their Use,
Operation, Opposition, and Results. By W. Bagshaw, Clerk, M.A., formerly
of Brazen nose College, Oxford.

118 AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Conrad Blessington, a Tale, by a Lady, is nearly ready, in 1 Volume,
foolscap 8vo.

Shortly will appear, Traditionary Stories of Old Families, and Legendary
Illustrations of Family History ; with notes, historical and biographical.
By Andrew Dicken, Author of " The Dominie's Legacy." 2 Volumes,
post 8vo.

The Second Volume of the Naturalist's Library, edited by Sir William
Jardine, Bart., will be published on the 1st of August, and contain the first
Volume of the Natural History of Monkeys.

In the press, letters on the Divine Origin and Authority of the Holy
Scriptures. By the Rev. James Carlile, junior Minister of the Scots' Church
in Mary's Abbey (Capcl-street) Dublin.

Rhymes and Rhapsodies. By Robert Folkestone Williams. 1 Vol.

Barbadoes, and other Poems. By M. J. Chapman, Esq. 1 Vol.

A Collection of Thirty-four Literary Portraits, from Fraser's Magazine.
In 1 Vol. 4to, neatly bound, with gilt leaves.

The Young Enthusiast in Humble Life. A Simple Story.

A new work of an original character is announced from the pen of Lady
Morgan. It is to be entitled " Dramatic Scenes from Real Life," and will
form two volumes uniform with her " Book of the Boudoir."

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

TURNING to our last report, with its sanguine hopes of high-flown expec-
tations in respect of the crops upon our soil, we become reminded and fully
impressed with the uncertainty of all sublunary affairs ; and of the fact, how
truly and decidedly they are typified by the course of events upon a farm,
ever and anon subservient to the caprices of our feeble and unsteady
climate. The occupation of a farmer is surely one of great risk, a truth
which ought to be had in consideration, when we descant on the frequent
complaints of that useful body of men. At the same time, they who exercise
the quill, had need be extremely wary on the score of prediction. The pro-
phets have been long extinct.

The constant rains and chilling temperature of April had the effect of re-
tarding and almost palsying all vegetation, threatening us with a late and
defective harvest, when, suddenly, the genial warmth of May burst upon us,
calmed our apprehensions, arid inspired us with the most extravagant hopes.
All the agricultural productions — corn, pulse, grass— shot upwards with the
most vigorous and rapid growth, and a seeming promise to burden the earth
with the richest abundance. This fortunate change continued, and with it
our sanguine expectations, during the greater part of last month, when it
became apparent, and that also suddenly, that the extreme of heat and
drought was about to prove equally inimical to the health and well-doing of
the crops as its opposite. The forward crops of corn and grass, of late so
luxuriant and blooming, began to assume a fading and sickly hue from want
of nourishing moisture, in which even the wheats, except upon superior
lands, partook. The spell set upon vegetation was strikingly visible, with
an apparent decrease in bulk, from the parching and desiccating effects of
long-continued heat by day, and of blight from the chillness of the nightd,
throughout which the North wind has generally prevailed, attended with the
S.W. and S.E. winds by day. This perpetual chopping of the wind is, in
itself, sufficient to impart an influenzal effect to the atmosphere. We had

ACltJCUI/rUItAL ilKi'OltT. 119

frequent white-hoar frosts in May, during the greatest daily solar heats, and
in several instances, ice was found in the mornings. The change in the
weather produced a general change of opinion respecting the harvest, which,
it was judged, must be early instead of late, accelerated by the heat which
favoured the ripening rather than the vegetative and increassing process.
The straw of the corn crops, it is generally supposed, will be short and
defective in bulk, and the ears short. Instead of a crop of grass and hay equal
to that of last year, which we fondly made sure of, we must now, it is said,
rest contented with somewhat more than half that quantity ; with, however,
the good fortune of favourable weather for succouring it, and most particu-
larly the early grass of water-meadows and of rich gramineous soils. The
corn on all poor and infertile soils, materially those liable to burn or scald, as
the phrase is, has suffered greatly, and felt severely the effects of the atmos-
pheric stroke ; and we do not recollect ever to have seen more burnt and
blacked ears than we beheld very lately, in looking over the wheats on a part
of the county of Surrey. We observed, however, no appearance of smut,
with which certainly we are far less annoyed than the farmers of former days,
although they were equally well acquainted with the curative process of
brining and liming, and practised it ; yet the gingerbread-bakers of those
times were seldom disappointed in a bargain of smutty wheat, which, con-
trary to our late and present experience, was often found to be of the heaviest
wheat at market.

The latter sown spring corn, retarded by the drought, was scarcely visible
above ground, on the commencement of the present month, and the same
cause has been most inimical to all seeds sown with the corn, a portion of
which upon arid and poor soils must have perished. Wheat broke into ear
generally, about the commencement of the present month, and was in full
bloom on the 18th. The turnip fallows on the true turnip soils, we believe,
were generally in a forward and good condition ; but much difficulty has been
experienced with the clay lands, which, from the state of the weather, were
left unstirred, and were thence in such a harsh and clodded state that their
culture was found literally impracticable, and the beans planted thereon
were risked on a very imperfect tilth ; on the other hand, those clay lands
which had fortunately received a ploughing in good time, were in a tolerably
friable state, and rather benefitted than otherwise by the heat of the weather ;
in fact, heat and considerable drought enrich and fertilize deep and strong
soils abounding in radical moisture.

In addition to the difficulties of the season, on the llth and 12th instant,
one of the most tremendous hurricanes occurred that the oldest of us has
ever witnessed in the month of June. So far fortunate, its terrible effects
were partial, and we trust the greater portion of the country was unvisited
by the calamity. The storm seems to have spent its greatest rage in the
vicinity of the metropolis and the county of Essex, the chief town of which,
Colchester, has suffered considerable damage. Such was the violence of the
gale (S.W.) that timber trees were blown up by the roots and even snapped
in half, and the greatest havock has been made in the orchards, the fruit
being blown about and destroyed, and the trees shattered and dismembered.
We yet hope the fruit crop is sufficiently extensive and heavy to bear with
this defalcation. The forwardest and tallest wheats, within the course of the
gale, have been beaten down flat, and will be greatly damaged. The hop
bines, previously shooting up with the utmost vigour and luxuriance, when
much exposed, must have been nearly destroyed.

The late rains have been exceedingly beneficial, and there is great hope
that the wheats either have, or will pass through the critical stage of flower-
ing or blooming, with success. The present favourable weather continuing
will ensure an immediate and happy completion of turnip sowing. The
barley, so far as we have had the opportunity of inspection, upon proper

120 AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

soils, appears promising, or rather recovering, and, perhaps, with the oats,
may at present be deemed the best spring crops. Barley is reported as likely
to advance in price, which we doubt any otherwise than from a defective and
unseasonable harvest. The damage sustained by the beans and peas in
many parts has probably been too heavy to admit of the hope of a great crop ;
we have yet, nevertheless, in this county some very flourishing and well
podded pieces of beans. Previously to the hurricane, the hops gave nearly
universal satisfaction, the bines running up the poles at the rate of seven or
eight inches per day, with scarcely a complaint of vermin. All the early
fruits and garden-stuff have come to market in great and lasting abundance ;
and the rearers and feeders of poultry, during the spring season, have been
repaid by very considerable prices. As to cattle, though the demand for
stores is chiefly satisfied, the price of good ones is not much reduced,, whilst
fat stock is said not to sell in proportion. Prime oxen for labour obtain
readily all the money asked for them. Sheep, both store and fat, hold their
price, and great numbers of the former are in request, to fill up the vacancies
occasioned by the rot. Large hogs in the bacon districts are dearer.

Every proposition, taught in the schools, has two sides — now we have
given the dark and unfortunate side of ours, and it remains to exhibit what-
ever may lie within our ken, of the au contraire ; saying to our readers inte-
rested in the subject, " look at this picture, and on this," and judge for your-
selves ? " They will recollect that we have in almost every late report quoted
the most favourable accounts from certain districts, while the majority were
expressing the most doleful apprehensions respecting the crops, and even for
the prosperity of the country. We will now give them the substance of what
we, have seen in letters from Northumberland and the northern border, all
which seems to be confirmed by opinions held in our neighbour county,
Herts, and various others. Could these ideas be substantiated and generalized,
we should indeed have just cause for gratulation rather than complaint.
" June 10th — The heat of the weather was extreme throughout May, which,
aided by the refreshing showers that have since fallen, mostly attended by
thunder, have forced up the most luxuriant crops of corn, grass, and, indeed,
of all vegetation, that we have ever witnessed. The wheats are thick set and
just getting into bloom, and the spring crops no way behind them in promise."
Letters from the south of Scotland bring the accounts of considerable
alarm at what they style a new disease in the potatoe, and on which they
have bestowed a new name — the taint. It seems that part of the seeds or
eyes have failed, being decayed and filled with worms ; in some cases the
eyes or cuts were soft and pappy ; in others, hard enough to bear a com-
parison with marble. Our Scotch brethren need be under no peculiar appre-
hension on this score. They have exactly described the potatoe as affected
by an unfavourable season, as is also the wheat, though under different
phenomena. We do not recollect any seasons similar to the late and present,
in which a part of the potatoe crop was not affected in this way, and thence
rendered unsafe for seed. For example, during the cold nights in May some
of the earliest of the potatoe plants turned quite black, and we should
be very wary how we used the produce of such for planting. By analogy,
there would be little hope in using blighted seed-wheat.

The Dead Markets, by the carcase, per stone of 8lbs. — Beef, 2s. Id. to
35. 3<j. — Mutton, 2s. 8d. to 4s. Id.— Lamb, 3s. 4d. to 5s. Wd. — Veal, 3s. Od. to
4Sf 8cZ. — Pork, 3s. 2d. to 4s. 4d. — Dairy, 5s.

Corn Exchange. — Wheat, 4.0s. to 66s. — Barley, 24s. to 34s. — Oats, 15s. to
25s. — London Loaf, 4lb., Qd.— Hay, 50s. to 75s. — Clover ditto, 70s. to 100s.
— Straw, 26s. to 32s.

Coal Exchange. — Coals in the Pool, 11s. 3d. to 16s. per ton.— Delivered to
the consumer at an addition of 9s. to 12s. per ton.
Middlesex, June 24.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XVI.] AUGUST, 1833. [No. 92.

LEGISLATIVE PEERS.

THEIR MODE OF CONSTITUTION, POWERS, PRIVILEGES, &C. IN
THE VARIOUS REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENTS.

OF the governments which have hitherto appeared in the history
of mankind, few or none have taken their rise from political wisdom,
but have been the gradual result of time and experience — of events
and emergencies. In process of time, indeed, every government
acquires a systematical appearance ; for although its different parts
arose from circumstances which may be regarded as accidental and
irregular, yet there must exist among these parts a certain degree of
analogy and consistency. Wherever a government has existed for
ages, and men have enjoyed tranquillity under it, it is a proof that
its principles are not essentially at variance with each other. Every
new institution which was introduced must have had a certain refer-
ence to the laws and usages existing before, otherwise it would not
have been permanent in its operation.

But the nature and spirit of a government, as it is actually ex-
ercised at a particular period, cannot always (if ever) be collected
from an examination of written laws, or of the established forms of
the constitution. These may continue the same for a long course of
ages, while the government may be modified in its exercise to a great
extent by gradual and indescribable alterations, in the ideas, manners,
and character of the people, or by a change in the relations which
the different orders of the community bear to each other ; for in
every country, besides the established laws, the political state of the
people is affected by an infinite variety of circumstances, of which
no words can convey a conception, and which are to be collected
only from actual observation. Thus it frequently happens that there
are essential circumstances in the actual state of a government about
which the constitutional laws are not only silent, but which are
directly contrary to all written laws, and to the spirit of the very
constitution itself as delineated by the best writers.

In every government the stability and influence of established
authority must depend on the coincidence between its measures and
the tide of public opinion, which, through the medium of the press,
has acquired such an ascendency in human affairs as it never possessed
> M. M. No. 92. R

122 LEGISLATIVE PEEKS.

in those states of antiquity whence most of our political examples are
drawn. The violent revolutions which at different times have con-
vulsed modern Europe, have arisen from a bigoted attachment to
antiquated forms borrowed from less enlightened ages — it is this
reverence for abuses sanctified by time, accompanied by an inat-
tention to the progress of public opinion, which has in most instances
blinded the rulers of mankind till government has lost its efficiency,
and till the rage of innovation has become too general and too
violent to be satisfied with changes, which, if proposed at an earlier
period, would have united in the support of established institutions
every friend to order and to the prosperity of his country.

The question which men are now generally putting to themselves,
is what will be the result of that indiscriminate zeal against reform,
which has brought the elder branch of our legislature into collision
with the lower House of Parliament, and which in the minds of the
timid is already looked upon as the harbinger of future woe.

By the constitution of this country, the peers must concur in
every Bill before it can become law : by the plain rule of common
sense the peers must be allowed therefore to exercise their free and
unfettered judgment, otherwise their existence as a legislative body
is an absolute mockery. But it must be borne in mind, that the
peers were invested with this high prerogative for the good of the
community at large ; or, on the other hand, if the interests of the
privileged few are to be on every occasion paramount to that of the
nation, the political conception of a House of Peers would be as wild
an idea as ever entered the head of the hero of La Mancha. The
perfection of political wisdom does not consist in an indiscriminate
zeal against reformers, but in a gradual and prudent accommodation
of established institutions to the varying opinions, manners^ and cir-
cumstances of mankind. In the application of this principle many
difficulties occur, which it requires a rare combination of talent to
surmount — but so emancipated has human reason become from the
tyranny of ancient prejudices, that a spirit of free discussion, un-
exampled in the history of former times, is roused, and that respect,
bordering on fanaticism for their ancient constitution, once so marked
a feature in the character of the English, is now fast giving way to
the intimate conviction of the necessity of a new political organiza-
tion more in unison with the enlightened spirit of the age.

In almost every political constitution that has of late years come
into play, we find provisions made for altering it after the expira-
tion of a certain time, deemed sufficient for judging of the success of
its practical application. On the nature and extent of the changes to
be effected in the constitution of this country, it would be arrogant
in us even to speculate — we shall confine ourselves to simply stating
that it is in the constitution of the senior branch of our legislature
that a change is imperiously called for. Under this conviction, we
offer to our readers a sketch of the constitution of the Upper Cham-
bers in the different representative governments that exist ; in them
will be found the several elements requisite for effecting a new poli-
tical organization skilfully adapted to our present social condition.

There are three classes of representative governments. 1st. Those

LEGISLATIVE PEERS. 123

which have preserved their ancient division by orders, and the
legislative body of which, denominated, in general, States, is com-
posed of three and sometimes of four Chambers, as in Sweden.
2ndly. Those in which the ancient assembly of States has been trans-
formed into one single representative body, as in Spain under the
Cortes, and likewise in Portugal. And 3dly. Those which are com-
posed of two chambers. It is the latter that will fix our attention,
and we shall, in the first place, establish a division that will throw
much light upon the question. 1st. We shall consider in their turn
the governments of those countries where aristocracy still exists;
and 2ndly. Those where it has entirely disappeared. In the first it
will be found, that the hereditary principle is consecrated by the
constitution in favour of the members of the upper chamber, while
in the latter, they are appointed either for life or for a definite period,
varying according to their several constitutions. France, under the
restoration, was an exception to this rule, since with a nobility
simply titular, the Chamber of Peers was hereditary. Poland again,
where a real aristocracy is represented by a senate, the members of
which are appointed for life, is another exception in the inverse
sense.

In the first class of states, by the political law of which the aristo-
cratic principle is consecrated, may be ranked England, Hungary,
Bavaria, Wurtemberg, the Grand Duchy of Baden, and that of
Hesse Darmstadt : in the second class, France, Norway, Sweden,
Poland, Holland, Belgium, and all the states of the new continent,
from the surface of which every aristocratic institution has been
radically abolished.

In the ancient constitution of Hungary, the Diet is divided into
two chambers ; the first of which bears the title of Chamber of
Magnates, and is composed of princes, counts, barons, and arch-
bishops of the Greek and Catholic Churches. The second is also
nothing more than an aristocratic corps, being composed of the de-
puties of the nobility of the second order, the inferior clergy, and
the royal towns. The dignity of magnate is hereditary — the king
may confer it upon every Hungarian noble. The feudal system is
still so rigorously maintained, that the nobles are exempt from all
taxation, and pay but voluntary subsidies, and enjoy the right of
seigneurial jurisdiction over their vassals. We need add nothing
further, than that in the Hungarian acceptation of the word,
" populus" means the nobility.

Four Germanic states, the respective constitutions of which pre-
sent, by their civil organization, a great affinity to each other, will
next occupy our attention.

In Bavaria, by the constitution of 1818, the assembly of states of
the kingdom consists of two chambers — the Chamber of Sena-
tors and that of Deputies. The former is composed of the princes of
the royal family — of the officers of the crown — of the high dignitaries
of the clergy — the heads of the ancient families of princes and counts
of the German Empire, (this dignity being for the last-mentioned
class hereditary as long as they shall remain in possession of their

124 LEGISLATIVE PEERS.

Ancient lordships,) and lastly, of persons whom the king may appoint
for life or for services rendered the state.

The hereditary right can only be transmitted to such persons as
are in the full enjoyment of civil and political rights, and hold a pro-
perty either by feudal tenure, or in "Jidei commissum," paying taxes
at least to the amount of 300 florins. The number of senators ap-
pointed for life, must not exceed one-third of the hereditary sena-
tors. Every legislative measure may originate with the upper
chamber saving those relative to matters of finance. The States are
convoked at least once in three years. To this constitution is an-
nexed a constitutive edict of the nobility, which insures to them the
right of privileged jurisdiction, of establishing a family "Jidei com-
mission," and of' electing the eighth part of the deputies in the second
chamber.

In Wurtemberg, by the constitution of 1819, the House of Lords
is composed of the princes of the royal family, the heads of the fami-
lies of princes and counts, and the representatives of nobles to whose
possessions is attached a vote in the Diet of the Empire or Circle ;
lastly, of the members appointed by the king either hereditary or for
life. As to the hereditary members, the king can select them only
from the nobles of the class of barons and knights who possess a pro-
perty in the kingdom, transmitted to them by the law of primogeni-
ture, yielding an annual revenue of 6,000 florins. The members for
life may be chosen from among the citizens without regard either to
fortune or birth j but the number of members appointed by the king,
either hereditary or for life, must not exceed one-third the members
of the chamber. While in session the princes of the blood occupy
the first place, after them come the barons, who occupy places deter-
mined among themselves, the others take their seats according to the
dates of their patents. Every legislative measure, with the exception
of those relating to taxation, may be first brought forward in the
Upper House. No member can be arrested during the session, ex-
cept for high crimes and misdemeanors. They are all eligible to
form a part of the High Court composed of twelve judges, six of
whom are chosen by the king from among the magistracy, and six
are chosen by the States from their own body. To these constitutive
dispositions of the Upper House, are added other articles which regu-
late the rights of the possessors of feudal domains, and insure to
them the privilege of electing thirteen members of the Lower House,
and the right of voting in each of the circles in which they possess
fiefs.

In the Grand Duchy of Baden, by the constitution of 1818, the
first chamber is composed of princes of the ducal family, of the heads
of families, styled par excellence,* " of the state," of two ecclesiastical
dignitaries, of two deputies from the universities, of eight deputies
of the nobility, and lastly, of the members whom it may please the
king to call up to it without distinction of birth or fortune. In this
little state, therefore, there are three classes of nobility who enjoy

* Mediatised princes.

LEGISLATIVE PEEKS. 125

different political rights. 1st. The members of those families styled
of the state, the descendants of the late members of the German
Empire ; 2dly. The possessors of seigneurial land ; and 3dly. Those
of lands simply noble. The heads of the noble families on whom the
Grand Duke confers the dignity of the first class of nobility, take
their seats in the first chamber as hereditary members, and are equal
to the barons, provided they possess, by right of primogeniture, a
family estate or fief of the value of 300.000 florins after deducting
every charge. The eight deputies of the nobility are elected by every
possessor of a lordship who has attained the age of one-and-twenty.
To be eligible they must possess the right of voting, and have reached
the age of five-and -twenty. Every election is for eight years — every
fourth year one-half goes out. The two deputies of the universities
are elected every four years. The number of members of the first
chamber appointed by the Grand Duke must not exceed eight. All
financial bills must first be laid before the second chamber.

In the Grand Duchy of 'Hesse Darmstadt, the constitution of
1820 instituted an Upper Chamber composed of the princes of the
ducal family, of the heads of those families the immediate descen-
dants of former members of the German Empire, of two ecclesiastical
dignitaries, one Protestant and the other Catholic, of the chancellor of
the university, and of members appointed for life by the Grand
Duke, whose number must not exceed ten. The second chamber is
composed of deputies of the nobility and of the towns, elected for six
years by a triple election.

The constitution of some other German states, too inconsiderable
to fix our attention, are very similar in disposition to those we have
described. It is worthy of remark that in all of them the hereditary
principle is found almost exclusively consecrated in favour of those
families who were sovereign princes of the German empire before the
French revolution, and whom they have thus sought to indemnify for
the loss of their former high prerogatives.

In Portugal the constitutional charter given by Don Pedro to the
nation, in 1826, on abdicating the throne, had constituted a peerage
according to the spirit of the French charter* of 1814. The mem-
bers of it were both hereditary and appointed for life by the King ;
their number was unlimited.

The ancient Polish constitution admitted but one representative
body, and one single order of the nation. The nobility was alone re-
presented in it by its principal members. In the course of time a
second fraction of the body was introduced into the Diet, and was
represented by members called Nuncios. In 1774, at the period of
the first partition of Poland, the constitution was reformed. There
was then a senate and a chamber of nuncios, who held their sittings
separately. The senate was composed of bishops, of palatins, of cas-
tellans, and of the grand dignitaries of the state. As in the former
constitution, the nobles alone formed the composition of the chamber

* By the 27th article of the Charte, the nomination of Peers of France be-
longs to the King : he may vary their dignities, appoint them for life, or render
them hereditary at will. Hereditary peerage in France is now abolished.

126 LEGISLATIVE PEERS.

of nuncios. In 1807, Napoleon having re-created tbe duchy of War-
saw from the wrecks of ancient Poland, gave it a constitution by
which the institutions of the preceding constitutions were re-estab-
lished. The first chamber was to be composed of eighteen senators,
viz. six bishops, and twelve palatines, or cortillans, appointed for life
by the king. The senate could not negative any project of law voted by
the nuncios, but in certain particular cases, such as when they ap-
peared to be fraught with danger to the state, the constitution, &c.
When the senate refused their sanction, they invested the King with
the necessary authority to annul the deliberation of the nuncios ; and
in case of refusal the King had the power of creating twelve senators,
and of laying the bill again before them. Lastly, the King could^
notwithstanding the refusal of the senate to pass the bill, give his
sanction to it, and it then became the law of the land. The chamber
of nuncios was composed of sixty, appointed by the districts, or as-
semblies of nobles of each district, and of forty deputies of the
" communes." All these articles, with the exception of some modi-
fications, were incorporated in the charter given by the Emperor
Alexander in 1815, the perpetual violation of which was the prin-
cipal cause of the late heroic struggle, which will hold up the Polish
name to the admiration of the latest posterity. To the members
composing the senate, according to the preceding acts, we must add
the princes of the imperial and royal families, who take their seats
and have the privilege of voting at the age of eighteen. The number
of senators must never exceed half that of the nuncios and deputies.
The King appoints twelve senators for life. No one can be elected
until he has attained his thirty-fifth year, and unless he pays an
annual contribution of 2000 Polish florins.

Norway received in 1814 a special constitution, instituting a re-
presentative body, which subdivides itself into two chambers. The
following are the principles by which are effected the once singular
and democratic composition of an upper chamber. The 49th article
of the constitution enacts that the people shall exercise the legislative
power through the Diet, called Storthing, and which is com-
posed of two chambers, under the names of Laything and of Odels-
thing, which may be translated thus : — chamber of legists and cham-
ber of proprietors. The members of the Storthing are elected by
electors who are themselves elected in primary assemblies, to the
number of one for every fifty citizens who possess the right of voting.
No one can be elected who is not thirty years of age, and has resided
ten years in the kingdom. Every representative receives an indem-
nification from the public treasury for his travelling expenses to the
place where the Diet holds its sittings. The Diet is assembled every
three years, except on extraordinary occasions. As soon as it is consti-
tuted, it chooses from among its own members, one-fourth to form the
upper chamber, or the Laything ; the remaining three-fourths compose the
second, or the Odelsthing. Each of them has its own particular
assemblies, and appoints its president and secretary. Every bill
must first be brought into the second chamber, and is then sent up to
the first, which approves or rejects it : in the latter case, if sent back
with observations to the second chamber, the latter having again
examined, remits it to the upper chamber with or without amend-

LEGISLATIVE PEKRS. 127

ment. When a bill has been twice thrown out by the first chamber
the two assemblies unite, and deliberate together on the bill, when
two-thirds of their votes decide the rejection or the adoption of the
measure. Three days must elapse between each deliberation. The
King's signature affixed to a resolution of the Diet, adopted either in
general or partial assembly, becomes a law. On the other hand, a
bill to which the King may have refused his sanction, cannot be pro-
posed again but in the next Diet, and should he a second time refuse
his sanction, only in a third Diet. But then it acquires the force a
law, notwithstanding the refusal of the royal sanction.

The Diet cannot prolong its sessions beyond the space of three
months without the royal authority. The members of the chamber
compose, with those of the supreme court, the high court of appeal
of the kingdom.

This constitution is decidedly the most liberal of all those by which
monarchical states are governed ; but it must be borne in mind that
the aristocracy of Norway was never very considerable, and that
now it is totally abolished, and that several acts of their charter forbid
the sovereign to attach to any title hereditary functions, or to create
new baronies^

The constitution given to the kingdom of the Netherlands in 1815,
and which since the resolution of 1830 is the constitution of the
kingdom of Holland, first introduced into those provinces the prin-
ciple of division of the representative body. The first chamber is
composed of at least forty members, and must not exceed sixty ;
these members are appointed for life by the King from among those
persons most distinguished by birth and fortune ; they must be forty
years of age. No legislative measure can originate with them — they
can only approve or reject such as have been previously deliberated
upon in the elective chamber. They receive an annual indemnity
from the government for travelling expenses, &c. of 3000 florins
each.

The constitution of the new kingdom of Belgium also establishes a
first chamber under the name of Senate. The members of this body
are elected by the electoral colleges that elect the elective chamber.
Their number must not exceed the half of that of the members of the
lower chamber, and they are elected for a period of time double that
of the commons. The King has the power to dissolve the senate.
To become a senator the conditions are — to be forty years of age,
and to pay 1000 florins in direct taxes. They do not receive any
salary or allowance. The presumptive heir to the throne takes his
seat in the senate at the age of eighteen, but he is not entitled to vote
until he has attained the age of twenty-Jive.

^ The plan of the federal constitution of the United States of Ame-
rica was settled by a convention in 1787, and adopted on the 3rd
March, 1789, by a'll the States. Since that period twelve additional
articles have been added to it, which attribute the whole legislative
power to Congress, divided into a senate and a house of represen-
tatives.

The senate is composed of persons appointed for six years by the
legislature of every state. They are divided into three series, one of

128 LEGISLATIVE PEEKS.

which is renewed every two years. To be a senator the conditions
are, 1st. to be thirty years of age; 2dly. to have been a citizen of the
United States nine years anterior to nomination ; and, lastly, to
be an inhabitant of the state in which he is elected. The vice-pre-
sident of the United States is the president of the chamber, but he
has no vote. The senate can alone take cognizance of all cases of
high treason, and a majority of two-thirds of its members are requi-
site to convict. The legislature of each state prescribes the mode, the
place, and the period of the elections of senators as well as repre-
sentatives ; but the Congress has also the right of making regula-
tions upon this point. The senators receive an indemnity from the
public treasury. They cannot be arrested during the sitting of
Congress except on a charge of high treason. No senator can, during
the term of his functions, be appointed to any civil office under
government ; and no citizen in any way dependent upon the govern-
ment is eligible to be elected a member of either chamber. The
particular constitution of each state is, with few exceptions, based
upon these principles. The states of Vermont, New Jersey, and
Connecticut have only one legislative body.

The federal constitution of Mexico, of 1824, is based upon the
same principles as that of the United States. It establishes a Con-
gress, divided into two bodies — a senate and a chamber of deputies,
both elective. The constitution of the republic of Guatemala is also
similar in every respect. By the constitution of Haiti, of 1806, and
now in force in that republic, the legislative power resides in a
chamber of representatives and in a senate. The senate is composed
of only twenty-four members, and can never exceed that number. The
senators are appointed for a term of nine years by the chamber of
representatives, from three lists of candidates presented by the execu-
tive. Senators must have attained the age of one-and-thirty, and
must be invested with no public function otherwise than military.
The senators to be elected can in no one case be taken from the
chamber of representatives actually sitting — they may be re-elected
after an interval of three years. The sittings of the senate are per-
manent : its members receive from the treasury an indemnity of 1600
dollars. The senate may reject any measure sent up to them from
the lower chamber without alleging their motives.

The constitution of the United Provinces of Rio de la Plata, of
1819, establishes a national congress, composed of two chambers.
The first, or senate, is formed by one senator for every province, of
three military senators, of four ecclesiastics, of one senator for every
university, and of the presidents of the state on the cessation of their
functions. Each senator must have attained his thirtieth year, must
possess a certain capital, or an equivalent income, or honourable pro-
fession, and must have been a citizen of the republic for nine years.
They are elected for the space of 12 years, and one- third of their
number go out every four years. The provincial senators are elected by
the municipalities. The military senators are appointed by the director
or president, and the ecclesiastical by the clergy. Every legislative
measure may emanate with the senate, excepting those of finance.
This constitution, born amid civil dissensions, has since been altered
by several acts.

*.

LEGISLATIVE PEERS. 129

The federal constitution of the provinces of Venezuela and Ca-
raccas, of 1811, had also instituted a senate endowed Avith similar
attributes. In 1821, the constitution of the Colombian republic
established a congress divided into two chambers. The first, styled
the Senate, has the initiative in every project of law, except in
measures of finance. Every department sends four senators to con-
gress, who are elected for eight years, and half of them are renewed
every fourth year. They must be thirty years of age ; have been
domiciled in the department at least three years; must possess a
landed property of the value of 4000 dollars, or an income of 500
dollars, or exercise some useful science. The constitution of 1830 has
greatly modified this organization. According to it, a senator must
be forty years of age ; must possess a landed property valued at 8000
dollars, or an annual re venue of 1000, if arising from land; or 1500 if
derived from some useful profession.

The constitution of Peru is based upon the same principles.
In Chili there is a senate composec^ of nine members, annually
elected by the electoral assemblies ; but they may be re-elected the
following year. They must be thirty years of age, and possess a
property valued at least at 5000 dollars.

In Brazil, the constitution of 1823 institutes a senate, composed of
members elected for life by the Emperor, upon triple lists formed in
the provincial elections. The senate must in number be equal to
one-half of the other chamber. The princes of the Imperial family
take their seats at the age of twenty-five ; but every other member
must be forty years of age; be learned, skilful, and virtuous; have
rendered services to the state, and possess an annual income of 800
milreis derived from property, manufactures, commerce, or govern-
ment employment. The indemnity received by the senators for tra-
velling expenses, &c. is double that of the deputies.

Such are the constitutions of the upper chamber in the different
representative governments that at present exist — constitutions which,
in their varying phases, open a wide field of study and reflection to
the political philosopher and statesman. In some of these, so deeply
rooted is the aristocratic principle, that popular representation is an
absolute nullity — the governmentkan aristocratic oligarchy ; while in
others, elected as they are by the people, we may fairly question their
utility, and imagine that in deference to ancient usage alone the
framers of their constitution departed from that unity and simplicity
of system which would have preferred the organization of the legis-
lative body into one single chamber, seeing that the sources of both
are identically the same — the will of the people.

M.M. No. 92.

THE SLAVE PUGILIST.

SOME years ago, a slave named Hannibal Straw was imported to
this country from one of the West India islands for pugilistic pur-
poses. His frame was Herculean, his agility astonishing for a man
of such heavy muscle, and his disposition dauntless. After having
acquired considerable local celebrity as a boxer, he was at length re-
gularly matched against a brawny stout-hearted sailor, whom he put
hors de combat with such ease, as to render him an object of specu-
lation to a Bristol skipper, who witnessed the fight. This fellow,
when in his native city — then the hot-bed of pugilism — generally
associated with a set of persons who warmly patronized the ring ; and
it occurred to him, that a good deal of money might be made of Han-
nibal, if he could be got over to England — for it was evident to the
skipper, that the champion himself would have no chance of success
in a match with our hero. Morgan, so the skipper was called, accord-
ingly, threw himself in Hannibal's way, and by glowing pictures of
the glory he might gather in England, through the exercise of his
fistic accomplishments, endeavoured to prevail upon the slave secretly
to stow himself away in his, the skipper's hold. Hannibal's owner,
however, a free man of colour, had always used him so well, and was,
moreover, so borne down by bodily ailments and a large family, that,
nipping the bud of ambition in his bosom, Hannibal declined the
skipper's offer.

On returning to Bristol, Morgan gave such an account of the black's
abilities, that he was commissioned by his gang to buy Hannibal, and
bring him over. Accordingly, when homeward bound from the next
trip, the skipper included among his cargo the thewes and sinews of
Hannibal Straw. Wild with delight at obtaining his freedom, and
eager to display his gratitude towards those who had conferred the
precious boon upon him, Hannibal panted for a match. Those into
whose hands he had fallen meditated a deep scheme. They proposed,
previously to pitting him against the champion for a very heavy stake,
that he should enter the ring for something trivial, with a man of
minor reputation, and be beaten. Honest Hannibal took fire at this —
he would not be conquered by any man living if he could help it —
he did not see why he might not be permitted to fight fairly — and
rather than not do so — with many thanks to the gentlemen — much as
he loved liberty, he would rather go back to his owner again.

Finding him proof against all their arguments and entreaties they
assumed a different tone, and swore he should rot in prison until he
repaid his purchase-money and the expenses of transport which they
had disbursed in his behalf. Poor Hannibal quailed at this so per-
ceptibly that his owners and importers — so they termed themselves —
followed up their advantage, by depicting the terrors of an English
gaol in such fearful colours, that Hannibal, half frantic, made an
attempt to escape. He was instantly surrounded, and nearly over-
powered ; but goaded to desperation by the efforts made to secure

THE SLAVE PUGILIST. 131

him, he began to put out his strength, and rapidly shook his importers
off, as a mad bull would so many puppy dogs. His blood being up,
he laid about him with such vigour, that it was not until he had
given each of the most conspicuous, especially the skipper, a frightful
threshing, that he recollected the purpose for which he had got on his
legs — namely, effecting an escape.

He dashed into the street, and ran on he knew not whither — he
had never been suffered to go out alone — in fact, since his arrival in
England, he had been held in more complete bondage than when a
positive slave. A consciousness of this fact had faintly glimmered
upon him more than once, and for the last few days he had been by
no means comfortable.

It was night, but not so late but that the streets were still thronged,
and Hannibal, when he had become tolerably calm, considered him-
self fortunate in having reached the outskirts of the city ; — but what
course could he pursue ? where was he to go ? what could he do ?
There was no bush, as he had heard, to which he could retreat : he
was destitute of money — he had no friends — his enemies were in
his rear, perhaps on his track — and this thought induced him to
proceed with all possible speed in as direct a line as the nature of the
country would permit. At daybreak he found himself on an exten-
sive heath or down : patches of green fern, drooping with dew, were
scattered about him ; into the nearest of these he threw himself,
fatigued and disconsolate. By so doing he disturbed a lark, which
fluttered up in a direct line above him singing cheerily ; the lambs on
a distant hill awoke and began to gambol ; the last star in the centre
of the heavens was about to be outshone by the fiery dawn ; the small
birds were gladly twittering on the thorns ; a general jubilee seemed
about to commence ; and Hannibal, huge Hannibal Straw, who had
been brought over to fight the champion, began to blubber like a boy
deprived of his bread and butter.

He bitterly lamented that he had ceased to be the property of his
old owner, the free man of colour, and literally cried himself to sleep.
When he awoke, the dew had gone, the lark was silent, a cow was
standing knee-deep in a neighbouring pond, and no sound was heard
save the drone of a bee, and the busy buzz of a multitude of flies.
It was noon, but Hannibal shivered. He was hungry too. For an
instant he thought of returning to his importers ; but to speak the
truth he was afraid. After having sauntered about the common for
some time, without aim or object, he turned into a path, which, passing
through a thick wood, suddenly emerged in a straggling sequestered
village. On getting into the road Hannibal picked up a horseshoe ;
he was a blacksmith by trade, and the incident afforded him a slight
sensation of joy, which even the melancholy tolling of a bell from the
village church could not subdue. An old gander, without geese,
hissed at him from a respectful distance; an idiot boy ceased to throw
pebbles at the sun as he passed, and with a grin asked him for a suit
of mourning : besides these, Hannibal saw no living thing. The
houses, the farm yards, seemed to be desolate. At length, in a nook,
on the right of the main road — oh ! joyful spectacle ! — he beheld a
smith's shop, and reached it with a run. The anvil was cold ; the fire

THE SLAVE PUGILIST.

had evidently long been extinct— its dead clinkers were covered with
a thick pall of soot. Beyond the smithy was a kitchen, the door of
which stood invitingly open. Hannibal entered, twirling the horse-
shoe with great rapidity round his fore-finger. An infant in a cradle
was squalling vehemently — a little girl, who had apparently been left
in charge of it, was perched on the upper rail of a chair, stealing
sugar from a brown crock on the top shelf of a three-cornered beaufet.
At the sight of Hannibal she screamed, and would have tumbled with
terror had he not reached forward and caught her. In doing this he
awkwardly upset the cradle, and the child rolled under the grate.
The little girl struggled to get free from him ; and the moment he had
placed her on her legs, she ran off too breathless even to shriek.
Hannibal then put the baby clothes to rights, replaced tfre. child in its
cradle, and by his quaint contortions of countenance, and exhilirating
snatches of song — for Hannibal had now forgotten all his troubles in
the occupation of the moment — he made the little creature crow with
delight.

Meantime the melancholy toll of the bell had ceased, and while the
whole of his faculties were absorbed in amusing the young gentleman
in the cradle, a train of persons, all clad in black, approached. At a short
distance from the smithy they stopped, fell out of column, and formed
an irregular group ; which, after some slight consultation, flocked
tumultuously into the kitchen. They stared in silent astonishment at
the scene before them — Hannibal stopped, got up, and made his most
obedient bow. — " Poor fellow," said a pale, fine-formed young
woman, raising her bloodshot eyes — " after all its only a black man.
I've seen many such, neighbours ; there's no harm in him — for look
how little Peter laughs."

The woman now snatched the child from the cradle, placed its
mouth to her breast, and seemed to derive exquisite consolation, from
the little creature looking up into her eyes as it sucked. The other
parties still regarded Hannibal with awe — for they had never seen a
black human being before. At length the tailor hobbled in on
crutches to partake of the funeral feast — for the village smith had
just been buried — and speedily set all to rights. He had been at
Trinidad, Tobago, and various other outlandish parts ; he rejoiced in
the sight of Hannibal, for now neighbour Simpson could no longer
laugh at him for asserting that there were men abroad as black as a
sea-coal. Neighbour Simpson gaped at Hannibal like a gudgeon with
a fish-hook in his throat. He saw — but scarcely believed his eyes.

Under the auspices of the tailor, and the smith's handsome widow,
whose favour he had won by his successful attention to her child,
Hannibal soon found himself at home. He partook of the burial
bread and cheese and ale ; and before the guests departed irradiated
their hearts with a dawning beam of delight by assuring them that
he could shoe their horses, tip their bullocks, point their pitch-forks,
weld their broken coulters, retooth their harrows, and new-tongue
their hinges as well as their deceased neighbour, Blacksmith Batterbee,
or any other individual of the craft.

That night Hannibal slept in the loft above the widow's bed-room :
the next morning, the voice of the bellows, the roar of the fire, and

THE SLAVE PUGILIST. 133

the clink-clank of the hammer and anvil, awoke her. Hannibal be-
came her journeyman — he had never been so happy in his life — the
villagers idolized him for his kind disposition, his skill as a smith,
and his prodigious strength. At quoits he was pre-eminent — no man
but the tailor's slim son could give him a backfall at wrestling. His
odd antics, after his day's work was done, rendered him most beloved of
boys, and more than one strapping farmer's daughter seemed to enter-
tain no repugnance to his colour. Caps, it is said, were about to be
clawed on Hannibal's account ; so that, to keep peace and quietness
in the parish, his mistress, before she had " gone her year," thought
fit to marry him.

At the age of thirteen I became Hannibal Straw's apprentice — my
father was a-fermer in the neighbourhood — he had eight children, all
lads, of whom I was the eldest. Never had boy better master than was
Hannibal Straw, or sweeter mistress than the widow of bandy-legged
Jehoiakim Batterbee. I have since seen the daughters of the great —
those who have been accounted the loveliest of their generation — but
they were plain, compared with Mrs. Straw. Black Hannibal's wife,
I should decidedly say, was almost the finest woman in all England,
and yet I have often seen her pointing nails at the vice ; and it was
traditionary, that before she had emerged from her teens she had
often wielded the big hammer over a red-hot bar in front of knee-
broken. Batterbee, her bed-ridden papa's apprentice. Be this as it
may, she was a capital wife to Hannibal, and a most motherly mistress
to me : both of us loved her — idolized her — particularly Hannibal,
although she never became a mother by him. But he doated on Bat-
terbee's boys, as if they had been his own, and so did I.

Three years of my apprenticeship had glode away like a pleasant
dream, when, one night, Mr. Straw returned, exceedingly late, from
the neighbouring market town, where he had been on business, in a
frightful plight ! One of his eyes was closed, the opposite cheek was
gashed — he had lost three of his beautiful front teeth — the orifice of
his left ear was clotted with blood. Mrs. Straw had gone to bed — I
was sitting up for him, roasting onions by the forge-fire. He walked
in — -heaven knows where he had left his horse — with his hands clasped
against his chin, and looking as though his soul had been condemned
to everlasting perdition. He sat down on the anvil, placed his heels
on the block, and thus brought his knees up towards his face, which
he plunged into his palms with such an air of utter misery, as made
me shed a torrent of tears. I offered to call his wife, but he would not
permit me. With great pains I extracted a confession from him. He
had accidentally fallen in with two of his importers, who recognized
him, and affecting to forget what had passed, plied him with liquor in
honour of their meeting, until he became intoxicated: then shifting
their ground, they bitterly upbraided him for his conduct, reproached
him with cowardice, and when sure of their game, on account of his
inebriety, offered to back a man two-thirds of his weight against him,
for all the money which he had in his pocket. This was considerable —
for he had been receiving one or two comparatively heavy payments.
Irritated by their taunts, he closed with them at once. A sturdy
minion of his importers' was speedily introduced : with him Hannibal

134 THE SLAVE PUGILIST.

set-to, and for half an hour received such prodigious punishment as
would have destroyed almost any other man. His opponent began to
flag; Hannibal gradually became himself; and at length gathering
all his strength, inflicted a tremendous — a mortal blow. " Blood,"
said he, " human blood is on my hand, and there is an end of me.
I'm glad I have no children !"

He now began to rave ; and I was obliged to rouse the neighbours :
we got him to bed, but he soon grew more delirious, and raged with such
horrible violence that it became necessary, in the course of the next
day, to bind the colossal madman down to his bed by halters. These,
at length, were deemed scarcely secure, and at nightfall, the doctor
directed me to forge strong iron fetters for him by the ensuing
morning.

A working plan was sketched out for me ; and after supper I
began to forge — my tears hissing on the iron almost at every stroke
of the hammer. About three o'clock in the morning, while punching
a rivet, something fell heavily from the beam above — I looked up from
the anvil, and Mr. Straw stood before me ! There was a door from
the bed-room looking down into the shop j from the floor of this room
rafters passed across to the opposite wall ; those who were sitting up to
watch Hannibal had fallen asleep — he had burst his bonds, opened
the door, traversed the middle beam, and dropped right in front of me.
His face was ghastly ; the rope round his wrists, had, in his struggles
to get free, bitten into his flesh ; his sleeves were sopped, and the crim-
son current trickled from his finger ends. I could have sunk into the
earth.

" Go on, sirrah ! " said he, " let us finish ! You thought you were
making these irons for me — but we'll weld them to fit your own
ankles. /'// rivet them into your bones red-hot."

I shrieked with horror, and throwing down my hammer and
pincers, leaped behind the bellows. In an instant the people who had
been keeping watch descended, and a dreadful scene ensued. He called
the foremost, " Morgan, the skipper," and hurled the big hammer
at him, luckily without effect ; the rest he stigmatized as importers,
and loudly called on his owner, the free man of colour, to protect him.
Horse-shoes, tools, and every thing within his reach he converted
into weapons of defence — he even tore the anvil from its stand, hurled
it forward a few paces, and then showered upon his friendly assailants
a deluge of fire, from the forge, which he completely emptied with
his naked hands. As they began to close upon him, he dashed furi-
ously forward, knocked them aside right and left, and reached the
main road. Through the wood by which he had first entered the
village, across the common, and far, far, into the depths of the forest
that skirted it we zealously followed him ; but without effect. He
distanced us and disappeared. The next day we were told that he
had been seen at dawn bounding at full speed over the naked brow of
a hill some miles off, and that was the last authentic intelligence we
ever heard of him.

LAY OF SIR ROLAND.

THE flower of Christian chivalry their swords and souls have vowed
To heaven's own consecrating cause, till Paynira might is bowed,
The dazzling power of beauty's eyes their hearts no more proclaim ;
A purer passion fires them now — a higher, holier flame.

And deadly foes forget their feuds, and side by side engage ;
Hot through the reeling pagan ranks their rival squadrons rage,
The holy sepulchre of Christ to wrest from heathen hold,
Or fall in glory as beseems the noble and the bold.

But one among that press of knights profaned his sacred vow,
The victor of a hundred fights — a laggard lozel now ;
His heart is haunted with the gleam of Ella's love-beamed smiles,
Lured from her in the rapture of their blest fianciailles.

Vainly his Norman honour rose to rouse him with its thrill ;
His passion trampled down his pride, and rivetted his will.
He basely furled his sullied flag, and cast his honours down,
And homeward sped — the suicide of all his young renown.

" Then take thy way, thou faitour knight, thy recreant reckless way,
But hope not for the happiness that wiles thy heart astray ;
The ban of heaven shall blast thy path, and load thy days with dole,
Thy syren phantasies shall turn to scorpions in thy soul."

" Ay, let the bigots chafe and chide, I'll find in Ella's bower
The strife and shame of stormy years repaid in one sweet hour."
Thus whispered hope to eager love, to charm his cheated thought,
Ere gloomed on his despairing eyes the ills dark fate had wrought —

His ravaged castle's silent hall — its bruised and blackened tower ;
And she for whom he bartered fame — a torn transplanted flower ;
" For vengeance ho ! we'll hunt that foe to death, ere day is dim —
I cannot breathe the breath of life while it is breathed by him !"

Away, away, with heart on fire, he races with the wind ;
His fiery lancemen spurring keen their destriers behind —
" Away to spoil the spoiler's hold — to raze it to the dust,
And send him howling to the fiend who fired that fatal lust !"

O, wan and woe-begone the while, that lady made her moan —
" To-morrow, and this dagger's point can rescue me alone !"
" A nearer and a better bides — thine honour I will save ;
I've sworn it to my father's God, upon my father's glaive.

Unmarked I've marked thy woes and wrongs — I'll aid thee in thy need ;
Though Warcourt's squire, I spit upon this foul and caitiff deed ;
A candidate for knightly spurs must be no ruffian's slave,
And freedom I will win for thee, or for myself a grave.

A trusty troop of men at arms have pledged to thee their faith,
And he lies dreaming deeply drugged, as sound and still as death ;
But thou must don his crested casque, his corslet and his chain,
To pass the warder on his watch — the serf on his domain."
And she hath donned that gallant gear, and forth in war array,
Through the huge portal's guarded pass, ta'en her unchallenged way ;
On for dear life and liberty, their reeking steeds they goad, '
When, lo ! a cloud of whirling duet comes rolling on their road.

136

LAY OF SIR ROLAND.

And as it nears, the flash of spears bursts brightly from its shroud,

As bursts the vengeful lightning blaze from the electric cloud ;

Their fiery pace an instant's space they check — an instant more

And down they thunder, earth and sky resounding to their roar.

" Revenge for Roland \" was the shout — he marked her basnet's crest,

And ere her stifled voice revived, his spear was in her breast ;

His spear was in her lily breast, and she lay pale and prone

F the blood dabbled dust, ere woke her wild low woman's moan.

A child, with sword of reed, might then have struck him to the ground.

He staggered from his rearing steed, and gazed bewildered round —

He raised her up, and murmured, in a hoarse and hollow tone,

" On the accursed heaven wreaks its ire, by the accursed alone."

'Neath the lone smile she turned on him, he felt his heart-strings cower —

A sad sick smile — like moonlight-fall upon some ruined tower.

He strained to his convulsive breast her darkening, dying charms,

And caught the sigh that breathed away her life within his arms.

He laid her calmly — gently down ; and, turning to his squire,

He said — while kindled in his eyes a fierce and frantic fire —

" Thus, Vidault, have I won at last re-union with my bride,

And festal lights must burn to-night to grace a lover's pride !"

A wild and lurid glare that night the troubled sky overspread,
And thrilled through air the shrill despair of horror, death, and dread.
The morrow's sun looked down, I ween, upon another sight
On Warcourt's stern embattled tower, than left he yesternight.
For not one heart that round its lord his maddened onset braved ;
And not one part from fire and sword his crushing vengeance saved.
It seemed as though he sternly strove to brand for ever there,
The black and burning impress of his own heart's despair !

In the crusader's camp was one, the first in every fight,

Cased cap-a-pie in sable steel — a stern and stalwart knight ;

An arrow and a cloven heart upon his shield he bore,

The motto — " Heaven drew the bolt" — they knew of him no more.

But though they knew not of the past, they of the present know —

That blade more deadly than his own, no mortal ever drew ;

Where danger turned his darkest front to terror and despair,

High over all his sable plume was ever waving there.

All stark and cold upon a field with crimson carnage spread,

One battle eve they found him on a mound of Paynim dead.

Oh, if the stains of early sin upon the soul e'er yield

To withering years of lone remorse — Sir Roland was aneled !

W. G. A.

THE CITY AS IT WAS AND IS.

A DIALOGUE.

OLIVER. — I am disposed to admit, Thompson, that there was
once a city of London ; but I as positively deny that it longer exists
in character and spirit. Not but that there are men and things sig-
nificative to common or Common Council capacities of " the city" —
houses — churches — mayors — aldermen — marshals — pastry-cooks, and
pickpockets ; but heart, life, and soul are wanting. The stern
probity, the prominent but honest vulgarity, the cheering, high-
sounding joviality of better days, are all cashiered, displaced, and
cut. The chivalric contract-supported loyalty is discouraged, de-
funct, abased ; and confound it, Sir ! even the very weather of an
inauguration day is changed. Instead of a nice drizzling, com-
pounded of smoke, water, and heaven knows what else, which cast
a solemn and a sober shade over the glories of the pageant, making
them loom broader and higher to the strained sights of men, and
rendering them, by partial concealment and obscurity, yet more
imposing — the sun shines out upon the modern gawd, shewing it a
thing of mere human invention, and of ordinary mortal composition.
Sir, in the olden time there was more of poetry in it. The voices
of the marshalmen controlling the progress of the pageant, rose into
upper air : — then came a slow, and heavy, and lumbering tread,
splashing, as might well be heard, the sable riches of the pavement
on either side ; and sounds something like the blowing of a troop of
grampuses, on a dark night in the Mediterranean, announced men
of portly corporations, of liberal feeding, of inagile movement, sorely
distressed in their travail. The steps of a steed succeeded. Anon
the gazing multitude had a visiofc of the marshal, elevated in his
pride of place, composed of cocked hat, and lace-covered coat (like a
crimson skeleton with golden ribs), holding the reins with only one
hand. It was Marlborough — King William — Julius Caesar. As the
vehicles rolled successively onward, the mind's eye strove to pierce
through the very mist ; and the heart warmed as the imagination
gave to view the rubicund honours of Sir William's visage, with
Mister Recorder, himself a picture — his full and swarthy face, con-
trasted with the purity of his judicial wig; his hanging — the word
was ominous — black bushy brow j his game leg, and all his other
imposing attributes. Then there was Guildhall, Sir. What magni-
ficent associations are connected with that venerable word ! What
generous sympathies are awakened by its very name ! What rich
and glorious imagery dazzles the mental gaze, as fancy peoples the
civic board " with mighty men — men of renown !" The rosy wings
of poetry soar higher at the very view. The form of history swells
into matchless grandeur. Like the ghost in Don Juan, Beckford's
marble statue steps from its pedestal, to become the arbiter of dain-
ties. Lord Chatham smiles, in approbation of the scene. Nelson's
profile gazes with monocular delight ; and Gog and Magog chuckle

M. M. No. 92. T

138 THE CITY AS IT WAS AND IS.

their huge contentment, as they look once more on the things that
were. The very banquet, Sir, was suited to stern and manly tastes ;
but now

THOMPSON.— Well, Mr. Oliver, I would with all due deference
opine, that the condiments of festivity still prevail ; that a quantum
sufficit of apertures in heads are to be found within the walls for the
reception of food at the civic table ; that butchers survive, arid con-
fectioners are not wholly extinct ; that the state vehicle still wends its
sluggish way ; that sheriffs are part and parcel of humanity ; and the
lord mayor a mortal being of the male gender, with carnivorous,,
turtle-consuming, custard- sucking, oyster-devouring propensities ;
that

OLIVER. — Good ! good ! Thomson ; it may be so. It may be that
the mechanical part of the thing remains ; but let me tell you, Sir,
by the memory of Sir William Staines's bricklayer's trowel, that all
the rest is " leather and prunella." Where, Sir, is now the alderman
who, when his sovereign threatened to remove his court to punish
the obstropolous citizens of London, would reply, " I trust your
Majesty will leave us the Thames ?" Where a Beckford, to astound
the nerves of royalty ? Where a brewer like Harvey Christian
Combe, who refused a baronetcy ? Sir, it was exciting to see the
Prince of Wales — I preserve the appellation, as redolent of grateful
reminiscences — going to lunch with the worthy compounder of malt
and hops. None of your entre les deux repas, with a soupe and a
prise de tabac. No India tiffin, comprehending the fiery mullaga-
tawny, to stimulate the subdued ventricles of a saffron Hindoo ; but
an English lunch, Sir : — steaks broiled on the fire of the brewery ;
potatoes roasted in its ashes ; all assuaged with triple X, and crowned
with a bottle of stout port. There was an English prince and an
English alderman for you ! Then were our families rich, and the
land was smiling ; then were our merchants honoured and respected,
as they were wealthy ; then did John Philip Kemble lead off a minuet
at the Mansion-house, while Louis XIV. might have hid his head
for very shame, at the grace and dignity of the accomplished histrion.
None of your gallopades, mazourkas, and polonaises, borrowed from
Sarmatian boors or Siberian savages. That was the age of ladies'
hoops and gentlemen's bag-wigs ! one pound notes ! church and
king !

THOMPSON. — French invasion ! press-gangs ! Irish rebellions ! cor-
rupt elections ! pensions ! sinecures ! contracts ! constructive trea-
sons ! unlimited military service ! Catholic subjugation ! test and
corporation acts ! and colonial oppression ! You see, Oliver, I can
help a lame dog over the stile. No, no, Sir ; if we have inherited
the results of great political profligacy, and of unqualified and indis-
criminate expenditure, let us hope, that by the operation of reform,
the giant strength of the land will be displayed in all its proud propor-
tions ; and that, in spite of gallopades and the rest of it, we may yet
progress respectably.

OLIVER. — "Three blue beans in a blue bladder; rattle beans,
rattle bladder," as the bishop of Derry wrote it to the lord primate.
I shall scarcely take the trouble to refute you, Sir. You may regard

THE CJTY AS IT WAS AND IS. 139

measures, I look to men, Sir ; that was the old principle, and to it I
will adhere.

THOMPSON. — As to men, Mr. Oliver, I really think we possess
men of as patriotic feeling as you can name amongst those of the
olden time.

OLIVER. — Aye, there is • who rows forward but looks

backward j favours one party with his speech and another with his
vote, and labours to convince the world of the propriety of adopting

that which he himself rejects. Then you have alderman ,

who liberally transfers East Retford into Yorkshire, by easy geogra-
phical mutation ; talks imposingly of " the grave-digger, bellman.,
and other dignitaries of his parish ;" and when he demands their
votes, awfully observes to them, " recollect, the eyes of the country
are upon you." Item, an East India director, who, generously dis-
regardless of ordinary notions of regal descent, mentions the Com-
pany's charter as " having been derived from William III., and hopes
that William IV. will imitate his great ancestor !"

THOMPSON. — These errors are scarcely so egregious, Oliver, as
" the triple R — reading, writing, and 'rithmetic ;" " a speedy peace
and soon," &c. &c. of the olden times.

OLIVER. — Ah ! the men of my day, if a little out at elbows on
minor points, always contrived to make themselves understood.
They had none of that outlandish yahoo gibberish which is now in
vogue. Every thing eatable has been robbed of its good name.
Soup is converted, in the aspiring vocabulary of the quondam cit,
into potash; fish has become poison; the crimson honours of the
ancient joint have faded down to buff ; and the goose is announced,
in the manner of Cooper's Indian heroes, by the expressive " wagh !"
Then, Sir, as to style and manners ; an alderman sends the following
note, doubled down at the end, to a prince of the blood : — " Sir,

hopes that His Royal Highness the Duke of takes his

dinner at the Mansion-house to-day ;" and when, in despite of this
easy suggestion, he has royalty by his side, he descants on the four
graces supporting the epergne. Another arbiter of the destinies of
London declares from his seat of office, " that no decision of his'n had
ever been reversed." A lord mayor, we were not long since in-
formed, entertained " an exclusive party of nobility." A common
councilman, with a predilection for politics, has gravely asserted, that
" it was the intention of the Roman Catholics of Ireland to place a
Stuart on the throne of Great Britain ;" and a deputy, on St. Tho-
mas's day, after having gravely declared, that to stand before the
assembled ward of Farringdon Without was a task to damp the spirits
and paralyze the utterance of any ordinary man, spoke with the great-
est fluency for two hours and a half ! Then again, glance at a modern
gazette ; consider the number of insolvents ; look at the swindlers. —
Ah, Sir ! times are strangely altered. The honest British merchant
of my time, Sir

THOMPSON. — By the bye, Mr. Oliver, to change the subject,
oblige me with the continuation of that anecdote which you were
telling me when Jobling so unexpectedly joined us yesterday. It
was about an early mercantile friend of your's.

140 THE CITY AS IT WAS AND IS.

OLIVER. — Aye, I remember. It occurred in 1768. I was a young
man then, but my friend was old and full of honours. His trade
lay chiefly with the Baltic ; and one day two persons, who said they
were Danes, one of them calling himself Mr. Fredericsohn, presented
him with letters of credit to an unlimited extent from the chief mer-
cantile and banking-house of Copenhagen, and asked for the sum of
five thousand pounds, which, after due examination of the vouchers,
and no little surprise at the amount, my friend paid. A few days
after, while passing through the stable-yard at St. James's, he re-
cognized Mr. Fredericksohn entering the palace by a door which, as
he learnt from a centinel on duty, none were permitted to enter but
the attendants of the King of Denmark, then on a visit to England.
He therefore reasonably enough concluded that his customer was one
of the persons who supplied Christiern VII. with the means of satis-
fying his taste for profusion, extravagance, and dissipation; and,
consulting with his better half, it was agreed that the next time Mr.
Fredericsohn appeared, he should be invited to tea, the merchant
hoping to become a partner in the profits of the presumed money-
lender. The strangers soon renewed their visit; and Mr. Frede-
ricksohn demanded just double the sum he had previously required,
which was paid him, and the invitation given and accepted. The
gentlemen were punctual to their appointment, and the merchant
soon opened his battery, by inquiring " if Mr. F. were not in re-
lation with the King of Denmark." " I am, Sir," was the reply.
" May I presume to ask the nature of your employment at court?"
" Principally to dress and amuse his majesty," was the answer. " Ah !
I understand, Mr. F. — you minister to his majesty's pleasures."
" Exactly so." te Is it true," proceeded the merchant, placing his
forefinger on the seat of intellect, " that — you understand me, Sir —
his head is something like a waste book ?" " Between ourselves,"
observed the respondent, " the king is a confounded ass/' " Exactly
what I meant — a mere fool ; but how does he contrive to spend his
money, Mr Fredericksohn ?" " Principally in the purchase of
jewels for the ladies." " And whom does he employ in their pur-
chase, my good Mr. Fredericksohn?" "Myself." "Ah! pretty
pickings, I presume." " Little profit, I assure you." " Hum !
Well, if I might just hint — insinuate something that might tend to
our mutual advantage — but I fear — " " Go on, good Sir, speak
freely." " Allow me to suggest, then, that if you would confide
to me the charge of procuring jewels for the king, I could contrive
to realize one hundred and fifty per cent, net profit, which we might
share between us. What say you, Mr. Fredericksohn ?" The con-
versation was interrupted at this critical point by the servant an-
nouncing a gentleman, who wished to see Mr. Fredericksohn. A
page of George the Third immediately entered the room, and bending
his knee to Mr. Fredericksohn, presented a letter, which, he said,
" her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales had commanded him
to consign into the hands of his majesty, and to await his majesty's
reply." " We must be going, Count Hoi eke/' calmly observed the
king to his companion. " For you, mine host, we must arrange our
plans of pigeoning the Danish donkey at some other moment ; but I

COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

141

cannot depart, Madam," added he, turning to my friend's amazed
lady, " without begging your acceptance of this ring, as a feeble
acknowledgment of your hospitality and politeness."

THOMPSON. — And this, Mr. Oliver, is a specimen of the honest,
upright British merchant, the glory of the empire in your good old
times —

OLIVER. — I beg pardon — I was not attending— I did not exactly
hear ; for a friend, whom I particularly wish to speak with, has this
moment gone into the pposite coffee-room. Pray excuse my
abruptness. Good morning.

COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

IT is a maxim that has been pretty well accredited, by past events
and long established facts, that certain alterations or changes are
necessary, both in the government of a people and the provincial
enactments of a state, in order to befit its society for the burthen of
those necessary trammels which enforce the obligation and sense of
justice between man and his fellows, and which under a greater lati-
tude of action than the existence of the laws permits, would be totally
abolished, or frequently forgotten, amidst the passions and convulsions
of a mixed society. According therefore to this reasoning, the laws
which could restrain the turbulent spirits of the nation in the chivalric
feeling of the middle ages, and the mode by which they were enforced
during the reigns of that period, were necessarily of a more general
and less summary character than those which wrere executed upon de-
linquents of the wandering tribes of an antecedent date ; and again —
the inflictions of punishment which are now awarded to criminals,
together with the caution by which they are sentenced, bear, indeed,
but a resemblance scarcely to be recognised as a portion of that code
of ancient law, which first assumed the method of a science, under
the dawning reason of our Saxon ancestors. It has been argued on
all sides, and we think it has been as generally admitted, that the
British constitution, taken with its many anomalies, is as efficient as
any system of legislation in the world; yet has there been none
perhaps on which so many alterations have been effected, or so many
improvements engrafted. France, from remaining many years in-
active, at length threw off her ancient regime by the effort of revolu-
tion ; whilst Spain, and other continental nations of any standing,
have adopted alterations in their government at certain times, such as
were found expedient to suit the enlarged circle of population, which
was increased by the natural events of time and prosperity. It is
not therefore in England alone that change has been deemed expedient,
for it will be seen that other nations more venerable, and perhaps not
less celebrated than ours, have considered it wise to adopt alterations.
It may not be improbable that the kingdoms, whose history can
alone be traced in Holy Writ, may have framed codes without after-
wards amending them j but the fact that those governments have fallen
into decay is at least an argument that human institutions are not to

COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

be preserved without alteration and amendment. But it would appear
from the arguments of many politicians of the present day that all
change should be avoided, and that the country has arrived at a point
of perfection which neither wisdom nor foresight could improve — that
the interests of various classes of men are so nicely balanced as to
leave no preponderating weight on either side, so that although the
scale may be apparently uneven, yet if any benefit were thrown on
the lighter side it would prove an absolute burthen — intolerable alike
to those who would receive it, as it would to those whose interests
would be counterbalanced by the operation of a heavier power being
given to their opposing weight.

These preliminary remarks are perhaps necessary to support the
question that we propose to discuss, a question which in our view has
approached not without introduction, but which has arisen and ad-
vanced into importance from the operation of those events which
brought it into action. We have endeavoured to show that an extended
circle of society requires to be governed by more general laws than
those which would serve for the mutual security of a smaller tribe ;
and by the same rule it becomes necessary, that the burthen of sup-
porting those laws, or in other words the expense of maintaining them
must be so generalized as to bear with a due proportion of convenience,
according to their means, on all parties who prosper under national
order and public security.

England may be considered to have just emerged from one of those
changes which, as we before stated, were necessary in the govern-
ment of kingdoms — she has made a provision for extending political
power amongst the various classes, which under national prosperity
have increased to a surprising extent ; and, having as it were settled
her account of justice, and established a citizenship between the off-
spring of the past and present generations, it seems but a reasonable
calculation to believe that her next duty would be to adjust the bur-
thens, as she has remedied the defects in the political power, of her
sons. But from whose hands are we to expect this work ? and by
whom will the great adjunct to the Reform Bill be prepared ? Not
we fear by the present governors, for it is but too apparent that they
have taken up the absurd opinion that further change should be
avoided, and that improvement or alteration in our financial arrange-
ments must remain untouched and uninterrupted.

It is our desire, having first shown the necessity of coupling an
extension of political power with financial relief, to point out the
injustice of granting the one, and witholding the other — the impos-
sibility of maintaining the two measures in adverse position, and of
devising means by which both arrangements may be rendered con-
venient, safe, and complete. In the first place, if we attempt to raise
the moral condition of society, it must be accomplished by means of
education, and by extending the bounds of political power amongst
the people, and then we shall as surely find that when the first adop-
tion begins to operate on the public mind, the second cannot be with-
held ; and having placed the people in such a condition as to render
them sensible of the inconvenience of the national burthens, it will
soon be found necessary, by compulsion, that they should only bear

COMMUTATION OF TAXES. 143

such a proportion of the weight as shall be in accordance with the
extent of power or responsibility which has been placed in their
hands — for it is well accredited, that in monarchial governments the
steps to power are scrupulously graduated by the amount of posses-
sion. It therefore appears to us a very reasonable doctrine that the
regulation of taxation should be based on the same principle, and that
according to the extent of power which the possession of wealth
secures, so should be the amount of taxation required according to
the means and abilities of the subject to pay. We are aware that this
reasoning differs from the system which has been followed in England
for the last century, where the very reverse of such a mode has been
adopted — where taxation has not been regulated with a view of
placing the heaviest corner on the most powerful buttress, but it has
been thrown off from this position, and allowed to fall most heavily in
that direction which was least able to avert or lessen its oppression.
The subject, however, has at length assumed a different character-
popular power has been renovated and strengthened, and it will
henceforth bear its due proportion, casting over the remainder by its
reinforced strength, and throwing back the overplus upon that side
which ought long since to have borne its fair share. This is a natural
consequence that the proposers of a recent change do not appear to
have contemplated or provided for ; but, unless they speedily prepare
the adjustment, they must relinquish their architecture of a new
system to wiser heads, and more skilful hands.

We shall next proceed to state our views as to what taxes are un-
equally divided in their collection from the rich and poor, and endea-
vour to show the injurious operation of the present system as affecting
the rate of prices under the influence of taxation, pointing out as a
consequence its falling back in a high proportion on the luxuries as
well as the necessaries of life ; because, if the tradesman is called
upon by the Government for a large amount of taxes, it is natural
that he should provide the means of paying it out of the profits of his
business ; consequently he places a higher price on the article which
he sells, in order to make up by profit that deficiency in his income
which the claims of the tax-collector have occasioned. By this, then,
it would appear that the dealer can be at no loss at whatever rate
the taxes are collected, because he has the means of repayment by a
quiet exaction from his customers. Such, however, is not the case —
he suffers from a restricted trade which the high prices occasion — he
also pays his fellow-tradesmen for articles of his own necessity in the
same proportion as he charges for his own goods, and thus he may be
considered as the centre of the system, whilst the classes below and
above him partake of his difficulties. But if we could by any means
reduce the price of articles in such a proportion as that their manu-
facturers should be fairly remunerated according to a per centage on
capital employed, and carry such a reduction throughout the necessary
articles of consumption — then we should find that additional labour
would be in the greatest demand, that tradesmen would be enabled
to live on smaller means, whilst the general briskness of trade would
afford a larger than their present aggregate profit, and the gentry in
the same proportion would be enabled to support their establishments,

COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

and enjoy their pleasures with much smaller returns than those which
they at present require.

The taxes which yield the largest returns are those on colonial articles,
tea, sugar, and tobacco ; those of our home taxation are the excise on
malt, and the assessments on houses and windows. A moment's reflec-
tion will assure us, that by far the larger proportion of these are levied
from the pockets of the labouring and middle classes ; and in regard
to the latter tax, we fear too much partiality has been shown to persons
who ought to contribute the most freely towards its amount. But
what are the arguments of the Whigs and Tories on this subject ? They
admit, that the middle classes bear a larger proportion of the public
burthens— they are fully sensible, and do not venture to deny that a
hosier's shop in Regent-street pays as much in house taxes as the
noble possessor of a Baronial Hall is called upon to contribute for his
dwelling. They are also aware that the greatest consumption of
colonial produce is by the working classes, and that consequently the
income arising from those taxes must be derived from that class of
persons who are the greatest consumers ; but then they state that the
wealth of the country is not in the hands of the aristocracy, but in the
numerous small properties of which the people are possessed. By
this argument, therefore, we take them ; and upon the admission of
the fact on our part is the gist of the question that we argue, because
the Whigs and Tories, if by taking the position that the middle classes
are taxed in the most heavy proportion, because they are bonajide the
most wealthy class, then we have the acknowledgment that wealth
ought to be the primary object on which taxation should bear; and
having so far settled this point, we shall endeavour to shew that,
although the aristocracy may not be the body with whom the chief
wealth of England is concentrated, yet it is in their hands that the
large tracts of country are invested. It is they who enjoy the various
privileges appertaining to extensive possessions ; and if by their own
arrangements, or those of their ancestors, the absolute production of
those possessions have been bartered and conveyed to other hands,
yet the public cannot recognise any arrangements which have been
transacted as private bargains between man and man, and which are
no more entitled to public consideration than is the question whether
the profits of a particular trade are enjoyed by a single tradesman, or
distributed between himself and a dozen partners, to whom he has
disposed of their various shares. A house of business is an estate, and
is rated at a certain value. If the proprietor of such a property were
to attempt to shew, that because his partners claimed a portion of the
profits which were returned from that house, that its value must be
thereby depreciated because it did not produce to him the whole profit
which was made, such an argument would make but a shallow case
to go before the commissioners of taxes ; yet it bears the same analogy
as the landowners claiming exemption from taxation, because they or
their forefathers have mortgaged, or in other words disposed for
bond Jide cash received a large proportion of the profits of their land.
They have admitted partners, and with those partners they must
adjust the claims of taxation, and not with the nation.

But there is a method by which these evils may be met, and there

COMMUTATION OF TAXES. 145

is only one way by which embarrassed parties can be assisted, or by
which the government can obtain an income to meet the deficiency
which a large remission of taxes would occasion, and that is, by
placing an income-tax on all vested property, whether on land or on
mortgage, making such provision as shall empower the landholder to
pay the tax for the mortgage, and afterwards deduct it from his inte-
rest. This would at once simplify the transaction, and would divest
the tax from an inquisitorial character, because its payment for the
amount of mortgages would be conducted as privately as that of
interest money, The operation of this tax would also have a great
effect on politics ; for as soon as the Government should propose to
raise a large sum of money, partly by a larger property-tax and partly
by retrenchment, we should find that Members of Parliament would
almost to a man become rigid economists, and the measures of Mr.
Hume would be carried by sweeping majorities. The army and navy
would soon be found too expensive, and the pension list would be
examined with the most jealous and scrutinizing attention. This is
the effect which such a measure would have on the House of Com-
mons, Whether or not the Whigs desire such a change in the policy
of their followers, is a question that we shall not attempt to deter-
mine ; but, from their strenuous efforts to avoid a commutation of
taxes, we should imagine that the present tone of parliament is the
most acceptable to them.

What means have they taken to prevent the progress of a subject
which is rapidly gaining ground in all parts of the kingdom ? They
have not ventured to grapple with the abstract question of a property
tax, and by overthrowing its advocates by fair and reasonable argu-
ments, to turn the opinion of the country against it ; but they have
blended it, certainly with some dexterity, with a general income tax,
and have endeavoured to arouse the fears of the people bv pointing
out the various inconveniencies that existed under the collection of a
heavy and general property tax during the war. The Chancellor of
the Exchequer has not attempted to argue the subject in a distinct
form, because he is aware that it is only on the ground of inconveni-
ence that he can expect to protract the measure. We believe that"
many members of parliament begin to discover the difference between
a blended property tax and an income tax on what is termed real
property ; but the opponents of the latter declare, that it would
be an act of sheer injustice to levy on one property without the
other. To this assertion, therefore, we shall attempt a reply.

We contend that it would not be an act of injustice to place a tax
on real property, and leave the personal estates free ; because it is to
real property that all national distinctions and privileges are attached.
At the same time, we believe that the possessors of real property are
in such a condition as to render it absolutely necessary for the mort-
gagees and vested monied interest to bear a proportion of the taxa-
tion, otherwise the greater portion of the land must at once be offered
for sale. Having therefore so far concluded our opinion, as to admit
the necessity, though not the justice, of a tax being placed on the
monied as well as the landed interest, we must of course include the
fimdholder in estimating the most fitting interests for taxation ; but

M. M. No. 92. U

146 COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

we can go no farther. Having admitted, on the plea of expediency,
that the monied interest, in times of emergency, should be chosen
for taxation as well as the landed proprietors, we should strenuously
oppose, on the same policy, any burthen being placed on the trade or
industry of the country ; and we conceive that the subject maybe
well argued, on the principle that, as the landed interest enjoys the
privileges, ergo, it should bear a large proportion of the burthens of
the state ; and as the monied interest requires a large share of pro-
tection, it could adduce, perhaps, no substantial reason why it should
not contribute towards the means by which that security is effected.
But what argument is there by which commerce or industry could be
brought under the ban of taxation ? Is money engaged in trade se-
cured by any of those fixed and expensive statutes which protect the
landed or money properties ? Is not the law of debtor and creditor
more a contract between parties than a guarantee of the state ? Are
the expenses of Westminster-hall and the Court of Chancery kept up
for these purposes, or are they guarantees to perpetuate the security
of what is termed the real property of the country ?

Having shewn that there would be justice in taxing fixed incomes,
in preference to unsettled trade or professional transactions, let us
see whether it would be expedient to cast an additional weight on
the commerce of the country. Any man who embarks a capital in
trade, supports, by that capital, not only himself, but numerous
persons in the various offices of assistants, clerks, or artificers, so that
an amount of five thousand pounds thus engaged, will most probably
give employment to twenty persons, thus making a trade investment
of money the most beneficial to the country in the proportion of
twenty to one. It is this description of capital that has given this
country such a superiority in every respect of commerce over other
nations. For, notwithstanding our heavy taxation, English goods
maintain their sale in the foreign markets ; because, by the immense
capital that we have in trade, we are enabled to purchase raw mate-
rials at the lowest price, and to manufacture them with that superi-
ority which is so apparent and desirable when placed in competition
with foreign merchandize. Under such circumstances, does it admit
of a doubt that the wisest policy would be to relieve this portion of
our national wealth as much as possible, with a view to its extension ?
And if it has been shewn that the prosperity of trade will flow into
all the other channels of society, why, surely, trade must be the
fundamental point upon which a reduced system of demand should
commence.

We do not think that the amount required to be reduced from
our present taxation, in order to bring about a change to low prices,
would be so large as many imagine ; and if ten millions would influ-
ence the markets, as we believe it would, such an amount may be
provided for without difficulty or inconvenience. It would be a fal-
lacy, in making a provision of this sort, to call for a property tax on
income above five per cent j because in that case, landlords would
exact it from their tenants. But if, by an arrangement for remitting
taxation, we can offer the landed interest a bonus for what is re-
quired from them, by giving back the malt duty of £4,500,000, in

COMMUTATION OF TAXES. 147

return for a property tax of £4,000,000,, they can surely suffer nothing
from such an alteration. Besides their poor lands would be tilled for
the cultivation of barley, labour would be increased, and the poor
rates necessarily reduced ; and as smaller demands were required for
bargains of purchase, money would be separated into smaller amounts^
and business would assume that general briskness which is now
only partially or locally experienced. It would also soon be seen^
that an additional class of dealers would come into the market,
who are now precluded by their limited capitals ; and if, under such
a state of things, the farmer disposed of his stock with less conve-
nience than at present, yet he would find that his returns were more
ready, and his losses much lighter, than under the present system.
This argument is equally applicable to trade, as well as agriculture.
Every thing has been dealt out by monopoly wherever government
duties are required; because their excessive demand on capital
threw the original purchase into the hands of a few, which enforced.^
or encouraged a high state of prices that were incompatible with "
the present monetary system of the country ; and hence the differ-
ence between the prices of colonial and home articles ; hence we find
the branch of ttrade requiring colonial duties deserted — the other,
which is free from them, full of competition and prosperity. If,
for instance, we go from Cheapside to Charing-cross, what shops are
to be found most numerous? The answer, we imagine, will be those
of drapers and tailors. Their goods are sold at the most reasonable
prices, much cheaper, indeed, than they could be procured in any OA
the continental cities; and a clear demonstration that this system
creates a general briskness of trade, is the fact that so much compe-
tition is found in these branches of trade, whilst it would be reason-
able to suppose that the wants of the metropolis would require an
equal proportion of grocers and bakers, if their prices were within the
compass of the resources of the community, If we reflect on the
various trades that we find in London, we shall discover those that
require small capitals are in the proportion of four to one who are
free of the government, above such as are under the influence of
colonial or other duties. It is therefore clear, that these imposts not
only keep up the prices of articles to the amount imposed, but they
also keep out competition in trade, which gives the metropolis an
extra profit of twenty- five per cent; so that if we could reduce
taxation on raw articles ten millions, the public would reap a benefit
of nearly double the amount, or almost half of the present burthen of
taxation.

Let us then, for a moment, calculate the benefit of prices falling
one half. What would be the result to the country ? — that every
private gentleman would be enabled to reside in England as cheap as
he could live on the continent. Thousands who are now compelled
to live abroad would flock back to their native shores, and their sub-
stance would be spent at home ; the tradesman's profit of ten per
cent, would go as far as at present at seventeen and a half; and the
landed proprietor, by looking into his affairs, might enjoy the same
luxuries and comforts for twelve hundred per annum as he does now
for two thousand. We are aware that it is doubted whether tradesmen

148 COMMUTATION OF TAXES.

would come back to this state of things by reducing their profits ;
but competition would drive them to it in the same manner as it has
in the drapery trade — a branch which, since the war,, has totally
been compelled to give up its monopoly.

THE FAT BRIGAND.

CATALONIA, at that period of the Peninsular war when the writer
served on its coast, was very differently situated to the rest of Spain : it
had been left entirely to its own resources to make the best resistance
it could against the invaders of its liberties. The principal fortresses
were in the hands of the French : Barcelona, Gerona, Lerida, and
Rosas were strongly garrisoned by them ; but the Spaniards had
still a considerable force, possessed some few fortified places, and
continued to oppose the enemy with vigour and effect. We had then

no army in Catalonia; but a military agent (General D ) always

resided at the Spanish head- quarters, in order to keep up the com-
munication between the army and our squadron, which supplied them
with arms, ammunition, and clothing, and occasionally issued procla-
mations to fan the embers of Spanish patriotism.

At the time of our arrival off the coast, the Catalans were in high
spirits from having just got possession of Figueras, an almost impreg-
nable fortress, by accident or rather treachery. The English were
as much liked in Catalonia as the French were detested. The sol-
diers and the people were animated with the most devoted enthu-
siasm, and the names of Sarsfield, Manzo, the Baron D'Eroles, and
many others, prove that leaders were not wanting to head as gallant
a people as ever struggled in defence of their liberties. But these
chiefs were unfortunately not united among themselves ; they were
jealous of each other's success, and Campo- Verde, the Captain-
General, had not the talent to keep them together. They were most
of them sincere patriots, and anxious to destroy the enemy ; but they
all chose to do it their own way, with their own followers ; so that
there was no unanimity in their operations, or consistency in their
councils.

It was a most curious mode of warfare, and probably more disas-
trous to the French than the movements of a regular army ; for they
were constantly attacked by enemies they could never find, and de-
stroyed as it were by invisible means. The province of Catalonia is
bounded by the Pyrenees on one side, and the Mediterranean on the
other, so that all the convoys or divisions of the army that passed to
or from France were obliged to choose one of the two roads that led
through Arragon and Valencia to the interior of Spain. If they took
the upper road, which wound among the mountains, they were ex-
posed to the Guerillas ; if they came the lower one, they were ob-
liged to pass along the sea-shore so close to the beach, that they be-
came exposed to the point-blank range of our squadron, which some-
times did sad havoc among them. The Guerillas of Catalonia were a

THK FAT BRIGAND. 149

most extraordinary race; brave as it is possible to imagine, and
capable of enduring every sort of privation and fatigue, but quite
ignorant of all the rules and customs of war. They submitted to no
authority but their own immediate chief, and recognized no law but
his will.

Among these mountain chiefs the one most distinguished for his
daring bravery and hatred of the French, was a short fat man, as big
round as the capstan of a line of battle ship, who went by the name
of the " Brigand Gross," from his enormous size, which, however,
did not in the least impede his activity, for I have seen him run
almost as fast as an antelope. He was a man of the greatest personal
courage, and shewed more natural talents in his military arrange-
ments than many from whom much more might have been expected;
but he could neither read nor write, and was obliged to employ a
priest as his secretary when it was necessary to have recourse to pen
and ink. He fixed his head-quarters in an old castle among the
Pyrenees, where he had collected a strong force of able bodied
peasants of determined bravery, who were ready to lay down their
lives at his command. This man had been a rich farmer, living in a
quiet simple manner in a small village among the Pyrenees on the
confines of France, when the invasion of Spain brought a division of
the French army to his peaceful abode. They sacked his dwelling,
took away or destroyed his cattle, polluted his wife and two sisters,
and then set fire to his houses and barns. His wife, then far gone
with child, died in his arms : his sisters did not long survive ; and
his people were many of them killed or wounded in defending their
master's property. All was gone ! all hopes of happiness were de-
stroyed, and this outraged man took a dreadful oath over the smoking
ruins of his home, never while he existed to spare a Frenchman's
life ; and most tremendously did the Brigand Gross keep his word !
He buried his wife and the child, to which she had prematurely given
birth, bade farewell to his once happy home, and accompanied by the
only survivor of his family, who happened also to be the pastor of
the village, he devoted his whole soul to the cause he had embraced,
and thought of nothing but the fulfilment of his oath. He soon
found plenty of followers to second his wishes, who had equal cause
of hatred to the French ; and from his lofty tower he would some-
times pour down upon their small garrisons in resistless force, plant
ambuscades for the destruction of their convoys, or occupying the
strong passes in the mountains, drive them down to the sea-side,
where he knew they must encounter our broadsides. His informa-
tion was always the best : not a Frenchman could stir without his
being aware of it ; he seemed endowed with ubiquity ; and if the
French, irritated by his petty successes, went in pursuit of him, he
was never to be found. Sometimes they surrounded him, as they
thought, on all sides, when he always baffled the pursuit by dis-
persing his followers, and appointing a rendezvous some twenty
miles off, so that when they closed upon him, sure of their prey, they
found nothing, and heard of his being in full force somewhere else.
In all these plans he was greatly assisted by his late pastor, who sup-
plied his literary deficiencies, and seemed to have so far changed his

150 THE FAT BRIGAND.

character from the horrors he had witnessed, that the stream of
humanity war dried up within him. The priest was a most useful
partizan to the brigand : he kept up the devotion of his followers,
excited their enthusiasm, consoled the dying, buried the dead, and
taught them all that killing the French was the shortest and surest
road to heaven.

I remember a curious interview I once had with this guerilla chief,
which bears more resemblance to what we read of in romance than
to the ordinary incidents of every life. He had somehow or other
got intelligence that a French convoy was to pass the lower road, and
as he wanted arms and ammunition he sent off a peasant to us with
a piece of paper, on which was written — " the bearer," merely
saying he came from the Brigand Gross. We were then cruising off
Barcelona, and our captain, who had a private understanding with
the brigand, immediately made sail for that place.

Arens de Mar is a pretty little village situated on the sea-shore be-
tween Matavo and Palamos, and as we had a leading wind we
anchored off it before dark, when I was at once sent ashore with a
supply of muskets and cartridges for the brigand. As we pulled
in I saw a light to the eastward of the town in a small creek, and
we made all speed to run the boat high and dry close to it. We
landed our chests of arms and ammunition, and I paced up and down
the beach while the boat's crew were employed in getting the boat
off. I was soon joined by the brigand — a short thick- set man, ex-
tremely corpulent, with a good-humoured countenance and sharp
piercing eyes ; he was dressed in the common habit of the Catalan
peasants, with two pistols and a dagger stuck in his belt, and a short
musket concealed under the blanket that hung over one shoulder.
While I was wondering how the arms and ammunition were to be
removed, as I saw nobody but ourselves and the boat's-crew paddling
in the water, my pinguitudinous companion put his two thumbs into
his mouth, and by a shrill whistle brought a crowd of his followers
round us in a moment. The effect was as instantaneous as Rhoderick
D'hu's signal to his men, for the guerillas started up like them from
the holes and corners where they had been concealed among the rocks.
Each man helped himself to a musket and some ammunition, and then
formed a sort of group around their chieftain, who, on my presenting
him with a receipt for his signature, took an inkhorn from his girdle
and scrawled a large cross upon the paper — " I cannot write, senhor,"
said he, " but I dare say my mark will do as well — tell your grande
capitano that if he will be a little to the westward of Palamos to-
morrow evening, and land a few men in the rear of the French
convoy, I will drive them down to him, and he may pick up as much
cheese and sugar as will last his squadron for a twelvemonth." So
saying he took his leave, and made for the mountains with his nume-
merous retinue, and I returned on board with my empty chests.

The next evening we punctually followed his directions, and
moored head and stern as near as we could to the shore, bringing our
broadside to bear on a point we knew the French must pass, and
where they would have nothing to shelter them from our fire. A line-
of-battle ship's broadside, loaded with grape and canister, is a most

PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GULPH STREAM. 151

tremendous engine of destruction when within point blank distance
of a close formed body of men. This the French found to their cost;
and no sooner had they received it, than such of them as could, scam-
pered off in all directions, abandoning their carts and convoy, in the
pillage of which we were assisted by the Brigand Gross and his fol-
lowers, who had been harassing the enemy's rear, and destroying any
small parties that were separated from the main body. The first
person I met on landing was the fat brigand who came up puffing
and blowing with his short musket in his hand, calling out to me,
" See how the rascals run ! Viva L'Inghilterra, muere Napoleon,"
and on he went as much delighted as a huntsman in full cry. The
French hastened to form a line out of the range of our shot, between
the guerillas and their mountains ; but this did not seem to have any
effect on our friend, who was assisting us to load our boats with the
arms and provisions we had taken, while our launches, with carronacles,
drew close to the shore for our protection. Nothing could be more
ridiculous than the appearance of our allies ; wherever they could
get hold of a little portable plunder they adopted it on the spot : so
that one appeared in a French general officer's hat and feathers,
another in his coat and epaulettes., while a third had his breeches, and
a fourth his boots. What we could not carry away we destroyed,
and offered to embark our friend ; but the brigand would not hear of
it, and making a signal to his men, they at once dispersed. The
French were afraid to separate in pursuit, and were besides occupied
in removing their wounded to a neighbouring convent. Among these
was a general officer, whom I saw carried off on a litter ; his horse
which had been shot under him, lay upon the beach as I passed.
Before dark we were all safely re-embarked without the loss of a man,
and sailing quietly along shore to regain our station off Barcelona.

PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GULPH STREAM.

THOUGH the deceptive and dangerous effects of the currents of the
ocean, have in recent years been much explained by our scientific navi-
gators, a very imperfect knowledge still exists in this country upon the
origin, direction, and rapidity of that greatest phenomenon of the ocean
— the Gulph stream of the coast of America. This most extraordinary
ocean river has its origin in the Gulph of Mexico, and has generally
been supposed, in accordance with the theory of Dr. Franklin, to be
created by the pressure of the trade winds, which force the waters of
the Atlantic in a perpetual accumulation through the confined channels
of the West Indies, the stream then seeking an outlet through the
Straits of Florida, and flowing northward by its own impetus along
the shores of the United States to the Banks of Newfoundland, and
thence to the Azores, its course being now found to be not completed
even upon the coast of Spain ; for the weed which covers and is
peculiar to the Gulph Stream, has occasionally been found even in
the Mediterranean, having been carried thither undoubtedly across the

152 PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GULPH STREAM.

whole track of ocean from the coast of Florida ; and as the weed
which again pervades the Saragossa or Weedy Sea, and the whole
region of the trade winds, from the coast of Spain to the continent of
America, is precisely the same vegetable matter with only an appear-
ance of greater age and decay from longer immersion in the water, it is
clear that the entire mass has originated in, and been brought round
from, the shores of Florida. Considering the recent extension of our
knowledge upon the subject of the direction and length of the cur-
rent, and viewing the shape of the coast of Spain, projecting as a
promontory far into the Atlantic, it is apparent that a fresh impetus
is here given to the stream by the resistance of the coast, and we
venture to assert with confidence, that the equinoctial current of
Humbolt is connected with, and a continuation of, the Gulph Stream.
Indeed this weed is altogether peculiar to the shores of Florida, and
is not known to exist in any other sea, its rich load of berries being
the produce of the warm temperature of the Gulph Stream, and as
the experiments of Mr. Perkins prove that the temperature of the
sea is icy cold at not an immoderate depth, and as it is clear that no
vegetation can exist in the absence of heat, the opinion that the
vegetable matter which covers the Weedy Sea grows upon the spot
is manifestly not correct. Nor does similar, or indeed any other
weed appear upon the surface of the sea in any other quarter of the
world : all which circumstances, and the well determined existence of
the equinoctial current, brings us to the conclusion that the Gulph
Stream thus winds its way in one immense and perpetual circle, from
Florida to the coast of Spain, and from Spain to the continent of
America.

The opinion of Dr. Franklin that the Gulph Stream is created by
the pressure of the trade winds, would appear however to be not very
substantially supported by other appearances, particularly as its cur-
rent is by a great degree the most rapid in the months of summer,
when the winds are the lightest and most variable, and even the
longest continuation of the calms of the West Indies produces no
diminution in its speed. The singularity of the high temperature of
the water of the Gulph Stream, which is always about 70 degrees of
Farenheit, and so far above the temperature of the sea even in the
tropical latitudes, induces to the belief that submarine volcanic agency
is probably instrumental in its origin. The probability has also been
gravely asserted of its issuing by a subterranean passage from the
Pacific Ocean to the Gulph of Mexico, founded upon the absurd
doctrine laid down by former navigators, that the level of the Pacific
is fourteen feet higher than that of the Atlantic and the Gulph of
Mexico ; but as the waters of the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans
commingle at Cape Horn, it is certain, that upon the principle that
water will find an universal level, there can exist no difference what-
ever between the level of the oceans upon either of the coasts of
America, and that the long received doctrine of this inequality, and
the consequent existence and force of a subterranean current, are a
mere mass of error. Some slight effect is probably produced by the
entrance of the waters of the Mississippi, for this river is of prodi-
gious depth, unfathomable for a hundred miles from its mouth, and

PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GULPH STREAM. 153

rolling so great a volume of water into the Gulph of Mexico, that
we have seen fresh water taken up out of sight of land. Nor is the
conjecture of Dr. Franklin that the Banks of Newfoundland have
been formed by the deposits of the Gulph stream, very reasonably
founded, for by the abruptness of the Banks and the edges not present-
ing regularly graduated soundings, it is proved that they are not the re-
sult of a regular and gradual deposit. It has also been very frequently
asserted that no fish are to be seen in the Gulph Stream, or only
when passing rapidly across it ; this however is unfounded altogether,
for during twenty-seven days in 1830, we daily observed in it myriads
of dolphins and other fish which delight in a warm temperature of
the sea. The extroardinary prevalence of storms and lightning in the
Gulph Stream is another unaccountable characteristic of this most
remarkable phenomenon, and the causes of the immense current are
undoubtedly hidden in the depths of the sea.

It is apparent that upon a correct knowledge of the rapidity of this
current must depend the security of navigation along the track of
its immense course. The prime error is undoubtedly in the common
practice of estimating a ship's way by an invariable rate of the current
as marked upon the chart at various positions of its course, since it is
found that the prevalence of the northerly winds in winter diminishes
the rapidity in a remarkable degree, whilst in the calms of summer its
rate is frequently doubled by the non-resistance of these winds —
charts now many years old having, even previous to our more extended
information upon its course, marked it as extending a hundred de-
grees further to the eastward of Newfoundland in summer than in
winter. Another circumstance which is seldom noticed, but which
exercises a great influence upon a ship's way in a current, is the weight
and depth in the water of the vessel ; for common observation informs
us that a heavy body floats down a stream, by reason of its own accu-
mulating impetus, at a much more rapid rate than a light body ; as a
log will float twice as fast as a feather. The bulk of British shipping
which passes along the course of the Gulph Stream, consists of home-
ward-bound West Indiamen, and therefore this principle ought to be
much attended to ; for though the rate of the current, marked upon
the most approved charts, should be four knots abreast of the Metan-
zas, and five knots in the narrowest part of the Straits of Florida, we
are yet convinced by observation of the rate at which a light ship in
ballast will drift past the shore, that no secure reckoning can be kept
in our heavy West Indiamen, without allowing full six and seven
knots in a calm time, or when lying to in stormy weather. Of this
fact, however, the commanders of our merchant vessels have no know-
ledge or belief whatever ; for the action of the current is universally
underrated, it being found, that of the many vessels which are annually
wrecked upon the Florida shore, the greater proportion sail dead
upon the reef, altogether unconscious of being up with the position.
Undoubtedly the most fatal consequences result from the error of
underrating the rapidity of this stream ; for it is an exception to all
the other known currents of the ocean, and the most experienced
navigators, who in other situations have seldom been accustomed to
allow more than one or two knots for a current, are not prepared to

M.M. No. 92. X

154 PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GULPH STREAM.

imagine the existence of a great ocean river, carrying them uncon-
sciously along at the rate of six or seven. Some idea of the true
strength of the Gulph Stream off the coast of Florida, may be formed
from the account of Mr. Rowan, an excellent American navigator and
surveyor, who about fifteen years since threw much light upon the
subject, and who having upon one occasion become bewildered as to
his position, lay to in a light schooner for twenty-four hours, and
found, to his astonishment, that he had drifted one hundred and
twelve miles of northing alone, by observation upon the following
day. Many circumstances then are required to be considered in
estimating a ship's way in the Gulph Stream, as the season of the
year, the prevailing wind, and the weight and depth in the water of
the vessel may all exercise a considerable influence, and safety will
generally be in over-estimating, rather than underrating the rapidity
of the current.

The advantages of the Gulph Stream to navigation are very con-
siderable to vessels bound to Europe from the West Indies and all
the harbours of the Gulph of Mexico. Vessels bound outward from
Europe to the Mississippi, Mexico, and even the Havannah, ought
never, however, to attempt the direct passage by the Bahama Islands
in the summer months, for the prevalence of the southerly wind and
the hazard of being carried back in calms by the current of the
Gulph Stream, make it an infinitely preferable, though undoubtedly
a very circuitous course, to pass by the southern side of the island of
Cuba. On the contrary, the prevalence in winter of the north-west
wind creates a probability of a direct run to the westward, there
being no trades observable at any season in the Gulph of Mexico. In
the event of being becalmed, the Americans usually make for an
anchorage upon the Bahama Banks, which consist of a coral founda-
tion, and indeed it is worthy to be remarked that the labours of the
coral insect are very rapidly raising these vast banks, it being pro-
bable that in another century from this cause no passage will exist
into the Gulph of Mexico, other than by the stream and the straits of
Florida. The soundings upon the Great Bank are laid down with
great accuracy upon the charts of Messrs. Blount, the well-known
nautical booksellers of New York, those gentlemen having a few
years since fitted out the sloop Orbit for the purpose of this survey.
The light-houses upon the coast of Florida are also about to be mul-
tiplied by a recent act of the Congress of the United States. As our
knowledge of the nature of the Gulph Stream is yet very imperfect,
we trust that these remarks attempting to embody the principal views
of its origin, rapidity, and utility or disadvantage to navigation, will
be acceptable to scientific readers.

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

SAMPLE THE THIRD.

IT is painful for me to apologise — and yet I feel that it is my duty
to give some sort of an explanation for having left Mr. Gruel so long
perched on the corner of a chair. The fact then is — and nobody can
be more sorry for it than myself— that I am so completely the slave
of circumstances, so much a martyr to passing events, as scarcely ever
to be under my own command. The last sample of my checquered
autobiography was broken off at an interesting point by a most astound-
ing and sudden piece of intelligence, the consequences of which have
scarcely left me my own master for a moment since, with the excep-
tion of the past fortnight or so. At that period I was lodging and
boarding with a highly respectable lady, the widow of a stockbroker
and bargemaster, in the most retired part of South Minis ; where I
had no more idea of being suddenly called upon to take an active
part in the great drama of life again, than I have at this moment of
being hurried from my desk by a troop of Alguazils (circumstances
have posited me at Madrid, where we have had a great influx of
strangers to witness the recent festivities) on a charge of Don Carlism,
or any other equally absurd accusation— and yet before I shall have
had time enough to dismiss Mr. Gruel (his Christian name was
Erasmus) such a thing, preposterous as it appears, may actually
occur ; for, as I have frequently noticed, it ever has been, and I sup-
pose ever will be my fate to be the victim of ex parte impressions — of
statements made behind my back, by persons acquainted only with
one side of the case. My name has often been mixed up with trans-
actions at which any gentleman of nice feelings would shudder ; but
the extreme difficulty and personal inconvenience necessarily attendant
on the business of extricating it from the imbroglio of warp and woof,
have in most instances deterred me from the attempt, and I have said
pettishly and indignantly — " World, do your worst !" In fact, I fully,
agree with that eminent French judge, who would never accept evi-
dence of an attempt to evade the consequences of an accusation by
flight as any proof of guilt : " for," said he, " so much do I know of
human nature and human jurisprudence, that were I charged with
having purloined the tallest steeple in Paris, the first thing I should
do would be to get out of the way." I regret that the name of this
admirable man has escaped my memory. I have some idea it was the
President Harlay — but now for Gruel.

His humility was appalling — it struck me as resembling the horrid
dead dull calm that precedes an earthquake. My feelings were not
agreeable ; and while he sipped the glass of wine, and nibbled the
biscuit to which I helped him, I took a rapid mental survey of my posi-
tion. The lovely Maria, my quondam chere amie, heaven knows how,
became the husband of old Garnet the attorney : this gentleman had
evidently died — in fact, though not in law, the blooming relict having
taking out his annual certificate, and, keeping his connexion together,
gone on practising by the instrumentality of the sleek managing
clerk, Mr. Erasmus Gruel, as though nothing had happened. Doubts

15(> SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

having at length arisen in the breast of some Vandal as to the fact of
Garnet being alive, he had induced one of the judges peremptorily to
call for the alleged attorney's production. In this dilemma my divine
friend had met with me, and wishing to oblige her, I had put on
flannel, suffered myself to be carried before the judge, personated
Garnet, and obtained a legal recognition of my identity. Now all
this was incorrect conduct — it would be difficult to justify it — but
what could I do ? Maria's large blue eyes and fine Canova lips were
all-conquering ! With the eloquent fingers of her right hand twined
like honeysuckles round my own, while rriy left clasped hers at the
slender base of her back among the bows of her waist-ribbon — all her
delicious digits, encircled by diamonds, the adamantine hardness of
which finely contrasted on the sense of touch with the paramount pulpy
softness of her palms — I ask again, what could I do ? Her bosom
was heaving so adjacently, on account of our position, that its anxious
throbs reverberated in my own ; I felt her lips breathing a halo of
warm perfume about my face ; our eyes were scarcely the breadth of a
billet doux apart — she executed one emotion, slightly hysterical, and,
not being possessed of the means wherewith to achieve a dinner, I
acquiesced. Honesty is all comparative, and he who holds his head
highest, would stoop it lowest, if his stomach vociferated " Polony," and
he had not three halfpence to buy one. I became particeps criminis —
but not a puppet — why should she and sleek Gruel enjoy twenty
shillings in the pound as regarded the pious fraud, in which I, who
had played first fiddle, was to be fobbed off, with a composition suf-
ficient to enable me to emigrate ? — for that, it will be remembered, was
the outside of her offer — a few hundreds ! Pooh ! my common sense
revolted at the suggestion, for I was no angel. It was quite reasonable
that I should consent to no such arrangement. I was her legally ac-
knowledged husband — and I had no desire to have a more exquisite
wife — for to confess the truth of Maria, though I now hate her, she
was the most highly-finished little woman that ever nature, within
my experience, put out of hand — faultless and fascinating — without a
blemish or a point that the most refined voluptuary would wish to
have altered — Grecian and classical, yet piquante as a soubrette —
buoyant and lively as a milkmaid, yet possessing that air prononce
which is so enthralling in fine women of quality. I had admired her
as a girl — I was infatuated with her as a woman — besides her horse
Beelzebub, and the cab, were capital, and the business yielded large
profits. Maria, it will not be forgotten, perhaps, after having at-
tempted to stab me, when I asserted the privileges of my position,
had been taken to bed, where she still remained. She had, however,
admitted Gruel to a consultation in my absence. My fortifications
seemed impregnable — but somehow or other I was in fear of my sleek
friend. He sate silently munching his biscuit and sipping his wine
on the corner of the chair, without speaking a word. I would have
given half my little finger to have seen the fellow's eyes — I deter-
mined to do so at no expense.

Assuming a gay and careless air, I exclaimed, while crushing a
walnut, " You'll think it odd, perhaps, Mr. Gruel, but strange as it
may seem, I never could see through any man's spectacles. Allow

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 157

me to try yours." So saying I snatched them off with irresistable fami-
liarity—but, good God ! what a fearful secret did this act of mine
reveal. The timid, humble, irresolute Gruel became at once a dif-
ferent being. His face was destitute of expression, except in the
eyes ; but these were terrific ! The revelation of them made him a
new man. They had a panther-like glare. Not an atom of white
was perceptible — the brown-glittering orb occupied the entire space.
Gruel did well to wear blue spectacles — the sleek rascal's eyes, if
exposed, would have been beacons instructing man to avoid him.
There was I cheek-by-jowl with him, wondering what the awful
scoundrel could have to say.

I returned him the blue spectacles, for I was rather anxious that he
should cover up his eyes. He slily croaked, " won't you honour the
glasses with a trial, sir ?" I had actually forgotten to do so — never
in my life had my presence of mind so completely deserted me. I
put the spectacles on, and looked at him. Whether the blue pebbles,
by distorting, libelled him, I know not ; but certain it is, that his face
seemed to be convulsed with laughter. I listened, but could not even
catch the sound of a cackle. Rapidly dashing the glasses from their
position, under the idea that I should detect him in the full fury of
his silent sardonic demoniac chuckle, I brought my eye with the
velocity of lightning to bear upon his features. They were motion-
less as marble.

" You doubtless have something to communicate, Mr. Gruel," said
I, after a short pause.

" Nothing of importance, perhaps/' said he : " still it's unpleasant."

' What is unpleasant, Mr. Gruel ?"

' Why, sir, to have people insinuate that we are connected with
swindlers and deserters."

' Swindlers and deserters, Mr. Gruel ! what can you possibly mean?"
' First came two persons, stating that a notorious gentleman had
been traced in a cab to this very door to-day."

" What did they look like ?"

" The youngest of them was about forty ; he stood as near as may
be five feet nine — his complexion was light — his eyes blueish — his
hair reddish — his expression good-humoured — his trowsers black —
his coat brown — his right boot scotched in the form of a star, appa-
rently to ease a corn."

I must do Gruel the justice of saying, that a more graphic descrip-
tion of Ruthven, the Bow-street officer, no human being could give.

" The other, sir," continued Gruel, " was shorter, thicker, more
squabby, older, rather serious, in knee-breeches, brown worsted
stockings, blue coat with metal buttons, and woollen waistcoat of a
large but sober pattern : his hair stiff and grizly — his language sen-
tentious— his air dogmatically dignified — but far from offensive — a
very nice sort of business-like burly old gentleman. I think he must
have been a respectable Jew."

This was evidently Salmon, Ruthven's senior at the head police-
office, but I said nothing, and Gruel went on. " While they were
talking to me, in came a Serjeant of the 55th, with a cock and a
bull story about some deserter from his regiment, who squinted with
his left eye — (I was weak enough to blush at this — possessing as I

158 SOME GENTLEMAN^S AUTOBIOGllAl'H Y.

did the peculiarity — one, however, of very frequent occurrence, men-
tioned by the Serjeant of the 55th) — of course/' continued Gruel, " I
threw back the imputations with indignant vehemence — but the rascals
wont be satisfied, and I find from the potboy over the way, that all
three of them are watching our door, behind that red curtain there,"
and he pointed as he spoke at the parlour window of the Bunch of
Grapes. " All this, of course, is very unpleasant."

" Very — how would you act?"

" With all possible deference, sir, I should slip out of the back
door, bolt through the mews, and be off."

" Me ! I ! What do you mean ?"

" It is evident, Mr. Garnet" and he gave out the appellation with
significant emphasis, " it is quite evident that you possess a fac simile
resemblance to some scoundrel. The consequences may be awful. I
therefore take leave to suggest that you should retire until the storm
blows over. Good heavens, sir ! if you should be incarcerated even
by a misapprehension as to identity — how lamentable — how destruc-
tive would be the consequences !"

" What money have you about you, Mr. Gruel ?"

" About half-a-crown — but there is ten and sixpence in my desk —
shall I fetch it ?"

" Do."

" But in that coat — may I submit to you the propriety of an ex-
change ?" Without saying another word we mutually stripped, and
in a few moments I was attired in his old, napless, moth-eaten,
rhubarb-coloured office surtout. He went below to get me the ten
and sixpence ; and during his absence I glode into the bed-room for
the purpose of taking my leave of the lovely Maria. She was fast
asleep. I had not the heart to awake her. Kissing her beautiful
brow, I took her jewelled hand — that is usually jewelled, but it so
occurred that she had taken off every ring. I found out the other
where it was nestling in her bosom — blue circles, three or four deep,
were worn into the surface of her lily skin on the lower joint of
every finger, but not a ring was present except that which had made
her Garnet's bride. I tried to draw it off, to cherish as a keepsake,
but it was imbedded in the beautiful flesh. Her jewel-case was no-
where to be seen — in her reticule there was a Scotch cambric hand-
kerchief, an old empty purse, and two peppermint lozenges. The
drawers were all locked, and for the soul of me I could not find the
keys. A suspicious half crown lay on the mantel-shelf — this, in
despair of finding any other memento, I thrust into my pocket.

" We shall meet again, Mr. Gruel," said I, as he put the change
into my hand ; " Maria has acted most ungenerously to put you in
possession of odd circumstances which could have come to her know-
ledge only in perfect confidence. You have done this very well, I
confess ; the manoeuvre leaves me no time to think — but we shall
meet again, Mr. Gruel. I am not wholly "

te Hush ! was that a knock ?"

He moved towards the front door ; and thinking it useless to waste
more words with him, I stepped out at once — decidedly a most in-
jured man ! Maria had ill-used me, and I do think I should have
exposed the whole fraud, had it been practicable. But such asper-

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 159

sions had, from time to time, been cast upon my character, that I
actually could not venture to come forward, even when clothed with
the best intention in the world — that of furthering the ends of jus-
tice, without exposing myself in all sorts of ways. It occurred to me,
too, that Maria, having got rid of me — for that, in plain English, was
without a doubt the objective point of Gruel's cold-blooded strategy —
she would, on my writing to her from an outport, declaring my in-
ention of embarking for the new world, generously forward me a
few of the hundreds I had declined. This idea would have consoled
and borne me up under the infliction, but for one bugbear ; this was
Gruel's rhubarb-coloured coat. I detested, — I loathed, — I abhorred it.
Placed in juxtaposition with my vest, pantaloons, and cravat, it ren-
dered me ridiculous — suspicious ; indeed two or three fellows looked
after me with a degree of insolence which I felt was venial, on ac-
count of the figure'l cut. I was not quite satisfied that Gruel would
not set my enemies on the track I had taken ; for it was impossible
to judge how far so accomplished a rascal meant to go. I therefore
determined, as I was already on Holborn-bridge, to turn to the
right, and shelter myself in the Fleet prison. Getting in front of
three gentlemen who walked arm in arm, I shot into the gateway
under their cover, and as a visitor, of course obtained immediate
admittance. That part of the ground immediately adjacent to the
butcher's stall was occupied by a dense crowd, into the very centre of
which I naturally plunged. Round a table covered with sheets of
foolscap, pots, pipes, &c. sat eight or ten pimple-faced people,
glaringly the half-and-half attornies of the place. A contested elec-
tion was going on for the post of racket-master, and our friends in
pimples were the poll-clerks. There were three candidates — a bro-
ken major-general ; a greasy, flashy, cigar-smoking, handsome young
doctor of divinity ; and a little Jew who kept one of the whistling
shops. The affair amused me. Squibs occasionally appeared, which
produced much laughter ; but being ignorant of the prison politics,
I could rarely appreciate their point. As the voters appeared, they
were received with cheers from the party they supported, and groans,
hisses, and personal abuse from the friends of the other candidates. It is
worthy of remark, that nine-tenths of the constituency were in slip-
pers, dressing-gowns, and military caps. These constitute the prison
costume, and distinguish in most, though certainly not in all cases,
the inmate from the visitor. As the period appointed for closing the
poll approached, the exertions of the candidates were redoubled ; it
seemed to be a neck-and-neck struggle, and the casting vote was at
length given in favour of the Jew, an instant before the clock struck,
by a patriarchal old Israelite, borne in his bed-clothes to the table,
when almost at his last gasp. The old fellow feebly joined in the
shout for Issachar's triumph, and was carried off fainting, doubt-
less to perform the last act of human existence. Issachar mounted
the table, and made a most grateful, pledging, and protesting speech.
He specially animadverted on the errors of those who had preceded
him in office; undertook to remedy all abuses— to keep a sharp eye
on the coats of such gentlemen as thought proper to play in their
shirt-sleeves — to be always at his post with an ample supply of balls —

160 SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

and, above all things, to keep the walls and ground correctly
chalked. Nine cheers were then given for little Issachar, and his
constituents departed to their respective cells.

It now occurred to me that I might as well withdraw. Outside
the gate stood a horse and gig, under the care of a nice, innocent,
prepossessing little boy in rags. Taking half a crown from my
waistcoat pocket, I told him to run across the market and get it
changed, promising to mind the horse and gig for a moment, and to
give him a penny for his trouble. Before he came back, I tried on
a bottle green surtout, with a velvet collar, that lay in the gig. It
precisely fitted me, and completely concealed the horrid rhubarb-
coloured garment of my friend Gruel. At the outskirts of town, I
felt reluctantly compelled to raise money upon it, for without adopt-
ing this measure, I had not wherewith to carry me to an outport.
On looking over my funds, I found that I had accidentally given
the little boy that suspicious-looking half crown which I took as a
keepsake from Maria's mantel-piece. This, of course, gave me a
pang ; for notwithstanding her coalition against me with that human
panther, my sleek friend, Mr. Gruel, I still had an affection for the
woman, and hoped that on receiving advice from an outport, she
would fully redeem her character by a liberal remittance.

I mounted the first west country mail that passed — having taken
tea at Knightsbridge — and had the luck to obtaina box seat. It was
far from cold, but the coachman offered me one of his spare great
coats with an air of such peculiar civility, that it would have been
ungracious to decline. He was rather a superior young man for the
situation he occupied, and I could not help expressing my conviction
that he had moved in a better sphere. He admitted that he had, and
beguiled the time by telling me his story. He was the eldest son of
a most worthy and opulent citizen. t( I'm not what I ought to be
exactly, sir," said he, " or I shouldn't be here holding hard upon
three half runaways, and double thonging a blind gib — look how she
hugs her partner, and presently she'll yaw out to the off hedge, or
maybe squat of a sudden fit to snap the pole. My father, sir, was
the best of fathers to me — never pulls an ounce except going down
hill, and then she'll push up to the cold collar as if she loved it, spite
of all that mortal man can do, for she's no more mouth than a mile-
stone. He brought me up — that is he would, if I hadn't been a bad
'un — brought me up like a gentleman ; but you see, sir, I was just
like this here mare — no beating any thing into me, not because I
couldn't, but because I wouldn't. Father had an old -fool of a coach-
man, and 'twas he who spoiled me, by letting me ride the blind horse
to water. Never could overcome my propensity to cat's meat since ;
and here you see I am behind three runaways and a gib — my neck not
worth half an hour's purchase. Don't be alarmed, there's a child
inside, and we're all in one boat, you know. For my part, I'm never
afraid except when riding solus with Black Harry the guard, a man
who's no protection against the judgment of providence for man or
beast. Very well, you know, after I'd been off and on four or five
years in the counting-house, playing old Harry most part of the
time, one morning I didn't get home until past three, for I'd been at a

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 101

trotting match, and stopped boozing on the road back at Hampton.
The old man, with the best intentions, was sharpish and severe, so
he told the maids to lock up and go to bed. That, you know, didn't
beat me ; for Susan, in such cases, always left the back area window-
shutters unbarred ; so, popping over the rails, and lifting the sash, in
I got, without making noise enough to wake a mouse. When I reach-
ed the top of the kitchen stairs, the parlor door stood ajar, and inside
there was a light ! A light in the parlor at that hour — past three !
Never was such a thing known ! At first I thought I should have
dropped, but fancying, maybe, that after all it was nothing but thieves,
on I went — gently — gently till I came to the door. There I heard
whispering ; so getting in as softly as I could, what should I see at
t'other end of the room, but father ! — my father, down on his knees,
with his hands clasped on an open bible that lay on a chair before
him. I stole up unobserved, and, with tears in my eyes — believe it
or not, just as you like — placed myself in a devout attitude close
beside him, only a little behind, so that he couldn't see me. He
was praying — I heard him — praying to God for me, his un dutiful
son ! My heart seemed to bolt bang up into my mouth. ' Father,'
says I, ' don't : — don't — it's crucifying ! Marble couldn't bear this ;
it's all up now — no more staying out till three o'clock. I can't — I
won't — I shan't dare to look you in the face again, till I get rid of
all these bad ways. You've been a good father to me — God bless
you ! Threats and sermons are all very well ; but when you come to
this, you know its too much — can't stand it — can't indeed.' "

" And what said the good old gentleman ?"

" Don't know ; for there I left him staring with amazement. I
was out of the back area window, I reckon, before he came round ;
and from that day to this, I've never darkened his door, nor shall I
yet a bit — I an't fit. Harry blow the horn, or tip us a chant, can't
you ?"

" Oh ! yes, in course, Master Ralph; you stands a drop o' nothing
so often : I an't a going to blow all the breath out of my body ven<
there's no obstruction/'

" Very well, then here goes at your favourite song."

fl Ah ! you'd spoil it if you could, but it's a mercy that you can't; you
only knows a touch o' the vorst part of the tune, and here and there
a vord. You seems to think woice is every thing, but it von't do —
more nor that, the thing's a getting so werry wulgar, that them 'ere
cads vot vashes this here wehicle at Dewizes, varbles it vile dewour-
ing their wittles. A'ter that, in course, I couldn't condescend not to
sing it afore a gemman, as seems to be one, sich as you've got on the
box, on no account agin, barring and except, mind me — "

The coachman here interrupted Black Harry with an oath, and
taking the long-extinguished cigar, which he fancied he had been
smoking, from his mouth, he ran up and down the extent of his
gamut, and began to sing with considerable musical taste the follow-
ing trash : —

" Oh ! the days are gone when squinting Chard

The Bath mail drove,
And p ayed his pranks while holding hard

Down Break Neck Grove."
M.M. No. 92. Y

162 SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

" Wrong in all the lines and dead beat in the tune," quoth Black
Harry.

" No such thing," said the coachman : " ray guard, sir, is of an
envious disposition," he added, addressing me. " Squint-eyed Chard,
as the song says, loved a practical joke ; so one day he called a young
countryman from thefoot of the hill, to hitch up the skid with which
he had locked one of his hind wheels. The friction, of course, had
made it as hot as if it had just come out of a smith's forge, and the
goodnatured boy, before he could drop it, burnt his thumb. This
made the passengers laugh, and so served Squint-eyed Chard's pur-
pose. But how did it end ? — come Harry, strike up."

" Shan't ! — von't put my feet into dead men's shoes for nobody — •
finish your mess, if you can, as you've begun it. "

" I can but fail/' said Ralph, " so here goes with a good heart —

" Oh ! the yokel boy was soon forgot

Who'd made such fun,
And the day arrived, when on that spot

'Cute Chard was done.
Across the grove
A bumpkin strove
The mail to intercept —

" This was in the middle of the hill, and Chard thinking that the
boy had a short parcel, which might be kept out of the way-bill and
put a shilling or so into his pocket, with great difficulty stopped the
coach. The lad slackened in his pace, being apparently worn out
writh a long run. Chard impatiently urged him on by loud impreca-
tions, and began most bitterly to regret that he had pulled up, for
the weight of his coach was pressing heavily on the withers of his
wheelers, and the leaders were almost unmanageably fidgetty. At
length the boy, nearly exhausted, and after a long delay, reached the
hedge that separated the hill-grove from the road, and says he, keep-
ing well out o' the reach of Chard's flogger, says he, —

" 'Twas once your turn

My thumb to burn,
By gosh ! it made me feel —

So now I wants my knife to grind
On your hind wheel."

Into all this torn-foolery I gladly entered with the morbid zest of a
man in bitter trouble. I never was less merry at heart, and yet I
laughed prodigiously. An old woman's gossip would have been
grateful even if it possessed no other virtue than that of relieving the
intense pressure of one idea upon my mind. MARIA was written in
letters of fire upon my brain. To extinguish the intensity of its
glare, even for an hour — a moment — was comfort — was happiness.
I never yearned so ardently to fly from myself — to abandon my
identity. I was sick to my very soul ! Maria — but to proceed with
my journey.

A few miles further on, the coachman asked me if I would so far
oblige him as to relinquish my seat in favour of a particular friend of
his, a country banker, from whom he occasionally heard something
about his father. " He won't turn in," said Ralph, " so I always

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 163

give him the box, if the passenger who's in possession of it happens
to be accommodating." Of course I acquiesced, and on the steps of a
large old-fashioned house in the next town, I perceived, by the moon-
light, as we approached, a highly respectable looking middle-aged
gentleman : this was Ralph's particular friend, the country banker.
As Ralph drew up, he took the place which I had contrived to evacu-
ate a few moments before, with an alacrity that shewed he knew time
was, or ought to be, very precious indeed to a mail coach. His de-
meanour was grave — his aspect stern and somewhat repulsive — I tried
to enter into conversation with him, but he met my advances with cold
civility. " I think, sir, we've met before," said I. " I think so too,"
said he, in a certain sort of marked unpleasant tone, that induced me
indignantly to draw in my horns, and plunge my chin sulkily behind
the deep collar of the coat which Ralph had lent me. Indeed I went
so far as to resolve that I would not open my lips to him again, good,
bad, or indifferent, during the remainder of the journey.

At a little low, thatched, roadside, public house, where Ralph
changed horses, we had to wait for a cross country mail which had
not yet come up. It was now about an hour before dawn, and the
morning air being raw and chilly, we went into the kitchen of the inn,
which, although the fire had nearly expired, afforded an acceptable
shelter, notwithstanding the atmosphere was filthily impregnated
with the fumes of rusty bacon, sour Wiltshire swipes, onions, and
tobacco. There was a woman inside the coach, with a little child ;
but she declined alighting : the only other passenger besides myself
was Ralph's " particular friend." Black Harry, after protesting that
Ralph had tooled the tits so as to be before his time, and that the
cross mail would not be up for half an hour at least, threw the slender
candle, which twinkled on the table, beneath the grate, and brought
in one of the coach-lamps. The glare of this was insufferable : for
my own part, I should have infinitely preferred the softer beam of
the candle, especially as the banker, to whom I had taken a rooted
dislike, appeared to be intent on reading in such of my lineaments as
I condescended to reveal, the circumstances under which we had for-
merly met. I saw that through the medium of a savage, unsocial,
and unnatural glare, fit only for the turnpike road, I was in danger
of being recognized, perhaps, as somebody else. I therefore moved to
the back of the lamp, and thus threw myself into deep shadow.
Ralph begged the country banker's pardon for taking such a liberty,
but hoped and trusted, that with such a famous light, his " particular
friend" (Ralph did not call him so to his face,) would not object to
reading a few pages aloud till the cross mail came up. " There's
nothing in life so pleasant, sir," said Ralph, " as being read to."

" I've said the same vords scores and hundreds of times," quoth
Harry, " 'specially if them as reads is a born gemman, mind me, and
the thing as is read happens to be werse."

Ralph now took a tattered fragment of a book from one of his
inner coat pockets, and placing it before his " particular friend," the
latter began to read, with an audible voice, but half unconsciously,
his mind being evidently abstracted, and his eye turning frequently
to the spot where he supposed I sat — I say supposed, for I had

164? SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

moved to a more commodious seat near the door. The fat landlady,
in her night-cap and bed-gown, partially enshrouded in a patchwork
quilt, a red-headed ostler, and a huge grave looking mastiff, occupied
the passage ; these, with Ralph, the enlightened Black Harry, my-
self, and a phthisicky, asthmatic, wondering jack-daw, constituted
the country banker's audience. The grave, absorbed man of business
was, as I soon discovered, reading part of Pope's Rape of the Lock,
and with about as much emphasis and discretion as he might have
bestowed on an auctioneer's catalogue.

In about twenty minutes the distant horn of the cross- mail was
heard, and a bustle ensued. The fat landlady waddled off to bed,
the ostler rushed out, the mastiff yelled, the jack-daw chattered,
Ralph rose, Harry took possession of the lamp, and the banker ceased.

" You'll excuse me, sir," said the guard, " but I'll be if you

doesn't reed like a haangel! I thought my boy Bob was summut, but
this beats him out and out. Why, you doesn't stop, no — not to spell
the longest word not votsomever."

" Where is our fellow passenger ?" inquired the banker.

Just at that moment I rendered my back visible as I stalked out of
the door- way. The banker followed, and by the time the cross-mail
came up, we had all resumed our places, and were ready to start.
Black Harry had no sooner stowed away the bags, than off we went
at the most inspiriting pace imaginable. Ralph, though young, was
a capital coachman: he understood the philosophy of driving —
pardon the digression, gentle reader — although I protest against his
following the old practice of holding the wheel-reins short. He
spared the shewy but done-up tit that was put into his team, just to
make up the number, and let him have nothing to do but keep his
pace, while he made the real workers do the work. This is one of
the most important points in stage-coach driving — a point that even
my friend Apperley has omitted, to notice, in his excellent papers on
the road — and I therefore take this opportunity of bringing it forward.
But I must be brief. This, then, is the fact. Coach proprietors
rarely give you a team that is quite effective in its component parts,
however capable it may be of doing its ground as a totality. Some-
times three — sometimes only two horses are put in to do the work,
while the other, or others, as the case may be, must be considered
only in the light of a figurant or figurantes. At a pinch, the odd
horse may perhaps be pushed so as to feel his collar, but generally
speaking, all that can reasonably be required of him is to keep his
pace. This you will not be enabled to do, if you make him peg at
the pull. He should be regarded as ornamental — not useful. If you
make him do his share of the work for half a stage, you will so take
it out of him, that he won't be able to do the pace at which the
others can do the drag, for the remainder. You will, consequently,
lose time by being obliged to hold them in to the low rate of pro-
gress which he has sufficient strength left to achieve. You can't get
on without him ; a team, as regards its speed, though composed of
four horses, is an unit. The pace of the slowest, the most leg-
weary, the most beaten, must inevitably be the pace of all. There-
fore, look carefully to your weak horse ; if he can't work at the

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 165

collar, don't let him stiffen his traces. Keep him in hand, so as to
ensure his getting over the stage at the average rate of the working
part of your team.

The banker frequently cast his eyes on me over his shoulder, and
having been unfortunate — the victim of circumstances and coinci-
dences—I felt infelicitous beneath his penetrating glance. But as
the sun rose above the eastern hills behind us, and cast his rosy efful-
gence on the broad brow of Ralph's particular friend, when it was
from time to time turned towards me, a new spirit animated me : in
the conscious majesty of innocence, I threw off the coachman's coat,
and fully revealed my features, for I could no longer submit to such
evident suspicions. The banker gazed at me long and critically — I
met his glance with the adamantine apathy of a Stoic. He was
overwhelmed with confusion. " Sir," said he, after a pause, " I
have to beg your pardon. To be quite candid, ideas within the last
hour or so have entered my mind that you were identical with a cer-
tain scoundrel who some years since fleeced me and my banking
brethren on the western road, to an enormous amount. I see my
error, and gladly apologize. The fellow, as I this instant recollect,
squinted." (Now be it known, such is my infirmity, that sometimes
I squint, and sometimes I don't, just as it happens.) "As," continued
the banker, " squinting is perfectly incurable, except in infancy, it is
quite clear that I have mistaken you for another man ; and, as he was
one of the most consummate rascals in existence, of course I am in
duty bound to apologize for having laboured, even during a single
instant, under so gross a misapprehension."

To have discouraged his advances — not to have listened to his
story of the achievements of the gentleman with whom he had inno-
cently confounded me, however I might have felt, would have been
in bad taste. " The person I alluded to, sir," said he, (( came west-
ward, just after writs had been issued for a general election. He
travelled with his wife and child — the former handsome, but aristo-
cratic, the latter beautiful and interesting — but, mark me, dumb..
After having breakfasted at the head inn of the town, where Mr. —
I forget his name, but we'll call him Jones — thought proper to com-
mence operations, he asked the landlord who were the principal
bankers of the place ? e There is but one firm, sir/ was the reply,
' and their office is opposite.' ' So near; perhaps, then, as my gout
is so distressing (his left foot was bandaged, and he walked with a
crutch), one of the partners would favour me with a short visit, if
you would see him yourself, with my compliments.' ' Certainly,
sir/ ' And be so good as order the horses to be put to — I shall be
off in five minutes.' In a brief space one of the partners was intro-
duced. * Sir,' said Mr. Jones, f I'm much obliged for your kind
consideration j my business is short : I am in this part of the country
on election matters, and it appears that Bank of England paper is
received with great reluctance hereabouts.' ' The people, sir, have
so long been accustomed to local notes, of which the circulation prin-
cipally consists, that—' ' So I find ; and I will, therefore, beg you
to oblige me with your own paper for a couple of hundreds/ So
saying, Mr. Jones threw four fifty pound Bank of England notes on

ICG SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

the table, adding ( By-the-bye, Sir, now I think of it, it will be as
well, perhaps, if you'll permit me, to open a small account with you
while I'm in the neighbourhood. Let me see' — taking out a banker's
book, and carelessly shewing a counter-receipt for 500/. from one of
the first London houses, dated only the day before, ' I'll draw in
your favor for five hundred pounds, or say four hundred and fifty, for
which you'll just give me your common acknowledgment.' Here
a servant entered the room, and hurriedly announced that the car-
nage was ready, and his mistress waiting. Mr. Jones snatched his
crutch and hat, and taking the banker's arm, hobbled towards the
door, continuing the conversation ' You took up the four fifties?' ' I
did.' ' Well, then, just draw the bill, and we'll pull across the road
to your door ; you'll have done it before I can get in and settled, for
this foot of mine, you see — ' bring out a pen with a dip of ink, and
I'll sign on the back of my hat. Some cheques, too ; my two
hundred pounds won't carry me out of the week scarcely — this is
Tuesday, isn't it ? Yes ! — In electioneering, money flies — one scarce-
ly knows how or where — but if it's well spent, that's the point.
Excuse me for hurrying you, but I'm already late.'

" But there was nothing fraudulent in this," I ventured to ob-
serve ; " the gentleman does the banker the favour — "

" I admit the term — he does the banker the favour of giving him
Bank of England notes for his own paper, and makes him payee of a
bill on the London firm for 450/. — "

" Taking a common memorandum of the transaction for his se-
curity— "

" Granted : but hear me further."

" I can't see where the robbery lies, for my part," said the coach-
man.

te Hold your tongue, Ralph," quoth his particular friend : " you
know nothing of business."

" But if there was any thing wrong, begging your pardon, sir,"
rejoined Ralph ; " why didn't this man of business— this banker see
into it ? "

" Because," said the banker, raising his voice, " Jones was no
common man: he would have deceived the devil himself! — Why he
took in me ! "

Here Black Harry, who had been leaning over the roof of the
coach, startled us by trying to smother a laugh, which however com-
pletely mastered him, so that after spluttering awhile as if he were
suffocating, he burst out into a huge and hearty guffaw, in which all
of us, including the reluctant banker, speedily joined. Ralph was
the first to stop, " Steady, gentleman," said he in a very grave tone ;
" steady, if you please, down this awkward hill ; my horses don't
exactly understand the harmless joke: — that off-leader has won two
gold cups — now he's blind and a bolter — "

" When you hear the result," whispered the country banker —

" Silence, sir, if you please," interrupted Ralph.

" What ! do you presume to — "

" Not one word more !"

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 167

" S'death—"

" Hush: if you were any other man — excepting father— I'd knock
you quietly off the box but for the [[sake of the other passengers : —
the nags are all upon the fret."

" I don't see it."

" No — but I feel it : there's no secrets so close as those which
pass between a coachman and his team. The blind bolter's cho-
licky, and there's nothing so catching as fear or vice among four
horses. I've known three downright good uns lie down at starting,
one after another, because the fourth — a bad un — had set them the
example."

" Well, but-"

" Hush, for God's sake! the effect of your voice — for you're in a
passion — is frightful. I feel it like a flash of lightning in the reins.
They're used to my tones ; besides, you hear I speak as if nothing
was the matter — I'll apologize presently — but pray keep your temper.
There's a sharp turn — a whitewashed house — and a narrow bridge, all
in this bit of a hill, with a turnpike at the foot of it : the fools always
plant their gates at the top, the bottom, or the middle of a hill —
Harry, don't blow your horn. If you utter another word, sir, he'll
plunge as sure as you're alive."

At this critical instant, the full force of which, being a practical
man, of course I felt, the woman inside rattled down the off-blind,
and thrusting her head out, shrieked at the very top of her shrill
voice : " Stop, stop, I tell you there's a mouse in the coach ! "

" By God ! they're gone ! I've lost their mouths," said Ralph with
admirable temper. " Blow your horn, Harry ; but begin gently, or
they'll get into a full gallop before old Drouzy can open the gate.
Once through — they shall have their swing and welcome."

" Are we really in danger, Ralph ? " anxiously inquired the banker.

" Yes, sir ; but pray don't bother me."

" Murder ! murder !" vociferated the woman inside ; ais the child
to be frightened into fits ? "

" Harry, get on the roof and hold hard on her windpipe, or it's all
up with us : the bolter has got the bit in his teeth."

" No ! has he though ? " exclaimed Harry.

" Murder 1 mur — "

We heard no more of the lady inside, although her head was still
visible protruding from the window. Black Harry lay flat on the
roof, and he held her throat in his colossal clutch. We luckily
cleared the corner, shot over the bridge, through the turnpike, and
got upon a long strip of flat road. There Ralph pitched into his
team, and soon brought them to their senses. " If I wasn't afraid,"
said he, " of setting the wheels on fire, I'd give 'em a three-mile gal-
lop : but there's nothing like stopping while you're safe.

Ralph now pulled up, and told Harry to get down and inquire
how the lady felt. The following colloquy at the coach-door was
the consequence. Harry. Now, ma'am, about this here mouse —
Lady. Oh! you villains, I'll hang some of you — I only wish I knew
which ! Harry. I'm not agoing to say it arn't unpleasant to have

168 SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY,

warmint for an inside passenger, 'specially as you're a lady, ma'am,
and so werry frightful. Lady. Don't talk to me, fellow : I've been
in danger of my life. Harry. Lord love you, ma'am, you talks of a
mouse — poor little harmless warmint — as if — Lady. Such ruffianly
treatment I never heard of in my born days ! See that I'm set
down, man, at the next human habitation. Harry. Hard words,
ma'am, and all about a mouse ! If people tead and suppered at the
regular houses on the road, there wouldn't be no mice; but if
so be as passengers will bring baskets o' wittles into the wehicle,
what can they expect but warmint to nibble up the crumbs ? Lady.
Go along, fellow, it's not of the mouse, but a mysterious hand that
nearly throttled me — Harry. Oh ! I doesn't doubt it, ma'am ; I heard
you cut short in your paragraph. My vife is often taken so ven she's
wery rviolent. Her breath seems stopped ; she can't so much as say
<( ram's horns ;" and ven she comes to, von't believe scarcely that
somebody ha'n't been half-strangling her.

" That'll do, Harry, "said Ralph. The colloquy ceased ; the coach-
door was slammed ; Harry got up ; and as soon as he had uttered, in a
peculiar and significant tone, " all's right," we were again in motion.

Ralph now began to express great contrition for having been com-
pelled to be so disrespectful ; but his particular friend, having seen
the circumstance in its right light, was already appeased, and at once
put an end to Ralph's meditated volley of explanations and apologies.
He now moved the previous question, and we resumed our debate.
It did not appear what harm there could be in acting as Jones had
acted.

" Well, we'll waive that point, and allow me to proceed," said our
respectable compagnon de voyage. " At the next town Jones played
the same tune, but with variations. ' I've opened a small account,
said he to the banker there, producing the acknowledgment with
Messrs. So-and-so, of So-and-so ; but upon consideration they are
a little too far from the scene of my electioneering avocations j I'm
likely to get rather beyond the limits of their local circulation :
besides, it seems to me that I shall want more cash than I expected ;
therefore, what I propose doing is this : imprimis, here is a hundred
pound Bank of England bill, for which you'll oblige me with your
own fives. Item, here are two hundred pounds' worth of Messrs.
So-and-so's notes, for which you may as well also give me your own
paper. Item, here is a cheque in your favour for the four hundred
and fifty pounds in Messrs. So-and-so's hands, as per voucher : Item,
here you have my draft on Messrs, (naming the London firm and
shewing the counter receipt) for an odd five hundred pounds, which,
as you see, I paid into their house yesterday, as a reserve, if I wanted
it, which I find I shall. Now what you've to do is this ; first you'll
give me your notes for the Bank of England and country paper which
I've handed you — that's three hundred : then as to the four hundred
and fifty and the five hundred, making together nine hundred and
fifty, I'll write on you instanter for two hundred, which you'll bring me
with the other three, all in your own paper, if you please, with a me-
morandum for the remaining seven hundred and fifty, balance stand-
ing to my account. With five hundred I think I may get on for the

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGIIAPHY. 169

remainder of the week.' All this was done; or, rather, the Banker
was done — the compliment of exchanging Bank-of-England and
Messrs. So-and-So's paper for his own fives,, dazzled him."

" But where was the harm, Sir?" inquired Ralph.

te That's the point" quoth Harry, who had crawled over the roof
and taken his seat beside me ; " how could things be more right, or
more squarerer ? The gemman seems to have been a gemman— -
every inch of him, as / should say, and knocks about his hundreds
like nine-pins. If a few sich as him did but ride by thy coach — eh,
Ralph?"

" You're a couple of fools!" quoth the respectable Banker.
" You, Sir," added he, addressing his humble servant (myself)
" doubtless perceive "

" Clearly," interrupted I : "he has now drawn a second time on
the London firm : first for four hundred-and-fifty, and now for five
hundred, although, apparently, he had not more than the latter
amount in their hands ! "

" Just so ; and what do you think he did, at a place only ten
miles more westward ?"

" Heaven knows where his effrontery would end !"

" Why, Sir, he got a banker to come to his inn, as before, and
told the old story : 'I've opened two little accounts,' said he, ' at
A. and B. (naming the towns he had come through), but I am
advised that neither of them will be sufficiently centrical for my
purposes. I must, therefore, though with some reluctance, transfer
the two accounts to your house, which is more convenient to the
arena of my operations. And yet — no — upon reflection, as they've
been very civil, it would not be gentlemanly, at one fell swoop, to bring
matters to a balance. Let me see (exhibiting his vouchers) — on the
first, instead of for four-hundred-and- fifty, I'll only write for three
hundred; from the second, instead of seven-hundred-and-fifty, I'll
only take five hundred ; and, to secure myself against any inconve-
nience that might arise from the deficiency, I'll draw in your favour
on my bankers in town for three or four hundreds. I paid in Jive
last night (shewing the receipt), in the event of an emergency.
Here are two fifties, Bank-of-England notes, for which you '11 oblige
me with your more negotiable paper. I '11 draw on you at once for
three hundred, and you '11 give me your acknowledgment for the
balance, which will be — how much ? Three and five are eight, and
five are thirteen hundred pounds/ "

" I begin to smoke," said Harry ; " he's made five hundred clear
booty, and increased what you calls his wouchers to nigh upon three
thousand. Crikey ! what a genus !"

'•' I suppose," quoth Ralph4 " he went down along at the rate of
arithmetical progression — drawing upon all, and sacking a large
amount at every town."

" Precisely so," rejoined the Banker ; " and by the time he
reached the seaport, which was the preconcerted bourne of his
operations, he had nearly three thousand pounds in his pocket, which,
with the assistance of a Jew, and at a slight per centage, he turned
into gold, and embarked for the Continent/'

M. M, No. 92. Z

170 SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

" Capital ! " exclaimed Ralph.

" Talking of capital," said Harry, " the gemman seems to have
started with a capital of five hundred pounds, vich he paid into the
London bankers."

" And which," quoth the Banker, (t 1 must tell you, he drew out
again the next morning, before he started from town : this enabled
him to sport the Bank-of-England paper, which was the pivot of his
fraud !"

" Well, Sir, and pray what became of him, and his beautiful wife,
and the interesting dumb child ?"

" Never heard a syllable of them after ; they did me to the amount
of six hundred pounds, which still stands to the account of ' Profit
and Loss,' in the ledger/'

Now this I knew to be an infernal lie. The fact is, that about a
year after my embarkation at Falmouth, he had received intelligence
of my whereabout. I was then on the Continent. Maria and the
boy had quitted me, and proceeded, with plenty of cash, for St. Pe-
tersburg, where she hoped to make a splendid market of her un-
rivalled charms. He had employed one of the most worthy, most
excellent, but most acute attorneys in the universe to pursue me.
This gentleman was a profound classical scholar, but knew nothing
of any European language except his own. Notwithstanding this
drawback, by sheer professional acumen he found me. I had been
grossly illused. Being without papers, the police had shuffled me
from one state into another (as watchmen were wont, in old times, to
pass an intoxicated gentleman through the parishes and wards of
Westminster and London), until I became almost weary of existence.
The Austrians had trundled me over the border, into the dominions
of the Sardinian monarch, and the foolish police of this sovereign,
instead of quietly getting rid of me by setting me a foot beyond their
jurisdiction, absurdly conveyed me to a state-prison, in which, with
two gens-d'-armes, watching me night and day, I languished for more
than a year. At length the attorney arrived with letters from the
British Minister for Foreign Affairs, on the credit of which the
ultra jackasses handed him over a sum of one thousand pounds, of
which they had recklessly despoiled me. They wanted the attorney
to take me home with him, but this he declined. They insisted, and
he cursed them heartily for their impudence, in supposing that he
would condescend to travel with a swindler — for this, in the heat of
passion, he so far forgot himself as to designate me. I, however,
have long since forgiven him, for we have come together since, and
the pure excellence of his heart has been made manifest to me. I have
become under obligations to him, which I most gladly acknowledge.
He is a good man, and I would part with a finger to serve him. He
departed by the diligence; but scarcely had he progressed a league,
when a light cart, containing two gens-d '-armes and myself, overtook
him. My official companions insisted on his considering me as his
prisoner. He, in reply, by means of an interpreter, told them can-
didly he'd see them in the naughty place first — he did not like me,
and would not have me. He had received enough to cover his
client's debt and his own expenses, and he wanted nothing more.

SOME GENTLEMANS AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

They might do what they pleased with my carcase — he had no claim
to it. I entreated him to take me home and transport me, so sick
was I of Sardinian incarceration ! but he was obdurate.

It would be uninteresting to state by what means I emancipated
myself from the clutches of my Sardinian friends : suffice it to say that
they were, in the upshot, as they candidly confessed in a paragraph
circulated by means of their Consuls, among the leading journals of
Europe and America, " pretty particularly" sorry that they had
ever meddled with me — the asinine dolts !

To return to my position : I began to strike a balance, mentally,
as regarded the account between myself and Ralphs' " particular
friend." Thus it stood with us : — He, no matter how, or under what
circumstances (I detest detail — and am always for leaping to con-
clusions), had advanced Jones 600/., and perhaps expended nearly a
hundred more in the journey to the Italian dominions of his Sardinian
majesty. On the other hand, there was the round thousand, of
which I had been pillaged, and which thousand had been handed
over, by my foreign friends, to the attorney. The following, I think,
was therefore our position in figures : —

MYSELF, in Ace. with RALPH'S " PARTICULAR FRIEND.
Dr. Per contra Cr.

To Cash advanced to Jones 600 By Cash received of the

Expenses and Interest 100 Sardinian Nincompoops 1000

Balance in my favour 300

£1000 £1000

At this statement, I flatter myself, no mercantile man could cavil.
There was a clear balance in my favour of 300/., and I resolved on
getting it, as in duty bound (for charity begins at home), by hook or
by crook; It was, I felt, perfectly useless to make a straight-forward
business-like demand. The account could evidently be closed only
by some diplomatic proceeding on my part — some little ruse de guerre,
at the success of which he would, of course, be glad, so highly re-
spectable as he seemed ; for it would relieve a heavy load from his
conscience. His position was this : — Having stigmatized Jones as a
swindler, and virtually acknowledged that the 1000/. taken from the
latter might be considered as some of the fruits of that gentleman's
monetary speculations, he, in pocketing the balance was, pro tanto,
a receiver of stolen goods. He must have felt that, in his profit-and-
loss books, he ought to stand thus : — " By profit on a swindling
transaction, 30001." What a situation was this for a British country
banker ! How he must have passed his nights ! A mode occurred
to me by which he might be relieved, and I need scarcely say that I
determind to adopt it.

While I was brooding upon the details of my scheme, Black Harry
again clambered over the roof of the coach, to tell Ralph he wished
" to drive a trifle — 'cause he liked to keep his hand in, and had
summut to say, quite private, to the gemman en the box. Arter yov'e
got down this here hill, Ralph, why then, if it suits you to see to

the blunderbuss and bags, vy Ax pardon, sir/' added he to me,

" but I'm a sitting on your skirt, and there's summut in the pocket
vot isn't werv soft."

172 SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

I thought I should have fainted ! — fainted under the mingled feel-
ing of surprise, hope, anticipation, and delight ! " Summut vot is'nt
wery soft " in the pocket of Gruel's rhubarb colored coat — his official
garment — his confidential coat ! With great trepidation I withdrew
the skirt from beneath Black Harry.

In so doing I contrived to satisfy myself, that in the pocket there
was an oblong substance, rather dense, feeling like a book. Not to
excite suspicion, I so far mastered my intense curiosity — as to remain
motionless — Black Harry took the reins and Ralph went behind.
The dawn had long since glimmered, but the handsome gas-lamps that
flanked one side of the road leading into the town which we were about
to enter — still cast a yellow flickering light against the long rows
of new habitations on each side of the way. "Now, sir," said Black
Harry, to the Banker," that 'ere Ralph's not a bad un — and seeing
as I'm a friend of hiz'n, and he's offended you, by his wery proper
impurrence (ax your pardon for saying so — ven the lady inside fell
so werry frightened about the mouse, &c. and so forth) vy I can't do
better nor make it up for him. How ? you'll ax. Vy ant I agoing to
tell you ? Many's the rig you has seen, in your time, in course;
but I'll shew you a reg'lar out and outer. Consarn my bones if ever
I did afore, but twice to please a marquis — and vonce, ven I drove
the North Highflyer — all for to gratify a sporting Countess, vot had
rode all night on the box to see life — but as you're Ralph's partiklar
— vy here goes. — Notice how I'll tickle a hole in the front pane of
this here lamp vith the last knot o' the vip — vich mind me, must
blow ought the light, though it shant be bigger nor a pea." So say-
ing, Harry, by an admirable movement of his wrist (he was a capital
whip and flanked a near leader better than any man I ever saw) — car-
ried the point of his whip plump against the lamp he was passing —
a beautiful star, having a well defined circular hole for its nucleus,
was the consequence ; the breeze, blowing in bang through the aper-
ture, instantly extinguished the light, to the Banker's amazement —
and must I confess it? — e'en posited as I was, to my deep admiration.
He operated with equal skill on every lamp he passed : our prospect
in advance was bright, but we left all in darkness behind us. The
watchmen began to awake and raise an alarm — the regular extinc-
tion of the lamps, one after the other, appalled them. They had
perhaps been dreaming of earthquakes or other phenomena, and
most vehemently worked at their rattles. Windows were thrown
up, and a line of heads, some with nightcaps and some without, ap-
peared at the second floor windows. Harry went on triumphantly
in his extinguishing cause in spite of the Banker's agonies. " My
good fellow," exclaimed the latter, " thank you — thank you a thou-
sand times ! How very gratified I feel ! Your kind intentions — but
really, don't let me tresspass — that's quite enough." — " Oh ! I'll go
through the piece now I've begun — Yoicks ! Yo — over !" " Nay,
but I assure you — for God's sake desist ! Remember my respecta-
bility" — " In course, or vy should I exert myself so — there she
goes !" — " You're very kind — but all the people know me — let me
beg of you— damn it all! There's Sir Tiffin Mongooz looking out!
Sir Tiffin — with whom I've business — Good God ! Ralph — Stop

SOME GENTLEMAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 173

him ! — on the box too — Ralph ! Harry, you beast ! consider my
station! D — n it, this is too cruel.— Sir Tiffin sees me! If I
were but inside ! Ralph !"

Ralph protested but without avail. Black Harry would not be
checked in his friendly efforts to make up the breach which he sup-
posed to exist between his friend, and his friend's " particular
friend," by a display of his own incomparable skill in blowing out
the lamps as if by magic, for it was scarcely possible to detect
the lightning-like lash of his whip. Before Ralph could perforce
resume the reins, notwithstanding the attraction of Black Harry's
skill, I had become absorbed. Sir Tiffin Mongooz whose " local
habitation," since his return with a large fortune from India, I had
vainly attempted to discover — was my schoolfellow ; we had been at
the University together ; there was a singular document in existence be-
tween myself and him, which, now, that I could get at him, might
realize me a golden crop. Judging from the flannels, with which his
head was enveloped, he could not be well. So much the better, but
then the banker — and Gruel ! I quietly thrust my hand into the
rhubarb-coloured coat, took out a pocket book, and began to scan its
contents, and the memoranda it contained, with the quiet careless air
of one to whom they were familiar. I have said in a preceding spe-
cimen of my autobiography, that no men are so liable to gross
errors in minor particulars as your most accomplished scoundrels,
and that these errors luckily for the world, now and then hang
them. Had Gruel as many lives as a cat, there was enough in the
pocket book to put him out of the way by the necessary num-
ber of marginal notes of " sus : per col :" in so many judges'
copies of calendars. Instead of going on to an outport, I alighted at
once : — but, to confess the truth, sought a few hours repose, being
completely undecided, as to whom, in justice to myself, I should
operate on first — sleek Erasmus Gruel, Ralph's " particular friend,"
or that social crony of my youthful days, Brigadier General Sir
Tiffin Mongooz.

ON A SCHOOL BOY
Pronouncing the River Eurtpus, Euripus,

Venit ad Euripum juvenis, paulumque moratus,
Ut bene transiret, corripuit fluvium.

SOCRATES IN HIS CUPS.

SOME may be astonished that Socrates the sage, the philosopher,
one of the most virtuous of the ancients, should be distinguished for
his ability as a wine-bibber, but such was the fact j for Plato, his
favorite disciple, who has recorded the acts and conversations of his
master in those beautiful dialogues which still remain to delight us,
has given an account, in his Symposium, of a party, at which Socrates
sat out all the rest of the company. The occasion was this. Athagon,
a famous tragic poet, having gained the prize annually bestowed on
the author of the three best tragedies, gave an entertainment to his
friends on the following day. Some of the most illustrious Athe-
nians were present; — among others, Alcibiades, Socrates, and Aristo-
phanes the comic poet. The conversation was animated and inte-
resting ; and at length, as the wine went round and round, it became
loud and noisy.

When most of the guests had displayed unequivocal signs of in-
toxication, " a great number of revellers," saith Plato on the autho-
rity of Aristodemus, his informant, " suddenly came to the door, and
finding it open (for some one had just gone out) they entered, and
seated themselves on the couches. Confusion now reigned supreme,
and the company no longer preserved any moderation in drinking.
Aristodemus said that some went away, but that as for himself he
fell asleep, and slept for a very long time, since the nights were then
of great length ; and that when he awoke at the dawn of day, Aga-
thon, Aristophanes, and Socrates were the only persons still awake:
they were drinking the wine out of large cups, and Socrates was dis-
coursing. And Aristodemus said that he could not give an account
of his discourse, as he was asleep at the commencement ; but that the
sum and substance of it was, that Socrates compelled them to confess
that tragedy and comedy are the same thing; and that after being
obliged by his arguments to acknowledge this, though not fully con-
vinced of its truth, they fell fast asleep : and that Socrates rose from
his seat, and after washing himself went to the Lyceum, (for it was
now the morning) according to his usual custom, and that after
spending the day in his accustomed manner, he went home in the
evening and retired to rest."

THE UNITED STATES.

FROM GOETHE.

America thou hast it better

Than our ancient hemisphere;

Thou hast no falling castles,

Nor basalt, as here.

Good luck wait on thy glorious spring,

And, when in time, thy poets sing,

May some good genius guard them all

From Baron, Robber, Knight, and Ghost traditional !

VIOLATION OF MILTON'S TOMB.

EXTRACTED FROM GENERAL MURRAY'S DIARY UNPUBLISHED.

24th Aug. 1790. — I dined yesterday at Sir Gilbert's. As soon as
the cloth was removed, Mr. Thornton gave the company an account
of the violation of Milton's lomb, a circumstance which created in
our minds a feeling of horror and disgust. He had been one of the
visiters to the hallowed spot, and obtained his information from a
person who had been a witness to the whole sacriligious transaction.
He related the event nearly in the following manner : — The church
of St. Giles, Cripplegate, being in a somewhat dilapidated state, the
parish resolved to commence repairing it, and this was deemed a
favourable opportunity to raise a subscription for the purpose of
erecting a monument to the memory of our immortal bard Milton,
who, it was known, had been buried in this church. The parish
register book bore the following entry: " 12 November, 1674. John
Milton, gentleman, consumpc~on, chancell." Mr. Ascough, whose
grandfather died in 1759, aged 84, had often been heard to say, that
Milton was buried under the desk in the chancel. Messrs. Strong,
Cole, and other parishioners, determined to search for the remains,
and orders were given to the workmen on the 1st of this month to
dig for the coffin. On the 3rd, in the afternoon, it was discovered ;
the soil in which it had been deposited was of a calcarious nature,
and it rested upon another coffin, which there can be no doubt was
that of Milton's father, report having stated that the poet was buried
at his request near the remains of his parent ; and the same register-
book contained the entry, " John Milton, gentleman, 15 March, 1646."
No other coffin being found in the chancel, which was entirely dug
over, there can be no uncertainty as to their identity. Messrs. Strong
and Cole having carefully cleansed the coffin with a brush and wet,
spunge, they ascertained that the exterior wooden case, in which the
leaden one had been enclosed, was entirely mouldered away, and the
leaden coffin contained no inscription or date. At the period when
Milton died it was customary to paint the name, age, &c. of the de-
ceased on the wooden covering, no plates or inscription being then in
use ; but all had long since crumbled into dust. The leaden coffin
was much corroded; its length was five feet ten inches, and its
width in the broadest part one foot four inches. The above gentle-
men, satisfied as to the identity of the precious remains, and having
drawn up a statement to that effect, gave orders on Tuesday, the 3rd,
to the workmen to fill up the grave ; but they neglected to do so, in-
tending to perform that labour on the Saturday following. On the
next day, the 4th. a party of parishioners, Messrs. Cole, Laming,
Taylor, and Holmes, having met to dine at the residence of Mr.
Fountain, the overseer, the discovery of Milton's remains became the
subject of conversation, and it was agreed upon that they should dis-
inter the body, and examine it more minutely. At eight o'clock at
night, heated with drink, and accompanied by a man named Hawkes-

176 VIOLATION OF MILTON*S TOMB.

worth who carried a flambeau, they sallied forth, and proceeded to
the church —

" When night

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flushed with insolence and wine." — MILTON.

The sacriligious work now commences. The coffin is dragged from
its gloomy resting place : Holmes made use of a mallet and chisel,
and cut open the coffin slant- ways from the head to the breast. The
lead being doubled up, the corpse became visible : it was enveloped
in a thick white shroud ; the ribs were standing up regularly, but
the instant the shroud was removed they fell. The features of the
countenance could not be traced ; but the hair was in an astonishingly
perfect state : its colour a light brown ; its length six inches and a
half, and although somewhat clotted, it appeared, after having been
well washed, as strong as the hair of a living being. The short locks
growing towards the forehead, and the long ones flowing from the
same place down the sides of the face, it became obvious that these
were most certainly the remains of Milton. The quarto print of the
poet, by Faithorne, taken from life in 1670, four years before he
died, represents him as wearing his hair exactly in the above manner.
Fountain said he was determined to have two of the teeth, but as
they resisted the presure of his fingers, he struck the jaw with a
paving-stone, and several teeth then fell out. There were only five
in the upper jaw, and these were taken by Fountain ; the four that
were in the law lower jaw were seized upon by Taylor, Hawkes-
worth, and the sexton's man. The hair, which had been carefully
combed and tied together before interment, was forcibly pulled off
the skull by Taylor and another ; but Ellis, the player, who had
now joined the party, told the former, that being a good hair-worker,
if he would let him have it he would pay a guinea bowl of punch,
adding, that such a relic would be of great service by bringing his
name into notice. Ellis, therefore, became possessed of all the hair ;
he likewise took a part of the shroud and a bit of the skin of the
skull ; indeed he was only prevented carrying off the head by the
sextons, Hoppy and Grant, who said that they intended to exhibit
the remains, which was afterwards done, each person paying six-
pence to view the body. These fellows, I am told, gained nearly
one hundred pounds by the exhibition. Laming put one of the leg-
bones in his pocket. My informant assured me, continued Mr.
Thornton, that while the work of profanation was proceeding, the
gibes and jokes of these vulgar fellows made his heart sick, and he
retreated from the scene, feeling as if he had witnessed the repast of
a vampire. Viscount C., who sat near me, said to Sir G. " This re-
minds me of the words of one of the fathers of the church, " And
little boys have played with the bones of great kings ! ' '

NEXT YEAR,

Procrastination is the thief of time. — YOUNG.

I REMEMBER reading in some book — a German author, I think—
" Shew me your apartment, and I'll be your fortune-teller." There
is much reason in this saying, for assuredly if fortune can be foretold
by the character of an individual, in no manner can you form a
better estimate than by a glance at his domicile. Let any man of
discernment enter the chamber of his friend, and attentively survey
the signs and appearances therein, and I am much mistaken if he do
not arrive at a more just conclusion respecting the character and dis-
position of its occupant, than ever could Lavater by his physiognomy,
or another, and more amusing class of speculators, by the lines on his
hand, or the development of his tympanum.

Is the tenant of the chamber extravagant ? it will be indicated by
the costliness of its decorations, and the little care with which they
are preserved. Is he parsimonious ? by the meanness of its appoint-
ments, and the evident appearance of comfort sacrificed to saving.
The scholar will be known by his books, and their marks of use —
the nature of his studies by their contents. Can any one, for ex-
ample, desire a more complete insight into the character of Mark
O'Gormand than by looking at his table ? Upon it you see Mrs.
Mac Murdo's cookery, well thumbed and dog-eared, with an essay on
diet and indigestion uncut. There is the story of a man who, to
make a more pompous display of plate, placed a pair of silver spurs
on his sideboard ; can any thing indicate the vanity of an individual
with greater force? In short, whether a man be ostentatious or
humble, intemperate or sober, musical or melancholy, may be as
easily known in a visit or two, by " signs and appearances," as can
the age of a horse by looking into his mouth.

My friend Will Hopeful is a remarkable truth of what I shall in
future call the science of Chamberology. Will's apartment is strewed
up and down with half-formed models of ships, half carved plans of
mines, unfinished draughts of speeches, petitions to Government for
land in the Colonies, penned on the back of proposed mortgages on
his own estate, copies of letters for the loan of thousands on the re-
verse of dunning notes for hundreds, and amid this chaos of half-
digested prospectuses and unaccomplished designs, sits my friend,
revelling in all the luxury of an idealist, the delighted architect of a
thousand air-built projects.

From this sketch it will be at once perceived that Hopeful is a
great projector ; but he is not so unsuccessful as many of his fra-
ternity, for he never, by any chance, attempted to put one of his
schemes into practice. They are all to come ; Will has, therefore,
never known disappointment. One morning I found him attentively

M.M. No. 92. 2 A

178 NEXT YEAR.

studying an account of the Carib Islands, and so engrossed was he
with some important scheme to result therefrom, that he was not
aware of my entrance. His grand project was, to form a settlement
on one of these islands for the fishery of turtles, which he said were
in such numbers, and the flesh was discovered to be so wholesome, that
he proposed to freight annually a certain number of ships with them,
and to bring them to England as food for the poor ! This he was
convinced would be a sure fortune to the speculator, and a national
blessing. I inquired when this great design was to commence ? he
thought about next year !

He accompanied me one day to a chalybeate spring, in the fields
to the north of London, when I accidentally remarked that the nature
of the water indicated extensive strata of metallic ore in the vicinity.
<f Hush ! my dear friend," said Will ; " never let that secret escape
you. I intend to make a national concern of it. I shall petition Go-
vernment for the grant — get an Act of Parliament for the charter —
raise a company with 500,000/. capital,;and then erect works that will
supply all England with iron — aye, perhaps all Europe." On the
usual inquiry of when ? te My dear fellow/' said he, " always do
one thing at a time, that's my maxim. I shall be ready next year !"

To enumerate all poor Will's absurdities would be an endless
task. At one time he talked of illuminating London with inflam-
mable air — propelling carriages by machinery — recomposing cooper's
chips into staves, and all these fine things were to be done next
year !

I have known Hopeful now more than ten years, and he is still the
same both in body and mind. He has the same dark, wandering,
speculative eye, the same long, spare figure. He is one of a class of
persons that is said never to die, but that dries up, and is blown
away. The last time I saw Hopeful, he accosted me with " Well,
what do you think I am going to do ?" " What you have been going
to do all your life, I suppose — nothing !" " Your reproach is just,"
said he, " but I was about to tell you that I see my errors — that I will
plan no more, but execute ; think of my own affairs, instead of those
of the whole human race ; pay my own debts, instead of those of the
nation : in short, instead of amassing imaginary fortunes by chime-
rical schemes, I will make a real one by the good old-fashioned mode
of honest industry. What do you think of that, my friend?" I
cordially shook him by the hand, and most sincerely delighted
was I to congratulate him on such a resolution. " And when do you
intend to commence this reform, Will ?" I inquired. His reply was,
"J0h! next year!"

PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL.*

TWELVE months have now elapsed since the ex-Emperor, Don
Pedro, landed on the shores of Portugal, at the head of a small and
gallant army for the purpose of seating his youthful daughter, Donna
Maria da Gloria, upon that throne, unjustly usurped by her perjured
uncle, Miguel. It is an afflicting spectacle, it must be confessed, for
the morality of kings — this struggle between two brothers, while the
majority of the Portuguese nation looks on with an apathetic indiffer-
ence which can only arise from their intimate conviction, confirmed
by the bitter experience of the past, that whatever may be its result
their condition will not be materially improved ; but such indeed is
the fact, and it is solely by assistance from without that the two com-
petitors have been enabled to maintain their ground. It is entirely
owing to the generous efforts made by the lovers of freedom in this
country and in France, that Don Pedro was enabled to unfurl the
constitutional banner on the benighted soil of Portugal. On the other
hand, foreign assistance, though more covertly conveyed, was as un-
sparingly lavished upon the present ruler of that kingdom. The
wily Ferdinand foresaw that the triumph of the constitutional cause
in Portugal would inevitably revolutionize Spain, and exerted him-
self to meet the coming storm. But the absolutists of the continent,
and their allies the ultra tories of England, had far more extensive
views ; they had resolved to make Portugal the basis of a system of
operations against the liberties of Europe, — convinced that no party
of any political importance existed, in that country, in favour of the
constitution ; and moreover, that Don Pedro only held his ground
through the sheer incapacity of the Miguelite chiefs. The genius of
one man has, however, by a daring exploit, unsurpassed in the annals
of our navy, defeated the Machiavelian combinations of the absolu-
tists, and averted the storm about to burst upon liberal Europe. The
late splendid victory of Captain Napier, although it may not be im-
mediately decisive in its operation on the final solution of the contest,
must nevertheless be said to have sealed its fate ; and the ex-Emperor,
Don Pedro, reluctantly as it may be wrought from him, must now
confess that it is to the skill of the British officers and men, of those
men on whom he so unsparingly heaped the terms " cochons" and
" canaille," that the queen will owe her crown ; that without them he
wouldnow be the laughing-stock and contempt of Europe. Of this we
are certain, and we only hope that, with equal certainty, we may be
wrong in predicting that Napier and his gallant companions in arms,
will, as the only recompence for their splendid services, experience
that base ingratitude, that shameful injustice, which was the lot of
Lord Cochrane and others for achieving the independence of the
Brazilian Empire.

The volumes before us, interspersed as they are with anecdotes,

* Narrative of the Expedition to Portugal in 1832. By G. Lloyd Hodges
Esq. London : James Fraser, 215, llegent Street.

180 PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL.

approach more to a narrative of personal adventures, than to the dig-
nity of an historical work. They are, nevertheless, most valuable,
for they enable us, in some degree, to predict the future ordeal through
which Portugal has yet to pass, and convince us how few men of
sound practical views are to be found in the ranks of the Portuguese
liberals, and of the general unfitness of the nation at large for the
institutions of freedom. In the year 1820, when the constitutional
system, by a servile imitation of the political march of Spain, rather
than from any chastened love of freedom of their own, was proclaimed
in Portugal, it must be in the recollection of every one acquainted with
the affairs of that country, that the Cortes actually spent three days in
debating on what should be the colour of the national cockade. This
same frivolous spirit was remarkably displayed by the advisers of
Don Pedro in the very first stage of the expedition. " It is curious/'
says Colonel Hodges, " to here observe how much the cavilling and
trifling spirit of the Portuguese shewed itself in the rebaptism of the
two frigates, at a moment when it is to be presumed that more
weighty matters were at least sharing their attentions; three councils
were held in Paris to decide on this momentous question. It was
proposed by the more liberal of the debaters that the flag-ship should
be christened the Constitution, and that the Asia should bear her
present name, the Donna Maria Segunda. In reference to the for-
mer, however, the juste milieu party were emphatic in supporting the
appelation of Rainha de Portugal, which was not thought to be of so
compromising a character."

Totally destitute of what the French call "force du caractere"
after all perhaps the most indispensible quality in a prince, possess-
ing naturally a strong understanding, but undeveloped by education,
and spoiled by flattery — vain and unforgiving, wayward in disposi-
tion, inconstant and feeble in his friendships, despotic by nature,
though a liberal " par ton — " in fact, equally open to good and evil,
according to the care taken to direct him in the way of either ; — such
were the qualities which hurled Don Pedro from the throne of the
Brazils, with the same rapidity that he had ascended it, and such
were the qualities that totally unfitted him for an enterprise like that
in which he is now engaged. What can be more conclusive on the
point than the composition of his household as described by our
author ?

" Don Pedro's household at this time consisted entirely of those indi-
viduals who had accompanied him in his emigration from the Brazils, and
who were Brazilians either by birth or naturalization. The most influential
person left with the Empress and the youthful Queen was the Marquis of
Rezende, a junior member, as before observed, of the house of Penalva.
This nobleman is nearly as little connected with Portugal, by personal
knowledge of its habits and wants, as Don Pedro himself. The Marquis,
whom I have stated to have been the especial patron of Xavier, seems to have
entertained a lively sense of the advantage which his own interest with the
Emperor might derive from the services of that crafty satellite, who would
serve to keep alive in the royal mind a continued favourable recollection of
Brazilian followers, to the exclusion of other persons of real worth, talent,
and devotion to Donna Maria's cause, but of no South American derivation
or connection.

PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL. 181

" Senhor Roche Pinto came next, in palace preference, to the Marquis of
Rezende. Though a Portuguese by birth, he was a naturalised Brazilian.
His description of capacity was just that which rendered him the safe con-
fidant of the pains and pleasures of a prince of the house of Braganza. He
was a man of prudence and retention ; and, although gifted with a tolerable
aptitude for languages, yet, whenever a secret was in question, he could
' Give it an understanding, but no tongue.' "

At a moment when Paris swarmed with the old Portuguese nobi-
lity, who had incurred exile and confiscation by an adherence to the
fortunes of his daughter, the ex-emperor was almost daily seen in
the garden of the Tuilleries, leaning on the arm of his favourite
pandour. But this was not all, Don Pedro, when in England, by a
disregard of every moral feeling, of every consideration that governs
the conduct of the man of honour and the gentleman, actually took
this fellow with him to Windsor, where he had the honour of dining
with royalty itself, and of associating with the best blood in the
country.

Almost every page in the work before us contains some glaring
proof of the worthlessness of this prince. His conduct on first joining
the squadron is thus admirably described by our author : —

" The steam-boat had presently approached so close as to allow of our
distinguishing those on board. Immediately in front of Captain Bertram
stood the Emperor, wrapped in a warm great-coat, and with a fur cap.
Various of his attendants were gathered around him ; but the most pro-
minent person on the deck, after the imperial principal, was Senhor Men-
dizabel, who looked around, and seemed to contemplate with a proud, but
grave triumph, the degree of progress achieved by his extraordinary and
romantic efforts. He was evidently moved ; while the gayer style of the
Emperor towards him appeared to indicate something of raillery on the dis-
play of feeling marked in his countenance.

" The steamer (carrying, as it then seemed, ' Csesar and his fortunes')
dropped anchor close by the flag-ship ; upon which the Admiral got into his
barge, and proceeded to receive the Emperor and convey him on board. A
guard of honour was formed, consisting of sixty as fine-looking and as well-
armed and clothed marines as ever stepped on the deck of any frigate in his
Britannic Majesty's navy; and a numerous body of Portuguese noblemen'
and officers lined each side of the deck of the Rainha da Portugal, to pay
their respects to the royal new-comer — the band playing in the meanwhile
the Constitution Hymn. On his reaching the deck, all eyes bent on him

' The office and devotion of their view ;'

and it was evident that the most zealous attachment to his person was ready
to enhance that already felt towards his cause by the assembled multitude.
An opportunity, both easy and effectual, was here offered, not only of pro-
moting the satisfaction of his Portuguese followers, but of fixing himself at
once in the hearts of the little band of generous Englishmen who then stood
in his presence. That opportunity, unfortunately, was not heeded. The
object of all this warmth of homage wore himself a cold and repulsive look.
He merely took off his travelling cap, bowed stiffly on each side as he hastily
passed into his cabin, and roughly rejected the beija-mao (kissing of hands)
with which a few old followers of his father's court would have greeted him.
Excuses were made for this neglect of courtesy, by its being stated afterwards
that the Emperor had suffered much from sea-sickness on his passage from
Nantz, and that he was otherwise slightly indisposed at the period of his
arrival. The excuses were not discredited, as indeed he kept his cabin the

182 PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL.

following day ; but it was, I regret to say, too evident in the sequel, that this
prince was not possessed of that charm of demeanour which attracts at first
sight."

His conduct on this occasion betrayed the grossest ignorance and
impolicy. A new element, a new power in the politics of the globe, has
suddenly come into play, which can at once bridle the cravings of royal
ambition, baffle the astute combinations of the diplomatist, and para-
lize the efforts of the soldier — a power which though composed but of
300 or 400 obscure individuals, many of them so illiterate as not
actually to know the geographical position on the map of the coun-
tries, the field of their financial operations — yet to this power, the
Stock Exchange, which by the future historian will be regarded as
the greatest phenomenon of our age, Don Pedro is indebted for
every thing — for his fleets and army, for the services of those
foreigners whom it appeared to be on every occasion his study to
insult. For instance : —

" On the marines being dismissed from drill, he formed a squad out of his
own suite, placing on the right of them his holy adviser, Padre Marcos, and
on his left Doctor Tavares, the poet laureate, with Senhor Freire, &c. To
this band of neophytes — for I suppose I must call them by a finer name than
" awkward squad" — he distributed muskets, (to each one, and to all fifteen,)
and, proceeding himself to act as fugleman, put them through the manual
and platoon exercise. At the termination of this display, he appealed to me
for my approval. I could not but perceive the intended derision of the
parallel thus implied — the practical satire on the discipline of the men I had
brought out to make soldiers of; but I suffered the ludicrous part of the im-
pression to efface the serious. An reste, I had got the best recruits for the
service that circumstances had allowed, and that they were not a highly con-
ditioned corps was no fault of mine ; neither could' I be charged with any
want of anxiety for their future improvement in discipline."

The fact is, that Don Pedro has a confirmed antipathy to the Eng-
lish, which, as on the above instance, he has repeatedly shown at the
expense of all gentlemanly feeling. This antipathy was glaringly
evinced in his conduct towards our Minister, Mr. Gordon, Sir
George Eyre, and Captain Hunn, while on the Brazil station, to say
nothing of the indignities he heaped upon the British officers in his
service.

The immediate confidants of the emperor had all along flattered
him with the idea that once landed in Portugal, his advance upon
the capital would be a mere " hurra." With this conviction on his
mind, it is natural to suppose that his first objective point would have
been that part of the coast, the most approximate to the quarter
where the elements of disaffection were supposed to exist in their
greatest mass, and this was decidedly Lisbon. Instead of which, by
conduct that cannot be explained on any sound principle either of
war or politics, he proceeded to Oporto, which he was quite as unac-
countably allowed to enter without opposition by the Miguelite
generals. But his entry soon dispelled the illusion under which he
had laboured. " Although deserters," says Colonel Hodges, " to the
number of two hundred (chiefly militia), came into us from the
Miguelite camp, there was not at this time a single officer among
them. No favourable inclination towards us was manifested by any

PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL. 183

of the provinces, notwithstanding that the two in our rear were now
almost wholly disencumbered from the enemy's presence." Had
Don Pedro, or his advisers have possessed one grain of common sense,
it would have taught them that no party really existed in the country
in their favour ; or if there did, it was but a mere fraction of the popu-
lation, whose co-operation could not be calculated upon as an element
of success. To have insured this, they should have been pre-
pared to have treated the business ab initio, as purely a military
question. Until now they have maintained their position at Oporto
by a miracle ; and the history of the pigmy war is contained in a
single distich of Boileau —

" Et la mauvaise conduite du compagnon de Paul Emile,
Fit toute la gloire cTHannibal."

To the blind fatuity of the Miguelite chiefs, rather than to his own
power, Don Pedro may thank his stars for not having been driven
with his army into the sea, three days after his landing.

The absolute indifference shewn by the people of Portugal to the
success of the constitutional cause will be regarded as an evil omen
to the future progress of the human race ; but it would be unfair to
measure this people by the standards of those nations which at present
occupy the culminating point of civilization. The Portuguese are
remarkable for their attachment, their reverential respect towards the
customs of their ancestors : debased by ages of misrule and supersti-
tion, their very indolence even renders them hostile to innovation,
and those who attempt it never fail to bring down on their heads the
obloquy of the nation. But it is not to the operations of these
feelings alone that we must attribute the lukewarmness of the Portu-
guese in the cause of liberty ; they entertain an inveterate antipathy
to Don Pedro himself, at whose door they lay all the evils of their
country ; whose ambition inflicted on its political greatness a blow
from which it never can recover ; whose own career has been marked
by phases as black as even those of his brother Miguel. To the po-
litical profligacy of the men by whom he is surrounded, who were
formerly the fanatic champions of despotism, until their own sagacity
and sordid self interest taught them that there was now more to be
gained by playing the liberal than the servile. To the intimate con-
viction of the nation that under such men the only constitution they
could obtain would be a paper one, accorded to flatter the vanity of
the nation, but the liberal provisions of which would be merely in-
tended for their perusals — in short, that the only change to be effected
would be one of men and not of measures — or if there were any in
the latter, that it would be devoted against their most cherished pre-
judices ; — to these causes may, in a great degree, be ascribed the
cry of " viva el Rey absolute, who has sworn to maintain the statu
quo."

In order to elucidate more clearly our position, it will be necessary
to devote a short space to Don Miguel himself, on whose head every
term of obloquy and reproach, which this or any other language can
convey, has, with justice, been heaped. Still the legitimacy of his
claim to the throne of Portugal, according to the ancient statute of

184 PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL.

the Cortes de Lamego, regulating the succession of the crown, is, by
some of the most profound Portuguese jurists, held to be strictly va-
lid. But it is not in a revolutionary age like the present that kings
must erect their thrones upon legitimacy or divine right. By what
right we would ask does Louis Philippe of Orleans sit on the throne
of France ? By what right did Leopold of Coburg leave the solitude
of Claremont to encircle his brows with the regal diadem of Belgium ?
By what right again, is the reigning Duke of Brunswick, Augustus
Louis William Maximilian Frederic, seated in the ducal chair of his
elder brother ? By the will of the people. Yet even by this admitted
principle — proceeding, we acknowledge, from a less elevated and
more impure source than in the three instances we have enumerated —
is Don Miguel king of Portugal, proclaimed by the voice of at least
four-fifths of the nation by whom he has for the last seven years been
supported, in spite of foreign aggression from without, and conspi-
racy and faction within. We must impress on our readers that it
would be difficult to eradicate from the minds of the Portuguese
themselves the intimate conviction, that Don Pedro is aiming at the
throne himself, and it is well known that, among the liberals, there
does exist a party who have that object in view. Miguel may be the
monster, the perjurer he has been represented, but if he violated his
oath as regent, and usurped his throne, so did Don Pedro. He
wrote, in his own blood, an oath, to be faithful to his father ; yet ere
the blood in which the impious oath was written had dried, he was
Emperor of Brazil. Don Miguel overturned the constitution which
he had sworn to defend. Don Pedro did the same with the first
charter of Brazil, surrounding the house of assembly with troops, and
threatening to blow it into the air if they did not dissolve their sitting.
Between these precious scions of the house of Braganza it would be
difficult to choose. When, in addition to what we have advanced, it is
recollected how impolitic have been all the measures of Don Pedro
since he entered Oporto — that he has returned to Portugal at the head
of a body of foreign mercenaries, who are to be recompensed for their
services by the confiscated property of the church,* and moreover
that the honesty of his own views is more than questionable, we are
no longer surprised at the apathy of the nation or his want of success.
It is needless to repeat that in the conduct of the expedition, as well
as in its original conception, nothing like great or comprehensive
views were displayed ; but the most glaring error by far committed,
was overlooking the electric effect which the presence of the young
queen would have produced in Portugal. She was an element of
certain success. Her youth and innocence would have been an irre-
sistible appeal to the generous sympathies of the nation. Had Don
Pedro, with his daughter in one hand, and the constitutional banner
in the other, have landed in the bay of Cascoes, at the head of only a
few hundred native followers, we are firmly convinced that not a
trigger would have been drawn — he would have entered the ancient

* This may be unfounded, but it was the language held out by Don Pedro's
agents or their subordinates in London.

PROSPECTS OF PORTUGAL. 185

capital of his fathers in triumph, and that subsequent contest which
is ruining the country, and dislocating every social tie, would have
been happily avoided.

Those who imagine that the dawn of the constitutional system will
be the harbinger of peace and internal tranquillity, know nothing of
the discordant political elements of the Portuguese nation. There
are at present in that country four distinct political parties, who hate
each other with the most rancorous animosity. — 1st, The most nu-
merous, come the apostolicals; beaten in the field, they will rally, and
shew a most formidable front in the Cortes, and embarrass, by their
cabals and intrigues, the march of government. — 2d, The moderate
constitutional party, headed by Palmella and his friends, who may be
said to constitute the juste milieu of Portugal. — 3d, The Brazilian ex-
Emperor's party, who wish to place Don Pedro on the throne — they are
the weakest of all. And lastly, the liberal or democratic party, the par-
tisans of the constitution of 1820 and its single chamber — it is com-
posed of men who take the mouvement party of France as their
model, and who aim at nothing less than a radical re-organization of
the social edifice. A single glance at these discordant elements must
convince the most superficial observer, that over the future destinies
of Portugal there hovers a cloud of dark uncertainty — that her ad-
vance in political regeneration will be impeded by the fierce conflicts
of rival factions. The present race of Lusitanians, from the force of
previous habits, are totally unprepared for the institutions of freedom,
and so forcibly have all the social ties been rent asunder by the long
continuance of the present contest, that years must elapse ere the
wounds of Portugal can be healed, and the fiery wrath of party passion
be allayed. It is only then that the tree of political regeneration will
take root on a soil rankling for ages with the weeds of despotism and
superstition. Then, instead of receiving constitutions from the hands
of their rulers, Europe may behold the Portuguese framing one
themselves, founded on their wants, and applicable to their social
condition.

The highly entertaining and instructive volumes of Colonel Hodges,
which have called our attention to this topic, are written throughout
in a spirit of candour, liberality, and high-minded forbearance. None
but those who have served with the Portuguese can feel all that the
gallant Colonel had to encounter from their paltry ignoble jealousy
of foreigners —

" A nation swol'n with ignorance and pride,
Who lick yet loath the sword
That saves them from the wrath
Of Gaul's unsparing lord."

M. M. No. 92 2 B

THE CONSCRIPT'S FATHER.

AT the village of Ilaut Verolet, situated about two miles from St.
Ililaire du Ilarcourt, in the department of La Manche, lived a man
named Pierre Jaubin, whose youth had been passed in the early
conflicts of the Revolution. Having received a sabre wound at the
battle of Austerlitz, which had carried away part of his left cheek,
and obliterated his left eye, he easily obtained his discharge, and re-
turned home to assist his aged parents in the cultivation of a small
estate. This property, which consisted of only ten acres, was con-
sidered, in that country, as no mean possession, and entitled the heir
to the ready recognition of his rich neighbours, and to the becks,
winks, nods, and whispers of his co-equals.

In a short time after his return he married a young girl named
Marie Raulin, and soon after that event his parents died, and he en-
tered into possession of the little paternal property.

The fruit of his union was an only son, who, like all the children
of that district of France, was brought up by hand — the women
having a mortal aversion to follow the dictates of nature, which
clearly enjoin every mother, unless she be incapacitated by some
bodily defect or weakness, to suckle her own child. In consequence
of this custom, Benoni, the son of Pierre, was fed on pap made of
buck- wheat flower, diluted with a little milk ; and this, with an oc-
casional spoonful of soup, made with fat pork and cabbage, on "jours
gran," formed his nourishment. Little Benoni, however, in spite of
buck-wheat pap, and soup made of pork and cabbage, became a
handsome youth, and at length arrived at the age of twenty, when it
was necessary he should draw for the conscription. The awful day
arrived, and hundreds of families were seen hastening in all directions
to St. Hilaire, it being usual on these occasions for the whole of
a youth's family to accompany him. Among the foremost marched
Pierre, flourishing his stick, and relating for the hundredth time in
what manner he had received his wound at the battle of Austerlitz ;
then followed Marie, exclaiming and weeping, sighing and laughing
by turns, crossing herself occasionally, when the thought of the pos-
sibility of her son's being drawn rushed into her mind ; and last of
all came Benoni, supported right and left by half a dozen sprightly
damsels.

The sous-prefect, the mayor, the gens-d'armes, and all the civil and
military authorities were assembled in the town-hall, preparing for
the great ceremony, just as the party from Verolet approached.
At length it came to Benoni's turn to draw, and he took a doomed
number. Every countenance of the family instantly fell, except that
of his father, who, by a certain significant movement of the head, and
the words " ca n'ira pas" intimated to the by-standers that he had
somehow or other the means of preventing the enrolment of his son.
One of the surest grounds of exemption, on which the power of the
State never infringes, is being the only son of a widow ; for the
legislature has justly contemplated the inconvenience which the small
properties that abound in France would experience in having no
proper or trust-worthy person to superintend them.

THE CONSCRIPT'S FATHER. 187

When Marie mid Pierre were left alone, the old man exacted from
her an oath of secrecy as to what he was about to divulge. He then
told her that there was but one way by which he could effect the ex-
emption of his son : " That is/' said he, " by means of my death !"
" Oh I monstrous/' said she j " Pierre, thou dost not surely mean to
destroy thyself to save thy son !" " Why, not exactly," rejoined he,
" but I mean to pretend to die. If my hat and jacket should be
found to-morrow morning on the banks of the river, do not you, by
word, deed, intimation, or inuendo, give reason for people to suppose
I am still alive. Cherish thy son— look after thy affairs— let no one
overreach thee— put thy trust in Heaven, and depend on it thou shalt
one day — but that day may be far distant — again see Pierre^!"

The next morning, having secretly taken an old hat and jacket, he
made the best of his way to the banks of the river, where he depo-
sited these articles near a torrent, and ere the sun rose had reached
Avranches, a small town about fifteen miles distant. Thence he pro-
ceeded with all possible dispatch to Granville, a sea-port, where he
engaged himself on board a vessel destined to the coast of Newfound-
land. He was unfortunately shipwrecked on the coast of Labrador,
and entered the service of a settler. At the end of ten years,
finding that he had amassed enough money to pay for a passage home,
and thinking that sufficient time had elapsed to exclude his son from
the necessity of serving, he embarked for his native country, and
landed at Cherbourgh, whence, travelling on foot, he arrived at Haut
Verolet, just as the family of his son, who was now married, and had
children, were sitting down to supper. The old woman had died
without divulging the secret. He opened the door, and stood for an
instant on the threshold. Benoni's countenance assumed a deadly
paleness. " Do you not recollect me, Benoni ?" said Pierre. " Old
man," replied Benoni, et I know thee not." " Not know me, wretch !"
said the other, bursting with indignation, and grasping with violence
a huge cudgel which he bore in his hand ; ' ' dost thou deny thy fa-
ther ?" " Pooh ! pooh !" said Benoni, " the old fool has long been
food for the fishes !" These words struck dreadfully on the ear of
Pierre. The blood rushed into his face— his arm instantly rose — the
cudgel was brandished in the air, and fell with tremendous violence
on the skull of Benoni. He staggered a few paces forward, and fell
dead at his father's feet.

The latter was speedily seized, and conveyed to St. Lo, the capital
of the department, where in due time he was brought to his trial, and
condemned to die. An appeal, however, being made to Charles the
Tenth, and the early incidents of his life, his romantic and devoted
attachment to his son, the provocation he had received, the sudden-
ness of the act, in which there did not appear the slightest projected
malice, being all weighed, his life was spared. He returned to Ve-
rolet, and wandered for a few months among its woods, or sat listless
and absorbed upon its rocks ; but the hand of death was on him, and
at length, realizing his paternal fraud, he precipitated himself into
that torrent, on the banks of which, years before, with a view to save
Benoni from the conscription, he had deposited his hat and coat.

TAKING OF TARRAGONA.

I HAVE often smiled to hear the ghastly prognostications of some of
our country grumbletonians' at their county meetings. What would
these good people have said, who never knew any thing of the
miseries and privations of war, if their little town had been sacked by
an enemy, or obliged to undergo the horrors of a siege ? How would
they have liked to have had their quiet slumbers disturbed every
now and then by a shell or a rocket bouncing into their apart-
ment— presuming, too, that they had nothing to eat but a small portion
of their own horse, scarcely enough to keep off hunger ? There can-
not be a more harrassing state of existence and suffering than what is
endured by the inhabitants of a city during a protracted siege ; there
is no respite from danger, no cessation of alarm ; one becomes fami-
liar with death in all possible shapes and forms. Neither riches,
nor rank, nor power are of any avail ; no distinctions are respected,
except such as military discipline require, for no one can tell whom
the next shot may take away ; all is bustle and confusion ; the be-
seiged and the beseigers get every day more exasperated with each
other, and woe to the unfortunate inhabitants if their miseries are
terminated by an assault ; for excesses and crimes are committed in
moments of excitement and rage, that the perpetrators would not
have believed themselves capable of at any other time. Man knows
not the proportion of mischief that is within him until he is tried.

Such are the reflections that always arise in my mind when I
think of Tarragona, where I happened to be the whole time it
was besieged by the French under Marshal Suchet ; and if strength
of position, united with every precaution that military prudence
could suggest, ought to be considered as a sufficient guarantee, I
should have thought it impossible that it could ever have fallen.
Aware of its great importance, the junta of Catalonia had taken care
that Tarragona should be well supplied with provisions and ammuni-
tion, and defended by a numerous garrison, under the command of
experienced and well tried officers. All these precautions, however,
did not deter Marshal Suchet from undertaking the siege of this
place, with means apparently disproportioned to the difficulties he
had to encounter. He fixed his head quarters at Reus, a large town
about five miles off, and regularly invested the city on all sides ; but
the communication was open with the sea, and we had a strong
squadron ready to co-operate with the Spanish general for its de-
fence. The Marquis Campo Verde had an army of 30,000 men in
the neighbourhood, and it was expected that he would have attacked
the French, and obliged them to raise the siege. This, however,
the marquis did not think himself strong enough to attempt: — it
is not my intention at this distance of time to question the merits or
failings of any general; I merely mention facts according to my re-
collection.

There could not have been a stronger proof of the superiority of
the French in Spain, than in the siege of Tarragona. They came

TAKING OF TARRAGONA. 189

against this place with a force of about 20,000 men, quite unprovided
with heavy artillery, which was to be sent from Tortosi ; their whole
train of battering cannon consisted of two light field pieces when they
commenced their operations, as Suchet relied on supplying himself
with heavier metal at the enemy's expense, as soon as he should be
prepared to use them. Accordingly he began by throwing up en-
trenchments on the west bank of the river Francoli in order to make
his advances against the lower town, which he was obliged to get
possession of before he could arrive within battering range of the
city. The Puerto, as the lower town was called, was defended by
very strong outworks, and batteries gradually rising above one ano-
ther, besides a strong wall, and bastions which connected it with
the upper town. This important outpost was under the command of
General Sarsfield, whose grandfather so gallantly distinguished him-
self at Limerick. The French lines were open to our broadsides
from the sea, but the shallowness of the water prevented our get-
ting near enough to annoy them much, except with our launches
and boats carrying carronades. Our first point of operation was to
be an attack on their entrenchments ; we were to get as near as
we possibly could to the shore, and endeavour to cover a sortie
from the garrison with a heavy fire from our broadsides, gunboats,
and launches, until the Spaniards should be within pistol-shot of the
French lines. This attack was very well planned, and would pro-
bably have succeeded if the Spanish troops had possessed the faculty
of standing fire, which they did not ; they were accordingly driven
back with great loss. I must, however, do justice to an old Irish
officer, who would have sacrificed his life in the cause, although to
look at him one would have thought it was high time he was invalided.
I recollect Colonel O'Ronyn as well as if I had seen him only a few
days ago. He was a tall thin man, about sixty, with iron grey
whiskers and mustachios, and a few white hairs on his head. Nei-
ther time nor the numerous hardships he had undergone had dimin-
ished the fire of his eyes, which sparkled with humour and intelli-
gence. He had all the vivacity and thoughtless bravery of his
countrymen. His dress was always the same — indeed I do not think
his wardrobe afforded a change of habiliments. Two narrow tar-
nished silver stripes round the cuffs of his well-worn blue surtout
coat, were all the insignia of his rank that he displayed, except an
enormous greasy-looking cocked hat, the size and shape of an im-
mensely large cheese-cutter, and an amazing pair of cavalry boots.
His horse was as lean as himself, and the exact counterpart of Ro-
sinante, to whose master the colonel bore no small resemblance him-
self, both in figure and opinions.

This old gentleman was to lead the sortie ; for notwithstanding
his extraordinary appearance, his courage and real worth were justly
appreciated by all who knew him. I remember our captain asking
him when we were to cease firing, that we might not run the risk
of killing our friends instead of our enemies ; to which he replied,
" I'll tell you, captain, how you'll do. You know me and my old
horse, (and it was not easy to mistake either) ; well, then, just keep
a look out upon us, and you may shoot any body you may see a-head

190

TAKING OF TARRAGONA.

of us." When the smoke cleared away, we osberved him almost
alone close to the enemy's lines, for his followers had all turned tail,
and it was with great difficulty he got back again to his gallant
countryman, Sarsfield, who defended the entrance, which the French
were very near forcing along with the fugitives. This was a bad
beginning, aud something much worse soon followed ; I mean the
taking of Fort Olivo — a strong outwork inland of the town, which
one would have thought almost impregnable. Taken, however, it
was, and Suchet thus supplied himself with mortars, howitzers, and
battering cannon, turning the Spaniards' own arms against them-
selves. There was much talk of treachery at the time; something
wrong there must have been, for the French knew the countersign.

After the fall of Fort Olivo, the siege proceeded more vigorously,
and the enthusiasm of the garrison proportionably abated. The
French advanced their lines nearer to the Puerto, and pointed the
heavy cannon they had just taken against the walls of the lower
town. Shells and rockets poured into the city night and day, and
there was but one part of the town out of their reach, called the
" Milagro," a small space within the walls to the eastward of the
citadel. Here the inhabitants used to assemble every night ; and I
have seen whole families of the highest rank crowded together under
a sort of tent made of skins, watching the destruction of their homes,
and listening with dread and apprehension to the doleful sound of
the cathedral bell, which tolled every time a shell was thrown into
the town, as a signal for the people to get out of the way. I have
frequently walked through the desolate streets of a moonlight night,
without meeting any one but the patrole, and parties of soldiers
carrying their dead or wounded comrades to the hospital. Every house
was deserted for the crowded " Milagro," which offered comparative
safety. A great many of the inhabitants found a refuge on board
our ships : still all we could do was little to alleviate the general
misery, which no one can conceive who has not been in a similar
situation.

The Marquis Campo Verde still kept aloof; and notwithstanding
the governor-general, Contreras, bravely declared he would defend
the place to the last, it was easy to foresee that Tarragona must fall.
About ten days subsequently to the capture of Fort Olivo, the
French stormed the lines of the Puerto. General Sarsfield defended
his post with the utmost bravery, and was to be seen running from
battery to battery encouraging the men, and cheering them on to
the breach. But the French, although several times repulsed, were
at last victorious, and the gallant Sarsfield, after doing all that man
could do, was obliged to escape to our ships, from whence he was
relanded on the other side of the town, and joined the governor in
defending the citadel.

There was nothing now to prevent the French from erecting their
breaching batteries close to the walls, and turning all the cannon of
the lower town against the citadel, which was most furiously bom-
barded. A practicable breach being soon effected, Marshal Suchet
summoned the place to surrender, which General Contreras declared
lie would never do, as long as one stone remained above another,

A POET'S PASSION. 191

and that Tarragona should be a second Saragossa. For three days
the breach was gallantly defended, but no hopes remained of main-
taining the place; and notwithstanding a detachment of our own
troops had arrived for its defence, our chiefs would not suffer their
lives be risked in so hopeless a service. This occasioned great ani-
mosities between the Spanish and English commanders, in the midst
of which Marshal Suchet ordered the assault, which was executed in
open day light, and the whole line of batteries were carried at the same
time. The slaughter was tremendous ! The Spaniards defended
every street, and almost every house; but they were gradually obliged
to give way, and endeavoured to make their escape by scrambling
over the walls to the eastward, where our boats were waiting to em-
bark them. The French, however, had sent round a squadron of
cavalry who charged these poor defenceless beings down to the
water's edge, driving men, women, children, and priests into the
sea. Every atrocity was committed within the town that could be
imagined; neither age nor sex being spared. The governor was
taken prisoner, after being badly wounded in defending his own
house; Sarsfield escaped by cutting his way through the enemy's
cavalry. I shall never forget our departure from Tarragona that
evening — as we made our way under easy sail for the neighbouring
town of Villa Nueva, our decks crowded with sick and wounded
Spaniards, our boats out in all directions to pick up the unfortunate
stragglers, and the distant cathedral, which, three hours before, I
had seen filled with wounded, blazing behind us, so that the
greater part of these unfortunate wretches must have perished in the
flames !

" Cockneys of London ! Muscadins of Paris !
Just ponder what a pretty pastime war is \"

A POET'S PASSION.

BY KENRICK VAN WINCKLE.

Ye rocks, and groves, and hills,

With meadows at your base,
Ye winding streams, and you, ye shady rills,
How boundless is your beauty and your grace ?
O stamp your mirror'd beauty on my soul,
As though it were a scroll.

O would that I could grasp

The mountains in my arms !
O would that I exultingly could clasp
All nature in the richness of her charms !
And bathe me in the sunset's burning gold
And light's pure fount behold !

A POET'S PASSION.

O would that I could slake

My thirst at yon bright star !
O would that I triumphantly could take
My journey on yon planet's flaming car,
And give my eager and enraptured ears
The music of the spheres !

O thou mysterious deep !

So strong, so bold, so wide ;
No mortal arm, nor monarch's power, can keep,
From flowing in full billows, thy proud tide !
O would that I thy caverns could explore,
And find again the shore !

O would that I could dive

Down to thy courts, O deep !
Where coral rocks with briny waters strive,
And temples let the black waves o'er them sweep ;
And lift their crystal columns far and wide
In solitary pride.

O would that I could be

Where man hath never been !
O would that I could soar aloft and see
Such visions as no eye hath ever seen ;
That I might reap a field of new ideas

To soothe Time's darkening years.

Ye winds ! so wild — so free-
That bear the clouds along,
O would that I at dead of night could see
Your figure, as ye tune your wintry song !
O would that I could find out, with these eyes,
Wherein your prowess lies !

Ye winds ! when I am dead —

For I at last must die —
And, like a yellow leaf by Autumn shed,
All lowly on earth's lap must mouldering lie —
O howl, ye winds ! a requiem o'er my grave,
While earth's proud forests wave.

When I no more shall be,

O give one, parting dirge ;
Lift up to grandeur's height the billowy sea ;
Yet injure not the bark that braves the surge ;
And though the sea-fowl's breast ye may alarm,
Yet do her brood no harm.

ART OF TOAD-EATING.

FROM very early youth I had a pretty knack of saying polite
things to my betters, and then turning round on my heel and
quizzing them right heartily. This versatility I thought I might
turn to my advantage, and so without knowing what toad-eating
meant, I commenced the profession at school; a very pleasant
profession in sooth it is — it answers all the purposes of swindling,
picking pockets, and forgery, to say nothing of housebreaking, for it
introduces one into many a pantry, and yet all this is done at no per-
sonal risk whatever. As I was not at all disposed to manual labour
or intellectual exertion, I had no other resource than this most inge-
nious art, and an excellent resource I have found it. It is vituperated
and despised, its professors are treated with much contempt — so
much the better for them, for that prevents the profession from being
overstocked. I now play toady to some eight or ten men and women
of high rank, whereas if there were many of us, each individual peer
might keep his own toad-eater.

I commenced my profession,, as I said, at school. My master was
one of those who are said to unite the gentleman and the scholar, in
which union by the way, the gentleman bears about the same pro-
portion to the scholar as FalstafTs sack did to his halfpenny worth of
bread. My master also united the Christian to the other union of
gentleman and scholar, that is, he was a remarkably easy-tempered
man, read prayers most delightfully, for he was a clergyman ; had a
pretty white hand, never got drunk, and made a conscience of never
playing at whist higher than shilling points. Such a man, of course,
was an object of universal esteem, and I could not help telling him
so ; it was rather pert in me as a boy, but he took it kindly as it was
meant, and attributed it to my simplicity.

He acknowledged, as I afterwards ascertained, that I was a very
amiable boy. It was always a great point with me to endeavour to
learn what people thought of me, and I was particularly anxious to
be thought amiable. There were two things, which are sometimes
met with in large schools, and which are my particular aversion, I
mean birch and books. My difficulty was how to avoid them both.
I could think of no other contrivance than toad-eating, so I became
toad-eater to the master, to the mistress, and to the bigger boys.
Being rather a pretty boy, and not addicted to hard study, which
might interfere with the brightness of my eyes, and the ivory smooth-
ness of my forehead, I frequently attracted the notice of strangers,
and more especially of the parents of my schoolfellows ; and there-
upon it came into my mind that something might be made of all this
admiration, more than sweet looks and fine words. Presently I found
it so, for I received an invitation from a baronet, whose son was my
schoolfellow, to spend a few days at his seat during the holidays.
Now, very likely the reader is anticipating that I eagerly accepted
the invitation ; but the fact is, I did no such thing, for I was aiming

M.M. No. 92. 2C

194 ART OF TOAD-EATING.

at higher game. We had, in our school, the son of a lord, the eldest
son, and the son too of a lord too, high in office. This young gentle-
man had some good qualities, and I took especial care that he should
see that I could see them. I really did admire him a little, and I
endeavoured to make him believe that I admired him very much ;
but the fact is I never did admire any one very much except myself,
and as for myself, I really quite wonder at myself. I so admire the
elegance of my manners, the neatness of my compliments, the beauti-
ful, delicate, unobtrusive vivacity and wit of my conversation, and I
have more than once endeavoured to persuade myself that I am ad-
mitted into the society of the great, not so much for my toad-eating
qualities, as for the charms of my conversation. I cut the son of the
baronet, and accepted the invitation of the son of the lord.

I shall not easily forget the sensation with which I entered the

magnificent mansion of Lord B . I could almost hear my heart

beat. I knew nothing of Lord and Lady B , but thinks I to

myself, if they are a couple of devils I will worship them. They were
not devils, but very civil well-behaved human beings. I could not
help wishing that I had been born a lord — but what is the use of
wishing ? — it was not likely that I should be any nearer to an unat-
tainable object by wishing, so I endeavoured to obtain as many of
the blessings of lordship as I possibly could in my situation. I there-
fore stuck close to the young gentleman, and having praised his
virtues right lustily, I endeavoured to find out his vices— no great
difficulty perhaps. These I indulged, and I flattered them into virtues.
I attended him in all his sports, and became to him as a servant,
taking care, however, to shew that I thought myself somebody, for
my homage would have been nothing to him had it been equally at
the service of any body else. When I went home to my father's
house all my talk was of lords, for the atmosphere of nobility had the
same effect upon me as the atmosphere of Brobdignag had upon
Gulliver — it dilated and enlarged the idea of myself. I really thought
that there was something noble about me. Surely, by constant colli-
sion with nobility, a man does acquire something of a noble air, and I
do think that the people who met me might guess, from my style and
deportment, that I was familiar with lords. I successfully acquired,
by means of diligent imitation, a lounging, lolloping, shuffling gait,
and a nice, pretty, drawling, dawdling, lackadaisical manner of
speaking. I did not need to learn to despise every body but myself
— that came naturally.

With these qualifications I went to the university. Now, very for-
tunately for me and my reputation, soon after I entered college I
happened to hear the word tuft-hunter made use of, and, upon enquir-
ing into the meaning of it, I found that I was in danger of becoming
one myself. Against this I took especial care to guard, for reputa-
tion was a great point with me. There is nothing grand to be done
in the way of toad-eating without a character. I was under no great
temptation to become an indiscriminate tuft-hunter, because my friend,

the son of Lord B , was a person of much greater consequence

than ten or a dozen of the ordinary kit of lordlings that swagger at
the university. So, standing at his side, I took the liberty to look

ART OF TOAD-EATING. 195

down on common-place fellow commoners and lords. My ambition
was to persuade myself, but as I could not do that, I persuaded the
world, that my intimacy with the peer's son was all owing to my ex-
traordinary merit, my prodigious talents. I was wilty, very witty,
but I took care to manage my wit in such a manner that it might not
appear that I was patronized merely for the sake of my table humour.
I was too proud to be a buffoon, or as I tersely expressed it, to be a
lord's fool without a salary. My object was to appear always per-
fectly on a level with, and perfectly at ease with all ; that is, with all
above me with whom I had any acquaintance. I did not become a
toad-eater for nothing — I would gratify my pride as well as my ap-
petite by it.

This of course required considerable management, and none but a
person of my talents could do it properly. Here lies the great
difference between a confidential valet an.d a toad-eater. The confi-
dential valet is perfectly at his ease with his master in private — tells
him scandalous stories — laughs and jokes with him as freely as with
the butler in the housekeeper's-room ; but before third persons, or
strangers, is all humility and courtesy, diffidence, and subserviency,
as if he thought it too great an honour to breathe the same air ; but
the gentleman toad-eater who sits at my lord's own table, and walks
arm in arm with my lord in public, and talks familiarly with my lord
before strangers, to the great marvel of all common people, free as he
may be in the sight of the world, is quite another thing in private —
is all subserviency and humility. Your proper toad-eater, who
knows his business well, flatters circuitously, not directly. I will
conclude by giving a specimen : — a well-meaning simple sort of man,
whohadaknackatversification,dedicatedabookto mylord, and mylord
condescendingly noticed the dedicating poet. I also patronized the
poet, but as I never thought well of any one's writing but my own,
my praise, of course, was all fudge. The poet swallowed it, gulped
it, grew fat upon it. So long as my lord chose to patronize him, it
was all well, but he waxed fat and kicked. He might have kicked
me till his hoofs wore out for any thing that I cared, but he kicked
my lord, and my lord cut him — and then I cut him and kicked him
too, over and over again ; and I found ten thousand faults where be-
fore I had found ten thousand beauties.

AMABILIS INSANIA.

Pauperi amare nefas, et idem per inutile, dictum hoc

In libro posuit Malthus amabilitur —
Olim dictus amor, jam irisania amabilis audit

Vivere sat miseris, nubere divitibus.

ENGLISH VERSION.

Good Malthus hurls his veto 'gainst the poor man's marriage-bed
Enough if lie be let to live — the rich alone may wed.

THE VARANGIANS.

IT is an interesting and somewhat singular fact, that during the
latter ages of the eastern empire of Rome, its most redoubted and
trusty defenders were a small body of northern warriors, or their
descendants, who bore the title of Varangians ; and that at the pe-
riod of our story, (late in the eleventh century), these consisted
chiefly of Englishmen, who, indignant at the arbitrary sway of the
Norman tyrant, found an asylum in that remote corner of Europe,
and were thus destined again to contend with unavailing gallantry
against a Norman foe. The celebrated Guiscard, not satiated with a
long train of Italian and Sicilian conquests, panted to sweep away
the vestiges of Roman power yet lingering in Greece. Circumstan-
ces furnished him with an excuse for invasion. The family of Ducas
had been banished from the throne of Constantinople, and to the heir
of this house had a daughter of Guiscard been betrothed. He, con-
certing measures with a crafty Greek, who assumed the character of
Michael, the exiled emperor, declared himself the asserter of the
rights of that unfortunate sovereign, and prepared to support them
with an army of thirty thousand men, in part composed of his coun-
trymen, but more generally of Italians, never less warlike than at
that period. Many of those, also who bore the name of Normans,
were natives of the Mediterranean shores, and the luxurious climate
of the south had tended to produce in them a degeneracy from the
strength, hardihood, and enterprise of their sea-ruling ancestors.
But the genius and energy of Robert Guiscard were equal to every
emergence. One of the most formidable champions of his age, he
was also one of its most accomplished generals, and formed in him-
self an union of the endowments of an Achilles and an Ulysses.

Crossing to the shores of Epirus, he besieged Durazzo, the scene of
one of the few checks received by Caesar. Meantime Alexius, the
new sovereign of Greece, was not idle. He collected a large force
alike from Europe and Asia, but his body guards were composed of
those English or Scandinavians whom we have mentioned. They
were conspicuous in the streets of Constantinople alike by their sharp
and heavy battle-axes, and by the tall portly forms, fair complexions,
and open countenances, which announced the country that gave
them birth or parentage, and formed a strong contrast to the compa-
ratively low stature and swarthy hue of their Greek or Asiatic asso-
ciates. One of the most distinguished of the Varangian chiefs was
Redwald, a young Englishman, who had but lately arrived at this
scene of warlike preparation. His father had been killed at Hast-
ings, and his estates, which were considerable, were bestowed on a
Norman chief. His mother did not long survive her lord, but our
hero was carefully watched by some remaining relations, instructed
in all the learning of the times, together with the exercises of war,
Norman as well as English. In these Nature seemed to have formed
him particularly to excel. His frame, tall and well proportioned,

THE VAilANGIANS. 197

was fitted alike for strength and activity; and so happy was his
constitution, that he speedily became inured to any change of cli-
mate, so that his vigour was but little impaired by the influence of
a southern sun, which, together with the luxurious manners of the
Greek court and city, had begun to manifest itself in the debilitated
minds 'as well as the bodies of many of his companions. His soul
was formed of the same hardy and enduring materials as his body,
combining the highest degrees of active and passive courage (a junc-
tion for which his countrymen have ever been justly celebrated) he
possessed the rarer quality of moral fortitude, which, aided as it was
by a pure and elevating passion, enabled him to set at nought all
the allurements of a corrupt capital. His soul, naturally lofty, had
been expanded by a far greater degree of literature than was com-
mon in those ages, and his correct judgment (an endowment,
without a natural share of which study is, at the best, of little avail)
enabled him mentally to reject many of the absurdities presented to
him as truths, without presuming on his superior sagacity, and to
pardon the weaknesses of his less gifted associates. It enabled him
also to restrain the vehemence of a temper which was naturally, per-
haps, somewhat too irascible. Ambitious of honour, and fond to
enthusiasm of his profession, with all its high hopes and excitement,
he was desirous of war, without being insensible to its evils ; he
loved it as a soldier, not as a bandit or an assassin, and his ear was
never insensible to the voice of humanity. In fine, perhaps he may
be said to have united the most valuable characteristics of a later
period, with the hardy and primitive manliness of his own.

Of all his brethren in arms, Austin, a youth of nearly his own
age, Redwald prized the most. He was of a melancholy cast of
mind by nature, and detesting the Greeks, their city, and their cli-
mate, which had enfeebled his limbs, previously very athletic,
he had become weary of existence. In this mood, the firmer mind
and nerves of Redwald were to him as a prop and stay. But that
warrior's soul was, as we have said, possessed by a warmer senti-
ment than friendship. Soon after his arrival, one of the most aged
veterans of the band had, in his last moments, implored him to pro-
tect his orphan daughter ; and her beauty, and mental as well as
personal grace, soon determined Redwald to seek her as his
bride. His suit was successful ; but their intended union was for a
while deferred, by the news of the approaching invasion, which ren-
dered unintermitting attention to the somewhat relaxed discipline of
his soldiers necessary on the part of the young chieftain. Mean-
time Evadne was, through the interest of her lover, placed under
the care of a lady of rank — a circumstance which tended, however,
eventually greatly to embarrass Redwald. The mother of Evadne
had been a Greek, and her child resembled her greatly in person.
She was about the 'middle size, formed in perfect symmetry,
with the dark eyes and hair, and somewhat pale complexion, slightly
tinged with brown, characteristic of their mutual country ; but her
natural liveliness of disposition had been in some degree restrained
by early misfortune ; and the calmness, modesty, and strength of
mind, for which the daughters of Britannia have been distinguished,

198 THE VA11ANGIANS.

were eminently possessed by her. These qualities were destined to
be severely proved. Her patroness, though not herself a profligate
•woman, could number amongst her acquaintaince many of both sexes
who were so, and her house was often the resort of gay and dissolute
courtiers. The display of wealth and luxury which she now daily
witnessed, astonished Evadne, who, though herself a native of the
capital, was a stranger to the court, and had indeed, since the death
of her mother, when she was still a child, been educated by her fa-
ther, as much from necessity as choice, in comparative seclusion.
But young and artless as she was, her good sense and feeling per-
ceived, and revolted from, much of what she observed in the manner
of her new friend's guests, and she would have absented herself from
company, had she been permitted to do so; but this — Lesbia, proud of
her young charge, constantly resisted. In the absence, therefore, of
her lover, Evadne was not only exposed to much of flattery from
those whom she despised, but more than one profligate, bolder than
the rest, had ventured to hint (propose openly they dare not) that
she might attain wealth and power at the expense of honour. If our
heroine understood these insinuations, she for the present contented
herself with avoiding those who uttered them ; for Lesbia, though
she would have protected her from any positive and undoubted in-
sult, laughed at much of what she considered prejudice in her young
ward ; and she knew Redwald's temper too well to risk the conse-
quences which might have ensued to him from a quarrel with those
who possessed the favour of royalty.

It was now about the commencement of autumn, and Alexius,
after the custom of his predecessors, was witnessing the revels of the
populace, usually allowed to celebrate the beginning of a new sea-
son. Placed on a splendid throne, elevated to a considerable height
above one of the principal courts of the palace, he overlooked a large
basin which, adorned with a margin of silver, was filled, not with
water, as on ordinary occasions, but with the choicest fruits, which
were abandoned indiscriminately to the people. The magnificent
dress of the emperor, attired in his red buskins and glittering tiara,
the scarcely less gorgeous apparel of the numerous courtiers who
surrounded him, with the gay and motley appearance of the multi-
tude below, produced a rich combination of colours which, with the
perpetual mobility of the crowd, in some degree resembled the
changes produced to the eye by the kaleidescope. Nor were the enter-
tainments confined to feasting : robes of scarlet and purple were dis-
tributed to the people; musicians, singers, dancers, and jugglers
contributed to the gaiety of the scene, which resembled in many
respects an Italian carnival. Meanwhile, such of the guards as were
off duty mingled with the crowd, and shared in their various amuse-
ments. Most of them, however, were collected in circles at the rear
of the dense mass which surrounded the basin, and indulged in those
athletic sports in which they principally delighted, and for which
their taste — at once a cause and effect of their great muscular strength,
contributed to increase their efficiency as soldiers. Nor were they al-
ways without competitors in these exercises amongst the natives of
the country. The Greeks, though never at any period equal to the

THE VARANGIANS. 199

men of the North in stature and weight, nor in firmness, either of
mind or body, were yet, even at this period, when luxury had
greatly enervated them, far from being generally a dwarfish or even
a weak people ; and though none could surpass the islanders in the
more straightforward and natural feats of activity, such as running
and leaping, the Greeks possessed a degree of flexibility which has
always been characteristic of the people of the East, and which may
be said to resemble more nearly that of some of the inferior animals,
than the agility of ordinary men. This sometimes served them even
in wrestling, in which, moreover, they had not entirely forgotten the
skill which their ancestors possessed, who were encouraged by the
lawgivers to practise those manly sports to which the Varangians
rushed, impelled only by natural inclination. In one of the rings,
a short thickset Greek had just been thrown, after a well-contested
struggle by one of his countrymen, a tall and exceedingly well made
young man, rather slender, indeed, but not deficient either in strength
or activity and possessing in its fullest extent that eel-like flexibility
which we have just noticed. He was not long without another antago-
nist in the person of one of the Englishmen of about the same height,
stronger, and possessing the other requisites for success in a greater
or less degree with a reference to his antagonist, in about the same
proportion as they were generally characteristic of their respective
nations. The contest was not soon decided : the soldier, a native of
Cornwall, a district famed from time immemorial for excellence in
the art, was ignorant of no manoeuvre which might ensure victory ;
but his grasp was still eluded by the Greek, who contrived to keep
at a distance, and even when brought to the ground by main force,
to avoid falling on his back, a consummation necessary to conclude
the contest. At length, however, grown confident, heated by the
sport, and imagining from the quickened breathing, and relaxed hold
of his antagonist, that his strength was reduced to his own pitch, he
abandoned his caution, and met the hug of the Cornishman, who
threw him to the earth, amidst the cheers of his surrounding com-
rades. As these subsided an indistinct murmur was heard, which
commencing amongst those in the vicinity of the emperor, and his
attendants, spread itself through the vast multitude, and it was evi-
dent that some circumstance of unusual interest had occurred. A
messenger, almost breathless with the speed with which he had pro-
secuted his journey, had been admitted to the presence of Alexius,
and that monarch had, with his principal counsellors, withdrawn from
the scene of festivity. That messenger had indeed brought tidings
of alarming import; Guiscard had been re-inforced, a pestilence
which had raged amongst his troops had passed away, and from his
unweared energy and perseverence, it was probable that Durazzo, if
not speedily relieved, must fall.

The garrison of Durazzo was principally composed of Albanians
and Epirots, the most warlike of the native portion of the army of
Alexius. Boldly and skilfully did they maintain their important
trust, and but for the master-mind opposed to them, their efforts
might have been successful, for much of the besieging force was com-
posed of Italians and Sicilians, formidable neither for native courage,

200 THE VARANGIANS.

nor for discipline. But Guiscard laboured incessantly to infuse a
portion of his own energy into the drooping hearts of his followers.

It was at this period of the siege, whilst success was yet doubtful,
that a group of experienced and war-worn veterans emerged from a
spacious tent, leaving behind them but two persons. One of them
was a female rather past the middle age, the expression of whose
countenance naturally somewhat stern and haughty, was at present
softened by the interest with which she appeared to watch that of her
companion. This was a man somewhat advanced in years, but whose
. towering stature and athletic form announced that the great strength
of his youth was yet not materially diminished : his complexion was
fair and ruddy, and his eye had the glance of an eagle. It was
Robert Guiscard himself; his companion was his wife Gaita.

" After observing him for some time in silence," she said, doubt-
ingly, " thou wilt persevere, then, Robert, in this enterprise?"

" And wherefore not !" he replied, at length roused from his ab-
straction, "shall I who have triumphed over the hardy veterans of
Germany in the plains of Civitella, and rendered the Norman name
terrible throughout Sicily and Italy, shrink from the mimic fire of
these Greeks, or from the undisciplined banditti who man their ram-
parts ? No — ultimate success is certain, and could I but exchange
these crowds of Sicilians for half their numbers of such men as fol-
lowed me from Normandy, these walls would not long detain me in
the West of Greece."

" But the emperor is said to have formed an immense and powerful
army : nay, rumour says that it is already marching to the relief of
this valued fortress."

" That army has five hundred miles to pass, before its presence
can influence my operations : ere it arrive, Durazzo will have fallen ;
moreover, I know its composition — a mixed crowd of Greeks
and barbarians, of various languages and habits, hating and distrust-
ing each other — for their alliance is but of yesterday — and generally
formidable only from their numbers. Thousands of them would fly
at the charge of but a hundred of my knights."

" The Varangians — the English guards — are they, think you, not
made of sterner stuff?"

" Ha ! those island dogs — they are indeed the men from whom we
have the most to fear. I have indeed heard that the bears of the
Norwegian forests meet not their foes with rougher embraces than do
these English. Yet, I would not have it otherwise ; there is little
glory in vanquishing a feeble foe, and they shall be vanquished ; they
form but a small part of the host of Alexius ; and can their axes pro-
tect them from the onset of my mailed cavalry, to which their blind
and obstinate pugnacity will not fail to expose them ? No — the
laurels gained by Duke William at Hastings shall be eclipsed by
those of Guiscard at Durazzo. Then to march upon Constantinople,
and soon shall the Roman sceptre be grasped by the firm hand of a
Norman baron !"

About the time of the great festival, which we have already re-
corded, a man introduced himself to several of the Varangians as a
travelling merchant : on that occasion also he attracted their notice

THE VARANGIANS. 201

by his expertness at various games and pastimes ; and as he was a
lively companion, sang well, and was fully provided with amusing
tales of various countries which he had collected in his wandering
life, and possessing, in addition to a perfect acquaintance with the
Latin, Greek, and Norman-French languages, some little knowledge
of their own tongue, he speedily became a great favourite with the
men in general, and was on terms of perfect intimacy with many,
over the minds of some of whom, indeed, he soon began to exercise a
considerable degree of influence. He was, he said, a Sicilian by birth ;
and confessed that he had visited his countrymen in the camp before
Durazzo : he spoke of Guiscard, his valour, his skill, the mutual attach-
ment that subsisted between that general and his army, and how
proud and happy he would be to number in their ranks, such troops
as the Varangians. On the other hand he inveighed against the
vices of the Greeks, their cowardice, their effeminacy ; how much
fitter were the Normans for companions to warriors, many of whom
sprung from the same stock, though circumstances had placed them
in hostility against each other. Most of his auditors listened in
silence, and never for an instant thought of acting upon such sugges-
tions ; for although they hated and despised the Greeks, they were
devoted to their chiefs, and sternly faithful to the government which
had fostered them, while they ardently desired to humble the pride
of their all-conquering enemies. Some, however, there were upon
whom his eloquence had more effect, and to these he began cautiously
and gradually to offer rewards of money, or rank as the price of de-
sertion, treachery, or the seduction of their comrades from their duty.
Others less discreet he plied with wine, and endeavoured to excite to
contention with their allies, and other acts of insubordination. The
baneful influence which the stranger was acquiring was first perceived
by Dunstan, a veteran, who, older than the generality of his associates,
and adding to the form and strength of an Ajax, the wisdom, though
not the eloquence of a Nestor, was not only respected by the privates,
but confided in by the chiefs of the Varangians. A hint from him
to the latter respecting the character of the merchant was immediately
followed by a peremptory order for his expulsion from the quarters
of the guards. When the stranger was made sensible of this decree
(which he instantly obeyed), he was engaged with several of his
military associates in discussing some wine in a tavern which was
much frequented by them. His companions at first beheld his dis-
missal in sullen silence, but ceased not from their pleasing task until,
as the liquor began to affect their brains, they became noisy and turbu-
lent ; they insulted the terrified inmates of the house — they destroyed
the furniture, and with loud shouts and imprecations, sallied forth
into the streets, and commenced an attack upon such of the natives as
they met. In this they were joined by some of their comrades, whilst
others expostulated with, and endeavoured to control them, and some
ran to apprise their chiefs. The affrighted Greeks fled in every direc-
tion, or were laid prostrate by their antagonists, who were, fortunately,
unarmed, save that some of them wielded fragments of benches, and
others logs ; but most of them employed those natural weapons only,
for the use of which, the nation to which most of them belonged,
M. M. No. 92. 2 D

202 THE VAUANGIANS.

appears to have possessed a natural genius. Suddenly, however, a
martial form was seen rapidly advancing through the dismayed
crowd, and a voice of thunder was heard recalling the infuriated
warriors to their duty. It was Redwald ; and his sudden apparition,
his threatening brow, and drawn sword, struck awe into the souls of
his followers, maddened or stupefied as they were with their late de-
bauch. But a huge Dane, the most intoxicated of the party, and by
nature fierce and turbulent, seizing a bar of iron from the hand of a
workman in the crowd, aimed a violent blow at Redwald, exclaiming
" Comrades, what fear ye ? Stay, but an instant, and with this — "

He spoke no more. Swifter than the lightning, the sword of
Redwald descending cut sheer through the enormous neck, and
the head rolled in the dust, the eyes glaring hideously, and the
shaggy red beard dyed a deeper hue in the vital fluid. The rest, who
had been preparing for resistance, shrank back appalled. Redwald
lost not a moment, but rushing amongst them, striking some with the
flat of his bloody blade, and rebuking all in a loud and authorative
tone, compelled their submission, and ceased not till he had delivered
them into the charge of a guard of their fellow-soldiers who now
arrived at the scene of action, and had beheld them placed in con-
finement. For many days subsequent to this mutinous display,
Redwald was entirely occupied with his military duties, and saw not
Evadne, whom indeed he had seldom visited for some time previous,
having been engaged, in the intervals of his own more peculiar duty,
in assisting in the training of some of the raw levies which the
emperor had raised in the northern provinces of his dominions, and
had added to his numerous, though motley, forces. But one after-
noon whilst he was conversing with a group of his friends, he was
called aside by a little Greek, in whose countenance and twinkling
black eyes there was a strong expression of mirth, together with
knavery, who imparted to him in a low tone such tidings as made
him instantly hurry to seek his horses and servants, without giving
any explanation of the cause of his haste to the somewhat surprised
party.

Besides the Varangians, the Emperor had now in pay a small
body of adventurers from France or Germany, and amongst these
had lately been admitted, at his own request, a stranger, who claimed
to be of noble descent, though possessing nought but his sword. His
name, he said, was Galahautin ; he was handsome and elegant in
person, polished and insinuating in his manners ; so much so, indeed,
that he was without hesitation admitted into the society of the most
distinguished families in Constantinople. Amongst these was that of
Lesbia, an honour which he had been particularly anxious to obtain,
for he had already seen Evadne, and had already nourished in his
mind the idea of obtaining her love, in the pursuit of which he was
resolved to be overcome by nothing but impossibility. When intro-
duced to her he was not, however, too precipitate in his attentions,
but by an artful and measured conduct endeavoured gradually to win
a place in her affections. His various accomplishments and know-
ledge of the world made him a most agreeable companion, and his
apparent frankness and benevolence induced Evadne to listen for a

THE VARANGIANS. 203

time with pleasure to his conversation, and even to view him with
some degree of interest and regard. Emboldened by this, he began
at length to imagine that he might venture to prefer his suit (for he
was as yet ignorant of her love for Redwald), and availing himself of
a temporary absence of Lesbia (with whom he was an especial fa-
vourite) from an apartment where she and her young ward had been
conversing, he poured into the ear of the latter an eloquent and ardent
declaration of his passion, nor would he be denied until she confessed
the existence of a previous attachment.

To the mansion of which Evadne was an inmate there appertained
a spacious garden, which opened upon a road, shaded on one side by
a small grove, and on the other commanding a view of open heaths,
which communicated with the great western way to the city, at the
distance of two or three miles. It was the practice of our heroine
frequently to walk in this garden, and sometimes, when accompanied
by her female attendants, she would even venture to advance into
the country beyond the grove, of which we have made mention.
This was not unknown to Galahautin, who had been assiduously
watching the movements of the family, a pursuit in which he was
mainly assisted by Cario, one of the domestics, who was easily per-
suaded, by dint of an occasional bribe, to afford almost any informa-
tion in his power, which could be acceptable to the stranger.
Thinking himself sure of this man's fidelity to his own rogueries, or
thrown off his guard by passion and jealousy, the Frank promised
him a reward, which seemed at variance with his supposed straight-
ened fortunes, if he would give him correct information of the next
visit of Evadne to her favourite haunts. The crafty Greek accepted
the terms, and fulfilled his promise, but having at the least a strong
suspicion that there was mischief in the intentions of the stranger, he
had no sooner secured his reward, than he hastened to apprize Red-
wald of the probable danger his mistress had incurred, taking care,
however, to be silent as to his own share in the transaction. He , it
was whose arrival caused the abrupt departure of the Varangian, who
did not, however, omit, together with hasty thanks, to bestow another
donation on the fortunate Cario, with a promise of future favours.
Not a few gifts had the latter already received from the same quar-
ter, for his apparently zealous attachment to our heroine — a sentiment
which was not, indeed, entirely feigned.

In the meantime Evadne, without fear or suspicion, strayed
through the mazes of the beautiful and fruitful garden, now tinged
with red by the glow of the almost setting sun. As the enamoured
Frank had hoped, she passed through its extremity, and wandered
forth upon the adjoining road, which was rarely used, except by the
inmates of the abode she had quitted. She was a few paces in ad-
vance of her two attendant maidens, when just as they had so far
skirted the grove on their right that an angle in the road placed them
out of sight of any habitation, three horsemen emerged from the trees
which had concealed them, two of whom seized the terrified attend-
ants, and preventing their shrieks, hastily raised them from the
ground, and placing them before them, followed him who appeared
to be their leader, who, admirably mounted, was flying with Evadne,

204 THE VA11ANGIANS.

whom he had secured in the same manner, far over the plain, with a
whirlwind's speed. But as they entirely emerged from the protec-
tion of the trees, the sound of hoofs was heard in another direction,
and they descried a party of five horsemen advancing on their right,
whose gestures were evidently hostile — three of whom directed their
chargers full upon themselves, whilst the other two, though at un-
equal distances, sped in pursuit of their leader. The Frank, for he
it was who held Evadne, endeavoured, when he perceived his pur-
suers, to urge his steed to still further exertions, but in his most
headlong career the animal stumbled on a stone concealed by weeds
or grass. His riders fell to the earth, and though both were un-
harmed, the stranger had scarcely recovered his feet, when Redwald,
equally rapid and more fortunate, had overtaken him, and throwing
himself from his steed, had seized his Evadne, whom he scarcely
hoped to find uninjured by the violence of the shock. But the
ravisher, drawing his sword, rushed on the British warrior with the
desperation of a tiger, provoking a contest which, though desperate,
was short. In skill, activity, courage, and mutual hatred, the com-
batants were well matched, but, stronger and somewhat taller than
his adversary, the Varangian had, on this occasion at least, the ad-
vantage of coolness, for the violence of the fall might have confused
the brain and eyesight of the stranger, whose head was speedily cleft
in sunder by a dreadful blow. In the meantime the other two had
surrendered to Austin and three other Varangian chiefs, who had
prevailed on Redwald to allow them to accompany him. They
proved to be deserters from the Frank company in the service of the
Emperor, and before they suffered the just reward of their crimes,
their confession, together with letters and other documents found oil
the person of the slain, had proved the Frank captain, the rival of
Redwald, and the itinerant merchant, who had laboured to corrupt
the fidelity of the Varangians, to be the same individual. It further
appeared that he wras a Sicilian-Norman, rich, powerful, and high in
favour with Guiscard, and that his name was Geoffrey Montalto.

It was on the eve of the 18th of October, 1081, that the numerous
army of Alexius, commanded by their monarch in person, having
performed a toilsome march of 500 miles, were assembled in the
plains before Durazzo. But that army was composed of unequal
and discordant materials ; it consisted of the troops of various na-
tions, widely differing in valour, arms, discipline, and manner of
fighting, not unlikely to dispute amongst themselves, and the fidelity
of some of whom, it might be reasonably imagined, was not calcu-
lated to resist a very severe trial. First in physical and mental
hardihood of all these numerous bands stood the Varangians, but
being composed exclusively of infantry, though they might be con-
sidered invincible by any thing like an equal number of that descrip-
tion of troops, their scanty defensive armour would be likely to render
unequal a contest betwixt them and the well protected Norman
cavalry. The besetting sin of these warriors was intemperance,
which the example of their chiefs did not always tend to check, and
which led to not unfrequent quarrels between them and the native
subjects of Alexius ; but the indefatigable exertions of Redwald,

THE VARANGIANS. 205

himself free from this reproach, had of late nearly eradicated it from
his followers ; and the slight tendency to insubordination and mutiny
which had been created by the arts of the Norman spy, had been
entirely dissipated. Inferior in quality, but still resembling the
Varangians in many points, were the few Frank companies we have
before mentioned, whose fidelity had been more dangerously shaken
by the treacherous Montalto; but prompt and vigorous measures
had stopped the further progress of disaffection, and they might be
considered a trustworthy, and for their numbers a formidable body
of men. They were heavily armed, and carried shields ; their of-
fensive weapon was a long and ponderous sword. Some of the
light and Parthian-like Turkish cavalry had been obtained by inter-
cession from their powerful master, but their missile weapons were
fitter for harassing the march of an enemy, than for engaging in such
a contest as was now approaching ; nor were they very numerous.
The great bulk of the army was composed of the natives of the Em-
pire, and of these the people of Thrace, Epirus and Albania were
indisputably the most formidable portion. They were in fact by no
means deficient in courage or hardihood, but a numerous force of
their best men were already in garrison at Durazzo. The Greeks
and Asiatics were more effeminate alike in mind and body, and were
indeed but a feeble source of hope, although they were well pro-
vided with arms offensive and defensive, for close or for distant combat.

It was sun-set when Redwald and Austin stood together a little
apart from the army on a small hill, which commanded a view of the
Norman camp. The former was in high spirits ; his eyes flashed,
and his countenance glowed with animation, as he looked on the
scene before him, and the " stem joy" of anticipated revenge filled
his bosom, as he beheld those foes whom he hated as men, whilst he
regarded them as antagonists ' e worthy of his steel."

(l Behold ! my friend," said he, ( ' the moment we have so long
ardently desired is at hand. We behold the brethren of those
enemies who slew and despoiled our fathers, and now retain in
slavery and disgrace our unhappy country. Oh ! were that country
but half,so firmly united in purpose as is the small band of her sons
in arms in this plain, how surely were the fetters broken from their
limbs, and from their spirit, and their haughty tyrants trampled
bleeding beneath their feet, or hurled from the white cliffs of Albion
into the foaming tide ! Yet 'tis pity that we stand not here alone;
for though I am well assured the fortune of the coming day rests on
the English axes, and that where force and not craft is required our
womanish allies will not refuse us the work of battle, whilst in their
corrupt and luxurious capital, when danger is distant, they will
boast of their deeds of arms j yet will the world, will the Normans
themselves learn or confess to whom the glory of victory will be due
amongst these thousands ? But, no matter — we at least shall possess
the proud consciousness of having humbled an enemy, and saved an
empire." Here glancing at his friend, he paused, in some surprise
and vexation, for Austin'stood with his arms folded, and his look indi-
cating gloom and abstraction, rather than martial or patriotic enthu-
siasm.

'206 THE VARANGIANS.

" Austin," exclaimed Redwald, " of what thirikest thou ? Is this
a time for melancholy reflections when an enemy is in sight ? Cheer
up, my friend, or if thou hast indeed any secret cause of uneasiness,
confide it to me ; thou well knowest thou mayest depend on my ad-
vice, consolation, or assistance. If either of us should now give way
to gloomy meditation, have not I far more cause than thee. Thou
hast not, so far as I know, either wife or mistress ? I leave a lovely
maid, who would, but for this Norman pest, have been already mine,
and whose fate, should I fall, I tremble but to think of. But I banish
such ideas, since they can avail nought, and think only as a soldier
should — of victory and of glory."

" Redwald," replied his companion, " thy reproof is just. I leave
none behind me whom my fate can injure; nor, save thyself, have I
a friend for whose welfare I feel any deep anxiety. Thou knowest
that the loss of parents, brethren, and native land, have, with subse-
quent sickness, and the disgust which I feel for the unworthy
people in whose cause I have engaged, long since made me seek
death rather as a thing to be desired than dreaded. Still its near ap-
proach (for I feel certain that to-morrow's sun is the last I shall
behold), is awful, and disposes the mind, spite of itself, to doubt and
speculation. Yet could I, like thee, look forward to infallible victory
over these invaders in the coming battle, joy like thine would possess
my soul ; but, my friend, since thou urgest me, I will confess, well
knowing thy ardour will not be damped by ought that my despond-
ing mind or distempered imagination can suggest, that I cannot
subdue the impression that the fortune of the day will be against us,
and that our hoped-for revenge must be deferred to a future period.
But, doubt not that I shall do my duty — doubt not that whosoever
may be victorious, no Varangian shall fall dishonoured."

Redwald heard this declaration with deep concern, but could not
think that there existed any real ground for doubting that success
would crown the English arms ; and well aware of the unhappy
temper of his friend, he could not but feel that his death (though it
would deprive himself of the society of one whose excellent qualities
he knew and loved), was perhaps not a subject for unqualified la-
mentation. He, however, spoke cheeringly to him, and endeavoured
by argument to convince him how groundless were his fears, calmly
pointing out the numerous advantages possessed, as it appeared to
him, by Alexius ; but as the persuasion of Austin was not founded on
reason, it remained but little shaken. The ardour of Redwald, his
hatred of the Normans, and his high estimation of the valour of his
countrymen, outweighed the usual coolness of his judgment; for
many of the most able generals of Alexius had dissuaded their mo-
narch from a general engagement, and it was against their advice
that he was about to give battle.

The army of Guiscard was indeed far inferior in numbers to that
of his rival, and like it his also was principally composed of soldiers
of no extraordinary merit. But as far as his force was generally out-
numbered by the enemy, it was more numerous than the Varan-
gians, whose defeat he felt convinced would infallibly be the imme-
diate forerunner of that of the whole Greek army ; and though the

THE VARANGIANS. 207

military qualities of Alexius were not contemptible, he felt a just
confidence in the superiority of his own. He addressed his warriors
in an animating speech, though he did not disguise from them the
peril of their situation ; and finally, to dispel all idea of flight, from
the minds of those, if such there were, who were disposed to it, he pro-
posed to them, (and the proposal was accepted with acclamation,) to
burn immediately their vessels and their baggage, and he thus awaited
before his lines the attack of the enemy — having a rivulet in his
rear, a range of hills on his left wing, and on the right the sea. The
town was in the rear of the Normans, beyond the river. The garri-
son had been directed by Alexius, to aid his operations by a sally,
but this had been foreseen by Guiscard, and the enterprise prevented
by the destruction of the bridge which crossed the stream.

With the morning's light the Normans beheld their enemies close
upon them, for they had marched in darkness, in the vain hope of
surprising the wary Robert. In their van advanced the formidable
Varangians, armed with those weighty axes, against which, wielded
by English arms, no armour was proof; the cavalry were dispersed
on both flanks, and the Greek infantry were somewhat imprudently
posted in the rear of the islanders, a disposition which was calculated
to render their missiles of no avail, and to entail certain disaster upon
them, should the Varangians be defeated. Led by their Acolyth or
chief, the latter rushed upon the Norman infantry, with the desperate
energy of bull-dogs, and for a short time the contest was terrible, and
the ground was speedily heaped with the carcases of the slain, whose
wounds indicated the terrible nature of the weapons with which they
had been inflicted, for arms, legs, and heads might be seen on every
side, lopped from their disfigured trunks. Amongst the numbers of
those who bit the dust, lay Michael, the pretended claimant of the
Greek crown. But this lasted not long. The Italian infantry, who
were opposed to the English warriors, struck with consternation at
the fearful slaughter spreading through their ranks, in spite of the
gallant exertions of their leaders, gave way, and at length fell into
general and irretrievable confusion. But their flight was checked by
the river and the sea, and some Venetian vessels which, as allies of
the Greek emperor, guarded the coast, plied the unfortunate fugi-
tives with showers of missiles. The wife of Robert, in vainly endea-
vouring to rally them by a masculine display of courage, was wounded
by an arrow. The duke himself, rearing his stately form, which
surpassed in height that of his tallest warriors, and snouting, in the
most powerful tones of his sonorous voice, reminded them of the
hopeless folly of their flight ; but had his hopes rested on the conduct
of the men he now addressed, his defeat would have been inevitable.
But the impetuosity of the English proved, as he had anticipated, the
cause of their own discomfiture. Advancing rapidly, as if the victory
was already gained, they outstripped their less ardent allies, and their
flank, unprotected by any natural defence, and now deprived of the
light Turkish squadrons, by which it had been veiled rather than for-
tified, was charged by a reserve of steel-clad Norman knights, which
Guiscard, ever provident, had held in readiness for this especial ser-
vice. The enemy, suddenly emerging from the tumultous throng,

THE VARANGIANS.

were intermingled with the English almost before they had perceived
them; there was no time for council, and flight was unthought of.
The onset of the Normans was like a furious tempest — the resistance
of the Vangarians was like that of the oaks of their native forests.
Numbers fell in the first shock, butthe survivors, wielding their ponder-
ous weapons with redoubled force, laid many a horse and many a
rider on the blood-stained field. In the midst of this terrible combat,
Austin, who, like the rest of the chieftains, fought on foot, saw Red-
wald, at a little distance, surrounded by three horsemen, and
evidently in the greatest peril. By a desperate exertion of strength
he broke through the press, uttering a dreadful cry, which caused
two of his friend's opponents to turn, as if startled, at the sudden
sound. In an instant the foremost was a corse at the feet of Austin,
but before that devoted youth could recover his weapon, the lance of
the second Norman had pierced his heart. Redwald, having just
slain his first antagonist, beheld, with a cry of rage and grief, the fate
of his friend. Too late to save him, he was not too late for revenge.
The helmeted head of the knight fell on the earth before his astonished
courser, and Redwald, hurling the trunk from the saddle, in an instant
vaulted into it himself, brandishing the lance of the conquered foe.
One glance along the line shewed him how true were the sad fore-
bodings of his friend. His brave and faithful soldiers lay, with few
exceptions, dead or wounded on the plain, the few survivors having
been forced back upon their Greek allies. The bitter grief of the
hero did not render him unmindful of the sovereign whom it was his
duty to guard. Alexius himself, who had hitherto exposed his person
in the thickest of the throng, now looked around, and perceived the
Turks already in flight, and his own subjects rapidly giving way.
Conscious that the day was lost, he unwillingly turned his thoughts
to flight, and, aided by Redwald, a few of the surviving English, and
other stragglers, he cu this way through the party of cavalry which
had proved the destruction of his army, and gained the mountains.

Redwald, having assisted in the preservation of his royal master,
collected the scanty remains of his countrymen which the battle had
spared, repaired to Constantinople, where a few had been left to de-
fend the precincts of the court. He was speedily united to his lovely
bride, whose possession in some .measure repaid him for the deep
sorrow and humiliation which the'defeat of Durazzo had heaped upon
him. He served, however, with honour throughout the chequered
course of the war. Though the late decisive battle had proved dis-
astrous, like that at Hastings/^he felt proudly conscious that, as on
that occasion, the valour, at least, of his countrymen, had been proved
second to none ; and his subsequent life was cheered by the intelli-
gence of victories ravished from the Normans on their own soil, and
the increasing military fame of the hardy islanders. His domestic
happiness was perfect ; or if imperfect, inferior to none ever enjoyed
by man. The Varangians, or their posterity, remained for centuries
the chosen guard of the court of Constantinople ; and amongst that
chosen band, none were more celebrated than the descendants of Red-
wald and Evadne.

THE GENTLEMAN USHER.

IT was on the third of February., 1821,, that,, seduced by the puff

of an advertisment, I set out for , in order to propose myself

as a candidate for the place of senior assistant in Mr. B/s academy.
This was no time for pride ; so, forgetting the pedigree which has
long hung in letters of gold over my uncle's mantle-piece ; and, con-
sidering only the plebeian condition of my pocket, I slunk secretly
into an omnibus ; and after many stoppages, and many irruptions of
wretches cold and wet into the same narrow vehicle with myself,
I arrived, at the expense of half of my fortune, and all my temper,
within a quarter of a mile of the place of my destination. Here the
omnibus pulled up, and I had to cut my way, my liquidum iter, as
Virgil has it, ancle deep through the sea of mud that lay over an
open common in front of Mr. B/s house. The rain had increased
during my journey, and as I am not worth a great coat, I made as
much haste as circumstances would permit. But, as my friend, the
ex-member for Preston, has acutely observed, " more haste, worse
speed ;" and so it prov ed with me. In my hurry, I lost my shoe j
in recovering my shoe I lost my hat, and in recovering my hat, I lost
my balance. For a while, I stood with one leg in the air, waving
and quivering like an Irish scarecrow in a high wind, arid executing
the most ludicrous attitudes. This lasted but a moment, for my only
remaining stay slipping from under me, I was lowered with all the
deliberation, but without the dignity, of a dowager, into the softest
cushion in the world.

A loud laugh from two or three of Mr. B/s pupils, who were
larking, as they called it — that is, pelting each other with mud,
not many paces from where I was fitting, filled up the measure of my
chagrin. You will pay dearly for that joke, some of you, I muttered
to myself, as, having recovered my hat, I slowly rose from the
ground. Resolved, however, not to betray any symptoms of dis-
comfiture, I clapped my hat on my head without looking at it, and
whistling a sorry tune to shew my unconcern, marched, with all
the magnificence of an usher, straight up to Mr. B/s door. Unsub-
dued by misfortune, and true to the blood of the third Edward
which flows in my veins, I gave one of those thundering summonses
which none but the aristocracy and footmen are privileged to exe-
cute— an effort of vanity which brought its own punishment ; for
the servant of the establishment, who was at that time engaged in
some sort of dirty work, naturally concluding that such an authora-
tative appeal could come from no other than the sixth cousin of
Lord B., whose nephew, as I afterwards learned, Mr. B. had
the honour of educating, I was compelled to wait in the rain,
till the said servant, washed, cleaned, and arrayed in a yellow
livery, thought himself decent enough, and sweet enough to admit
so distinguished a personage. I shall never forget the expression of
the fellow's face when he saw me. Indeed I must have looked not

M. M. No. 92. E

210 THE GENTLEMAN L'SHKit.

unlike Father Thomas in the fl Dunciad," or one of those plaster
figures of mud which rescued the genius of our noblest artist from the
plough. " Why you have been in the dirt, sure enough/' was the
pleasant remark of this luminary. " Is your master at home ?" I
asked without noticing his observation. se Oh yes, he's at home : he's
always at home, I warrant. But had'nt I better just give you a bit
of a rub down with a clout, before I show you into the dining-room ? —
for master's wery particular about his furniture."

I submitted to this proposed operation, notwithstanding the fellow
hissed and whistled during his work as though he were really rubbing
down his master's horse. John's passion for conversation was not yet
satisfied. " You're come I suppose to offer for the place of he that
died," he remarked in the most familiar tone imaginable ; " but I
don't think you'll do, for master said the next should be a strong un."
Out of all patience at this, I demanded to be instantly shewn into the
dining-room. With a shrug of the shoulders the man complied,
saying as he left me, " You must'nt sit in the great chair, because
that's master's."

Whether he had been aiding and abetting John in his dirty work
I know not, but another quarter of an hour had elapsed, before with
face newly washed and shining shoes, Mr. B. entered the room.
For that quarter of an hour, which seemed an age, I was left to
indulge my own thoughts as it is called ; — and what an indulgence !
Remorse for the past, despair of the future, all that 1 had done, and
all that I had omitted to do, struck a horror on my spirits which I
cannot describe, and which none but those who have fooled away
their opportunities as I have done would be able to understand. I
thought of the high promise with which I had entered on my univer-
sity career, of the meagre performance with which it closed, of a
father's disappointed hope, of a sister's tears. In short, I indulged in
reflecting upon all those little disagreeables which coward con-
science flings in a man's teeth when friends and fortune have deserted
him. Then the many small, but no less irritating evils of the situa-
tion I was seeking, stuck like so many burrs upon my fancy ; to be-
come at once an underling tyrant, a Dionysius the little, an auceps
syllabarum — to waste my whole voice, soul, and energies, on hopeless
stupidity, or malicious inattention — to be eloquent on the right posi-
tion of an accent, indignant at a false quantity, enthusiastic on a
particle — to such a life was I destined by poverty, at least for the
present ; and how could I be certain that the practice of one short
year would riot so far pulverize the powers of my mind, so assimilate
them to the minutiae of the objects about which they were engaged,
that I should never again be capable of any noble or manly exertion ?
I may become, I thought, a willing, a contented pedagogue for life.
A moment more, and I should have been working my way through
snow, sleet, and slime, back to London, and my unpaid for garret.
My hand was on the lock, when Mr. G. — entered; a rude concus-
sion, and a mutual beg pardon, perfected our introduction. Bowing
was impossible — the slightest inclination on my side would have
brought my head in contact with his nose, and the wall was too near
him to allow of that back fling of the foot, so necessary to a school-

THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 21l

master for the completion of the performance. With much move-
ment of legs and arms he motioned me to a chair. There was a
certain baggyness at the knees of his breeches, contracted from much
sitting, and a whiteness at the elbows of his coat, that marked the
nature of his profession ; but no single ray of intellect illuminated
the waste of his countenance. Every question, reply, and rejoinder,
in the dialogue which ensued, seemed to throw me farther from the
situation at which I was aiming; and it became evident, before the
end of our conference, that no one acquirement of which I was pos-
sessed, would be requisite in Mr. B's. intended assistant, and that all
which I had not were absolutely indispensable. I did not believe
without reservation in Dawes's miscellanea — I had never learnt the
Propria quos maribus, nor ever heard of the grammar school at
Leeds ; and what was worse than all I could not undertake to carve
a leg of mutton for fifty hungry boys so as to satisfy all. But I had
been educated at Cambridge ; no matter, Mr. B. had taken an under-
line degree at Oxford. I had studied Porson, but Person was of
Cambridge ; and Herman — " Pooh, he was a Dutchman."

" Well, then," I exclaimed, not a little indignant at the contempt
manifested for my classical knowledge, " I have read Aristophanes,
Eschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristotle, Plato, • ."

" No doubt, sir, no doubt/' said he, taking ungenerous advantage
of my pausing to recover my breath, " I dare say you have read all
these authors, and a great many more. Bat excuse me, esl modus in
rebus. There is a manner of doing things ; besides this is not the
sort of knowledge which I look for in my academy. My system, sir,
is an entirely new one, a mode not pursued in any school or univer-
sity but my own. It will be necessary that my seniaur assistant
should have devoted his time and attention almost exclusively to the
formation, sir, the derivation, and the radical foundation of nouns,
adjectives, and verbs."

As this dictum was delivered from the head master of an academy
in a high-backed elbow chair, well furnished with pads and cushions,
to an expectant usher, wet and shivering, on a meagre cane-bottom, I
merely ventured to reply, that I thought knowledge of that kind, was
in some degree inculcated in every school in the kingdom. A smile
of odious condescension, that seemed to pity the ignorance he was
about to cover with confusion, was his only answer ; and rising from
his chair, like one who meditates mighty purposes,jhe rang the bell,
and bid the servant summons master Williams immediately to his
presence. While Master Williams was being screamed for through
the premises, I thought I might turn to subjects of lighter import. I
spoke of the theatres and the opera. He heard with apparent atten-
tion, and I fancied that I had interested him by my remarks, till his
reply, alas ! shewed too clearly, that his whole mind had been all the
while occupied in the labour of producing a small pun — " These,
sir," said he, ie are not the subjects which engage our thoughts here.
We know of no theatre here, but the theatre of the Greeks — no
opera but the Opera Virgilii"

The laugh which followed this speech, loudly reverberated by the
expectant usher, occupied the remaining time till Master Williams

'2\*2 THE CENTLF..MAN USHER.

burst into the room ; he was one of the young gentlemen by the way,
who had witnessed my misfortunes before the door. A painter could
have desired no better specimen of a school-boy. Long, straight,
uncombed hair, a Saturday frill, brown corduroy trowsers, worn at
the knees with marble-playing, and shrunk more than half way up
the spindle shanks, blue worsteds, in folds, and rusty calf-skin shoes,
were the distinguishing characteristics of the exterior of Master Wil-
liams. Of his mental accomplishments I was shortly to judge.
" Come here sir," said the master, in a patronizing voice, •" come here

and shew this gentleman, that we do know something, even at .

Just stand upright, look at me, and blow your nose, my boy. Now,
answer my questions." Master Williams parroted half a dozen
stupid answers to as many ridiculous demands upon his memory.
" Pray, young gentleman," said I — " That's right ; you may go," ex-
claimed Mr. B., drowning my voice, and affecting not to perceive my
intention of taking up the examination myself. The words were no
sooner out of his mouth, than the young phenomenon snatched his
hands from his breeches pocket and bolted.

" And now," said B., " now that I have practically developed my
system, will you favour me with a translation or two from some an-
cient author? " I replied that I had no objection, and muttered
something of testimonials from my tutors ."Testimonials !" exclaimed
he, (C yes sir, no doubt : we all know what Cambridge testimonials
are ; every applicant has testimonials. I would rather take my own
opinion than that of all the Cambridge classics together." Well,
my trial, as he called it, began ; I proceeded, apparently to his satis-
faction, until in turning an English passage into Latin, I used the
expression, studebat eloquentice. " The accusative, if you please, after
studeo," he thundered out, " at least so it has been ever since I have
been head master of this academy/' " Never before," I thought,
and might have quoted Cicero's authority in my defence, but what had
an expectant usher to do with Cicero ? So I bowed to my superior
in silence.

" Proceed we, now sir," said he, shutting the books, C( to state the
duties required to be performed by my seniaur assistant. He must
be in the school-room every morning at six o'clock precisely," —
<( Winter and summer, sir ?" (< Yes sir ; all the year round; I myself
take the chair at half-after eight. From nine o'clock till the half hour
during which time the boys hear prayers read by me, wash themselves,
and take their morning meal, he will be at liberty — " fc To take his
breakfast, I suppose sir ?" " Yes, or employ himself in any other way
he likes. From half-past nine till two, he will be in school again, hear-
ing lessons in classics or mathematics, as it may happen. At two, he
will dine with the boys, and carve for them. He will return to the
school at three" — " And the salary, sir," I cried, " is" — " At six he
will be free, at least — no, not free— he will of course have to look
over the exercises of the day." — " And the salary ?" I repeated in
agony. — ft Then he will walk, on Sundays, twice a day to church,
hovering on the flank of the line, and seeing that the boys keep open
order — nothing annoys me more than to see them huddled toge-
ther like so many charity children." — " And the salary, sir? —

THE GENTLEMAN USHER. 213

" Then as regards order on the common, especially when it's dirty,
as to-day, for instance, — " " And the salary" — " Why, to tell the
truth, I don't think you'll suit ; still I've no objection to try you on
a reduced scale." " What may be your minimum, sir ? " " I am not
illiberal, sir : to a D. D. I believe I have given as much as a hun-
dred a-year. But then he was an Oxford man — an Oxford Doctor, sir ?
To a bachelor I have gone so far as seventy-five ; that is, where they
have had large families to support in comfort and respectability — I
think you said you were not married/'

I was looking for my half-drowned hat, which I had placed be-
neath one of the chairs, determining to be off before he should rouze
my indignation, by an insulting offer. of thirty-five or forty pounds
a year, when the door was opened, and in swam a fine woman, about
forty — fashionably attired — affecting un air prononce, but rather
gauche, and a leetle vulgar.

" I was not aware that you were engaged," said she, with preme-
ditated confusion, but evincing no intention to retire.

" It's only an usher — another candidate my dear," said B. " Oh !
indeed." She had already scanned me with her eye, and notwith-
standing the state of my attire, I felt that she was far from disgusted.
I bowed — she curtsied — motioned me to the arm-chair from which
B. had arisen on her entrance, and was about to throw herself on a
settee, when a sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she hastily
approached the pedagogue., exclaiming, " Oh ! Mr. B., you can
have no conception of the filthy state of those plebeian little wretches,
the grocer's wife's boys are in; they are actually dabbling in the
duck-pond. Sweeping the common with my opera-glass, from my
boudoir window juct now, I luckily detected them. You know their
horrid vulgar mamma is coming this evening. You must exert your
personal authority, for not a monitor, not an usher is to be seen."

B. bolted off, with a celerity equal to that displayed by Master
Williams, and the lady, with a languishing air, exclaimed, throwing
herself into a seat, "This is a shocking life, Sir — but I should not dis-
courage you — especially for one who has moved in a different sphere."
— " Indeed it is, Madam !" said I, with an emphasis that made her
start with emotion. " I have the honour of addressing Mrs. B.
perhaps." — tc I am Mrs. B., Sir ; but excuse me — I think I have
seen you somewhere." — " Possibly, Madam." — " Did you ever pass
a season at Bath ?" — <c Several, Madam, I am sorry to say, or I
should not be, as I am now, soliciting the place of — " — e< Pardon me,
I have not always been Mrs. B. — Captain Sir Peter Gatton was my
first husband, and — a — a — " " Madam, I meant to have proposed
myself to Mr. B. under the common name of Smith, but, as a gentle-
man, I cannot, in honour, do otherwise than comply with the deli-
cate call you have made on me for my card ; my name, madam,
is — " " Hold ! Hold ! I conjure you. Not for the world would I
be guilty of such a thing as destroying a gentleman's incognito.
When you know me better, Sir, you will find that Honoria Gatton
has the feelings of a lady, although now — Good Heavens !" She
put the corner of her handkerchief to each of her eyes in rapid suc-
cession— the action was graceful, and her hand, though rather too

214 THE GKNTLKMAN USHER.

full, was exquisitely white and well-formed — a hand de bonne societe,
and I began to grow interested. " There is a dim glimmering on
the horizon of my memory, Madam/' said I, " that I once had the
honour of handing you to your carriage at the door of the opera
house." — " Possibly, possibly." — " But you were so wrapped up I
recollect — your voice was so agitated too — for you had lost your
party — the crest on the pannel, however, if I do not forget — I had
not time to look at the arms — the crest I say was — " — " A demi-bull,
rampant, argent, with horns and hoofs of gold, rising out of a ducal
coronet?" — " Exactly so." — (f It must then have been myself or Lady
G., Sir Peter's elder brother's wife, daughter to Lord Henry F. Ah !
that was the golden age of my life ; but Sir Peter squandered away
every thing — he loved me so : not but what B. does all in his power.
You must know that B. was his lordship's chaplain, and my noble
brother-in-law advanced him two thousand pounds to purchase this
affair on the morning of our marriage. It's not a bad thing. I re-
tain my box, and B. keeps me a cab comme il faul, but he can't
drive, and it's dreadful to be seen with one's rhinoceros by one's side
instead of on the foot-board. Besides if B. could drive, how could I
introduce him?" — "His style," I observed, "is not exactly — "
<f Far from it, and as I said before, when you know me better — "
" Of that pleasure, at least under present circumstances, I can have
no hopes."

I then gave a rapid sketch of my interview with the pedagogue
who, at the very instant I came to a conclusion, made his appearance
-—begrimed, sudorific, and the very reverse of dignified. " My dear,"
said Mrs. B., the moment he entered, " I am sorry to find that you
and this gentleman are in danger of differing on the very trifling
subject of terms; but I trust he will reconsider the matter. Dr.
Peters, though a man of high reputation, was not dissatisfied with
two hundred a-year." — " Two hundred/' interrupted Mr. B. " surely
— but my memory — " — " True my dear ; then the gentleman should
be told, by way of inducement, that there is no drudgery." — " Not
in the least." — " No getting up at six in the morning winter and
summer." — "Oh dear no! that is, if — " — "No carving for, and
dining with the boys." — " Certainly not, provided — " " You can
do all that, you know, my dear, and who so capable ? No walking to
church with the unruly urchins — no watching in the playground."
— " Decidedly not : what are the junior ushers for ? that is, in case — "
— " Yes, in case, as you say, the gentleman is not a mere pedant,
out combines abstract learning with a practical knowledge of the
world — one who, by his talents and manners, can increase the num-
ber as well as the rank of your pupils — one who can fairly represent
you among distinguished parents and guardians in town, while you
are doing the quiet, unobtrusive drudgery at home — a man of
family— " You did not tell me you were a man of family, Sir,"
said the meek B., " this is a desideratum. At present, I really can-
not well afford more than — " " Two hundred a-year/' interrupted
Mrs. B., " but with an increase of pupils — " " Aye, my dear, with
an increase of pupils — " " You might, perhaps, double it." " Oh !
very true, my love, but — "

A PIOUS THJ El-1. 215

The subject had reached its climax, and I relented. Years have
now rolled over my head, and I am at the head of the establishment.
B. is dead— his widow ran away with a lubberly young lord, aged
eighteen, who was just on the brink of being qualified for college,
and I have been three years married to her beautiful and accom-
plished niece, whom she generously educated and brought up ; but
with such secrecy, not wishing to have any cause of disagreement
with Sir Peter or Mr. B., that neither of them were ever aware of
her existence,, although she watched over her with truly parental
solicitude.

A PIOUS THIEF.

FROM UNPUBLISHED RECOLLECTIONS OF LA MARQUISE DE CREQUY.

" Madame de Marsan, with whom ' je faisais toujoursde petites devotions
en parties fines/ came one day to take me to drink the waters of the well of
Sainte Genevieve at Nanterre>, during ' la neuvaine' of her fete. There is in
my opinion in the devotion of the inhabitants of Paris for Sainte Genevieve
something particularly affecting. One would say that she died only yester-
day ; — and then she was a simple peasant, and was therefore unflattered during
her lifetime, or unjustly exalted after her death. There is so much sim-
plicity, veracity, and ingenuousness in this chronicle — we perceive that there
is something so authentic and incontestible hidden beneath this legend! And
then that tomb before which the long-haired kings have knelt, and those ve-
nerated bones upon which the magistrates, the princes, and people of France
have fixed their eyes for fourteen centuries ! — in short, all those traditions of
our ancient Paris, all those acts of memorable charity, and those miraculous
deeds which are registered in prophane history, have this in particular, that
they have never been controverted or contested by any sectarian ; and one
would say that the humility of St. Genevieve would have disarmed even the
enemies of our faith. ' Do not attack me on the subject of the prodigies
performed by that bonne fille,' said Voltaire to me in one of his letters, which'
I preserve ; ' that of Ardens, for instance, is as clearly demonstrated to me
as the death of Tiberius and the brutality of Calvin. I experience a childish
emotion whenever St. Genevieve is mentioned. She is my shepherdess — my
good virgin. Let us say no more on the subject, madame, unless you have
sworn to persecute me.'

" We found the church of Nanterre so crammed that we sent for the sa-
cristans to inquire if they could not admit us into the ' enceinte' beside the
shrine for the relics. ' Ah, mesdames ! no one is any longer allowed to
enter the sanctuary. M. Le Doyen has forbidden us to allow the ladies of
the court to approach the relics, and you are of course aware that Mme. de
Crequy stole from us last year a bit of the true cross' ' Mme. de Crequy,
did you say?' ' Ah, mon Dieu, oui, mesdames. She stole it from the very
altar.' I burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, while Mme. de Marsan
asked them how they could suppose that the pious thief was Mme. de Crequy.
' It was certainly she, mesdames. She came in a carriage and six, with a red
cover ; f her liveries were yellow with red lace, and her tailie was equal to

* See Monthly Mag. No. XCI., p. 69.

j- An imperial of crimson velvet, and external mark of the " honneurs dit
Louvre."

216 A 1'IOUS THIEF.

both of yours.' ' You see/ said the countess in a whisper to me, and with

a terrified air, ' that it is La Marechale de N they allude to, and this is

not her first exploit of the kind.' In fact, I perfectly recollected that La
Marechale had been accused of several similar transgressions, and particu-
larly of having cribbed, as the vulgar would say, a part of the arm of La
Bienheureuse Jeanne de Chantal. She had borrowed this relic from the
sisters of La Visitation, who never could get her to return it. They dis-
covered at last that the relic had been dissolved in a medicine, after having
been pounded in a mortar in her own presence, and given to her son, the
young Duke D'A., in the hope that it would cure him of the measles.

" As our liveries and armorial bearings were the same, the crowd assem-
bled round the church had taken her equipage for mine. But some time
after it was ascertained by whom the theft had really been committed. The
archbishop consequently sent his proctor to the hotel de N., and La Mare-
chale said, in her defence, that a stolen relic being necessary for her purpose,
she had preferred taking upon herself all the responsibility than exposing
any other person to the penalty of sacrilege. It was on this occasion that
the Archbishop of Paris and the Bishop of Chartre took the precaution of
forbidding her the communion, which was generally blamed, because they
did not choose to publish their motives.

" Those who had no tlived on terms of intimacy with La Marechale would
never have taken her to be cracked, or have imagined that she carried on an
epistolary correspondence with the Holy Virgin and the Patriarchs. She
used to d'eposit her letters in a pigeon-house at the hotel de N. As she re-
gularly found answers to them, it is supposed that these were written by her
chaplain, the famous Abbe Grisel. She was sometimes indignant at the
familiar tone assumed towards her — ' de la part/ so she expressed herself,
' d'une petite bourgeoise de Nazareth.'

" She had discovered, or thought she had discovered, for she was always
in search of superstitious ideas, that she had an ancestor in the noble house
of the Loups of Gascony, from which so many ' gentillatres' have pretended
to be descended. La Marechale was in consequence convinced that the
Fairy Mellusene would appear at the foot of her bed whenever a descendant
of the said Mellusene and of Count Geoffroy, her husband, was to die. It is
most singular that La Marechale correctly prophesied the death of forty or
fifty persons, of which she said she had been warned by that means. Ex-
plain this as you will, but the fact is certain.

" One evening, at the menagerie at Versailles, she ordered the lion cage
to be thrown open. The animals appeared confounded ; apparently their
instinct told them that there was not much to be got out of an old woman
so dry, and so well defended by at least thirty ells of thick silk spread
on hoops, and padded out by ' matelassures insipides,' as the doctors would
say ; but the fact is certain, that the lions only stared in her face, and
allowed her to quit their den as she went in. The diocesan bishop of the
menagerie, who was M. de Chartres, undertook to make it a case of con-
science ; but she gave him a good setting down, and told him he had never
read his Bible, or that he was a man of little faith, * as it was well known
that lions could never do any thing against the house of Levis' — (to two
gentlemen of which name she happened to be related by marriage).

" The Abbess of the Abbaye aux Bris, who perished on the revolutionary
scaffold in 1793, used to relate an amusing story of La Marechale. She
arrived one day at the Altar de Notre Dame,, bowing and complimenting the
statue of the Virgin, in the style of the best society. The prayer of the day
was to obtain for Marshal N., the husband of the petitioner, a sum of
18,000frs. which he was in want of; — afterwards, the Order of the Garter,
which he was very desirous of obtaining, as it was the only great honour
that had never entered his family, and finally the diploma of Prince of the

EXHIBITIONS. 217

Roman Empire. — Suddenly a little shrill voice was heard to exclaim —
' Madame la Marechale — you will not have the 18,000frs. which you ask for
your husband; he has already 300,000 crowns a-year, and that is quite
enough. He is already Duke and Peer, a Grandee of Spain, and Marshal of
France. He has already the collars of the Saint Esprit and of the Golden
Fleece. Your family is fairly overwhelmed with court favours, and if you
are not satisfied, it is because nothing will content you. I advise you to
renounce the idea of becoming a Princess of the Empire ; and you may rely
upon it, your husband will not have the Order of the Garter.'

" The extravagant Marechale was not in the least surprised or discon-
certed ; she imagined that it was the infant Jesus who had addressed her ;
she therefore cried out — ' Hold your tongue, little boy, and let your mamma
speak/ A burst of laughter was then heard, which proceeded from that
pious madcap Henri Moreton de Chabullon, first page to the Queen, who
had hidden himself behind the altar."

EXHIBITION OF ANCIENT FEMALE COSTUME.

THESE Dresses, which are certainly very curious and interesting, as speci-
mens of costumes, are the property of Mrs. Luson, a remarkable charac-
ter, who lived to the age of 116 years. She was born in 1700, and, after
shining as a beauty at the courts of the three first Georges, retired from pub-
lic life, and lived secluded for the space of fifty years in the enjoyment of a
handsome fortune. The excellent state of preservation of these habiliments
forms no inconsiderable part of their merit. Inter alia, here is a cloth of
gold gown, faced with black Genoa velvet; a black velvet petticoat, with
three rows of gold fringe, worn by queen Elizabeth as half-mourning for
Mary of Scotland. The dresses of Lady Cromwell and her daughter, but
especially those of Lady Fauconberg, Lady Russell, and Lady Fleetwood, if
they were displayed with taste upon a fine figure, would appear exceedingly
rich and elegant.

BURFORD'S PANORAMA OF THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

To all who are anxious to form some notion of the appearance and situa-
tion of the stupendous cataract which is represented in this painting, we
especially recommend a visit to Mr. Burford's room in Leicester Square. It
seems that Captain Basil Hall had recommended the Panoramic, as the only
probable style by which any thing like justice could be done to the original
scene, for not only might the colossal proportions of the cataract itself be
conveyed by this means, but also its beautiful position in the landscape. We
have no hesitation in acceding to Mr. Burford the praise of having gone far
beyond any former delineation, that we are acquainted with, of this sublime
view. Even the fastidious eye of the artist must be gratified with the gene-
ral atmospheric hue, and with the admirable execution of the masses of rock
and the foliage. The great body of water which occupies so large a space in
the picture is exceedingly transparent and clear in the colouring. The vapour
arising from the pit of the fall, and the Iris formed by the sun's rays on the
mist are painted with the utmost delicacy, and contrast well with the bolder
parts. Between Goat Island and the Table Rock, a space measuring three
quarters of a mile, rushes the enormous mass of water down a precipice
upwards of a hundred and fifty feet in height. The view has been taken
from Table Rock, which is on a level with the crest of the fall, and forms the
boundary of the Canadian side of the river. Supposing the spectator to be
stationed on this rock and facing the cataract he will have to his right the
Canadian woods, and the heights where Forsyth's Hotel is erected ; behind,
the flowing river wooded to the edge of the banks ; in the distance, Montmo-
renci Falls and Goat Island, which complete the circle of the landscape.
The principal feature of the painting, which of course is the great Fall, is so

M.M.— No. 92. 2P

21. £ NOTES OF THE MONTH.

happily executed that the eye is almost deceived ; the effect of motion and
uproar in the "abundance of waters" is ably given ; and by the judicious
introduction of a partial gloom in the distant sky behind the rapids a proper
degreee of force is bestowed upon this mighty object. The warmly tinted
clouds, which seem congregating for stormy purposes, harmonize luxuri-
antly with the rich autumnal foliage of the nearer trees, and form a striking
contrast to the coolness of the river. We have no doubt that the public
patronage will warrant the opinion that it is the most interesting and ma-
Panarama that has been exhibited for some time.

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

THE TARTAR'S TRIUMPH. — Mr. Cutlar Ferguson has called
upon ministers to remonstrate with the Emperor of Russia, on be-
half of the unhappy Poles — with what success, may be supposed when
he appealed to a house the most subservient of all that has preceeded
it to the most craven of leaders. If England would but raise her
voice, not in the pitiful sneaking way she has hitherto done, but with
the bold bearing befitting her strength and station, the bearded dogs
could no more continue their atrocities than dares the coward wolf
attack the bold hunter that seeks him. But the fear of war is thrust
upon us by our pusillanimous ministry, as an excuse for our per-
mitting treaties to be trampled upon — and is the British nation at last
brought to quake before an impudent bully, that a blow from an
oaken cudgel would fell to the ground ?

The power of Russia is the most splendid humbug of modern
times. It is a modern huge cast-iron colossus, that would take a
crow-bar only to shiver to atoms. Russia cannot go to war with
England — she dares not. Her dealers in tallow and hemp, or, as they
waggishly call themselves, nobles, exist only by their trade with
England ; and if their traffic were put an end to, the sea swept of their
ships, and their ports blockaded, they would immediately take the
short method of raising such blockade, by strangling their master.
Such a process is not new to these gentry.

KNOWLEDGE THE VITAL PRINCIPLE. — A negotiation has been
pending between the French and English postmasters, relative to the
quicker dispatch of letters between the two countries. Some diffi-
culty, it appears, has arisen on our part respecting newspapers, which
seems rather extraordinary, inasmuch as the free postage would be
in our favour, if we may judge from the bulk and weight of our
journals, compared with the French. We hope the directors of our
establishment may not be adopting the plan of the travelling John
Bull of the present day, who, hearing so much of French extortion
and finesse, by way of guarding against imposition, invariably bids
about half the worth of every article he wishes to buy, and is conse-
quently now considered the most beggarly curmudgeon under the
sun. Newspapers are as necessary to our comfort as food and

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 219

clothing, and therefore every facility should be afforded in postage.
It is quite lamentable that all we know of our neighbours is from the
short extracts in our own journals. If the postage were taken off we
might enjoy their " atrocious murders," " extensive swindling" &c.,
and furnish them with abundant entertainment of a like nature, upon
equally reasonable terms. It is clear that the directors have not the
good of the public at heart, or they would take off this tax upon
knowledge. With many, a newspaper is even essential to existence
• — we encountered an old French acquaintance a short time since, who
does not find it convenient at this time to reside in his native country,
and had determined to fix his abode in Italy. He appeared to be
almost dying with the asthma ; — " Good heavens, my dear Sir, how
could you leave Italy to encounter such a climate as ours ? Why you
will not live a month here." " Mon Dieu !" cried the Frenchman
piteously, coughing for his life, and bringing his shoulders upon a
level with his ears, " what can I do ? would you have me live in a
place where I cannot see the Constitulionel ?"

PARTIALITY OF PHILANTHROPISTS. — Lord Ashley has behaved nobly
in his endeavours to relieve the unhappy condition of the factory
children. He has done his utmost to remove an evil, the effects of
which have been so pernicious as to cause a powerful feeling of indig-
nation against the abettors of such cruelty. The sufferings of Negroes
have been held up to our commiseration so long, as to create a cru-
sade against their owners, while the still more aggravated wrongs of
our poor little white slaves have been unheeded. Philanthropists
seem to have exhausted all their sympathies on foreign subjects, and
have wholly disregarded the cries of our helpless domestic sufferers.
In what respect does the mercenary feeling which prompted the rude
soldiers of Cortez to sacrifice their victims in unwholesome mines,
differ from the unworthy dishonest spirit of gain which stimulates the
British manufacturer to the immolation of infancy ? It is this accursed
pervading spirit which demoralizes all classes. The wealthy are reck-
less of the means by which they encrease their store, and the poor,
by its influence, can submit to the unnatural sacrifice of their own
offspring.

It was to check this diabolical system, and restore a more whole-
some feeling that Lord Ashley introduced his bill to limit the hours
of labour — to take under the protection of the law all who were ex-
cluded from it. The spirit of Mammon, however, triumphed in the
reformed house, and the humane projector of the measure was obliged
to resign it into the hands of the ministry, to meet the views of par-
ties. It was deemed inexpedient to disturb the British manufacturer
in the management of his mill, excepting as it might please himself.
That Moloch may be fed, the British slave trade must be protected.
How shall we stand in the eyes of nations, when it is acknowledged
by a British ministry, that the interests of trade are paramount to
those of humanity — when our legislature fosters the most contempti-
ble of all ambition, that of wealth ? We sacrifice health, comfort, and
honour at the shrine of gain — hypocritical adulation of those to whom
we ostentatiously lend our treasure, we mistake for gratitude. How

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

like we are to withered Jezebel, tricked out in jewels and costly ap-
parel, and mistaking the sneering gaze of the multitude for admira-
tion !

EQUAL DISTRIBUTION OP JUSTICE. — How much has been said
and written on the supremacy of British law, the great guardian
angel of England, the palladium of liberty, the shield of every free-
born Briton — before whose frown the mightiest are humbled, and to
whose fostering protection the poor and outcast fly for refuge ! Ac-
cording to various authorities, if any thing can equal the wisdom and
beneficence of the law, it is the purity of its administrators. Hear
the following : —

Bow STREET. — A poor woman applied to Sir F. Roe for a warrant against a
person who had beaten and cruelly ill used her. She was a.sked by the offi-
cers " Had she four shillings ?" She said all she had was two, and she had
no means of getting more. On this Sir F. Roe said the warrant could not
be granted. The poor creature left the office in great trouble.

So this is the upshot of all our vapouring about beneficence and wis-
dom. Unless four shillings be forthcoming, the grossest crimes are
to be unredressed, and the greatest delinquents are to escape justice.
This is the great guardian angel of England with a vengeance — a
meretricious wanton, whose smiles are only to be obtained through
her caprice or her cupidity. Let us prate no more of " even-handed
justice," the great privilege of every free-born Briton., and such like
stuff! What, in the name of all that is honest, is the country saddled
with the enormous expenses arising from police offices and police offi-
cers for, if a miserable individual, who has been beaten and cruelly
ill-used can obtain no redress because she possesses only two shillings
instead of four ?

LAWYERS AND LOCUSTS. — The situation of the Thellusson property
has been brought before the House of Lords,, by Lord Lyndhurst, to
alter the provisions of an iniquitous will, made by an infatuated and
conceited old man, to exclude his immediate descendants from any
benefit in his property, that his posterity might enjoy an immense
accumulation of wealth ; the harpies of the law have, however, con-
trived effectually to mar the old gentleman's intention by taking the
proceeds of the estates entirely to themselves, which for thirty years
they have enjoyed very comfortably. Nearly half a million of money
of the unfortunate claimants has been sacrificed to this greedy and
grasping profession. When are we to have a clearing out of this den
of thieves ? We fear it will require another miraculous interference ere
the money changers and extortioners can be thrust from the Temple.
What were the plagues of Egypt — what were her swarms of locusts
compared to ours ? Lawyers are more prolific and devouring than
ever locusts were. Four times a year are we condemned, for our sins,
to enduretheir diabolical increase. Each term brings its fresh swarm,
spreading themselves over the land, so long as a morsel of manna re-
mains whereon they can feed. As we have no means of extirpating
them, our only hope is that in time, when there is nothing left to prey
upon, they may devour each other, and like the two cats, with such

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 221

success, that nothing may be .left of each but his tail ! Most earnest-
ly do we hope that the time may arrive when Westminster Hall may
be the scene of such a conflict, and that we may live to see the floor
of that venerable edifice strewed with tails, and neither wigs nor law-
yers hanging to them.

BISHOPS AND THEIR BENEFITS. — Pious reader ! prepare yourself
for the worst ; for that great champion of prelacy, the pamphleteering
Phillpotts, has announced that spoliation having commenced, ruin
and anarchy will follow ; — that things will then resolve themselves
into their original elements, and chaos resume its empire. We are
therefore utterly undone — such is the result of the Irish church bill
having been read a second time in the House of Lords.

How such serious consequences can arise from such unimportant
premises, we leave such conjurors as the dignitary of Exeter to ex-
plain ; but, of this we are certain, that the passing of such a beggarly
mutilated measure should have the effect of scaring churchmen from
their propriety, is a much more significant sign than passing a dozen
bills similar to that which so excites their pious wrath. The senti-
ments which this discussion have elicited, shew more plainly than
one could expect, the determined hostility of the clergy to their
own reformation, — their clinging to mammon, — their proverbial in-
tolerance and worldly pride. The unabated continuance of such
unamiable characteristics of prelacy in the present dignitaries argue
a consummation that no legislature can provide against — the moral
degradation of the hierachy in the opinion of the people. What may
be the effect of such a crisis requires no Phillpotts to prognosticate.
It must end in a thorough regeneration of the church. The pam-
pered prelate must be shorn of his unwieldy fleece that the humble
and pious may have food.

We hope to see the day when spoliation — if such is to be the term
— will be carried to a much greater extent than the present paltry
little measure of justice to a suffering people — when palace and park,
with lands, freehold and copyhold estates, houses and tenements, with
all the pomp and circumstance of prelacy, will be made available to
the real wants of the nation — when Bishop Phillpotts himself will
find exercise for his Christian charities — they will not ruin him — and
time to edify the world with pamphlets through the medium of a
comfortable though modest episcopal salary from government.

The collection of a vestry cess, the arbitrary imposition of a pro-
testant tax upon a catholic people, is admitted on all sides to be in-
iquitous ; yet, at the bare mention of the clergy subscribing it from
their enormous funds, the whole clerical body scream with religious
indignation : take it from the landlord, squeeze it from the tenant —
they will bear a little more squeezing; but spare the pious. Yet
when we consider for whom this cess is raised and for what purpose,
when we see it handed over to our grasping priesthood for the object
of continuing their solemn farce of maintaining a church without a
congregation, we cannot for our lives see any class of men on whom
it should more justly fall.

The indignation with which the proposal to reduce the number of

222 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

Irish sinecure bishops was met with on the parts of their British
brethren, was truly orthodox. This awful explosion of wrath was
manifested through the medium of their mouthpiece, the champion of
the church. The ingenuity with which he parried the arguments of
the Premier, — that the number of Irish was inconsistent with and
disproportion ed to the number of English bishops, and their conse-
quent uselessness, being a reason for their reduction, — was facetious
but not convincing : — " The fact is," said the divine, " that the fault
is not in the superabundance of Irish, but in the extreme paucity of
the English sees. It was the intention of Archbishop Cranmer to have
added sixteen sees to this favoured island. It was not done — more is
the pity ; but I would recommend the measure, and then the propor-
tion will be right to a fraction." Generous Phillpotts ! how ill we
requite your generosity. However, we have but little knowledge of
clerical arithmetic, and therefore cannot be supposed to understand
the full measure of our obligation. But the great phial of wrath was
poured out on the unhappy catholic clergy. The man of lawn
positively shrieked at the presumption of such an obscure class as-
suming the title of archbishop and bishop, and moreover, with a
climax of assurance, calling their paltry communion a church ! — A
church indeed ! what will impudence arrive at ! That they should
dare to call that a church which does not possess one of its elements !
Where are its palaces ? where is its wealth — where its pride, its vain
glory, its covetousness ? It has neither lands nor tenements — it has
no tithes — and more than all, it has no Phillpotts I How then can such
pretenders to piety arrogate to themselves the distinction of a church,
divested as they are of its commonest attributes ?

WANDERING JEWS AND TRAVELLED WITS. — Legislative gentle-
men are not satisfied with sneaking an unobtrusive vote for con-
science sake ; but, by placing their opinions upon record in the shape
of a speech, they appear to covet the equivocal distinction of a fools-
cap and bells, — forgetting that such outward and visible sign is no
longer sought for by those who pretend to any thing beyond that
which such emblem signifies. We should be inclined from pure pity
to disabuse the unconscious noodle, did we not see him so vain-
glorious from his imagined honours — frisking about with the intoxi-
cated glee of one who has clutched a mitre — anon shaking his deco-
rated noddle, and listening to its tinkling appendages with all the
inane conceit of a bellwether.

During the third reading of the Jewish relief bill Sir C. Burrell
raised the admiration of the House by the extent of his reading, and
the happy conclusions he drew therefrom. That the House was not
convinced by his reasoning is a fresh proof of its inability to appre-
ciate truth. The Hon. Baronet contended that " Jews had no right,
to sit in a Christian legislature, inasmuch as they were always a sepa-
rate people, and it was prophesied that they should be scattered over
all nations. Moreover, they have been driven to parts of the earth
that no Christian had ever reached, namely, to beyond Timbuctoo!"
(Roars of laughter.) The Hon. Baronet then read to the house some
important passages from " Keith on Prophecy/' which clearly proved

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 223

the point he had laboured to establish, that Jews had actually pene-
trated as far as Timbuctoo ! The consequence was obvious : after such
material facts had been elicited, how could any doubt exist as to the
expediency of granting privileges to men who had actually taken pri-
vileges which no Christian, with the fear of the tomahawk before his
eyes, dare aspire to ? How could relief be granted with propriety, to
a class possessing such vicious propensities to travel — that had dis-
graced themselves by penetrating such a mysterious country as that
beyond Timbuctoo ! Besides, if perchance some interesting Hebrew
were returned to the house, to watch over the monied interests of
the people, what security has an hon. member, that he might not rub
against that arch-prince of travellers, the " Wandering Jew," and
thus acquire an itch for travelling which might disqualify him for
the senate. No : the bill ought not to pass. Forbid it, shades of
Clapperton and Bruce !

An enlightened member of the house, y'clept Mr. A. Johnstone,
very significantly remarked ; " Before the House admitted Jews to the
privileges of Christians, they should cease to be Jews, and become
Christians! " This was no doubt very good advice, only the hon.
gent, forgot to explain by what ingenious process they could admit
Jews to privileges, who had ceased to be Jews ! We suspect this was
some sly stroke of wit, which we cannot comprehend. The House,
as usual, when any thing capital is said, which they do not under-
stand, " roared!"

RUSTIC READING. — A stranger perambulating London and its
vicinity, would fancy that our aristocracy were by no means confined
to one quarter of the town, and that they were likewise much more
numerous than is acknowledged. He would be led into this er-
ror by the extraordinary number of hatchments visible in all parts.
The fact is, that in England there are 110 bounds to the conceit of
wealth. People possessed of competence fancy that the first step to '
gentility consists in apeing the folly of their superiors ; so that if a
wealthy pawnbroker is summoned to meet his Redeemer, instead of
covering the three balls with black crape, his inconsolable family
forthwith plaster against his box at the outskirts, sundry figures of
hobgoblins, to denote the rank of the illustrious deceased. A funny
specimen of ignorance in these matters occurred a few weeks ago at
Stamford. Two country fellows were going home from market, when
the attention of one was attracted by something unusual at the road-
side. " I say, Bill/' said he to his companion, "I'll be hanged if
there be'nt a new public house — what's the sign ? " " Summut like a
Bull's Yead, I think," said the other ; (l and there's the name under-
neath ; I never heard of it in these parts afore, let's go and try their
tap." Up went the silly yokels to the house, through a garden in
front, and finding the door shut, they very unceremoniously saluted
it with a thundering knock. It was as quickly opened by a servant
in black, with his head powdered as white as a cauliflower. " Why,
Bill," exclaimed one of our bumpkins at this apparition, " if this 'ere
beant therummest chap of a waiter as ever I seed !" So, seating him-
self in a chair, and looking about him, he said to the servant, " I say,

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

my chap, you don't seem to be troubled with much custom at the
Bull's Head ; bring us a mug of beer." — " Bull's Yead — mug of
beer ? " muttered the servant, first looking at one customer, and then
at the other in evident astonishment. " Why, what's the chap staring
at? If you don't know your business, send up Mr. Resurgam." " Mr.
Resurgam!" echoed the man. "Yes; that's the name under the
sign, yeant it — your master ? " bellowed the rustic. f( Hush"! " said
the servant, " my master's dead." " Well then, send us Mrs. Resur-
gam — your missus." " My mistress is in London," said the footman,
who hardly knew whether to call " thieves" or " murder." " Well,
then, zounds, bring us up the ale," said the bumpkin in a rage. —
" Ale ! " repeated the bewildered domestic ; " Where does the man
think that I'm to get ale ? Why, I am on a separate maintenance."
" What be that ? " " Why, board wages to be sure. What the
deuce do you take me for ? " " Take you for ! '' roared the rustic,
upsetting his chair — " why, for a long-legged, woolly-headed im-
postor ; and if Resurgam was'nt dead, he'd deserve a good larrupping.
You and your Bull's Yead ! Catch 1 inside a Bull's Yead again !
aye, or any other yead, what's kept by one of such a family. D — n
the Resurgams, I say, root and branch ; Come along, Gekup ! "

RED JACKETS MADE USEFUL. — We cannot imagine what demon
can have perverted the tastes of those that have the ordering of such
things, to cause such a fancy exhibition of our Life Guards, as we are
occasionally favoured with. Figurez vons, gentle reader, in addition
to the usual attendance of six feet two of a Yorkshireman, with his
customary quantity of leather — a sort of Kamtskatkan elevation of
bear-skin, to the height of about two feet six ; and you behold as
pretty an ursine specimen as ever issued from Icelandic den. Astro-
nomers may in future be independent of hazy nights, they may occa-
sionally gloat over the sublime beauties of Ursa Major, without the
aid of a telescope.

We suspect, however, that in this age of retrenchment, the military
are about to be made profitable, and are accordingly dressed up as
Bogies, to be let out to frighten little children with. We are certain
of this, that if any violent outbreak of loyalty should seize the black-
guards, they will be in no want of grisly Guys for the 5th of No-
vember.

There is an universal wailing amongst the cavalry, in consequence
of the late regulations, stripping them of their fancy costumes, and
plaistering them all with an indiscriminate coat of ft brickdust."
The poor gentlemen are crying fit to break their hearts. They swear
all manner of gentlemanlike oaths that they will never fight without
their jackets. Poor gentlemen ! we would not wish to inflame their
despair; but if they would take our advice, they would cut up their
bear-skins into boas, and their red jackets into rag mops, and thus
earn immortal renown amongst their countrywomen, instead of fright-
ening them into fits by acting the parts of monsters in military melo-
drames.

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 225

COMFORTABLE CONVERTS. This is the ANTI SPORTING MAGAZINE,
and it delights us to find that our converts are on the increase.
They are all too persons of some consideration. Lately that fine
old Judge, Sir John Bay ley, came in — a man worthy of being classed
with the best of the Magna Charta Barons. Our fresh recruits con-
sist of a few Members of Parliament — Mr. G. Lamb, Mr. Hardy,
Mr. Hill, and others. In a debate on the Police Bill, when the
Quaker moved a clause for the suppression of dog-fights and bear-
baits within five miles of Temple Bar, they stood up like men, and
said that they could not agree to it, unless all similar sports pursued
by the rick — all pastimes in which animals were put to pain for the
amusement of man (coronetted or cuffed,) such as angling, hare-
hunting, and fox-hunting, were also put down. This is gratifying.
The anglers, by-the-bye, are on our hook : we purpose playing them
presently. We shall make them smart — for we, in the dark days of
our adolescence, were accomplished in angling, as well as famous in
fox-hunting. Few men have taken larger trout, or more formidable
timber— but, in the very vigour of our life, we have seen the error of
our ways. A fox-hunter is a brute ; an angler, if in breeches, is
Belial — if in petticoats, (( none but herself can be her parallel :" the
human imagination has conceived nothing with which she can be
likened.

The clause of Mr. Pease was adopted ; but it is some consolation
to find, from the country papers, that game is still hawked about the
provincial towns, and that, from the operation of the late Act, it must
soon be exterminated. This is " a consolation most devoutly to be
wished." It would vastly dimmish the county rates (197 poachers
were imprisoned, in one county jail, during the past year) — benefit
the farmers, and save hundreds from the gallows !

MORE GRIFFINS ! We learn from one of these choice sources of
select information, a fashionable newspaper, that the noble and inter-
esting shop-keepers at a late fancy fair for some bon ton charity,
" had each her family arms emblazoned over her separate boutique"
What a misfortune that these fair dealeresses and chapwomen should
not have adopted some more intelligible mode of exhibiting their
identity to the astonished gaze of their customers than through the
hieroglyphical medium of griffins and hobgoblins ! Why not write
their names as legibly as they can on the walls, or send for the chalker
from " WARRENS' 30 STRAND" to do it for them ? Surely such fair
faces and delicate fingers are but unaptly represented by boars' heads
and canine paws ! Apropos des bottes — we find that his majesty has been
graciously pleased to appoint Mr. Somebody to the honourable office
of te Rouge Dragon" — what is Rouge Dragon ? what possible ser-
vice can such a monster do the country ? Excepting Sir Henry Har-
dinge, we know of no knight sufficiently stalwart to encounter him,,
should he take to vomiting fire and brimstone. We shrewdly suspect
that the dragons of antiquity were no other than these of the present
day clothed in the invulnerable scales of place and sinecure — de-
vouring more at a quarter's meal than would be sufficient for a score

1M.M. No. 92. 2 G

226 ROTES OF THE MONTH.

of poor families for a year. We hope to see some day a champion
arise — a champion of real reform that will sweep away a crowd of
such pestilent penny-trumpeters and render their existence to after
times what those of antiquity are to us — a fable.

Loss OP A LADY'S VIRTU. — A paragrap has lately appeared in
the daily papers, headed " DARING BURGLARY," which appears to
have consisted in the furtive abstraction of various articles of virtu
from the residence of Mrs. Lane Fox. These valuables are described
as being " several tops of scent bottles, the cover of a soup-tray,
several trinkets, a blue cross and a blue heart — two amethyst hearts,
joined together with gold snakes," &c. &c. We are further informed
that suspicion is attached to one Lucas, a notorious character, (a neigh-
bour of Mrs. Fox's,) as ce he was seen to run from his house in
Shephard's market, at the time thefellony was committed."

Now, in our humble opinion, the fact of Mr. Lucas, running from
Shephard's market, at the time of the robbery in Curzon Street, would
seem to argue that that notorious and nimble individual ought
to be one of the last on whom suspicion should alight, unless it can
be shewn that " he can be in two places at once, like a bird or a fish."
We would also humbly suggest that if the fact of being a notorious
character were sufficient of itself to create suspicion, the greater por-
tion of our aristocracy would be open to grave suspicions of hav-
ing stolen Mrs. Fox's two amethyst hearts, joined together with gold
snakes — unless indeed any enthusiastic missionary, absorbed in some
pious expedition against the heathen, may have dropped in, and
knowing from the reports of his predecessors, that even glass
beads have made more converts than either tracts or teaching, despising
all selfish considerations, may, in the " amabilis insania" of his zeal,
have pocketed the gew-gaws, and packed them up with his other
irresistible arguments, glorying in the prodigious effect likely to be
produced upon an auditory of New Zealand savages, by holding out
to them the fascinating inducements of Mrs. Lane Fox's blue cross and
blue heart, her tops of scent-bottles, and her silver cover of a soup-
tray ! The benighted heathen, indeed ! Bah ! They need not send
their mammon across the seas: there is too much miserable heathen at
home — the factory child — the star vingartisan — who in their utter misery
in the midst of ease and plenty, are driven, by the callousness of their
ruthless fellow-creatures, to doubt the beneficence of their creator — a
position than which none so awful — so intensely horrible can possi-
bly be imagined. Miracles have ceased — Elijah would find no food in
thedesertsnow — the ravens are busy on a more importantmatter — they
are gorging themselves, and if, while suffering under the agonies
consequent on repletion, they possess a mouthful which they cannot
swallow, instead of giving it to good Elijah in their native wilderness,
they transmit it by some sleek young raven, in hereditary black — " a
kite of their own kin and kidney," who can't provide for his bill, to
some Bummagee, Dumniagee, Fummagee, Cummagee, Hickery, Pick-
ery, heaven knows who, a thousand leagues off — some gentleman of
consequence, elegantly tattoed in the first style of fashion, with logs

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

like lamp-posts in the lobes of his ears — and numerous trophies o^
his murders, in the shape of skulls nailed to his wigwam — Hoki Poki
Wankee Fum, perhaps, that unhappy prince, who when —

Of fifty wives he was bereft,
He hadn't more than fifty left —

or some relative of that illustrious old lady, " renowned in story,"
who, after having been converted and baptized, on being asked, at
the point of death, by a pious missionary, if there was any thing she
could think of to sooth her departing spirit, replied with an emphatic
gastronomic glance at her heavenly comforter, " Oh ! how my soul
languishes for the broiled hand of a delicate Pawnee child !"

Our missionary-mongers, most of whom, by the bye, are women
ugly ab initio, and hopeless of husbands, or lovely sinners who have
become saints, when paint and putty failed to conceal the cracks in
their shop-fronts, would infinitely more advance the glory of God, by
consecrating their subscribed millions to the alleviation of that infer-
nal toil which stunts the body, and warps the very soul of the factory
child, or by employing the industrious artisans, who, with folded arms,
and pale haggard faces, lurk about the streets of manufacturing
towns, longing for work, with the wTorm of hunger gnawing
their entrails — or even by decreasing the national debt, and thus al-
leviating the pressure of taxation on the miserable shop-keepers, than
by sending their black-legged ambassadors to preach the gospel among
unwilling savages. The industrious poor of this country are more in
want of ghostly comfort than the cannibals. Administer to their
pressing necessities by giving them rational and proper employment,
at a fair price ; throttle the serpent of want, that, as in the group of
the Laocoon, grips in its horrid grasp the wretched father and his
offspring, and more converts to Christianity may be made in this
"tight little island," among the despairing starving wretches in our
manufacturing cities in one year, than among the fat heathen in half
a million. The pale silk-weaver of Spital-fields, with enough
beef in his belly to thank God for, would sing a psalm of thankgiving
with much more sincerity and benefit to his soul, than Hoki Poki
Wankee Fum, after having gorged himself on the pope's eye and
parts adjacent of a roasted foe.

THE NOBLE AND GALLANT MARQUESS. — It must be a matter of
severe mortification to our ministry to erase from our navy list so
honoured a name as that of Napier and it could not but excite the
disgust of all those who are justly proud of the bravery of our fel-
low countrymen, to witness the pertinacity with which the Marquess
of Londonderry pressed the subject on the attention of the govern-
ment. There ought to be a secret affinity between gallant spirits,
which should induce respect even for the achievement of an enemy.
But that the Marquess, a gallant soldier himself, should be so far
divested of that feeling as to press for the completion of an act
which others could hardly contemplate without sorrow and shame,

228 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

can only be understood by the principle, that a slavish subservience
to an illiberal faction, may chase every generous and soldierlike feel-
ing from the heart. However just the principle of a law may be, it
is seldom we can find an amateur bourfeau to carry it into effect.
By-the-bye, we beg pardon, there is Johnson — the patriotic Byers
too!

NICE LITTLE AUTOCRAT. — One of those afflicting cases of extreme
destitution and misery on the one side, and singular hard-heartedness
on the other, which unfortunately are of such frequent occurrence at
our police offices, was reported a few days since.

" A soldier's wife whose covering of tatters bespoke her penury, with an
infant in her arras, and three others barefooted and nearly naked, were
brought up by a police constable, charged with sleeping in the open air in the
the laundry yard Westminster. MAGISTRATE. — What have you to say to
this ? WOMAN. — I am travelling from Deptford, Sir, towards Bristol, and I
had no money to procure a lodging, so I and the children huddled close toge-
ther to keep ourselves warm. MAGISTRATE. — Are you a soldier's wife?
WOMAN. — Yes Sir, my husband is in the 95th foot, and is now at the Cape,
I want to reach the depot of the regiment, that I may remain there till he
returns. MAGISTRATE. — Aye ; that is all very well. I shall commit you for
fourteen days to prison ! WOMAN. — Oh ! do not for God's sake ! surely our
poverty is no crime! do not send us to prison. MAGISTATE. — For fourteen
days, woman ! The wretched creature was then removed with her infants
sobbing and cling around, to the lock up cells \"

If any one can read the above account unmoved, we do not envy
him his feelings. He can only be fit to superintend a knacker's yard,
or be a magistrate at a police office.

HEAR ! HEAR, — It is quite time that we should know the various
meanings and modifications of meaning of which the word Hear / is
capable. More depends upon it than at first sight seems. Thoroughly
to understand the debates, while that little monosyllable retains its
present uncertainty, is morally impossible. It is a very Proteus of a
verb, and assumes all significations. Most sounds have a definite
meaning. The wild Indian does not make love in a war-whoop, nor
do turtle-dovers coo No ! when they mean Yes ! But Members of
Parliament are not governed by common rules. Let us select two or
three examples : —

" The noble Lord concluded by stating that the learned Member for Bother-
ton, whose Hear ! he heard, would bear him out in his statement."

Hence it appears that the word sometimes implies agreement, cor-
roboration or assent.

" Colonel Strutt wished to acquaint the House, that many persons out o
doors were dissatisfied with the measures now under consideration (Hear,
hear !) Did the honourable member for Fussy ford mean to deny his state-
ment ?

It is very evident, therefore, that the same word also expresses
denial, and that it blows hot and cold.

" Mr. Bothering hardly considered it fair to impute motives to the peti-

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 229

tioners, which were not apparent on the face of their complaint. (Hear from
Mr. Coffin.) He should be glad to learn from the learned member for
Wiseacre, of what impropriety he was guilty in this assertion."

Mr. Coffin explained, that all he meant by his hear was, that, judging from
the documents now on the table, and from others in private hands, he could
only draw the inference that the petitioners would have acted better and more
wisely in deferring their complaints till the next session."

A tolerable ellipsis this, and one which even Mr. Bothering him-
self, albeit a veteran in parliamentary exclamation was incompetent
to supply !

Common sense and patriotism demand that this portentous word
should be subject to some rules and limitotions. The destinies of the
country are not to be trifled with. Constituents are entitled to know
what their representatives mean as often as they do themselves. We
should have a scale of all the modulations of which this monster of a
cry is capable. The reporters then might say that an honourable
member cheered in the key of D minor., or C natural, and on refer-
ence to the political gamut we might discover whether the sound
was uttered in anger, pity, assent, denial, doubt, or derision. Having
attained this knowledge, we might then talk about universal suffrage;
but, under present circumstances, we are all equally unqualified to
elect mouth-pieces, not having a correct knowledge of the sounds
which they emit.

PROTESTANT ASCENDANCY. — If any thing can mark the intolerant
antischristian spirit that pervades the Protestant Church in Ireland,
it is the following extract from the Waterford Chronicle : —

" Our readers, the public, are aware of the anti-christian-like war which
the parsons have been for years carrying on against the Roman Catholic
College of St. John in this city. They are also aware that this is a college
for the education of young men intended chiefly for the Roman Catholic
priesthood. The public must also recollect the indecent figure which these
parsons cut last year in a court of justice whilst endeavouring to justify their
having seized for tithes a quantity of bacon, the property of the reverend
superiors of this college — we have now to lay before our readers a still more
disgraceful scene which took place within the last week. On last Thursday
six ruffians (constables engaged by the Church) lay in wait and about mid-
night scaled the walls of the college pleasure-grounds. They concealed
themselves in an out-office till day-break, and the moment the kitchen-door
was opened the ruffians rushed in and forcibly carried away some servants'
clothes and old women's cloaks for tithes alleged to be due to Archdeacon
Kennedy."

With such instances as these, ought it to be a matter of surprise
that the Irish should look upon the " Church as by law established"
with disgust and hatred ? If these " men of Gcd" were a little less
anxious after the loaves and fishes, uid had their duty more at heart,
the Protestant Church would not be as it is in Ireland. Instead of
attending to the interests of their flock, the sole care oft hese spiritual
shepherds is the fleece, and this is a specimen of the " exemplary
body" in favour of which so pathetic an appeal has been made.
" Men without a home !" — Egad ! we cannot see how they can ever
want a home at this rate. Wolves do not prey upon each other, and
parsons surely might have a little courtesy for the cloth.

230 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

ARISTOCRATIC GKNIUS. — The following paragraph must be par-
ticularly gratifying' to our dignified and^exclusive aristocracy: —

" On Thursday last the Marquess of Worcester drove the Quicksilver coach
out of Brighton, a great crowd of people were collected to witness the noble
Marquiss's skill."

What a blessing it is to this country that 'our hereditary legislators
possess talents so varied and extraordinary as the noble Marquess. He
is not ashamed to qualify himself for a seat in the House of Peers
by a preparatory seat on^the^box of the Quicksilver. However some
may smile at such a course, how could a stage-coach-bill be properly
discussed, unless there were practical men in the house ? If noble
lords limited their attainments to such questions as are connected
solely with church or state — what chance would the country have of
seeing a road-bill pass through its several stages with eclat? Who
could horse it ? It is delightful to observe a descendant of the
noble house of Beaufort not disdaining such humble legislation and
seeking instruction, at"the* hands of Hell-fire Dick, Blazing Bill and
Walham Wag !

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

DELAWARE, OR THE RUINED FAMILY. "* 3 vols. EDINBURGH : CADELL.
LONDON : WHITTAKER, TREACHER, AND Co.

WE have read this tale with a considerable degree of interest : the plot
is well conceived and skilfully executed, and the characters and incidents are
successively developed in a manner which proves the author is not only a
master of his pen, but also, and it is a higher essential, of that vast and
many-hued original — human nature — from which he has so ably copied. He
is evidently a man of the world — of keen and rapid observation ; and there is
a vein of rich satire which pervades the work, operating more upon acts and
feeling than upon individuals themselves, and enhancing the author's merit
as an observant and powerful writer, without involving him in the charge of
bitterness as a man. The first volume is really admirable, and though we
have lived (and who has not ?) to that period of life when we involuntarily
shrink from the infliction of three volumes, still we returned to the work
after having been compelled to close it for awhile, with a zest and inclina-
tion which proved to us, without dwelling on the " why and wherefore" of
the case, that it possessed a more than ordinary share of interest. The se-
cond volume flags perhaps a little — it is spun out ; but the web is of good
material. Of the incidents, few, if any, are forced ; the people, as well as
facts, are natural. The ladies and gentlemen speak as ladies and gentlemen
should speak, and the attorney of the tale is as dishonest as an attorney
should be — all is natural and right. The character of Mr. Beauchamp (who
under the assumed name of Burrel secures the affections of his cousin, and
saves her family from ruin) is finely drawn : here we have a man by birth,
fortune, education, manners, and (it is a rara avis now a-days) mind and
principle — a gentleman. We honestly recommend all such as fancy them-
selves " perfect gentlemen," and yet ever and anon feel the shadow of a doubt
resting on their minds as to their perfection, to read the work under review.
Nor can we better display our anxiety to aid the author than in making this
request, for we entertain a strong conviction that, if complied with, it would
be greedily perused by nine out of ten apprentices in London, to say nothing

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 131

of the footmen of their Graces of Devonshire and Buccleugh. Captain Dela-
ware is a frank unsophisticated sailor —ignorant of the world and its ways,
and an honest good fellow. Sir Sidney (his father,) a ruined and haughty
old baronet, is precisely what such a person would or should be, and the
daughter, Blanche, is an amiable girl, but like most amiable girls, tame.
Harding, an accomplished villain, is also an advocate for the equal distribu-
tion of property, (or as the author terms it — a leveller,) and from the disse-
mination of his liberal opinions the writer induces the perpetration of such
crimes as murder and robbery. This is bad, and must leave on the mind of
every reader, of whatever party he may be, an impression that the author
has, so far as regards this character, deviated from the high tone of honour
and impartiality which pervades his work. With this solitary exception, we
have no fault to find with it : on the contrary, it has our highest commen-
dation.

THE MAID-SERVANT'S FRIEND. BY A LADY BROUGHT UP AT THE FOUND-
LING. LONDON : ONWHYN.

THIS is a most valuable little work, containing, as it does, a perfect code
morale, for the young maid- servant, as well as regards her duties to herself
as her employers, the latter cannot, setting aside philanthropy, and with a
view to self-interest only, do better with the amount of its price (one shil-
ling only) than purchase it to place on their kitchen and hall tables. The
National Guardian Institution will, doubtless, patronize it. So excellent are
its precepts, that we most confidently and cordially recommend it, not only
to the parents, masters, and mistresses of maid-servants, but to the latter
themselves.

SHARPE'S PEERAGE OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. Two VOLS. LONDON :
JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY.

WE hail these volumes with sincere pleasure, and doubt not that if it be
true in the literary as in the moral world, that merit ever meets with its re-
ward, they must soon supersede all their predecessors. A vast deal of care
has been bestowed upon the compilation : collateral descents are rendered
admirably clear by a novel arrangement in the typography ; the arms are
particularly, well drawn and engraved, but very badly printed. Although the
type comes clear and even, so much has been taken from the overlays above
the cuts, (if indeed the blocks have ever been brought type-high), that the
impression, in a vast number of cases, is gre)T, rotten, and imperfect : lions
are coolly deprived of their legs, and tigers of their tails, without the least
remorse ; nay, more : — heraldic man himself is often " curtailed of nature's
fair proportions," and made to wield clubs without hands, and clamber up
escutcheons without feet. This cutting and maiming should not be ; for no
man works sharper or clearer than the artist, S. Williams, who possesses
that great advantage for a wood-engraver, namely,being, or having been, him-
self a practical printer. With this draw-back, the work is entitled to un-
qualified approval, and we give it our most hearty recommendation.

THE TEETH, IN RELATION TO BEAUTY, VOICE, AND HEALTH. BY JOHN

NICHOLLES, SURGEON-DENTIST.

THE object of Mr. Nicholles in this volume appears to have been two-fold
— to produce a work of science, and also to form a sort of domestic treatise,
which might teach those unacquainted with medicine so much at least of the
dentist's art as would enable them to attend to the teeth without the con-
stant necessity of professional assistance. In both he appears to have suc-
ceeded. The facts, elicited by the experience of others, are here arranged
and simplified, and new and important doctrines, the result of his own prac-

232 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND AKT.

tice, are brought forward. Our author sets out with considering the teeth in
relation to beauty, and shews how the face is deteriorated or improved by
their colour, health, and position. He next proceeds to point out their con-
nexion with the voice, in a chapter replete with interest, though not so
strikingly original as most other portions of the volume. Something he
owes on this head to Sir Charles Bell, more to Richerand, and we even trace
him to the pages of Haller and Blumenback. The last section of this
chapter, which demonstrates the influence of the teeth upon the health, will,
we doubt not, prove valuable. The next chapter shews the structure of the
teeth, and the whole process of first and second dentition. Some portions
of this chapter will be practically useful to mothers ; the rest, by teaching
when and what teeth ought to be extracted to obtain the most perfect con-
formation of the mouth, will guard them against any errors of the dentist,
who, by a single blunder on this critical point, may prodnce irreparable
mischief.

DEMETRIUS. A TALE OF MODERN GREECE, WITH OTHER POEMS. BY
AGNES STRICKLAND. LONDON : JAMES FRAZER.

WE are disposed to think favourably of these poems upon the whole,
though we could point out a few errors. The versification is harmonious,
and occasionally nervous : we think, however, the wrongs of Greece too high
a theme for the present faculties of Miss Strickland. In her smaller poems
she displays much taste and feeling.

THE TEA-TRADE OF ENGLAND, AND OF THE CONTINENTS OF EUROPE AND
AMERICA. BY R. MONTGOMERY MARTIN. LONDON : PARBURY, ALLAN,
AND Co.

WE are somewhat late in our notice of this work, which is an ingenious
attempt to prop up the falling beast of Leadenhall-street. A mass of tables
and statistical documents have been furnished to the writer by the Company,
and these are here set forth with an ingenuity and dexterity which we regret
to behold employed in so bad a cause. Thus it is laboured at great length
to prove, from returns and calculations that the consumption of tea is rapidly
decreasing in the United States of America, and is rapidly increasing in
Great Britain ; from which Mr. Martin deduces the vastly superior manage-
ment of the East India Company to that of private merchants, in whose
hands the trade in tea is thus represented as dwindling away. It is, how-
ever, apparent, that numberless circumstances may occasion a decline in a
single branch of trade in a particular country, and the decrease of the con-
sumption of tea in America has been owing to causes which our author has
most carefully concealed from view. For many years the comparative im-
port duties upon coffee and tea have borne no just proportion in that
country ; for the United States, possessing no article of export suitable to
the Chinese market, the enormous drain of the specie of the States required
for the East India trade has induced legislative enactments for discouraging
the import of teas in preference to the coffees of the West Indies and the
South American States, with which countries a favourable trade is main-
tained by the exchange of corn, timber, provisions, and general agricultural
exports. In the late session of Congress the duties upon tea have again
been very considerably reduced, and the trade to China is now very rapidly
reviving in the United States. We notice this as one remarkable instance of
the deceptive nature of the work of Mr. Martin, whose labours are here so
strenuously employed to convince us of the folly of throwing off a load of
taxation of more than two millions per annum paid to the East India Com-
pany in the monopoly of the trade in tea.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 233

INFORMATION RECEIVED BY Hts MAJESTY'S COMMISSIONERS AS TO THE
ADMINISTRATION AND OPERATION OF THE POOR LAWS, PUBLISHED BY
AUTHORITY.

This is the celebrated report of the Poor Law Commissioners, which,
during the present session of Parliament, has furnished so many facts to the
Irish Members against the establishment in Ireland of a system of compul-
sory relief for the poor. We fear, however, that in accordance with the
views and wishes of the government, the evidence and inferences of this re-
port are somewhat unfairly coloured upon the dark side. In recent years,
the degeneracy of feeling has indeed been fearfully rapid amongst our
labouring population ; but to the demon of necessity, engendered by the
operation of corn laws, monopolies, changes in the currency, and the weight
of taxation upon the commonest articles of the consumption of a rapidly in-
creasing population, is to be attributed the loss of all energy and self-dependence
on the part of the poor of England. A rational reformation of the general system
of government, we fear, is the only true remedy for the evils and deformities of
the pauper system ; and were the diabolical tax upon bread, and the other
aristocratical oppressions of this country removed from the shoulders of the
poor, very little pauperism would then remain in England. The volume be-
fore us contains an immense mass of information upon the working of the
poor-law system, and as opening out most extraordinary views of human
nature and human habits amongst the mass of our labouring population, we
recommend it to the earnest perusal of all who are curious in the philosophy
of human life, and solicitous to alleviate the miseries of mankind.

THE SHELLEY PAPERS. T. MEDWIN. LONDON : WHITTAKER, TRKACHER,

AND Co.

NOTWITHSTANDING all the abuse that has been so lavishly bestowed upon
Shelley and his poetry, in defiance of malicious bigotry and envy fighting
against him under the specious banner of religion, with falsehood for their
ally, the pure philanthropy of his nature has enshrined him in the hearts of
the good, while the eloquence with which he has clothed the brilliant con-
ceptions of his imagination has placed him on a level with the first poets of
his age. The remembrance of his melancholy fate gives to our contempla-
tion of aught that appertains to Shelley the character of a secret sorrow —
rendering his memory more dear, and bestows an additional interest on the-
minutest particle of his short life. To the readers of the Athenseum the
Shelley papers are already familiar ; but we think their intrinsic merit fully
justifies Captain Medwin in publishing them in a separate form, and we
earnestly wish that all those who have known Shelley would do as much
towards his biography as the author of the little work before us. In the
memoir, which forms the greater part of the book, Captain Medwin has
executed his task in a manner that, while it does great credit to his judg-
ment, proves him to have been worthy of the friendship entertained for him
by the deceased poet.

HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE PRINCES OF INDIA, WITH A SKETCH OF THE
ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF THE BRITISH POWER IN INDIA. LONDON :
SMITH, ELDER, AND Co., CORNHILL.

THIS work is an elaborate account of the origin, progress, and present
condition of that colossal wonder of the world, the Anglo-Indian empire, de-
scribing the progress of events from the first formation of the East India
Company to the progressive conquest of the whole empire of the descendants
of Tamerlane, and the final consolidation by the Pindarree war of 1817, of
the greatest extent of dominion ever ruled by a people foreign to the soil.
Their first division of the work, containing the sketch of the history of the

M.M. No. 92. 2H

234? MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

East India Company, contains many valuable remarks upon the internal
government of their vast dominions ; and though the writer, like all other
servants of the Company, sees nothing but a spectacle of wisdom, humanity,
and just legislation in the system, we fear that too many data appear in his
own observations to give reason for far different conclusions. The dreadful
system of unrestrained and unlimited powers of taxation would appear to
banish from an immense extent of the dominions of the Company all hopes
of improvement, and all chances of the accumulation of capital, of the en-
joyment of the fruits of labour, and of the sweets of real liberty. Viewing
the state of our Indian empire, as men living in an age w^hen the doctrine of
right of conquest, and other inhuman and ferocious arguments of the strong
against the weak, have long since passed away, and when the principle of
the greatest happiness has succeeded to the principle of the greatest slaughter
and oppression of our fellow men, we car not but view the system of the
East India Company as one vast and overwhelming tyranny. From the land
tribute of an ill cultivated country is derived the enormous revenue of
16,000,OOOZ. ; and from unchristian and inhuman monopolies of salt and
other necessaries of life is raised a sum of 4,000,000/. The consequences of
such a devastating tyranny is seen in the declining agriculture and famished
population of whole districts of the most fertile country in the world. The
impolicy of vesting the government of an immense division of the globe in a
joint-stock company of merchants is thus exposed, and though a distance
of twelve thousand miles will for ever prevent the enjoyment of the full
blessings of British liberty in the benighted regions of the east, we yet
trust that the senseless project of continuing merchants in the capacity of
kings will yet be defeated by the efforts of the friends of universal liberty.

The second and most original portion of this work contains a history of
the families of the native princes, who, having been defeated and deposed in
the wars of the East India Company, are yet maintained in royal splendour
out of the revenues of their former dominions. Thus, whilst no longer kings,
and without duties to perform or powers to be exercised, these royal paupers
are supported in palaces and amidst the utmost profusion of oriental
luxury, and this out of mere deference to the principle of legitimacy and the
divine right of kings. The same principle which carried back the imbecile
Louis XVIIIth to the palace of the Tuilleries upon the bayonets of the British
troops, has long forbidden the outward demolition of the insignia of royalty
in the East ; and a sum of 1,073,243/. is annually expended, according to
our author, upon the families of thirteen of the native princes, whose domi-
nions are now embodied in the possessions of the Company. We think it
not an unreasonable suggestion to the proprietors of the stock of the East
India Company, that in the universal fears of the insufficiency of security
for the payment of the annuity of 630,000/. by reason of the low state of the
Indian revenues, it were well that about one million of the allowance for the
courts and eunuchs of the native princes should now be withdrawn. To
diminish the weight of taxation to the famished and despairing people of our
Indian possessions is another reason why so splendid a support should no
longer be afforded to the families of barbarous and imbecile tyrants whose
dominions have now passed away.

As a work of great research into the history, genealogies, and possessions
of the native princes of India, and as containing a clear outline of the pro-
gress, and civil and military system of the East India Company, we recom-
mend a perusal of this work to all whose attention is now directed to the
affairs of the eastern world.

SUMMARY OF FOREIGN EVENTS.

FOR the last three years there has not been a single social or political
question that has not been agitated — not a royal or popular establishment
that has not been shaken to its very foundation. We have been apparently
on the eve of the greatest events — Europe has resounded with the din of
arras — in fact, every thing has announced an approaching bouleversement
which men shuddered at contemplating even in perspective. But the tem-
pest has rolled over our heads without bursting, and we breathe again. Still
no part of Europe has succeeded in quietly seating itself upon its ancient
foundations. The three military monarchs of the north are by this time
assembled in Congress in Bohemia. It is pretended that the object of this
royal conference is to take into consideration the affairs of Poland, which
excite the liveliest solicitude of these monarchs. But this is a mere flimsy
diplomatic pretext. The real object of this Congress of Absolutists is the
affairs of Germany, of Italy, and of Portugal — to cement more firmly than
ever their unholy league against the liberties of mankind. But the fame of
the victory of the gallant Napier will resound even arnid the mountains of
Bohemia, and teach them that they will now have to seek some other ful-
crum for their diabolical purposes than the soil of Portugal. Each of these
three Powers will bring into the Congress, besides the general interest, in-
terests of their own. Russia is interested in Poland ; Prussia, by the affairs
of Germany ; Austria, by those of the Italian peninsula, as well as by the
growth of liberalism in Germany. If we can credit our last advices from that
country, representative government appears to be at its last gasp. Among
the enlightened men of Germany there is but one opinion upon the intentions
of Prussia and Austria. They all agree that the object of these two powers
is to absorb all the minor states and divide the country between them. The
proposition presented to the Diet for forming a confederate army, the nor-
thern section of which should be commanded by a Prussian, and the
southern by an Austrian, is well known ; it was withdrawn as premature,
arid the projectors deemed it wiser to render unpopular all the petty princes
among their subjects, in order to make at a later period the accomplishment
of their views more easy. It was for this that they forced the princes of the
Confederation to keep up a large military force in order to overwhelm the
people with taxation, and to have a reserve of disciplined soldiers in the
event of a war. They perceived that those unfortunate constitutions, granted
in the piping times of 1815, and the assemblies that resulted from them,
were advocating reduction and economy — were going to attach the popula-
tion to the different dynasties — in short, to create an independent Germany.
To obviate this they resolved to destroy these constitutions, and by a mas-
terly stroke of policy, they resolved to make the petty princes themselves the
instruments of their destruction through their unpopularity. The plan has
succeeded — these princes are detested as the enemies of liberty — hated as
obstacles to that unity, which, by the Germans, is looked upon, next to
liberty, as the summum bonum, since it would give them strength, and
gratify at least the national vanity. Thus Prussia at this moment is labour-
ing to point out the advantages of unity, and to prove to Germany how
much happier the Prussian administration would render her than that of the
petty sovereigns, incapable of defending either the independence or the insti-
tutions of the country. On this last point the smaller states have abundant
proofs. By her excellent administration, by the extension of her custom-
house system, Prussia recommends herself to the whole independent popula-
tion of Germany. But her zeal is carried so far, that it has aroused the

236 SUMMARY OF FOREIGN EVENTS.

slumbering jealousy of Austria, which will be a great obstacle to the project
of partitioning Germany between them. But another subject of schism has
arisen between these two great Powers on the question of public education.
Metternich is the champion of the most absolute obscuratism — Prussia fore-
sees that any attempt to impede the progress of education would infallibly
accelerate that revolution it is her aim to avoid, she therefore skilfully strives
to direct a movement she cannot repress. Such is the present state of
Germany.

In Poland, Russia mistrusts even her own violence — a formidable insurrec-
tion has again broken out in Lithuania, which has caused, from its extent,
some uneasiness at the Russian head-quarters. But Russian atrocities, at
the same time, have recommenced in this ill-fated land, if they may be said to
have ever remitted their cruel operation. The deportation of children has
been resumed, and in order to give these innocent victims of Muscovite
cruelty a cheerful and contented look, they are made drunk, as the waggons
pass through the streets laden with the future denizens of Siberia or the in-
hospitable regions of the Caucasus. The soldiers of the escort order them
to sing, and the joy of these barbarians is immoderate whenever some of the
unfortunate children, under the influence of intoxication, or from the dread
of punishment, obey their savage mandate. In the meantime all the woods
along the wThole line of the Polish frontiers are ordered to be cut down, to
prevent their offering a shelter to the numerous partisan corps that still infest
the country. Of course not the slightest indemnity will be granted to the
proprietors of the destroyed woods. The expences of the internal adminis-
tration of the kingdom is, by a late ukase of the czar, limited in future to
eighteen millions of florins ; the remainder of the revenue of Poland is to be
paid into the Russian treasury.

But Poland will yet be free — that political superstructure of Europe which
was effected at the Congress of Vienna, based solely on the interests of a few
princes to the detriment of millions, is daily crumbling to pieces. — Poland, we
repeat, will yet be free — the political interests of western Europe demand it,
and, sooner or later, in spite of all the hesitations and timidity of our diplo-
macy, that meanly cowers beneath the rod of the autocrat's ascendancy —
western Europe will by force of arms claim the fulfilment of violated trea-
ties, and Poland will again resume her place in the rank of nations.

Even on the despotic soil of Russia the seeds of liberalism are budding —
budding too in a quarter from whence, in the present intellectual state of
that empire, all change must emanate. By our last advices from St. Peters-
burg, it is projected to give to the Russian army a new organization, and to
create immense resources in case of war. The new system will reduce the
expenditure at the same time that it will increase the power of the empire.
But we rather think that this new project is after all more political than
economical. The Russian soldier is no longer the brute barbarian he was
in the days of Suwarrow. Contact with the armies of Germany and France
has taught him a salutary lesson — to reason and compare. Already more
than once this immense military machine has caused, and still causes, the
government serious apprehensions ; it is well known that the Guards went
back to Russia from Poland tainted with revolutionary ideas ; it was re-
marked in Warsaw with what avidity the Russian officers purchased all the
works that had been printed during the revolution, and it was foretold that
the Polish campagn would be for the Russian army the fabulous shirt of
Dejanira. Hitherto the Russian army has been organized by corps d'armees ;
these are now to be dissolved, and the reason is obvious — the focus of revolt
will be destroyed.

In Piedmont tranquillity has been, it is said, restored ; but torrents of
patriot blood have flowed to appease the vengeance of Charles Albert, and to
quench the anxiety of Metternich. Isolated acts of despair only rivet the

SUMMARY OF FO11KIGN EVE-NTS. 237

more firmly those chains they vainly strive to burst asunder. The Austrian
army of occupation has been reinforced, and camps of observation are form-
ing along the Piedmontese and Swiss frontiers. The views of Austria upon
Italy are well known. She reigns by herself, by her alliances, by her mili-
tary preponderance, by her political influence from the Alps to the southern
extremity of the peninsula. But this dominion, looked upon every where
with equal detestation, is not established with equal solidity ; the Austrian
troops are not posted by right every where, but so soon as a symptom of in-
surrection manifests itself, they are immediately there to repress it, so much
does Metternich fear the contagion of example. In fact, the Austrian police
occupies the whole country, and we should not be astonished if its agents
had not something to do with the late conspiracies both in Piedmont and in
Naples ; for so badly conceived were they, so destitute of every thing like
organization, that they certainly resemble more a sudden inspiration, than
projects that had been long meditated and prudently ripened.

In the East, the dark clouds that had gathered on the political horizon are
dispersed. The Egyptian army has passed the Taurus. The Russian
auxiliary force Were soon expected at Odessa. A momentary respite has been
granted to the tottering empire of Mahomet. Mehemet Ali is disarming his
fleet, but in all his arsenals the greatest activity in the building department
exists, and he does not conceal his intentions of increasing his naval force by
all the means in his power. He is making new levies, organizing new regi-
ments, and intends to carry the effective strength of his army to 100,000
regular troops. The objects of all these preparations are but too evident,
in spite of the real mystery with which he seeks to envelope his projects. On
the first favourable opportunity he will repass the Taurus, and make a dash
at Constantinople before the Sultan has time to look aroundhim. This is his
plan, and sooner or later he will execute it.

Russia, on the other hand, has made an experiment that has been crowned
with complete success. She has felt her way, and studied the ground — she
has filled the Bosphorus with her fleets — lined its shores with her soldiers
without exciting a revolt among the Osmanlis. This was all she wanted —
she will now recall her expedition, well assured that in future she may send
one much stronger. All those who have any idea of the policy of the Cabinet
of St. Petersburg will feel, that absolute master of Constantinople — where the
majority of the Divan has, since the treaty of Adrinople, been in its pay — it
would see with no favourable eye an alliance with Egypt. The force of
Mehemet Ali united to the wreck of the Ottoman army, would be too power-
ful an object to the ulterior views of Russia ; we shall therefore see the Rus-
sians doing every thing to prevent the alliance, and to keep the Sultan
Mahomet in a state of dependence upon them — they will never permit him
to recover from the abject feebleness to which they have reduced him. Now
that all the evil is done, our fleet has at last reached Malta, on its way to
the scene of action, where its arrival will provoke the gravity even of the
Turks.

While these things have been passing in the East, the West has been the
scene of great events — the constitutional cause of Portugal has been saved
when its most ardent adherents began to despair of success. Admiral Napier
has captured the whole of the Miguelite squadron. The constitutional division
landed in the Algarves is pushing on by forced marches for the capital. On
the other hand, Bourmont has reached the head-quarters of Don Miguel, and
has been appointed commander-in-chief with extraordinary powers. Prepa-
rations were making for a formidable attack on Oporto, which, if successful,
will neutralize the success of the constitutional party in the south, and divide
the game against them. Bourmont's military skill is of the first order, but
his success with a demoralized army is problematical ; but he sees the neces-
sity " dc brusquer F affaire." The long-pending Portuguese drama, we think,

AGRICULTURAL HE POUT.

.has now reached its last act. Heaven send that it may not " en definitive"
embroil all Europe* Spain is moving her armies toward the Portuguese
frontiers, urged on by the powers of the north, while the French government
has formally decided on recognizing Donna Maria. In the meantime the
state of Portugal is dreadful. The cholera is making frightful ravages — seve-
ral towns have lost one-third of their population. In Lisbon the mortality is
said to be enormous.

In Spain, the ceremony of the Jura passed off quietly ; the ministry L-
changed, and Ferdinand is represented as wishing to abdicate and retire to
Rome, as he conceives that in whatever way the Portuguese question may
terminate, he will be equally ruined. The Russian minister has protested
against this freak.

In France, the question of the fortification of Paris has been adjourned.
The French army is in future, with some great modifications of the system,
to be organized " a la Prussienne." But the attention of the Parisiens is
solely engrossed by the approaching fetes on the anniversary of the three
days. By this time the statue of Napoleon towers above the column of the
Place de Vendome.

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

The weather since our last has been quite seasonable, referring to the late
three or four seasons, so remarkable for mutability of temperature. The wind
has been perpetually, or almost daily, chopping from east to west, and from
north to south, with an alternation of great solar heat with piercing chills,
especially by night. Showers have been in sufficient plenty. From this
cause the weather has been in some degree influenza!, and several cases of
Asiatic cholera have occurred, both in the metropolis and in the country. In
the opinion, however, of the present writer, that disease among us ought
rather to be styled Britannic than Asiatic, since it has been very obviously
bred and born in this country, originating in her own morbific resources.

That grand national object, the Harvest, is entitled to our earliest consi-
deration. The late prediction of its being hastened, and that it would be
early, will not be fulfilled. The moist state of the atmosphere, from the
late and present St. Swithin's showers, will obviate premature ripeness in
the corn. Some will no doubt be ready for the sickle towards the end of the
present month, but harvest will not be general until mid August, although
wheat has been already cut in the vicinity cf Southampton. We shall pro-
bably be found warranted in our late opinion that oats will prove the heavi-
est crop of the season. Barley is probably but thinly planted, excepticg on
the finest soils. Both ears and straw are generally short, so that the crop, on
the whole, cannot be abundant. Peas, it is supposed, will be greatly defec-
tive, and beans also, to a considerable degree. There are, however, some
good crops of beans in this our strongland county, and also of clover. Beans
being short in the straw, received perhaps less damage than any other crop
from the late storm, with a degree of benefit from having the insects and
their ova blown from them. Winter vetches have received much benefit from
the rains, have blown afresh, and are likely to produce a satisfactory crop.
Hay, on watered meadow, and on strong moist soils, will be nearly as pro-
ductive as last year ; in general, the crop will be far short of it, but the qua-
lity of that which has been well got, and well saved, is pronounced excellent,
on the ground that it has continued such a length of time to smoke in the
stack — held by our forefathers as a certain indication of richness and sub-

AGRICULTURAL REPORT. 23$

stance. The unavoidable late cutting of the clovers has, of course, robbed the
second crop. The cow-grass hay, and that of some of the best meadows
westward, was abroad a week since, as also the trefoil seed, of which there is
a vast breadth in those counties, probable to make an equal return. Their
crop of sainfoin is also productive, and tolerably well saved. Much of the
artificial grass hay was so hurried from the land, by apprehension and fear
of the weather, that more stacks were obliged to be cut and moved than
ever before remembered. The late and present showery weather will se-
cure great plenty of sheep food, on which account, during the drought, there
existed considerable alarm. The breadth of turnips this year is held to be
equal, or superior, in extent to any preceding. That prince of agriculturists,
cultivators, and rural patriots, COKE OF HOLKHAM, has five hundred acres,
all wide-row, drilled and cleaned by well employed and contented labourers,
so that candle and lanthorns would be necessary to detect a weed among them.
There seems to have been little or no indication of the fly during the present
season, and the turnip crop, that indispensable winter support of our flocks
and herds, will, we have little apprehension, prove equal to any crop we have
witnessed ; and (additionally fortunate) will contribute to make the damaged
hay go down more pleasantly with the sheep and cattle. We have not
heard so much at this season of Swedes and mangel wurzel.

Wheat, parent of the staff of life, demands a separate consideration. The
wheats, generally partial to dry seasons, yet suffered their share from the
drought of May, and if they were improved by the rains which followed, in some
respects, chiefly in an additional growth of straw, the most important part —
the ear, being fully formed, could not be subsequently encreased in length
or size. In the ears which we have gathered, the most prominent and large,
we have by no means found an extraordinary number of kernels. We ad-
verted in our last to the blasted ears which we observed in Surrey, and have
since found a considerable sprinkling of shrivelled and thoroughly smutted
ears, the same in this county (Middlesex), and fear that smut in some de-
gree will be almost general in the wheats of the present season, notwith-
standing the preventive of brining and liming the seed ; which seems
to indicate that the infection of smut may as well be caught from foul air as
from foul seed. Wherever the wheat was beat down by the storm of June
llth, the damage to that extent will be considerable, as the straw was much
of it broken down, and the heads blown away ; that also which remains
whole on the ground will, as it ever does in such cases, receive considerable
damage. The loss on some farms is laid by the tenants at seven or eight
bushels of wheat per acre. The opinion entertained by the most sanguine
is, that wheat will be a full average crop on the best soils. In our views,
this is somewhat uncertain. As to the poor, middling, and ill-tilled soils,
there is no question but that the crops will fully accord ; on such, particu-
larly, the ears are short, small, and irregular, the crop thin on the land, and
the straw small and short. The accounts fr®m the frugiferous lands on the
continent, whence we derive our necessary supplies, tally correctly with ours.
No wonder, then, at the late advance in wheat of nearly ten shillings per
quarter, and of a corresponding rise in the price of bread.

Potatoes are said to have planted very poorly ; and indeed we have seen
in several parts, and on good soils, the plants very poor and many bare spots.
On the other hand, we have walked over a few very fine and forward pieces
of this, craving Don Cobbett's pardon, most useful, salubrious, and now in-
dispensable root. No doubt but the defect, extensive or otherwise, has
been occasioned by diseased or barren sets, as we hinted in our list. Of the
hops, we hear none but good tidings, nor many complaints of damage from
the hurricane. They are getting very forward into burr, whence an early
picking is expected. The apple news has somewhat surprised us, compared
with early speculations. It is now said that, malgre all the buffetting, bough-

240 AGRICULTURAL UKPOUT.

breaking and blowing off by the storm there is yet such a residue generally upon
the trees, as to yield above an average crop ! Of other fruits, the accounts, in a
few places, are splendid, in most very moderate, although in the metropolis the
markets have been so amply served, that we have heard it said in town, " there
seems to be no end to fruit and mackarel this season." The walnut crop is
said to be almost too heavy for the trees. Bark is a declining trade, but tim-
ber is of rather a briskish sale. Wool, more especially fine fleeces, are in
great request, the long or combing species most so. The import of foreign
wools from the continent, from Australia, and Van Dieman's Land, is great
beyond all precedent, and the prices have experienced an advance of upwards
of 40 per cent during the present year. The finest crack Sax-merino wool
is worth 6s. 6d. per pound. Thus, Saxony has rendered merino, or Spanish
sheep, worth something, which Britain almost unanimously decided to be
worth nothing. But farmers differ equally with doctors. The price of wool
is yet said to be rather inclined to advance than recede, such is the present
most favourable improvement of our manufactures, and of trade generally.
The Tithe Commutation Bill seems to be thought well of in the country, but
an abolition bill would have met with far higher and more general approba-
tion, both in England and Ireland. From the unfavonrable weather of last
winter for the sheep, the clip of wool this season was generally light in
weight — 20 to 30 per cent, below that of last year ; but where well kept
and sheltered, the clip has been good.

Store cattle in the north, and perhaps throughout the country, are, if at
all varied in price since our last, somewhat cheaper. Sheep and mutton full as
dear, meat generally rather cheaper. There is a brisk demand for large
cart horses and working oxen, and also for good ordinary hackneys, at a
somewhat improved price. They write from France that a disease has oc-
curred among the cows, probably atmospheric, of which 20,000 have
perished.

On the rise in wheat we have seen the following disheartening calculation,
by a Devonshire farmer, in print. " The state of the growing crops has in-
fluenced the corn markets during the last month, and wheat, which, through-
out the winter and spring has been sold for less than its cost price, by 14*,
has got up 6s. per quarter, still leaving the grower 8s. per quarter minus.
Whatever advance might now take place, there are only a few who would
receive benefit in this county, the greatest part having no corn to sell." Ac-
cording to letters which we have had the opportunity of seeing, the crops in
those parts of the continent whence we derive our regular supply, are in
much the same predicament with our own, and in reference to culture, much
worse. Their farmers, too, complain equally of distress with ours. The ex-
port of wool seems their great dependence, as it is that of our Australian
colonies. The German wool market is most extensive and important, and
their dealers, to use a phrase from our Stock Exchange, actually do a great
stroke of business " for time," contracting for the clips years to come. The
late clip has been like our own, defective in weight. In the Rhenish provin-
ces they are about to introduce machinery generally, and greatly to extend
their manufactures. The last week's arrivals of foreign wools amounted to
nearly one million of pounds'.

The Dead Markets, by the carcase, per stone of 8lbs. — Beef, 2s. to 3s. 8d.
Mutton, 2s. 2(7. to 4s. — Lamb, 3s. 10t/. to 5s.— Veal, 3s. to 4s. 4d.— Pork, 3s.
to 4s. 4d. — 4s. I0t/. dairy.

Corn Exchange. — Wheat, 40s. to 70s. — Barley, 23s. to 33s — Oats, 14s. to
25s. — Hay, 45s. to 80s. — Clover ditto, 55s. to 100s. — Straw, 27s. to 34s.

Coal Exchange. — Coals in the Pool, 12s to 15s. per ton. — delivered to the
consumer at an addition of 9s. to 12s. per ton.

Middlesex, July 22.

Leighton, Johnson't.coitrt, Fleet-street.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XVI.] SEPTEMBER, 1833. [No. 93.

THE MINISTRY.— THE ARISTOCRACY.— AND THE
PEOPLE.

EVERY day furnishes additional evidence that the present admi-
nistration, however highly gifted, many of its individual members are,
is, as a whole, unfit to cope with the difficulties with which it is sur-
rounded, or to avert from the country those dangers with which it
is now threatened. No one, indeed, thinks of denying, the com-
manding intellect of a Brougham, the noble consistency of a Grey,
the eloquence of a Stanley, or the honesty of an Althorp ; but what
matters it to the nation, that these eminent men are distinguished by
such qualities, if the ministry, of which they form a part, pursue so
weak and vaccillating a policy, and continually departs from resolu-
tions on which it has professed to stake its existence and reputation.
Far be it from us, however, to assert, that the task imposed upon
ministers is one of easy accomplishment, or that any thing but an
energetic resistance, to the clamours of prejudice, and faction, and a
pure and disinterested regard, to the welfare of the great body of
the people, can enable them to gain the present confidence, arid
secure the lasting gratitude of the country. But while freely ad-
mitting, that the situation in which ministers are placed, is an ardu-
ous and embarrassing one ; we are at the same time of opinion, that
it was only a reasonable expectation, which led the people to believe,
that these men, who had formerly sacrificed so much in defence of
liberal principles, would be eager to carry them into full effect, when
by doing so, they would procure unbounded popularity, and be
enabled to defy all the efforts of their bitterest and most powerful
enemies. Strange and lamentable, however, as the fact is, it appears
undeniably certain, that ministers have yielded to the most dangerous
snare which beset them ; and have resolved to adopt, a temporary
policy, and to act as mediators between the Conservatives, and the
Reformers. That such a course, besides being scarcely reconcileable
with that purity, and integrity, which ought to guide the measures
of every government, is also at variance with the true interest of the
ministry and the nation, cannot, we think, be doubted by any one,
who is at all acquainted with the situation of the country, and with
the state of parties. No man, who is conversant with the state of

M. M. No. 9?. 2 I

242 THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE.

public opinion, and who is not wilfully blind to the signs of the
times, can fail to admit, that there exist throughout every part of the
country, a strong, and daily encreasing feeling, in favour of those
practical reforms, by which the burdens of the people may be light-
ened, and the institutions of the state, purified from those abuses
which impair their efficiency, and alienate from them, the respect,
and affections of the people. It is, at the same time, scarcely less
evident, that there exists a strong and powerful party, which views
with suspicion and dislike, the progress of democratic opinions, and
which is at direct variance, with the majority of the people, in re-
gard to those great and interesting questions, connected with our
domestic policy ; the discussion and settlement of which, cannot be
much longer delayed, with prudence, or even with safety. The
people are, however inadequately, at least to a certain extent, repre-
sented in the House of Commons ; and the Conservative or Anti-
reforming party, undoubtedly, possesses a great majority in the
House of Lords ; ministers therefore, finding themselves placed, not
only between two parties, but between two branches of the Legis-
lature, have, during the present session of parliament, endeavoured
to introduce measures, which might satisfy the one, without deeply
offending the other ; but, as usually happens in such cases, they
have utterly failed in their object, and while they have not advanced
a single step, in abating the hostility, and conciliating the favour of
the Conservatives, they have, in the vain attempt to do so, disgusted
many of their best friends, and nearly lost that which was the firmest
foundation of their power, the confidence of the middle classes of the
country. In casting a rapid glance, on the chief events, which have
distinguished our domestic history, during the last six or seven
months, our great object will be, to illustrate the position in which
ministers are placed, in relation to the people and the aristocracy ;
and to point out, to the best of our ability, the injurious effects which
have resulted, not only to themselves, but to the country, from the
conduct which they have pursued, in consequence of the position.

Every man, of ordinary understanding and foresight, clearly dis-
cerned, that the success of the Reform Bill, would prove only the
commencement, instead of the termination, of ministerial difficulties ;
and that the assembling of the Reformed Parliament, in the then ex-
isting circumstances of the country, might well fill with apprehension,
the most experienced and able statesmen. The excitement which pre-
vaild, during the agitation of the Reform- question, had diffused
throughout the country, many wild and extravagant hopes, which could
never be realized ; and, perhaps, even the rational and well-informed
portion of the community, indulged exaggerated expectations, of the
benefit to be derived from the Reform Bill. The indefatigable effort
of the Press, and the progress of political knowledge, had for ever torn
aside the veil which concealed from public observation, the internal
working of the constitution, and the general sense of the country
loudly expressed itself, in opposition to the abuses, which disgraced
the administration of government. The call for an extensive, and
radical Reform, was loud and almost universal ; and every class of
the community, labouring under many difficulties, and privations,

THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE. 243

firmly believed, that nothing but such a Reform, could permanently
improve its condition, and prospects. Although England may have
been at former periods, in circumstances of still greater depression
than those in which she is at present placed, it cannot be denied,
that the existing state of society, presents many alarming features,
and none more so, than the fact, that the outward condition of the
working classes, is gradually becoming more trying, and unfavour-
able; while these classes are at the same time, rapidly advancing in
political knowledge, and intellectual improvement. Knowledge
must always be attended with many beneficial consequences, but we
do not believe, that it will ever reconcile the body of the people, to
great and encreasing physical privation ; and we fear, that it is much
more likely to aggravate, than to alleviate their sufferings: and may
lead them to engage in designs, which, to the country must be pro-
ductive of unspeakable misery, and ultimate ruin. But, although
the situation of England, at the opening of Parliamant, was not very
favourable, that of Ireland was much more critical, and alarming ;
and the internal discord which has always been the plague of that
unhappy country, coupled with the daily perpetration, of the most
disgraceful outrages, and a system of political agitation, which was
driving to madness, her excitable population, inspired every true
friend of his country, with mingled feelings of sorrow and apprehen-
sion. Who can deny that, under such circumstances, ministers
could never hope to guide successfully the deliberations of a re-
formed parliament, unless by displaying, in every measure which
they brought forward, the most disinterested patriotism, the most
unshaken firmness, rooted determination, to disregard every party
consideration, and every personal interest in the great work of pro-
moting the real welfare of their country.

As it was universally known, that ministers possessed a large
majority in the new House of Commons, the first proceedings of the
house, were held to be indicative of the policy which they intended
to pursue, and in this view, the election of an ultra Tory speaker,
excited feelings of surprise and distrust, which all the plausible rea-
sons advanced in support of that election, failed to remove. This
however, was at best, but a point of minor importance, and the
country still awaited, with impatience, and with little abatement of
confidence, the announcement of the measures which ministers in-
tended to propose, regarding those general subjects which engrossed
universal attention. The coercive measures first threatened, and
those formally proposed for the suppression of disturbances in
Ireland, elicited from the more zealous members of the liberal party,
the strongest expressions of its disapprobation, although we are in-
clined to think, that the country in general, was on this occasion,
willing, not only to give ministers credit for good intentions, but even
to admit, that they had performed a necessary, although a painful
duty. But while the sincere friends of liberty, and of Ireland, dif-
fered in opinion, as to the necessity, and expediency of the Coercive
Bill, all agreed that that bill would prove utterly inefficacious, un-
less it was followed up by remedial measures, not less vigorous,
efficient, and extensive, than those which had been desired for

244 THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE.

punishing, and restraining crimes, which, although they violated
the very first laws of civil society/ might be traced to that system of
misgovernment, and oppression, under which Ireland had so long
groaned. It would be madness to suppose, that the Coercion Bill,
would ever have been supported by such large majorities in the
House of Commons, or submitted to by the country, except on the
understanding that the government of Ireland, was henceforth to be
conducted on liberal principles ; and that while existing laws were
to be maintained, not a moment was to be lost in modifying, or
repealing those enactments originally unjust in themselves; or by
their known consequences, productive of incalculable evils. Had
not those members of the liberal party, who supported the Coercion
Bill, acted upon such an understanding, they would have been
guilty of the most shameful inconsistency ; for every one of them
professed, to hold it as a first principle, that misgovernment was the
great source of all the evils which afflicted Ireland.

We are firmly convinced, that at least, the liberal portion of the
present administration, while determined to maintain the supremacy
of law, and justice, in Ireland ; was not less determined to institute
a fearless, and searching inquiry, into the numerous grievances, of
that unhappy country : and to provide means for their effectual and
speedy removal. But whatever were the intentions of ministers,
how lamentably deficient have been their performances; and, can
the most zealous, and partial advocate of government, deny, that the
Irish Church Bill, even in its original and unmutilated state, was
but a poor and paltry equivalent, for measures whose severity ex-
torted, even from the Tories, something like disapprobation. Even
in so far as respects its peculiar object, the Irish Church Bill is very
deficient, and can only prove acceptable as the commencement of a
still more extensive and efficient Reform ; although under existing
circumstances, we think it would have been much better to have
gone at once to the root of the evil, and to have placed the Irish
Church, at least prospectively, upon a footing which might have
satisfied its liberal friends, if not those who were altogether opposed
to its existence. It is impossible that the Catholics, while they form
the vast majority of the Irish population, can now rest tranquil or
satisfied, while they are compelled to contribute directly, to the sup-
port of a religious establishment, which they regard with abhorrence:
and, if there exist, on the part of England, any desire that the
legislative union between Great Britain and Ireland, should be
maintained and strengthened, the direct taxes, raised in behalf of the
Protestant church, must be abolished, and that very speedily. The
true friends of the Protestant religion in Ireland, will act wisely, if
they sanction, and advocate a church reform ; which by the com-
mutation of tithes, the abolition of the other church imposts, and a
fair, and judicious distribution, of the ample revenues of the church,
may place the Protestant establishment in a situation, which may
command the respect, without provoking the hostility, of its nume-
rous and formidable enemies. Let no man go away with the false
impression, that such a reform, can only be the work of time ; it
must be commenced in good earnest, and that immediately, if it is

THK MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE. 245

not even now too late,, for unless this is done, it requires not the
discernment of a prophet, to predict that the days of the Irish church,
are already numbered.

When, however, we take into consideration the numerous diffi-
culties which beset the question of Irish Church Reform, ministers
are, in our estimation, less deserving of censure, for having neglected
to bring forward a really efficient Church Reform Bill, than for
having omitted to prepare other measures much more indispensable,
and much more calculated to promote the permanent welfare of
Ireland, and to remove evils which are not only fatal to the present
peace and happiness of Ireland, but fraught with danger to the whole
empire. We are well aware that Ireland can never enjoy internal
and permanent peace, until some means are found to check those
religious animosities by which she is distracted, and to remove the
numerous abuses of the church establishment; but certain we are,
that although both of these important objects were gained, she would
still remain restless, disturbed, and dissatisfied, unless some effectual
remedies were applied to the inherent evils which affect her social
condition. In a word, does not every man, who is not blind to the
plainest dictates of common sense, clearly perceive that all the mi-
series of Ireland arise from one source — the existence of an ignorant,
overgrown, and starving population ; and that until the great original
cause of agitation is taken away, agitation will never be removed by
any concessions however great, and however often repeated. Long
indeed before the present period, their accumulated wrongs and ag-
gravated misery must have driven the Irish peasantry into open
rebellion, had not the influence of the Catholic priesthood, united
with that of Mr. O'Connell, preserved them from a course which
would only have forged new chains for their country, and increased
tenfold their own sufferings. But it is ruin to expect that any in-
fluence can permanently restrain the excesses of a population groan-
ing under privations, the bare thought of which sickens the heart ;
and we may rest assured, that unless some means are instantly em-
ployed to improve the condition of the lower orders in Ireland, that
country will, at no distant period, be laid waste by a social revolution
of the most terrible and remorseless character.

But we will now be met by the question — What plan do you
recommend for the removal or mitigation of this 'great evil which
affects Ireland ? We answer, without hesitation, the establishment of
poor laws. We are not insensible indeed, for who can be so, to the
injurious effects of which the poor laws have been productive in
England ; but surely these effects may be traced to a particular sys-
tem, without invalidating the general principle, that it is the duty of
every community to make legal provision for those of its members
who, by age, sickness, or any other cause, are unable to supply their
own wants. If it suited either our present limits, or our present
object, we would therefore be prepared to maintain this general prin-
ciple as applicable to every country and every community, but in the
meantime we are willing to take lower grounds, and to rest satisfied
with fearing that it is absolutely necessary, as a matter of expediency,
to provide subsistence for that portion of the Irish population which

246 THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE.

is now condemned to a poverty little short of actual starvation. The
case of Ireland affords a striking example of the baneful consequences
which result from allowing a pauper population to depend upon the
contributions of a voluntary charity; for the hordes of beggars with
which every part of the country is overrun, not only encourage all
kinds of superstition, but propagate the most mischievous political
doctrines or delusions, the influence of which, although imperceptible,
is not therefore the less powerful and dangerous. Every man who
is ejected from his farm, or who is unable to procure settled labour,
must, as a matter of necessity, become a common beggar, and thus
there exists a vast and daily increasing mass of vigorous men, who,
with feelings embittered by their own sufferings, are ready to join in
any attempt, however criminal, and however desperate, which pro-
mises to afford them present relief, or at least to satisfy their ardent
desires of revenge. But the destitution of the labouring class in
Ireland is not only the cause of the general misery and insecurity
which prevails in that country, but also exercises a most direct and
pernicious influence over the condition of the working classes through-
out the whole empire ; so that if even the British people were insen-
sible to the feelings of humanity, and the considerations of justice, a
regard to their own interest must compel them to admit the necessity
of doing something for the Irish poor. Great numbers of Irish la-
bourers, flying from the misery which everywhere meets them in
their own country, are flocking into the united kingdom, and must
soon succeed in reducing wages to an amount basely sufficient to
supply the indispensable wants of nature ; and is there a man who is
prepared to contemplate the mere probability of our own working
classes being reduced to the degraded situation of Irish labourers,
although we believe this catastrophe to be inevitable, unless some
system of poor laws is established in Ireland.

Deeply impressed with these considerations, we did fondly hope
that ministers, whatever else they neglected, would have directed
their especial attention to Ireland, and would have felt it to be their
first duty, not only to devise means for putting an end to the dis-
orders which prevailed in that country, but also honestly and fear-
lessly to search into the causes from which these disorders sprung,
and to employ every possible effect for the speedy removal of such
causes. But we fear that the Church Bill, and the appointment of a
committee to inquire into the propriety of establishing poor laws,
are, so far as respects Ireland, destined to be the only fruits of the
first session of the reformed Parliament. We deeply regret that such
should be the case, for there is no question connected with our do-
mestic policy which can less bear to be tampered with than the situ-
ation of Ireland, and ministers are grievously deceived if they imagine
that the Coercion Bill has produced real and permanent tranquillity;
and they may rest assured that it will never do so, unless followed
up by a full redress of their grievances, the continued existence of
which gives to that bill the aspect of a tyrannical attempt to put
down those just remonstrances which such grievances must and ought
to excite. We earnestly hope, however, that if ministers see another
session of Parliament, they will repair the capital error, and even

THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE. 247

then, perhaps, it may not be too late to save the empire from dismem-
berment and civil war.

The most fatal error into which our rulers are liable to be betrayed
at the present moment, consists in the temptation to get rid of pres-
sing difficulties by temporary expedients, and to rest satisfied if they
can only carry on the business of government without so far exciting
the people as to lead to any immediate and dangerous expression of
public opinion. The history of the last six months has tended to
increase the temptation ; for it cannot be denied, that although the
people have been deeply dissatisfied with many of the proceedings
of government, they have in general exhibited no disposition to resort
to any extreme or violent measures, in order to render their own
opinions more influential in the management of public affairs. But
it must never be forgotten that, under this deceitful calm, there lurks
a growing hostility to every established institution, and a growing
conviction that the abuses of the State are too deep-rooted to be era-
dicated by any thing but the entire destruction of the system upon
which they have been engendered. Never at any former period in
the annals of our history, did so much depend upon the wisdom and
prudence of an existing administration, as there does at the present
moment, and therefore the increasing unpopularity of the present
ministry is a symptom of fearful and ominous import, on which no
intelligent man can look without pain and alarm. The people are
not only dissatisfied with the little progress which has been made in
the great cause of practical reform, but they are even beginning to
entertain an opinion that ministers are not sincerely desirous of pro-
moting that cause, and that they shrink from the task of completing
that work, of which the Reform Bill was only the commencement.
We place however too much confidence in the understanding and
principles of the leading members of administration, to believe that
they are either ignorant of, or inattentive to the state of public
opinion, and unless they are so, they must be convinced that no go-
vernment can now stand which does>hot exhibit an honest determi-
nation to go to the root of every abuse, and to employ its whole
influence in promoting the welfare of all classes of the people. But
even although we may admit that ministers are actuated by good
intentions, it is impossible to deny that their conduct has been little
distinguished by that energy and decision which the critical state of
our affairs so urgently requires, and that, during the present session
of Parliament, they have done far less for the real benefit of the
people than what they might have accomplished with equal ease, and
far greater credit to themselves.

It is not a little remarkable, although very characteristic of the
English nation, that when the election of an Ultra-Tory Speaker, the
Coercion Bill, and the rejection of the Ballot, excited only a few
complaints, without leading to any visible and general discontent, the
country was placed upon the brink of a revolution by the refusal of
the ministry and the Parliament to abolish an obnoxious tax. The
most irksome, perplexing, and thankless, of all offices, is undoubtedly
that of Chancellor of the Exchequer, and we are surprised that even
the proverbial patience and good humour of Lord Althorp have

248 THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE.

restrained him from throwing up in disgust a situation, the diffi-
culties of which are every day increasing, and which has to him been
productive of mortifications, which a man of more acute feelings
would have been unable to endure. The announcement of the Budget
forms always one of the most important events in the political history
of the year, and of late it has been anticipated with more than usual
eagerness, from the fond hope indulged by the people, that their
rulers had discovered some method of relieving them from burdens,
the pressure of which gives a general interest to the political move-
ments of the country which they would not otherwise possess. It
cannot be denied that the Budget, for the present year, was, so far as
it went, founded upon correct principles, and calculated to be of con-
siderable benefit to the country ; but the relief from taxation, which
was at best but very moderate, was still less felt and appreciated by
being applied to different branches of the revenue, and thus conferring
no very marked advantage upon any particular class. But, in the
estimation of the people, the capital defect in the Budget was, that
it did not provide means for the repeal of the assessed taxes, and
ministers must have regretted that they had not confined their reduc-
tions to this odious impost, when they beheld the storm of popular
indignation which was excited by the prospect of its continuance.
All the evil deeds of ministers were now recalled to remembrance,
and the violent men of all parties secured so favourable an opportu-
nity of gaining popularity, and embarrassing the government. The
unexpected vote of the House of Commons, reducing the Malt Tax
to one half of the former amount, placed ministers in a very awkward
predicament, and for a short time it was supposed that they would
yield to the wishes of the people, and by a change in the system of
taxation, procure means for repealing both the Malt and Assessed
Taxes; but afraid of venturing upon the perilous experiment of a
Property Tax, ministers adopted a different course of proceeding, and
induced the House of Commons not only to sanction the continuance
of the Assessed Taxes, but also to rescind its vote for the reduction of
the Malt Tax.

While it must be admitted that the whole conduct of government,
in regard to the Malt and Assessed Taxes, reflected little credit upon
the capacity and foresight of ministers, or at least of lord Althorp,
we must at the same time condemn, in the strongest terms, the rash,
violent, and unconstitutional measures, which were openly threat-
ened, and warmly applauded, at those meetings which took place in
London, after the defeat of Sir John Key's motion. A refusal to pay
taxes can ever be lawful, except in the very last extremity; and as
soon as we acknowledge the principle, that because Parliament does
not immediately repeal a long-standing, although unpopular tax, the
people are entitled to decline payment of that tax, we strike at the
root of all government, and prepare the way for universal anarchy
and confusion. Even after the utmost possible amount of reduction,
which can take place in the public expenditure, an immense revenue
must still be raised by means of taxation, unless we break faith with
the public creditor, and thus bring disgrace upon our national cha-
racter. But it is easy to foresee, that if each particular class of tax

THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PKOPLE. 249

payers seeks to throw off its own burden, by rendering it impossible
to collect the tax of which it complains, the machinery of government
can no longer be carried on, and our national credit, the former basis
of our national prosperity being overthrown, all classes will groan
under evils, compared to which the most oppressive tax would appear
light arid easy. It is, indeed, the imperative duty of the government
and the legislature, to endeavour to place our taxation upon the most
fair and equitable system; but this must be a work of time and diffi-
culty, and it is a work which will never be accomplished, if the peo-
ple are determined to extort, at any price, the immediate repeal of
every obnoxious tax. Let the country learn to exercise a little pa-
tience, and as neither the present administration, nor the present par-
liament, is destined to be eternal, let it remember that its matured
opinion must be listened to at no distant period, and that those are
its worst enemies, who, by violent and revolutionary proceedings,
would oppose an effectual barrier to all rational Reform, and involve
the nation in speedy anarchy and ultimate ruin.

Even the most zealous supporters of the Grey administration, are
compelled to admit that its present position is a very critical and un-
certain one, and little doubt can be entertained that its possession of
office would be of very short duration, did there exist the materials
for the formation of a new government, which might command the
confidence of the country. But the most ardent, if judicious,
Reformer would hesitate to do any thing which might hasten on the
dissolution of the present cabinet, for although he may consider that
cabinet unfit to meet the exigences of the times, and replace the fu-
ture policy of the country upon a firm and stable foundation, he sees
110 prospect of supplying the place of the present ministry, with ano-
ther better fitted to accomplish the object. One would imagine that
even the Tories themselves must, under existing circumstances, admit
that their acceptance of office would be an act of inconceivable mad-
ness and infatuation; but whatever they may think, a vast majority
of the people would regard such an event, as the greatest calamity
which could befall the country, and as little else than the signal for
revolution. While we believe that radical principles are making
very rapid progress amongst the middle and working classes, we are
at the same time convinced, that the Radicals, as a party, possess no
hold upon the country, and are generally regarded with mingled
feelings of contempt and distrust, arising from their want of able and
experienced leaders; and from the dissention which they too often
display to adopt a revolutionary policy, in order to gain some tempo-
rary object. In a word, although the present administration may
admit of partial alterations, its entire dissolution might be attended
with the most dangerous consequences; and therefore however much
it has disappointed the expectations of the people, there prevails a
general conviction that it must be allowed the benefit of a second
trial, and of an opportunity to repair its past errors in a second ses-
sion of parliament. We trust that ministers are now aware of their
real situation, and that taught by the bitter experience of the last
four months, they will henceforth act with greater firmness arid
vigour, and regard it as their first duty and best interest, to secure

M.M. No. 93. 2 K

250 THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE.

the support and confidence of the independent and intelligent part of
the country. They must now be sensible, that no sacrifices on their
part, however great, can propitiate that portion of the aristocracy
which has been all along opposed to their government and their
policy; and surely they will never again be guilty of the folly of
casting away the affections of a noble and confiding people, in order
to purchase, not the friendship — scarcely the temporary forbearance,
of their old and bitter enemies.

It must never be forgotten, however, that ministers so far as re-
spects the aristocracy, are placed in a peculiarly difficult and delicate
situation, and there is no doubt that a great part of their present un-
popularity has resulted from their anxiety to frame their measures in
such a manner, as to secure their favourable reception in the House
of Lords, without whose consent they could not pass into a law.
But while ministers were undoubtedly actuated by conscientious mo-
tives, in their endeavours to preserve harmony between the House of
Lords and the Representatives of the People, it cannot be denied that
those endeavours have been signally unsuccessful; and have not only
encreased the danger of an ultimate collision, but also rendered the
people still more hostile to the unrestrained power, which the consti-
tution vests in the hereditary branch of the legislature. The history
of the present session has clearly established the fact, that the House
of Lords contains, a great majority unalterably opposed to the present
administration, and determined to seize the first favourable opportu-
nity of effecting its overthrow; and it is equally evident that all the
past concessions of ministers have had no effect in diminishing the
numbers and resolution of this majority. The vote in regard to the
affairs of Portugal, and the rejection of the Local Courts Bill, suffi-
ciently proved the spirit which actuated the conservative opposition,
and there is no doubt, that the Irish Church Bill would have been
thrown out by a large majority, had not the leaders of the Tory
party, alarmed at the prospect of the resignation of ministers, thought
fit to allow that bill to pass. Surely no one will pretend to assert,
that such a state of things can or ought to continue; and it is becom-
ing every day more obvious, that ministers can only secure the confi-
dence of their friends, and the respect of their enemies, by firmly
pursuing a policy compatible with their own views of justice and
expediency, leaving to the House of Lords the responsibility of sanc-
tioning or condemning that policy. This would certainly call upon
ministers to come to some decision, as to the course which they would
adopt, in the event of the House of Lords refusing to support those
measures, which they regard as necessary to the welfare of the coun-
try; and it must be admitted that either a large creation of peers, or
a resignation may be attended with many and serious difficulties; if
creation of peers, besides being a direct violation of the spirit of the
constitution, would be liable to many other objections, and could not
be justly, or safely resorted to, until the resignation of ministers had
proved to the conviction of every impartial man, the inability of the
Tories to carry on the government according to their own principles.
The resignation of the present ministry might be attended with many
formidable evils, but great as these evils may be, they are less to be

THE MINISTRY, THE ARISTOCRACY, AND THE PEOPLE, 251

dreaded, than the growing distrust which the people exhibit in regard
to all political parties, the continuance of which must sooner or later
be productive of very fatal consequences. If any thing can save the
country from Revolution, it must be the establishment of a firm, up-
right, and enlightened government; but even if such a government
was established, it can only be permanent and efficient, by possessing
the confidence of all the branches of the legislature, which it seems
scarcely possible it can do, while the House of Lords and the House
of Commons remain constituted as they are at present.

If the opinions entertained by the majority of the House of Lords,
were only opposed to those of the present administration, and the
present House of Commons, the evil although real, might admit of a
constitutional remedy; but, unfortunately, the opinions of that ma-
jority, are still more at variance with those of the great body of the
people, upon the most important subjects connected with our domes-
tic policy. There is no subject, on which this difference exists to a
greater extent, than on Church Reform, and it is scarcely possible to
believe, that the House of Lords will ever consent to any plan of
Church Reform, which is likely to give permanent satisfaction to the
middle classes, who are becoming every day, more hostile to that ex-
ternal pomp and splendour which, in the estimation of the Conserv-
atives, encrease the dignity and influence of an ' established church/
Even the very principle of religious establishments is beginning to
be violently assailed, and those who are friendly to that principle can
only obtain a hearing, by exposing and condemning the abuses of the
church, and proving that they do not necessarily belong to an estab-
lishment; but only tend to impede its efficacy. If public opinion
possessed that influence in the House of Commons, which it must ere
long do, then would soon be introduced a Bill of Church Reform,
essential parts of which would be, the exclusion of the Bishops from
the House of Lords — the more equal distribution of the Church Reven-
ues— and the modification of patronage; but it is needless to observe
that the rejection of any such but in the House of Lords, would be
a matter of certainty. It is admitted that the House of Lords only
consented to the Irish Church Bill, from expediency or rather neces-
sity; and if such was the case, in regard to a measure so very mode-
rate and inefficient, what would be the fate of any Bill which embo-
died the opinions of the people, in regard to Church Reform. The
church, we fear, is destined to form the most fruitful subject of con-
tention between the Aristocracy and the People; and we apprehend
that any kind of half measures, to which the former might, perhaps,
consent, would only increase the dissatisfaction of the latter, and lead
them ultimately to demand the entire destruction of the Church
Establishment.

But while it is becoming every day more evident that the House of
Lords, is never likely to harmonize with a House of Commons, truly
representing the feelings and opinions of the people, it is no easy
matter to point out a practical remedy for an evil of such magnitude,
and which affects, in so many ways, the general interests of the coun-
try. It is very evident that there already exists, in the public mind,
a strong prejudice against the principle of an hereditary legislature;

252 THE COURTIER'S RETORT.

and it is scarcely possible to doubt, that whenever any practical emer-
gency arises, this will lead to a manifestation of public opinion, the
result of which must be a radical change in the present constitution
of the House of Lords. No intelligent and practical man, indeed,
will refuse to admit that the government, if the country cannot be
carried on, unless some means are devised to induce all the branches
of the legislation to unite in measures, which may satisfy the people,
and may retard the progress of those opinions, which if allowed to
encrease, must lead to an entire Revolution in our present system of
government. We will not pretend to offer any opinion as to what
those means ought to be, but will only express our earnest hope, that
the discussion of a question, which involves so important a change in
the constitution, may be conducted with calmness and moderation;
and may, at last, be settled in a permanent and satisfactory manner.
In the meantime, we must again repeat our former opinion, that a
regard to its own honour, and to the real welfare of the country, im-
peratively calls upon the present administration to pursue a vigorous,
consistent, and honest course of policy; for, if it does so, it may rest
assured, that in any difficulty which results from such a policy, it will
be powerfully supported by the country, and will be enabled, not
only to overcome every such difficulty, but to place its own power
upon a firm and enduring foundation.

THE COURTIER'S RETORT.

The Second Charles was any thing

Except a sage and solemn king ;

No fool was he, howe'er his sin

Lay in such ware as Nelly Gwynne,
Davies and Lucy Waters, Castlemaine —
They turned his pockets, not his brain.

His court was vicious, profligate ;

Good lack ! how we're improved of late !
But Charles was monarch of these olden days,
When kings loved mistresses, and wine, and plays ,
And every courtier felt, or feigned a passion ;
For vice, like virtue, reigns by Fashion.

Among the rest old Shaftesbury kept a dame,

Less for the pleasure than the name.
The king apprised it, his finger laid

Upon his shoulder, and he said —
" I verily believe my lord,
My English realms do not afford
Than thou a more pernicious elf!"
The courtier bowed, and said, "our king
Has said a just though cutting thing,

And quite forgot himself.1'

SCHEME OF A LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLY.

IF some facetious demon, seized with a desire to make a nation dig-
contented and its legislators ridiculous, were to set his wit to organize
a plan eminently calculated to produce both these results, he would
probably, in the first place, ordain that the highest legislative as-
sembly should be composed without any reference to the qualifica-
tions of its members. If he did not require the actual production of
a certificate of mental imbecility and moral turpitude as the condition
of a senator's election, he would at least insist that the moral and in-
tellectual fitness of the candidate should never be inquired into, and
that the business of selection should be entrusted to the care of blind
indiscriminating chance. It might enter into his whimsical brain to
decree that, in the first instance, a certain number of illiterate bar-
barians should be set apart from the herd of mankind for the purpose
of forming a house of senators; and that upon the body thus ob-
tained should devolve the labour of perpetuating the breed ; senator
ever being senator, from generation to generation, so long as no phy-
sical impediment occurred to interrupt the series. If he were a
demon gifted with prescience, and foresaw that in after times parti-
cular senators would be gathered to their fathers without leaving
issue to inherit the dignity, he would insert a clause in his constitu-
tion declaring that, in the event of such an accident, the void in the
muster roll of the senate should be filled up by the insertion of some
name, either obscure or conspicuous, taken — not at random from
among the mob, for there might be village Hampdens — but selected
with a cautious and vigilant disregard to the abilities and knowledge
of the owner. To secure this point (manifestly the keystone of the
system) it would be proper to specify the description of persons
which the lapse of time, the progress of society, and the accidents of
life would be most likely to leave, in that primeval state of mental
barrenness which would most admirably qualify the senator, and
ensure the success of the scheme.

It seems not improbable that a preference would be awarded to the
personal favourites of the ruling monarch. Because if it should
sometimes happen that an individual of this description would escape
being an object of general contempt, yet it would rarely occur that
he could enjoy any considerable share of public esteem ; and the
fiendish speculator would not fail to foresee that, taken as a class, the
panders of monarchs would never be distinguished for their attain-
ments in political philosophy, or for their display of patriotic inte-
grity. Next to the Gavestons and Buckinghams of the sovereign, it
is not unreasonable to suppose the father of the charter would recom-
mend the servile tools — the Doddingtons and Dundasses of a corrupt
minister. But whether the creation should be made from among the
poor or the rich tools might, without endangering the success of the
plan, be left to the caprice or judgment of the creating power. Be-
cause if the pauper tools should happen to possess talent and know-

254 SCHEME OF A LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLY.

ledge, these fatal properties would invariably be compensated by an
utter want of honesty.

And if the rich tools, by a miraculous dipensation, should some-
times have it in their power to boast a few grains of sense, this dis-
qualifying accident would always be counterbalanced by the circum-
stance of their being just as dishonest as the poor ones. In either
case, the existence of a capacity, or of the spark of a capacity, to
derive measures for the public weal, would be rendered innocuous by
the neutralizing presence of knavery ; and without risking the fun-
damental principle of the senate, and swamping that body by the
introduction of a single patriot, the tool worthiest to be chosen might
be ascertained by an appeal to the dice, or to any other method by
which men interrogate the blind goddess and receive, or fancy they
receive her incontrovertible replies. Third on the list of eligible
persons, the discerning demon would place naval and military men.
Not, most assuredly, because brave admirals and victorious generals
are less praiseworthy or more foolish than the rest of mankind, but
because their profession is wild and roving ; the habits it engenders
are opposed to the acquisition of that knowledge which a legislator
ought to possess ; and their avowed sentiments are generally averse
to that unheroic policy, which prefers the tranquillity of peace to the
commotion of war, and best secures the happiness of an intelligent
people. Finally, it seems highly probable, nay, if we recollect the
object of the supposed political architect, it is morally certain, that
he would predestinate to the senatorial robe, so many of those unfor-
tunate individuals who surreptitiously steal into existence without
the decent aid of a marriage ceremony, as a credulous monarch con-
fiding in the integrity of his mistress, should be rash enough to recog-
nize as scions of the royal stock. The stigma that generally attaches
to the victim of an irregular admission into life, would not escape the
notice of the observant demon ; and the odium which is more parti-
cularly heaped on the favoured bastard of royalty, would not fail to
recommend him as a fit instrument to promote the well- working of
the system.

But it is not to be supposed the foresight of the demon would stop
here. Bearing in mind the grand results which his scheme was des-
tined to ensure, he would positively require that each senator should,
as far as possible, be rendered thoroughly independent and responsible.
To secure this point, he would prescribe the possession of an ample
income, derived either from private property or from the purse of
the public. If the private funds should happen to be scanty, a pen-
sion of some four or five thousand a year would be ordered to flow out
of the public treasury, and follow the infant title with as much cer-
tainty as a refreshing stream follows the windings of a pleasant vale.
This beneficent provision would enable the senator (if so minded) to
lead a private life of vigourous debauchery, of feeble frivolity, or
harmless uselessness, and at the same time go far to ensure an aban-
donment of the irksome duties of the senatorial office, which, whether
they should be unscrupulously neglected, or faithfully performed, the
liberal policy of the demon would leave entirely to the honour and
conscience of the pensioner.

SCHEME OF A LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLY. 255

But as a farther means of providing for the independence of the
conscript fathers, no doubt, an article would be framed by ,virtue
whereof every senator, whether wallowing in the wealth of Croesus,
or stricken with the poverty of Belisarius, would be protected from
those familiar salutations of the bound bailiffs to which the crowd of
undignified debtors is constantly exposed. This clause would spare
the porcelian clay of nobility the ignominy of compulsory honesty ;
enable the senators, if not to laugh, at least to smile at their credi-
tors; injure that importunate crew by depriving them of the readiest
method of extracting a payment ; and, on the whole, materially tend
to bring about the result contemplated by the perverse intelligence of
its mischievous framer. Next, we may suppose, malignant inge-
nuity would make the senators the objects of a pernicious and invi-
duous distinction. Knowing that as descendants of Adam they must,
in common with other men, be prone to mendicity, they would, not-
withstanding, be exempted, in certain cases, from the solemn sanc-
tions whereby alone truth is supposed to be elicited from mortals.
Aware that they must derive their natures from the same corrupted
source as the ame damne of the Custom-House — conscious that in all
innate propensities, they must be just upon a par with that respecta-
ble personage, the demon would, nevertheless, introduce a distinction
in their favour,, and oblige posterity to give the same credit to their
simple, " yea," and " nay," as to the solemn oaths of other men.
The multitude (" swinish multitude,") thus implieclly proscribed as
habitual and inveterate liars, except when upon oath, would chal-
lenge the claims of the senators to be believed on their simple word
of honour, sneer at them and their preposterous pretensions, and thus
to a limited yet gratifying extent realize the expectations of the dia-
bolical machination.

We might fill up the scanty outline we have hastily sketched, till
it should appear less as an extravagant design of a diabolical imagi-
nation, than as a faithful copy of an existing institution. But we
forbear. The likeness might be discovered by the things depicted ;
the infraction of the second commandment, might be construed into
a breach of privilege; and the libelous fidelity of the artist rewarded
with a six month's residence in the salubrious apartments of His
Majesty's common jail at Newgate.

THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS.

TOWARDS the close of day, on the 2nd of August, 1819, the pas-
sengers and crew of a small English brig, named the Helen, Liver-
pool, were enjoying the first breath of a cool light breeze, that had
sprung up from the Spanish shore : and which approaching slowly
and uninterruptedly, promised relief to the weariness and exhaustion
occasioned by twelve hour's calm under a burning sun, between the
coasts of Spain and Africa. There is nothing, haply, in the course of
a sea life more dispiriting to a sailor, than the monotonous and heavy
flapping of the sails against the mast — the alternate rolling and pitch-
ing of the vessel — and the creaking strain of masts and timbers, as
she lies a sluggish weight upon the waters: and the veriest landsman
may allow that, whatever there be of fearful and perilous in a storm,
there is no want of grandeur of effect, or excitement of feeling, so di-
rectly the reverse of the sickening tedium of a continued calm. Each
motion of the feather-vane, at the bidding of the capricious breeze,
was hailed with pleasure by the Helen's crew, and their anxious ob-
servation of the dark and distant line that marked the progress of the
wind from the north, was only, at times, diverted by the sublime
appearance, that the white and lofty range of the Sierra Nevada pre-
sented, as the last rays of the setting sun lighted up its summits'
while the near and bold promontory of Cape de Gatt, was fast sinking
into obscurity, and the various sail they had observed during the day,
were one by one lost to view — with the exception, however, of a ves-
sel of the Helen's size, which, having already caught the breeze, was
evidently bearing down, with well-filled sails, in the direction where
she lay.

" Take the glass, Weeks, and examine her well, while light is left
us," said Captain Cornish to his mate, after having some time ob-
served the stranger, " for I am puzzled what to make of her. In
shape, spars and rigging, she is the very counterpart of the American,
that spoke us at day-light this morning."

" Why, captain, the brig bearing down on us, has quarter badges
and a billet-head, which the yankee had not:" answered the mate, as
he still intently observed her : " she shews a gun too, at the larboard
bow, and yet it is neither more or less than the American. One can
tell her, amongst ten thousand, by the raking of her masts, although
she is somewhat disguised since she spoke us, and has a wickeder
look."

" Humph !" said Cornish, as he paced the deck, keeping his eyes
fixed on the now fast approaching vessel — "There is something
strange in all this : and were we not, in the very highway of trade,
and far within the straits, I should not feel quite at ease. As for the
news of war, being declared by the United States against Great Bri-
tain, which the captain reported as having had place, before he left
Boston, two and twenty days since, it can be mere yankee invention :
— yet there is something ugly in it altogether: and I would give no

THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS. 257

little that we were well quit of her, Weeks." The latter had been
most zealously whistling for some time, invoking, in seamen's fashion,
the speedy arrival of the promised breeze.

" If I be allowed to give my opinion, on that vessel that is closing
us now," observed a young sailor, named Heath, " I would lay an
even bet that she was in the docks, when we quitted port, and that
she is neither more nor less than a Liverpool Trader."

" So much the better," observed Cornish, " God grant it be so, for
were any accident to arrive to our vessel here, the only means of
maintenance for my wife and eight young children, would be at once
cut off: but silence" — he exclaimed, as a musket was fired by the
stranger, in the direction of the Helen, cc Let us hear what they want
of us." The American being now within hailing distance, a person
on board of her, ordered Cornish to put out his boat, and come on
board of her with his papers — a command that announced no friendly
intention, but which the Helen's captain was more disposed to avoid
than dispute, in alledging the fact of his boat being lumbered, and
the difficulty of getting her clear. His excuse was, however, met
with a threat of sinking his vessel, if he did not instantly comply ;
and the sight of a lighted lanthorn on the stranger's deck, by the side
of the gun, indicated that it was no empty menace he had proffered.
The crew were immediately employed in freeing and lowering the
boat, and Cornish, having provided himself with the ship's papers,
proceeded, with four of his men, to obey the extraordinary mandate
of the American. In passing under the larboard quarter of the lat-
ter, a long boat filled with men, and, so far as light enabled him to
judge, all armed, rowed off towards the Helen; and Cornish was in
the act of directing his men to pull after her, when a centinel at the
stranger's gangway, ordered him to lie on his oars, under pain of
being fired at, until he should receive the commands of the captain of
the enemy. After a short delay, he was ordered to return to his own
vessel, which he did ; but no sooner had he gained his deck, than he
and the sailors were violentlv seized, and hurried beneath into the
forecastle, where he found his crew and passengers, together with his
eldest son, who served on board as a cabin boy; and, before he could
remonstrate with those who had attacked him, the hatches were
nailed down upon eleven persons, confined in a space which scarcely
permitted them to move their limbs. Their captors were distinctly
heard to be employed the whole night, in raising the cargo from the
hold, consisting of manufactured goods and colonial produce of great
value, destined for Leghorn; while the sufferings of the prisoners
were of the most dreadful nature, they being overcome by excessive
heat — parched with thirst — and denied the slightest breath of air.
The cries of these wretched men, at length worked upon the feelings of
one of the invaders, somewhat more humane than the rest, who, as day
broke, was induced to remove the bull's eye that afforded light; and
the fresh air of morning, partially admitted through the limited aper-
ture, somewhat tended to revive them. Relieved from the apprehen-
sion of suffocation, they now listened to the lashing of the two vessels
together, bow to bow, for the purpose of transferring the Helen's
cargo to the possession of her captors; and the silence was only in-

M. M, No. 93. 2 L

258 THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANKERS.

terrupted by Heath's pointing out to the notice of Capt. Cornish, some
marks upon the fore-topsail and foresail of the enemy's vessel, which
could be descried through the aperture, and which proved, on exa-
mination, to be the names of two sail-makers at Liverpool, a disco-
very, that seemed to cast yet further doubt upon her being an Ameri-
can, although none of those who strove to solve the mystery, were,
for a moment, disposed to admit the idea of a piracy, so foul and
guilty, being the act of their countrymen.

Their observations were soon interrupted by the intervention of
one of the two men, who had, since daylight, been placed as sen-
tinels at the aperture, who, presenting a pistol at the hole, threatened
them with instant death, if further conversation had place ; but
who, after much intreaty, handed them some bread and water.
Noon at length arrived, when it appeared that the pirates had com-
pleted their labour of transferring the cargo ; and Cornish indulged
a hope, that, satisfied with their important spoil, they might be induced
to abandon his vessel, and allow them to regain their liberty ; but all
his better expectations were at once crushed, as he heard his inhuman
invaders busy in staving the boats, and beheld them cutting the
ropes, and other necessary tackle of the brig, and adopting every pre-
caution to render her wholly useless and unservicable. Cruel as
were the measures of the pirates, in regard to his property, as he
looked upon his son, Cornish refused to admit the idea, that the exis-
tence of him, or his, was likely to be compromised by men of his
" land's language :" and if he deplored the ruin and havoc they had
effected, he but considered it as the prudence of wicked men, to pre-
vent untimely discovery by those they had so largely injured. The
work of destruction had already occupied several hours, and the
noises gradually diminished, when the single centinel now placed
over them, informed them that he was going aft, and threatened
them with instant death, if any one of them should attempt to move ;
but that, on their remaining quiet, he would, in an hour's time, return
and restore them to liberty. Eagerly and fondly did the unfortunate
captives rely upon the faith of the ruffian's promise, and anxiously they
marked the progress of time, which was to give them freedom, when
a dull, low grating sound was heard, in the direction of the cabin :
in agony and horror the wretched prisoners recognized the operation
of scuttling the vessel. Not a word was uttered ; but each held his
breath, and gazed in the face of his comrade with despair. It ceased.
No sound of human voice or step was further heard ; and attentively
they listened, in the hope of acquiring some indication of the pre-
sence of their enemies ; but all was hushed, save at times the gurg-
ling sound, as it seemed, of water entering the vessel. In their
agony and desperation, they repeatedly and loudly cried for mercy,
and for aid ; but there was none to hear them. With a simultaneous
and violent effort, they strove to force the hatches : again and again
it was repeated, and in vain, until they sank exhausted by their fruit-
less exertions. The rolling of the water in the hold, and the noise
of floating articles, now convinced them of the fatal truth, that the
element was rapidly gaining upon them, and that their last home
was nigh. The rushing sound had ceased, as the vessel filled ; the

THE LIVERPOOL JBUCCANKEKS. 259

water gradually and silently rose towards their prison, and oozed
from beneath their feet. A cry of horror burst from Cornish, as
convulsively he seized his boy, and clasped him to his breast ; and
with one accord, the wretched men sunk upon their knees, and, in
tears, recommended their souls to God, in that their hour of ex-
tremity and death !
* * * * * * *

It was on the 25th of September, in the same year, or about six
weeks subsequently to the dreadful event, but now recorded, that a
small and handsome brig lay in the bay of Smyrna, evidently pre-
pared for an early departure. It was a vessel of admirable propor-
tions, and well adapted for sailing ; while the neat and orderly
state of her rigging and tackle, would have done honour to a ship of
war, and attested that it was worked by no ordinary crew. It was
one of those delicious eastern nights, so often witnessed on the
shores of Asia Minor; the moon shone in beauty, and all was calm
and still around, save when the shrill cry of the patrole on shore,
disturbed the silence of the evening. A man of middle height, of
dark, but handsome features, such as often distinguish the natives
of southern Italy, but with a sternness of expression approaching to
ferocity, slowly paced the vessel's deck, with folded arms, wrapped
in thought, and evidently insensible to the loveliness of the scene
around him. Carelessly leaning over the gangway, intently regard-
ing the calm surface of the water beneath, was a man many years
younger than the other, of a singularly mild and cheerful countenance ;
while at the forecastle, the greater part of the crew were extended sleep-
ing on the deck. Few of them had yet reached the middle age of life ;
they were all able-bodied seamen, and not many vessels in the mer-
chant service could haply boast a finer and more skilful crew.

" Hark ! what noise is that ? Did you not hear it, Thompson ?"
exclaimed the captain, as he suddenly ceased his walk ; and an ex-
pression of terror sat on his features, as he listened to the prolonged
cry of the city guard.

" Nonsense,'' replied the other, without turning his gaze from the
water ; " you are as nervous as a girl, Captain Delano : I suppose
we must soon forbear working the capstan, not to alarm you ; and
grease the tiller, lest its creaking shall affright you."

" What a lovely night/' exclaimed Delano, abruptly, ashamed of
the fear he had displayed ; and what a land ! were it but in the pos-
session of Englishmen and Christians ."

" All Englishmen, are not Christians, however, Delano," said
Thompson, raising himself from the gangway ; ' ' but were you lord
and master of the country, I warrant me, there would be no custom-
house officers, seizures, or exchequering allowed by your high-
ness ; ha ! "

" Why revive that story, Thompson ? The hard-earned gains of
fifteen years gone in a moment, for a few sorry handkerchiefs.
Aye — " and his countenance fell, and a heavy sigh was uttered, as,
violently striking his forehead with his clenched hand, he lowly
muttered, " aye ; and gains, I may say, honestly come by."

" Never mind, caro Signore Capitano, as the fellows say here,

260 THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS'.

you have had your revenge of the Liverpool sharks, if not directly,
at least, by proxy."

" I — I — ; why do you and the others always refer to me, as if
none but I were engaged in it ? when, if the truth be told, I was
the least active."

" The least disposed to dare, I grant ye/' answered Thompson ;
" but whose were the long-continued persuasions, and eternal sug-
gestions, eh ? — whose the chief share of what the goods sold for in
Sardinia, and at Malta ? — whose the oath by which we are bound to
secrecy ?"

" Well, well, Thompson, do not let us quarrel about it ; you have
no right to complain. We shall shortly be quit of the Mediteranean,
and on our course for Haiti, or ready to join any country at war with
Great Britain ; and we have but anticipated the rights of war :
besides, there — there," he exclaimed, with a forced and savage smile,
as he pointed to the water ; " there is our surety. — The language of
the waves, if loud, is not intelligible ; and until the sea gives up
her dead ."

"Hush — hush, Delano — speak not so," said Thompson, shuddering;
" they were our countrymen — known to us by name and person ;
they were on their way in peace and honesty ; they offended, resisted
not. There was, too, a child among them ; and the eye of God alone
looked on them as they sank ; innocent and ."

" Coward !" exclaimed Delano, sneeringly, while the livid hue of
his features bespoke fear, if not remorse.

" Coward ! Would that occasion offered," said Thompson, warmly,
" to cast away my life, but as a man to lose it. Coward ! Who was
it that held back, grew pale, and trembled, after having, by threat,
promise, prayer, and persuasion provoked vis into crime ? Coward !
Should ever that day arrive, that we be called upon to answer for
that dark deed, \re shall see who will first prove traitor to his fel-
lows. And, my mind misgives me," he added, in a calmer tone,
tf and I fear that the hour is not far distant."

" Pho ! Let us be but true to ourselves," said Delano, with a
smile of contempt, " and we have nought to fear. If that drunken
rascal Atkinson, do not blab, some day in his cups. Had not Walker
been in the boat, on Sunday night, when we brought him from the
shore, so beastly intoxicated, Webb and I would have done it."

"Done what?" demanded Thompson, falteringly.

" Why, as he is so fond of drinking, he should have had his fill.
I should have sent him coral fishing down there. But — Look ! what
is that at the entrance of the bay !"

" As well as I can make out," observed the mate, after regarding
attentively in the direction pointed out by Delano, " it is a brigan-
tine, entering the harbour. A merchantman evidently : but, there,
she has let go her anchor." Delano and Thompson remained some-
time longer in observation of the new comer, until midnight having
struck, they retired.

On the succeeding morning, as the sun arose, the crew of the
William were all on deck preparing for the labour of the day : while
the captain and the mate were engaged, at the stern, examining,

THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS. 361

through their glasses, the vessel which had been the object of their
attention on the preceding night. " I know her well now," said the
latter, as he laid down the telescope. " It is the brig Frederick of
Malta, and a famous passage she must have made of it ; for, when
we left the island, she had not even the promise of a cargo." —
" It is quick work with them, I must say," observed Delano, " for
they have got a pontoon already laden, and the jolly-boat is out to
pull it into the harbour." — " Aye ! and clumsily enough they pull
her, too," exclaimed Thompson, " such lubbers are not worth their
grub." — " I shall hail them as they go by," said Delano, descending
from the stern to speak the boat as it passed them, " and ask what
cargo they have. Boat, a-hoy ! what news from Malta ?" he shouted,
as the boat neared them, on its passage. " Hand a rope here, Webb,
the captain is coming on board.'' But ere Webb could .obey, the
person he had hailed was on the deck, and Delano had already
stretched out his hand to greet him, when the stranger sounded a
shrill whistle, and at the same instant the tarpaulin that covered the
lighter was cast off, and a troop of armed men leaped upon deck,
while the stranger held a pistol to Delano's head, his followers secured
the mate and the rest of the William's crew, and made them prisoners.
It was indeed a wonderful intervention of Providence that brought
to light the diabolical crime of Charles Christopher Delano and his
fellow-pirates, at a moment they felt not unreasonably assured that
no earthly evidence of their guilt existed. For a lengthened period
of years Delano had borne an unimpeachable character as a master in
the merchant service, trading between Liverpool, Malta, and the
Levant ; and, by prudence and economy, had amassed a considerable
sum of money ; but, shortly previous to the period already referred
to, having been detected in introducing some trifling articles of con-
traband for his private use into England, he was proceeded against
in the Court of Exchequer, and only escaped the larger penalties
attached to his offence by the sacrifice of his entire previous gains.
His long-sustained good character excited the utmost commiseration,
at his loss, in the minds of those who knew him ; and one of the
most respectable houses in Liverpool immediately engaged him on
the voyage already described, upon the most advantages terms ; and
he left the shores of England with a crew, who of themselves offered
an assurance in their conduct of honesty and good faith. Thompson,
the mate, was of a most respectable family ; and indeed all the crew
(with the exception of a black steward) were men possessing better
means of information than is generally to be found in their station of
life. The temper of Delano had been dreadfully influenced by his
loss of property ; its recollection embittered every hour of his life ;
the hatred of those, by whom he had been prosecuted, rankled at his
heart ; home and country became associated with the objects of his
dislike, until, in his deep detestation of all and every thing English,
he solemnly swore, whenever occasion should favour him, to wreak
ample vengeance on the world. The liberty of his cabin, his table,
and his liquors was freely accorded to his crew, who he treated as
his companions ; and they indulged in his liberality too frequently to
excess, until their passions became aroused, — he ever calm, cool, and

262 THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS.

collected, and stedfast to his infernal purpose, brought all his better
intellectual powers to play on the weaker, but yet guiltless, men by
•whom he was surrounded. All his persuasions threatened to be
fruitless, until, in an unhappy hour, Thompson (who was distin-
guished by great levity of character) yielded to his representations,
and became an apostle of villany. Example was too strong for prin-
ciple with the others, and one by one they became adherents to the
diabolical intent of their captain. Ere they entered the Straits of
Gibraltar, they were only averted from the spoil of a Dutch vessel,
they met with, by her being destined for Smyrna, and Delano's fear
of being recognized by some one on board of her ; but, as day broke,
on the 2d of August 1819, he found himself close to the Helen, and
having ascertained her character and destination, he stood off during
the day to combine with his crew on the mode of making her his
prey, in which it has been shewn he so well and unhappily suc-
ceeded ; but, it must be told, that cowardly as villainous, the chief
instigator to the deed remained on board his own vessel until his
associates had, on the succeeding morning, convinced him of their
having securely accomplished his design. As night closed upon the
Helen, after the piracy had been effected, remorse and sorrow seized
most of the William's crew, and, for a season, they were dejected and
penitent; but the author of the mischief was impenetrable to pity
or regret, and, steering for the Island of Sardinia, he disposed of the
greater portion of the spoil to Greek and Italian vessels for several
thousand dollars, allotting an insignificant portion of the sale to his
seamen ; and thence steering for Malta, where he was well known
and welcomed, rid himself of the rest of his capture, on the pretence
of its being the property of a bankrupt in England, and then de-
parted for Smyrna.

Two days after he had sailed, His Majesty's ship Spey,
arrived from the coast of Spain, having taken on board at Alicant,
Heath and Humphries, two of the Helen's seamen, who, in giving
information of the piracy, thus detailed them, and their companions
extraordinary rescue from a miserable death. All hope had
abandoned the Helen's crew, as the water arose around them ; but
on throwing himself into a berth to await his last, Heath struck
against a hard substance, before unobserved by him and others,
which, on examination proved to be a hatchet. Again the efforts of
the prisoners, to force the hatches were applied, and this time with
success : when they all reached the deck, creeping on their hands
and knees, and there beheld the devastation and ruin of their vessel ;
while they observed the pirate at about a leagues distance from them.
In the momentary fear of the brig's sinking, they hastened to sur-
round the long boat with tarpaulins, and to launch her; and just as
the sun was set, finding their enemy had altered her course, and was
again approaching them, they tremblingly sought doubtful safety in
the frail and shattered boat, which they were obliged continually to
bail with their hats, while such as could be spared, from thus
keeping her afloat, rowed in darkness and danger, towards the
Spanish shore. About one in the morning their strength began to
fail them, and again they had given themselves up for lost, when

THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS. 263

they were suddenly hailed from a vessel, and which they doubted
not was that of their ruthless foes; but, as death seemed certain
where they were, after a short consultation they answered the appeal ;
and, on reaching her found her to be a Greek brig which had left
Alicant that day ; the master of which, no sooner heard their tale,
than, with a degree of humanity, rarely ascribed to his nation, he
changed his course, and enabled those he had protected to reach that
port on the succeeding day. There Captain Cornish and his crew
separated ; Heath and Humphries engaging themselves on board the
Spey, and proceeding to Malta.

Their report was deemed so extraordinary, as at first to be scarcely
credited ; and, we believe the last person upon whom suspicion
could attach, would have been Delano, had not the imprudent pur-
chases of gold chains and other jewellery of value by the mate
Thompson, and some of the crew, and other acts of extravagance
been now brought forward to their prejudice. Further inquiry
elucidated the facts of the sale of suspicious merchandize ; and an
officer of the royal navy, with part of the officers and men of the
Spey, were put on board a hired brig and dispatched for Smyrna ;
where the William being instantly recognised by Heath, they lost not
a moment in adopting the necessary measures for the capture of the
pirates, and they were brought in their proper vessel, guarded and
chained, to Malta to undergo their trial.

As Delano had been the instigator of the piracy, so in the partition
of the spoil he sought to cheat his crew of their moderate share of
the plunder by a pretended order on the Bank of England, which
they rejected j and he now characteristically became the voluntary
accuser of those he had seduced, in aggravating by invention their
already sufficient guiltiness ; and asserting his having been forced
by threat and violence alone to participate in their crime. Treachery
and falsehood, added to cowardice and villainy, failed of effect. He
and his unhappy crew, with the exception of two necessarily ad-
mitted as evidence for the crown, were, after a lengthened, solemn,
and impartial trial, before the governor of Malta CONDEMNED TO
EXPIATE THEIR OFFENCE by a public and ignominious death.

Between two and three on the morning of the fourth of February,
1820, unable to sleep, I had seated myself in the elevated and open
balcony of the house I resided in at Malta, enjoying the freshness of
the morning air. The magnificent city of Valetta was silent, as if
no living being rested within its walls ; when, a low and strange
sound arose from the distance, which gradually but slowly increased.
It was wholly unlike all that I had ever heard before. The light of
torches, yet far away ; the sound as of iron striking on the lava
pavement of the streets, and now and then clash of arms, yet further
attracted my attention ; but it was long before I could form a
judgment as to the nature of what I observed, for the movement of
the procession (for at length such it seemed) was slow and solemn,
and it was close to me ere I could well distinguish of whom or what
it was composed, for not a word was spoken in that melancholy
march. By the red and flashing glare of the torches, I discerned a
lengthened troop of armed soldiers closely lining each side of the

264 THE LIVERPOOL BUCCANEERS.

street as they moved onwards at a funeral pace, and within their
lines (each one attended by two officers of military police) came the
pirates, the clanking of whose fetters responded to each sad step they
took. They were on their way to die ! On the prior evening they
had all taken the sacrament, with every sign of repentance for their
crime ; the full extent whereof, in so far as related to himself, had
been confessed by the captain. He now led the way, the first in
rank and guilt ; and, as the torch light gleamed upon his dark Italian
features, the change that had come ovep the once hardened and
miserable man was fearfully apparent. His keen dark brilliant eye,
as it was directed upwards, as if to ascertain how far it was yet from
day to death had an expression of dull despair, such as I never yet
had witnessed ; his face was livid, and his steps were tottering ; but
I subsequently learned that it was more the fate of those whom he
preceded to the scaffold than his proper suffering that had now so
enervated him. The others, even to the youth Curtis, bore them-
selves like men : patient, sorrowing, and resigned, with little display
of any touch of physical dread. As the morning broke, the walls of
Valetta and the four cities on the opposite side of the harbour were
crowded with myriads of human beings, who, in silence as in-
tently gazed upon a small vessel, painted black, which lay in the
centre of the harbour, and where preparations were going on for the
consummation of the great penalty the law had decreed. Of the
eight men condemned, six took their stations on the scaffolding be-
neath the main-yard of the William. Marshall (a man of excellent
character, until seduced by Delano) and Curtis being doomed to
witness the death of their comrades as the scaffolding fell, and they
were launched into eternity. A reprieve, justified by the confessions
of those who were now more, was communicated to them ; and the
almost delirious joy of the two spared wretches was little less
affecting than the dreadful scene which they were there to view.
The bodies of the four most hardened and guilty pirates, Delano,
Thompson, Smith, and Lewis, yet hang in chains, on gibbets erected
on the north west angle of Fort Ricasoli, at the entrance of the
harbour of Malta; and it is to be hoped that the mercy of the
Almighty has been extended to the souls of those miserable men,
who while on earth had little mercy for others.*

die became what seamen term water- logged, and although filled with water yet
floated, probably from the absence of the cargo, and was actually cast a wreck
upon the Spanish shore some clays subsequently.

NATIONAL AND DOMESTIC EDUCATION.

BY AN OLD WOMAN.

THE present is the age of free inquiry ; it were well to make it
one of improved action, and that the wisdom we are extracting from
the experience of the past, be, as speedily as possible, applied to the
necessities of the present.

In reviewing the history of man, we find him in every age, in
every latitude, maintaining much the same character. This unifor-
mity of effect has been produced by uniformity of cause. If we
would abrogate the one, we must annul the other ; for while the
cause is in operation the effect will follow, notwithstanding every
countervailing check, or ingenious remedy with which the evil be
subsequently met.

It is impossible not to smile at the pertinacity with which moralists,
in all ages, have censured their cotemporaries, and applauded their
predecessors ; attributing a fabulous virtue to these, and an exagge-
rated wickedness to those ; though, as their principle was the same,
their practise could not be very dissimilar. The fact is, the moralist
exerts his observation on the present, and employs his fancy on the
past, without reflecting that all have been, more or less, transmitters of
opinions, framed for their day — perhaps expedient at the time, but no
more suited to a succeeding age, than the clothes of the child to the
frame of the adult.

" How different," says Sallust, " are the manners of the present
age, in which there is not a man to be found who vies with his an-
cestors in probity and virtue, but only in riches and extravagance."

Thus, from time to time, have writers gone on, finding out that
the existing race, as George Colman modestly says of himself, have
" Much degenerated from their fathers."

Still, did not actual observation contradict these Jeremiahs, we might
sit down in absolute despair. The truth is, we are too like our
fathers, and so we shall continue as long as the causes that made them
what they were, are in operation upon us.

Character, national and individual, has varied in degree, but little in
kind. Men have always been, more or less, selfish and rapacious.
The desire of happiness, almost co-equal with the desire of life, has
been left undirected or been misdirected ; it has therefore centered,
as it began, in self, and nations, instead of advancing, have prescribed
circles, till the opinion has obtained, that there is an ultimate point, as
in a clock, beyond which further advancement is impossible. But
the deduction is as false as the analogy is untrue. Humanity,
unlike any mechanism of its hands, never pauses; individuals
fall off, but the stream of life flows on— flows on enriching the collec-
tive stores of knowledge by successive tributes ; because it is the pri-
vilege of man to transfer and transmit the fruit of his experience ;
and it is the nature of all that is really excellent to be imperishable.
Therefore, the older the world grows the richer it becomes, and we

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266 NATIONAL AND DOMESTIC EDUCATION.

only require to learn how best to apply these immense resources ta
realize that which it is their purpose to furnish — happiness.

We have seen that wealth has not won, nor learning and science
secured for us this advantage. All good is partially diffused and
precariously held ; — the rich live in dread of poverty, the powerful
of overthrow, and the eminent of eclipse ; no success is a warrant for
security, and abundance is embittered by the neighbourhood of wants.
Thus, even the most fortunate make no approaches to felicity ; and
what is the fate of those that fill the opposite ranks ? — who are ba-
nished, like the wretched pariah, to the deserts of poverty, and the
wastes of crime ?

Was it not for the system that gives too much to some, there would
be enough for all. Abundance, not superabundance, is necessary to
happiness ; the equalization that would forbid waste on one hand, and
want on the other, is the only plan that can secure this universal
blessing. There have not been wanting, in all ages, men who have
seen and advocated these truths, and many also have been found to ad-
mire them ; but few have gone farther. Even at the present day, when
the ranks of rational inquirers are more numerous than ever — when
the great moral truths that apply to the whole human family are more
widely spread and admitted than at any former times — how do they
operate upon practice ? Men are as greedy, almost as exclusive as in
times past. Liberality of opinion is the only moral advance we have
made ; this opinion, like the priest's blessing, is the only thing gra-
tuitously bestowed, and is most partially acted on.

The only means for removing this old-established disease, selfish-
ness— for producing practical as well as theoretical liberality, is to be
sought in education, which will modify and remodel character.

All that have the care of young humanity agree in declaring it to
be a mass of passions, more or less violent ; that it is ever seeking its
own gratification, and often by means of an instinctive cunning that
is almost wonderful. All this, which is, I suppose, what is meant by
" original sin," and the " deceitfulness of the human heart," I regard
as the effects of ignorance — of strong principles blindly developing
themselves — as a natural desire of happiness, with an utter ignorance
of the means by which it is attainable. From birth to death this un-
extinguishable desire of happiness attends us, and for want of moral
knowledge, the child, and the equally misinformed adult, seeks it in
individual appropriation. On this plan, education and institutions
have been formed. Whatever the object, selfishness is the pivot on
which the actor moves. The individual is invited to good, and
warned against evil, principally because they must re-act pleasurably or
painfully on himself; thus the little isolated machine feels no common
sympathy with his kind, and when disposed to try experiments for
enlarging the spere of his enjoyments, is undetered by any apprehen-
sion of diminishing that of others. The tyrant of twelvemonths old,
and he of half a century, differ nothing in essentials ; both are equally
intent on one aim, equally ignorant of the best means. Thus has
grown the great capitalist, who, without compunction, grinds wealth
out of the torture of humanity, till the great wheel of selfishness,
enlarging in size and scope as it revolves, draws in and crushes even

NATIONAL AND DOMESTIC EDUCATION. 267

infant beings, and the story of the cannibal giant, whose table was
furnished by babes, ceases to be a fable, and with this additional
horror, that the parents of the little victims are the servitors.

How unfair it would be deemed if money did not produce to every
holder its due value ; what an outcry would be raised if one might
receive but one penny, where another received twelve pence for his
shilling. Is it more fair that the real wealth of the world — mind,
should want this protecting standard. We watch representative
value — inform ourselves eagerly on the subjects of capital and cur-
rency ; but of young humanity, every mind of which may be instinct
with the power of good to existing and succeeding millions, little or
no account is taken. The best wealth of a country is its youth ; the
true mint, a general system of education, by which every individual
may receive the impress of superior character, and carry into society
a moral currency of superior value.

How wonderful then it is that education has hitherto been pro-
moted only in the most desultory manner. Accidental, not determi-
nate, instruction is the lot of most. Moral education is almost uni-
versally the growth of example, little guarded, and quite indifferent
to the important point of presenting a fit model for imitation ; while
mental education still remains a business of theory rather than prac-
tice, and, as if we proffered going forward by the labour of the oar,
rather than the impulse of the wind, we substitute hope, fear, and
emulation, as stimulants or rather goads, thus superseding the natural
effects of the allurements of knowledge, the sympathy of studious
association, and the grand principle of the universal happiness and
exaltation of humanity. We corrupt the spring, and wonder its
streams are infected ; we injure the sapling, and complain that the
tree does not flourish. Bribery and coercion have hitherto been the
grand instruments of all governments; by means of these, armies have
been formed, and discipline has trainedmen to slavery and slaughter.
— Sectarians have congregated their thousands that have been de-
voted to prayer here, and have believed in eternal torments hereafter.
It is thus made evident what determinate purpose and unity of action,
even in violation, of nature can effect. Is there then a doubt as to
what wisdom and perseverance, acting in accordance with nature,
may produce ?

The children of the present age will be the legislators, political and
domestic, of the next. On the characters given to the now tenants of
cradles, will depend the public and private happiness of succeeding
years — nor will these children fail to re-act on the existing adults,
who ere they pass from this scene must taste of happiness or misery
through the rising generation.

How important a consideration then is education ! how paramount
of all others ! of what universal interest ! In all matters of great
moment, it has hitherto been customary to leave women out of the
question, as if they were as rarely to be met in the works of God, as
of Jeremy Bentham. I mean to depart from this venerable rule, de-
notive, like many others, of the wisdom of our forefathers, and call to
the great question of education, WOMEN, as those that ought to have
the first voice in it.

NATIONAL AND DOMESTIC EDUCATION.

In the bloodless crusade now going forward against arbitrary power
and prejudiced ignorance, woman, without any violation of her femi-
nine character, which I always wish her to preserve, may take the
field. Destructiveness, that once raised man to a hero, now debases
him to a demon. The wreath of glory is at present properly ad-
judged to those that best promote and increase human felicity, and to
the honours of that wreath who shall prefer prouder or fairer claims
than woman? But does she know what her supineness has done for
her ? The reformers and philanthropists, and they now form large
bodies, think there is no hope for humanity but in a system of na-
tional education, in obedience to which the infant, when a few months
old, is to be taken entirely from the mother! where her character is
such as to make this a matter of necessity — I hear the proposal with
the burning cheek of shame — where her character is such as not to
render it necessary, I listen to the proposal as sacrilege !

I heard, the other day, one of our most enlightened men — one of
the few advocates of Christian morality, observe — that if all mothers
did their duty, the whole aspect of society would be changed ; but
that mothers treated their children either with neglect, or perverted
them by indulgence ; that some did both, consigning them during
the day to domestics, and having the little creatures introduced, with
the sweets, after dinner, to be flattered, and the means of flattery to
their parents. Mothers of England is this true, or is it not ? If it
be true, will you not reform such a crime ? if it be not true, will you
not repel such a charge ? Let the words NATIONAL EDUCATION, as
applied to infants, be the tocsin — let it ring an alarum that will wake
even luxurious indolence, and drown the jingling bells of mountebank
fashion !

The benevolent aim of my friend, and the advocates of national
education, is an improved national character. But let me ask, if
this may not be accomplished without a cruel violation of the ten-
derest of nature's ties ? without breaking up the great palladium of
human happiness and virtue — HOME — tearing from it the bright forms
of infancy, and leaving its echoes mute of their young voices !

The rage for equalizing has reached even unto the household
hearth. Proscription against exclusiveness would attempt to frac-
tionize the most indivisible affections. Mr. Owen's principle of com-
mon property is, as he holds it, an impossibility — it is incapable of
general application, and as a general principle is a false one. Finite
beings must have definite aims ; people, to be practical, must have a
peculiar sphere of action, and particular associates. The principle of
love is, in the Creator arid creature, the same in essence, but very
different in its power and power of application. God may love all
because he can serve all, his means are infinite and universal : our
love must be in a great degree exclusive, because our means are con-
fined. If we beat out the grain into leaf-gold, what better purpose
shall it serve than to gild a theory ?

Heaven preserve me, and I say this with no allusion to Mr. Owen,
who is one of the most estimable of men, but Heaven, I say, preserve
me from those universal views for the benefit of all, that interfere
with the individual views that may benefit even one : keep me from

NATIONAL AND DOMESTIC EDUCATION. 269

the vast aims that extend to future generations, and lead to oversight
of the present wants of existing worth. A fine theory is like a fine
temple, admired and worthy to be admired ; but it must be supported
on the pillars of practicability, and be applied to the purposes of ac-
tual usefulness. Give me the working moralist, that is exemplary in
the domestic and social relations of life, who can in these love in-
tensely and forbear generously, and I have some warrant that he can
apply these principles universally ; but the mere speculative moralist,
though he preaches the most beautiful of theories, is only like a bab-
bling stream that leaves its own banks and channels dry, for the glory
of contributing its petty waters to the vast ocean.

Mr. Owen is himself an example of the futility of his diffusive
principle. Had he realized in the persons of one hundred children
his educational and co-operative theory, would he not, by giving
tangible evidence of its worth, have served his system, and it be a
good one, the world, infinitely more than by aiming, as he has done,
at the regeneration of the whole social system at once. Like the boy
with the filberts, he has grasped at too much, the consequence is, his
system sticks by the way, like the boy's hand in the neck of the jar,
which is vainly full of nuts, and unless he will condescend to take
only a few, and crack them one by one, will he never come at the
kernels.

The homes of England are the altars of English virtue ; may their
fires never be extinguished ! May they ever be guarded by a mini-
stering priestess and priest, in the sacred characters of wife and hus-
band-1—mother and father. I would have the chain of sympathy con-
nect these homes one with another; I would have domestic love
radiate into universal love; so that Avhenever a human being, no
matter from what clime or quarter of the globe, appeared, he should
find a warm welcome at the household hearth. But away with the
parallelogram marts of confusion, in which parents are not to recog-
nize their children, or children their parents. Let national educatiqn
throw open well-regulated colleges to the youth of both sexes, to
which their parents, when such is their pleasure, may have access to
hear lectures, &c. &c. But let infancy and childhood be left to those
to whom God has given them. I can imagine the Creator looking
down on no creature as he does on the intelligent benignant mother ;
if He has on earth a true delegate, it is herself. If it were practicable,
which it is not, to make mothers resign this delegation, let them resist
such an attempt ; but let them fit themselves to fulfil the office they
will refuse to surrender. I think with Pestalozzi that every mother,
having the will) can educate her young children better than others can
for her.

But however much in early education may depend on the mother,
not little is the influence of a father in forming the character of his
children. Therefore those who, when censure is to be distributed,
assign so liberal an allotment to mothers, need to be reminded that
there is a paternal as well as maternal agency in every household ;
and if female management sometimes need amendment, so often does
male conduct require reform. Mr. Owen's principle of co-operation
cannot be better brought into action than in the marriage conpact,

270 A SPECIMEN OF THE BLACK ART !

there ought to be nothing competitive between those so allied. The
circumstances of home are to be taken into the account of education,
which must be the joint work of both parents, though pre-eminently
the mother's ; the father must assist or he will counteract, there can
be nothing negative from one so proximate. Hence an additional
motive is presented to preserve the institution of domestic education ;
it is not only essential to filial love, an indemnity, parents, particularly
mothers, dearly purchase, but it is a perpetual inducement to im-
provement .in the parents themselves. Thus beautifully do the do-
mestic relations act and re-act on each other, and a virtuous home be-
comes the depot of principles and feelings consistent with and con-
servative of the most important and universal interests.

A SPECIMEN OF THE BLACK ART !

THE lieutenant was welcomed home with great joy by his relations
and friends. He had been some years in the West Indies, and the
neighbours of Castleward were delighted to listen to his long stories
of Trinidad, of battles with sharks and alligators, and in return he
sipped their claret, shot over their estates, and amused himself as
comfortably as a gentleman on a long leave of absence could desire.
The lieutenant's sister had been married to a Mr. Washington, who
form his name was supposed to be a blood relation to the celebrated
General Washington; and as this distinguished individual had no
children, all the old women and wiseacres of Ballyraggett, Bally-
spallen, and Ballynakill, made up their minds that his excellency,
when dying, would leave a good legacy in America to his blood re-
lation, Mr. George Washington, of Dureen, in Ireland. The house
of his brother-in-law was a comfortable home for Lieutenant Palmer,
so he had taken up his residence there for many months, bag and
baggage.

Nothing could exceed the delight of Mr. Washington when it was
announced to him that his beloved wife was taken ill and was in ex-
cessive torture. The entire household, including some relations and
friends, were just seated at a comfortable and plentiful dinner. The
first slices off the round or turkey were cut and tasted, when Mrs.
Gregory, the lady's doctor, entered the apartment to announce the
happy arrival of as fine a boy as could be, and that Mrs. Washington
was as well, or indeed even better than could be expected under the
circumstances. A general cheer from the whole company followed,
and bumpers of hot punch were drunk with enthusiasm to the health
of the young General Washington. Mrs. Gregory turned fidgetty ;
and at length beckpned old Mrs. Palmer to the window with a mys-
terious air and whispered something in her ear, on hearing which the
old lady fell flat on the floor as if dead. The old dames hobbled off to
her assistance, and Mrs. Gregory affected to feel strongly herself,

SPF.CIMKN OF THE BLACK AllT ! 271

ejaculating loud enough to be heard, and with that emphasis which
people use when they wish to persuade us they are praying in down-
right earnest,

" God's will be done !"

" What about ?" said the lieutenant, bristling up ; " I suppose my
mother has taken a drop too much ; its not the first time ; dont be
alarmed, my friends, she'll soon come round again, never fear."

" God's will be done !" again exclaimed Mrs. Gregory <f What's
the matter," grumbled the men ; " what can it be," squalled the
women.

" There cannot be a finer or stronger little boy in the varsal world,"
said Mrs. G., " but Lord bless us !" continued she, " its not so — so
while as it should be !"

" Not white !" exclaimed every one of the company in a breath.

" God's will be done !" again ejaculated the resigned Mistress Gre-
gory ; "but as sure as you live the cliild is as black as his father ;
and sure that's none other but Beelzebub himself." A deep groan
escaped from the breast of Mr. Washington;

" JBlood and ouns !" said the lieutenant.

Sufficient could now be gathered to demonstrate that young Master
had not one single white spot on his whole body, and that some
frizzled hair was already beginning to show itself on its little pate ;
but that no nurse could be found to give him a drop of nourishment,
even if he were famishing, all the women verily believing, that as
Mrs. Washington was herself an unexceptionable woman, it must be
a son of the devil by a dream, and nothing else than an imp ; never
was there such a buzz and hubbub in any neighbourhood as now
took place here. Mrs. W. and the lieutenant were by no means at ease
on the subject of this freak of nature. Palmer was of course in high
blood for the honour of his sister, and Mr. Washington cock-a- whoop
for the character of his wife. The father and uncle at last decided
calmly and deliberately to lay the whole before a consultation of
doctors, to know if it was not a regular imagination mark. All the
doctors in the neighbourhood were called in to the consultation. Old
Butler, the farrier, came with all haste to Dureen, and begged leave
to give his opinion and offer his services, wishing to see Master
Washington before the doctors arrived, as he had a scent for turning
any skin however brown, as white as milk. On seeing the young gentle-
man, however, he declared that he was too black intirely for his me-
dicine. Dr. Bathron, who had the lead, declared with great gravity,
that from what he had read, he could take upon himself to assert, that
the child was decidedly a casus omissus ; the others, not exactly com-
prehending the nature of a casus omissus, thought it best to accede,
all subscribed to the opinion that the child was a casus omissus.

Dr. Bathron, however, was determined on this case to found his
fame. By diligently searching old book-stalls in Dublin, whither he
went for the purpose, he found an ancient treatise, translated from
the works of the High German Doctor, Cratorious, (who nourished
in the fourteenth century,) on skinning certain parts of the body to
change the colour, and effectually to disguise criminals who had
escaped from prison. He, therefore, decided, that if this could be

272 SPECIMEN OF THE BLACK ART.'

done partially, why not on the entire body by a little and little, and
not skinning one part till another should be healed. He, therefore,
stated to the good family at Dureen, that he would take upon him-
self to whiten the child, as he was perfectly satisfied the black was
merely the outside or scarf skin, and that the under skin was the same
as any other. The mode of operating was now the subject of diffi-
culty, and it was agreed to call in Mr. Knaggs, the surgeon of Mount-
melick. The state of surgery in Ireland suggested but two ways of
performing this notable operation ; one purely surgical, the other
surgomedical, viz., either by flaying with the knife, or by blistering.
Most people inclined to the blister ; but the doctors conceiving that
a blister might not rise regularly, and would in that case leave the
child piebald, determined as a first experiment to try both. Accord-
ingly, a strong blister two inches by three, was placed on the child's
right arm, and being properly covered, remained there for above an
hour without inflicting any torture ; the left arm was reserved for the
scalpel and forceps, and the operator entertained no doubt whatever
of complete success. The mode he pursued was very scientific. He
made two parallel slashes as deep as he could, in reason, down the
upper part of the arm, and a cross one to introduce the forceps and
strip the loose black skin off, where he could snip it away at the
bottom and leave the white to show the proper colour for a god-child
of General Washington. All eyes were now rivetted to the spot.

"Hush! Hush! my dear." said the doctor to Master George, who
roared like a town bull ; " You dont know what is good for you, my
little innocent," while he applied the forceps to strip off the skin
like a surtout. The skin, however, was tight, nor was there any ap-
pearance of white beneath, though a sufficiency of the vital fluid ma-
nifested itself. The doctor was greatly surprised.

" O I see," said he, " it is somewhat deeper than we conceived."
Another gash was effected on each side, but the second had no better
effect than the first. Doctor Bathron seemed desperate ; but con-
ceiving in so young a child, a cut or two more or less could make no
difference, though his hand trembled for his fame, he gave the scalpel
its full force. The experiment was now complete ; he opened the
wound, and starting back apparently struck with horror, threw down
his knife, and swore the child was in fact an imp of the devil, for he
could see black to the bone, and the bone black also ! He appeared
distracted ; however, the child's arm was bound up, a good poultice
put over it, the blister hastily removed from the other arm, and the
young gentleman (fortunately for Mr. Bathron,) recovered from the
scarification, and lived with an old dry nurse for four or five years.
He was there killed by a cow of his father's horning him, and died
with the full reputation of being a devil incarnate.

Lieutenant Palmer shortly after returned to the West Indies, taking
with him his favourite and faithful black servant, who had accom-
panied him from Trinidad. The poor fellow was a great favourite
with his master, and indeed with most of the family.

A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN'S MASTER.

No man is independent of his stomach : on its healthful action
depend health and life ; its regulation by diet must therefore be a
matter of paramount interest. The subject of dietetics has engaged
a fair share of medical attention, since the days of Hippocrates down
to our own times, but seems still involved in considerable obscurity.
The writings of Hippocrates, Aretaeus, Celsus, Crelius, Aurelianus,
Alexander of Tralles, &c. show the importance, that the first recor-
ders of medicine attached to them, perhaps the poverty of their Ma-
teria Medica, carried them too far ; be that as it may, the instability
of medicine as a science, and its ever varying doctrines, must impede
its advances to the nature of an exact science. The doctrines of some
modern writers, that man is omnivorous, would appear altogether to
supersede the necessity of dietetical rules. It is true, all articles,
animal as well as vegetable, have at times been converted into nutri-
tious chyme for the support of man, particularly in the savage state ;
where Nature, ever on her guard for the preservation of the species,
kindly consents to the performance of offices which, in a more civil-
ized state, she would refuse. But dietetical rules have reference to
civilized life, where not only the necessaries but many of the luxuries
of life abound. If we look at the ponderous volumes which have
been written on this subject, and consider the talents which have
from time to time been brought to bear it out, we must admit a seem-
ing if not a real concern for the public health. But a close exami-
nation of these volumes will show that they have few claims to what
their title pages profess, f( Rules for the Preservation of Health, Popu-
lar Medicine, Medical Dieteticks." The information which they con-
tain is so overlaid with professional verbiage, and discussions on sub-
jects unfitted for the general reader, that it is almost impossible to
unravel it ; and when disentangled of this useless lore, but ill relays
the labour of investigation. To enter on the anatomy and physiology
of the organs concerned in the digestion of food, from its first intro-
duction into the stomach, to the formation of blood, appears to us, in
works of this kind, an unnecessary demand upon the reader's patience.
Convinced by the strongest argument — self-experience, that the food
which he takes into his stomach, is, by a process unknown to him,
converted into a fluid called blood, and which he believes supports
and stimulates the several organs of his body, his great object is, not
to learn the process of digestion, or the anatomical position of parts,
but the best means of maintaining the permanent healthy action of
his vital organs ; these books profess to teach that, but with what
success the world is already convinced. Medical dietetics, we
should suppose, may be fairly treated in a small pamphlet, but modern
authors^swell their pages into thick octavos, confirming the popular
adage MEFA B«£?uo»>. Nothing so much tends to increase the scepti-
cism of the public with regard to the powers of physic, either medi-
cinal or dietetic, as the contradictory opinions advanced by its mem-
bers— some advocating a return to the plain simple regimen of our

M. M. No. 93. 2 N

274 A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN^S MASTER.

ancestors, and supporting their arguments by the longevity of that
day, whilst others alledge a mixed diet not only necessary but indis-
pensable, to the changes which civilization has effected in our animal
nature : probably the mistake with both arises from the great atten-
tion that is paid to quality, to the neglect of quantity.

We shall not stop to consider whether man be carnivorous, grami-
nivorous, or omnivorous, for a return to the simple regimen of pri-
meval life is now not only impracticable but impolitic. The cultiva-
tion of society has not only altered the moral and physical nature of
man, but has extended its influence to the vegetable kingdom.
There is scarcely a vegetable now used as an article of diet found in a
state of nature : wheat, Buffon states, is not a natural product, but
the result of improved cultivation ; so it is with all our culinary
vegetables. The advocates of the vegetable doctrines, whose argu-
ments are founded on their effects when in a state of nature, should
first reduce vegetables to their original nature, and then, by abstain-
ing as well from all animal diet, as well as vegetables, the result of
cultivation, bring back the original nature of man : this is so absurd,
and so utterly impossible, that we shall not pursue the subject
further.

We now come to the men of the mixed regime. The doctrine of a
mixed diet seems more consonant to the present condition of man, yet
the limitation which the chemico-physicians assign them appears
rather confined. Whether chemistry can ever be made available to
the process of digestion is a question of great import. Man, formerly,
when chemistry was little known, lived as long, nay, longer than they
do now, with all its improvements; and the fanciful speculations of
these men shall, like many other theories, pass to the tomb of the
Capulets.

It is curious to look back on the various opinions which, from the
earliest ages, have been held on the subject of digestion. The old
philosophers supposed that the food became putrified in the stomach.
Hippocrates advocated the theory of coction. Galen explained di-
gestion by the retentive, attractive, and concoctive faculties of the
stomach : this doctrine was overturned by the fermenting chemists,
who said that the food was macerated and dissolved by a certain fer-
mentation in the stomach. The theory of trituration soon succeeded
this. Boerhave's theory rested on a combination of those which
existed before his time. Haller considered digestion as a maceration.
Spallanzani and Reamur maintained that the gastric juice was the
chief agent in digestion, and the " stomach," as Hunter says, " was
by some considered as a mill, by others as a fermenting vat ; others
again, that it is a stew-pan ; but in my opinion it is neither a mill or
fermenting vat, nor a stew-pan, but a stomach, gentlemen, a stomach."*
The various experiments which have been made regarding the effect
of animal and vegetable diet, have given an air of plausibility to the
speculations of some men, but the accuracy of their conclusions
cannot be admitted solely on the ground of analogy ; facts, not theo-
ries, are what must command our assent. The chemical physician,

* Manuscript note from Hunter's Lectures.

A WORD OR TWO TOUDHING EVERY MAN*S MASTER. 275

seated in his laboratory, surrounded with his retorts and alembicks,
may very correctly ascertain the proximate and ultimate principles of
animal and vegetable matter ; but when he comes to apply the know-
ledge thus acquired to the business of life, how vain are all his specu-
lations, and how limited his knowledge of digestion, or what is or is
not really digestible or nutritious. The inhabitants of the Polynesian
Islands, who live on fish, the supply of which is always precarious ;
the Esquimaux, who feast on blubber, and the Kamtscathdales, who
feed on fish oil, mixed up with the powdered bark of trees, to render
it more digestible, are all strong and robust, though living upon what
the dietetists pronounce indigestible and innutritious. Whilst the
Creek Indian, when entering upon a journey where the supply of
provisions is doubtful, fills his stomach with an indigestible clay,t
which, by the stimulus of distension alone, enables him to bear the
fatigues of his journey. Every work upon dietetics, from Fordyce
down to the latest and most popular one — Dr. Paris, has run through
the animal and vegetable kingdom with the strictest chemical inquiry,
but all to little purpose. The chemical examination of diet, abstract-
edly considered, is of little importance ; the relative condition of the
digestive organs must always be considered in fixing a scale of
dietetics.

Much of our knowledge in medicine and dietetics, like that in
every other art, proceeds on assumption that nature is always steady,
and that what was productive of certain effects in our constitution,
will be equally so in another ; but this applies less to the human body
than any other subject in nature to which art can be applied. The
laws of inorganic matter admit of the most correct inferences, whilst
the action and reaction of the various faculties of life increase the
difficulty and uncertainty of experiment and observation. Constitu-
tions are endowed with an endless variety of faculties, which must
ever render the result of medicine and dietetics, in their general appli-
cation, uncertain. Unless diversity of constitution be duly attended
to in the consideration of medical inquiries, we must often expose
ourselves to error, like those who made the contradictory report of
the chamelion. There is an observation made by Dr. Henderson, on
agricultural tracts, which is applicable to many of the works on
medical dietetics. " The inutility of publications on agriculture has
chiefly been owing to the authors not specifying clearly the nature of
the soil to which the practice recommended applies." The difficulties
of ascertaining the extent to which the operations of nature are limited
in the restoration of health is another fruitful source of error : such is
the impossibility of establishing where nature ends, and art begins.

It is wonderful to think how readily we yield up our judgment and
reflection on matters which so intimately concern us, and upon which
experience and observation can alone furnish any grounds for know-
ledge, to men, who, big with their own speculations, and full of fine-
drawn theories, exclude from their list of dietetics all articles of diet
which do not agree with their chemical tests ; thus rendering a pre-

f Humboldt's Travels.

276 A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN^S MASTER.

vious knowledge of chemistry necessary to the process of nutrition
which is too absurd to need refutation.

All books written expressly for the public, and professing to convey
useful information, should, as much as possible, be free from profes-
sional technicality; for no explanation, however simple, can carry
conviction to minds not previously prepared for the comprehension
of such subjects, by an elementary education. Convinced of this,
which does not require much reflection, the reader takes up — with
that good faith which is indispensable between patient and physician,
and without which the most effectual remedies often fail — a work on
dietetics, the result perhaps of years of close study and observation,
calculating that, if it were possible to arrive at a correct conclusion,
the man who has devoted the energies of his mind and body for years
to it, is the most likely person to effect it. In this he is right, but
when he comes to the application of this reasoning, and reads the
long preliminary dissertations which the man of medicine, with all
the gravity, and not a little of the cant of the profession, assures his
gentle reader is necessary to comprehend dietetical regimen in all its
bearings, his faith begins to fail him, and the book is thrown down
in disgust. Too often the physician endures the imputation of an
advertising quack ; not content with giving the result of his experi-
ments and observations, he thinks it also necessary to state the several
processes of his investigation with the anatomical and physiological
history of the parts concerned. Perhaps the variety of professional
erudition is not a little prominent, and the " scire tuum nihil est, nisi
se scire hoc sciat alter," is here applicable. To professional men, it
may be satisfactory to explain the processes of physiological experi-
ments, but to the unmedical man it possesses no interest j he reads
the book with the same implicit confidence that he takes his physi-
cian's prescription, content to wait its operation without inquiring
the modus operandi. After wading through a mass of unintelligible
matter, to his great astonishment, like the man in Moliere, who,
without knowing it, was speaking prose for forty years of his life,
he finds, that notwithstanding the vigour of his body and firmness of
his muscle, he has been living for thirty or forty years of his life
upon what the dietetical physicians have condemned as innutritious
and unwholesome. Now, men who profess new doctrines, and expect
a fair share of public confidence, should be men, not only of great
public veracity, but men capable, in every respect, of investigating
the operations of nature with the eye of a philosopher, and the zeal
of a philanthropist ; and if we consider how few of the book-making
men of the present day can be ranked in this class, we should receive,
with considerable latitude, their bold and sweeping anathemas.

Every article of diet, solid or fluid, derived from the animal, vege-
table, or inorganic world, has been tortured in the crucible of the
chemist, who, like the philosopher eliciting sunbeams from cowslips,
establishes their claim to precedence on his list of nutritious articles,
in proportion as they correspond to his chemical notions. It does
not require much argument to show that dietetics, based on such
principles, must ever be a fruitful source of disappointment to the
physician, and disease to the patient. To establish dietetics on prin-

A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN^S MASTER. 277

ciples which may command general assent, man, or animals of a
lower order, should be restricted to a fixed diet for a certain time,
rioting the several changes or effects which may from time to time
occur, and supposing all the organs in a state of health, and digestion
undisturbed, the effect in this case may be taken as a standard of its
effects in similar cases ; but the difficulty of carrying such a plan
into effect, not only in private but in public establishments, where all
things are under medical authority, must for ever prevent our arriv-
ing at a satisfactory conclusion on this point. From the homogenious
nature of the blood, resulting from the digestion, either of animal,
vegetable, or mixed diet, it may appear a matter of small moment to
which we give the preference ; and probably where the exhaustion
of physical power is not great, it does not matter much, but expe-
rience proves that a diet composed of animal and vegetable matter
supports the physical energies better than one purely vegetable. To
the philosopher busied in the investigation of causes, this may afford
matter of speculation — to the unmedical man, none. The digestive
organs of man being composed of similar textures, tissues, and fibres,
the result of their operation, where nature is not disturbed in her
functions by disease or habit, may be taken as the standard of healthy
organic action, always making due allowance for the differences of
physical conformation. The necessity of dietetics implies a state of
disease for which other remedies than mere diet are required, and
without which it can rarely be removed. Their great utility consist
in this, that they support the organic action of parts, whilst under
the influence of more powerful medicinal agents. To those who have
paid every attention to the subject of dietetics, experience is sufficient
to prove the utter impossibility of establishing, on abstract principles,
the nutritive qualities of any matter, either vegetable or animal ; and
if we consider the mystery in which digestion is still involved,
notwithstanding the great advances that have been made in the study
of animal and vegetable chemistry, we shall be disposed to pay more
attention to nature, and less to books. ,

Were we to estimate the digestive powers of the healthy stomach,
by its power in some birds which are able to digest iron, we should
suppose that there was no animal or vegetable substance which it
could not digest. But the human stomach is rarely found in such a
state of health ; the simplicity of nature is so much altered, and the
tendency to acquired and congenital disease so much increased, that
the plainest diet can rarely be digested without the aid of condiments
of some kind. These condiments are all stimulants, and if disease
exist, as it generally does, they ultimately aggravate the disease,
though productive of temporary relief. There is one disease for
which dietetics have been generally prescribed, a disease to be met
with in every walk, whether we turn to the cottage of the peasant or
the palace of the peer— dyspepsia, but arising from different causes.
The gay votary of fashion, whose life is but one scene of uninter-
rupted dissipation, finding the animal passions of the man, and the
physical energies of his frame sinking pari passu, with his indul-
gence, endeavours to recruit his strength by increasing appeals to
the digestive powers of his stomach, and the most nutritious articles

27B A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN'S MASTER.

are condensed into the smallest possible space ; but to -what effect ?
we need but look at their adust and haggard countenances for an
answer. The stomach thus overloaded, leaves much of its contents
undigested, which cannot fail to act as a foreign body, unless we
consider man capable, like the graminivorous animals, of directing
the digestive powers of his stomach on his undigested cud. A diet
of animal matter thus condensed, contains too great a quantity of
stimulus in too small a compass, and, as a permanent stimulant, must
wear out the springs of life much sooner than a diet containing less
nourishment in a larger bulk. Much of what we take into the
stomach affords no nourishment, and is only useful by the stimulus
of distension which its bulk produces. The stasis of undigested food
in the stomach becomes sensible by a sense of weight at the pit of the
stomach, loss of appetite, and eructations, &c. &c. ; the energies of
the stomach are now solicited by the gentle means of tonic remedies,
which generally consist of a pure alcohol, and a vegetable bitter ;
these tonics, from a constant repetition, are in themselves a fruitful
source of disease. To dwell further on this class, is as unnecessary
as it is useless to attempt a cure without a return to a regular life
and plain living. In the statesman, the merchant, the mechanic, the
artizan, we find it, in every stage and form, its proximate cause the
same, though its remote cause very different. The ambition of the
statesman, the anxiety, nay, the avarice, of the merchant, the dis-
appointment of the mechanic, and the poverty of the artizan, so
engross the attention of the waking and sleeping man, as to leave
no moment of relaxation for the digestive powers to make up for the
wear and tear incident to the different callings and pursuits. In the
statesman and merchant, the brain perpetually on the rack, has all
the energies of life directed on it to support the mind, to the total
suspension of digestion, whilst with the mechanic and artizan, the
physical exhaustion of their several callings suspends digestion, and
converts the best diet into a poison, — thus arriving at the same goal,
though by different routes. To the late Mr. Abernethy, the profes-
sion and the public are much indebted, for the bold, clear, and ener-
getic manner in which he pointed out the stomach, as the point de
depart of the majority of those ills to which flesh is heir.

It may now be asked, what system we propose to substitute for
those which have come under our displeasure ? We candidly con-
fess we have none — if the word System mean, as it generally does in
books on dietetics, a vast deal of professional learning. Years of
experience and close observation have proved to us the futility of
every attempt to establish dietetical rules which shall apply to all
cases. The appetites, the desires, and the passions of men, are as
different as their physiognomies, and each is endowed with different
aptitudes, either for mental or physical exertions. Customs and
habits which have been growing for years, cannot with impunity be
changed in a moment. " Sua cuique constat tempories, et mutatio
periculosa est."* A sudden transition from a diet to which, from
infancy, we have been accustomed, to one of a different kind, will

* Abinus de ortu et progressu medicinae.

A WORD OR TWO TOUCHING EVERY MAN^S MASTER. 279

paralyse the power of the most healthy stomach, as effectually, if we
indulge to the same extent, as the change from joy to grief; and few
of us are so supremely happy as not to have experienced this in our
own persons. So capricious is nature, that we have seen the young,
the old, the weakly, and the robust, feast one day upon that which
the next they would loathe j and cheese, the horror of dietetists, we
have seen relished at a time when the lightest animal or vegetable
matter could not be endured. We have before us the case of an old
man, seventy years of age, who, for the last three or four years of his
life, could take no other supper than cheese, and of which he never
eat less than a quarter of a pound, and heard him repeatedly declare
that it was the only meal which he found light and easy of digestion.
He always slept well, and woke with an appetite. This is a fact de-
serving consideration.

To propose dietetical regimen for people already in the enjoyment
of high health, would be absurd ; it would be to render art superior
to nature. In those occasional abberrations from a regular mode of
life, to which all men are more or less at times exposed, art may,
and doubtless does, effect important changes. But to suppose her
operations paramount, would be a doctrine too absurd even for Para-
celsus to maintain.

If people would but reflect a little on the laws which regulate the
organic world — that every body has its period of growth, maturity,
and decay ; and in proportion as we approach the last stage, the
energies of life diminish beyond the power of human ingenuity to
renovate — they would act with more prudence by regulating their
diet, not on dietetic principles, which have reference to positive dis-
ease, but on principles which have reference to one or other of those
climacterick periods. The climax of maturity being passed, nature,
as if conscious of having performed her work, now waits as a passive,
but not an indifferent spectator, the ruin of that noble edifice which
she has constructed ; and as if unwilling that it should crumble into
premature decay, by fits and starts resumes her restorative power,
as is often manifest in the temporary convalescences ; until at length
exhausted, or indifferent to further efforts, she waits, like the Roman
senators in the capitol, the approach of that awful moment which
opens to her the mysteries of another world.

Nothing shews the vanity, or rather the folly of man so clearly
as his wish to ascribe to other than the real causes, those deep and
lasting impressions which the heavy hand of time impresses on us ;
deluding ourselves into the belief that every change of health arises
from some aberration in diet, forgetting the influence of increasing
years, and subscribe to the doctrines of the modern dietetists, who,
promising to their followers eternal life, exhibit, like Paracelsus, in
their own persons the sad exception to their visionary schemes. To
people in health, dietetics are unnecessary; the mode of living which
established health is the most likely to maintain it. To all with
whom positive disease does not exist, or where the taste and appetite
are uot vitiated, we would say consult your feelings. The ease with
which a favourite meal is digested is familiar to all. Where disease
does not exist, but were there is some deviation from ordinary health,

THE FREE CHASSEURS OF POLAND.

a cure is effected by reducing the quantity of food, and regulating
the bowels. But it may be asked are there no other remedies be-
sides this negative class ? We might enumerate a long list, but shall
content ourselves by saying with Le Sage, " Je sais qu'il y a des
bons remedis, mais je ne sais si'l y a des bons medecins."

THE FREE CHASSEURS OF POLAND.

AT the first signal given by the brave spirit of Poland for their
gallant struggle, Julius Malachowski's proud heart beat high with
joy, and instantly responded to the cry. Living at the time in the
town of Konskia, the residence of this truly illustrious family, he
immediately organised the national guard. Then recurring to his fa-
vourite tastes, he conceived the idea of forming two battalions, which
he named the corps of Free Chasseurs. They were composed of the
best shots in the country, and were organised and equipped at his
own expense. These two battalions soon became the terror of the
Muscovites. Woe to the corps who passed within the range of these
riflemen, whose aim was as prompt as deadly. At each nightly
bivouac, more than one Russian officer was unable to answer to the
roll call, for these men were never known to miss those whom they
had singled out. This adventurous kind of war was what Mala-
chowski preferred ; his romantic heart panted for nocturnal s-urprisals,
sudden attacks, combats in which valour supplied the place of numbers.
As proud as intrepid, he could ill brook the regular warfare in which
discipline neutralizes individual daring. He loved and courted
danger as an enthusiast. Thus, the few exploits that distinguished
his short career, are strongly marked by his extraordinary character.

The first took place at Pulawy. It was at the moment that the
Russian General Kreutz had just crossed the Vistula, and made an
eruption into the Palatinates on the left bank, in the environs of Kozienic.
In order to arrest the progress of the enemy, General Dwermicki,
who was marching from Worki upon Pulawy, ordered Colonel La-
gowski, of the second cavalry, to prepare an expedition against
Pulawy, where there was a regiment of Russian dragoons. Well
informed as to the enemies position, Lagowski selected one hundred
horsemen, under the command of Major Weilhorki, and one hundred
of the free chasseurs, led by Julius Malachowski, and on the 26th of
February, at ten in the morning, he divided this force from the vil-
lage of Lagora upon Pulawy. By eleven o'clock they were already
on the banks of the Vistula, opposite to Wlossoloice, near the resi-
dence of the " Garde forestier." In order to surprise the enemy
here, the Polish detachments separated from Malachowski, who was
ordered to advance, under cover of the brushwood, as far as the
Dutch farm of Pulawy, and to delay his attack upon the chateau until
the Polish horsemen should have opened their fire. The principal
effort was directed against the stables, in which the enemies' dragoons
were collected in great force. Scarcely had the fusilade commenced,

THK FREE CHASSEURS OF POLAND.

when Malachowski and his chasseurs were before them. Blockaded
in their stables, the Russian dragoons sustained the assault, and kept
up a galling fire upon the assailants from the roof and windows.
Resolving to terminate the affair by a dash, Malachowski rushed upon
the principal gate, that was strongly barricaded, forces it, and bursts
into the stables. The sight of one of his bravest officers cut down at
his side does not stop him; he charged the Russians home, who
struck with such daring intrepidity, threw down their arms, and sur-
rendered at discretion. One hundred and twenty-two horses fell into
the hands of the Poles, who made two hundred and sixty prisoners,
among whom were the Russian captain, Sakinin, and four of his
officers. The enemy lost nine and thirty killed, the Poles only five.
This brilliant expedition gained Malachowski the rank of lieutenant-
colonel and the cross of the Polish order of Merit. But the young
hero was not long fated to enjoy his well merited honours. After
the battle of Grochow, Field Marshal Diebitch having made a move-
ment to cross the Vistula, Sicrawski's corps was detached to dispute
the passage, or at least to annoy him in the construction of the bridges
and boats necessary for the operation. During the whole of this
month, in which the belligerent forces confined themselves to a guerre
de partisan and countermarches, Julius Malachowski gave not the
enemy a moment's rest. At night, when others gave themselves up
to repose, throwing himself into a boat with some of his followers, he
continually annoyed the Russian bivouacs, surprised the detached
corps, and spread terror throughout their cantonments. Then suc-
ceeded the victory of Dobre, where the star of Skrznecki, so brilliant
at its rising, in one day changed the face of affairs. The Poles, in
their turn, became the assailants, and pursued the Russian army
under the very walls of Liedlee. Diebitch was in his turn reduced
to act upon the defensive, and renounced the passage of the Vistula.
Sierawski's corps found itself in consequence enabled to advance.
The general had orders to pass the Vistula and to second the opera-
tions of Devernicki, who was advancing upon Volhynia. Sierawski-
obeyed, but on his arrival in the vicinity of the enemy, he found him-
self opposite to a force of four times more numerous than his own.
Unawed by this immense disproportion, he nevertheless attacked, but
in spite of the valour and the ardour of his young troops, he was
soon obliged to sound a retreat. Driven from a forest that had
for some time sheltered him, the Poles were on the point of being
surrounded and made prisoners, when Major Wielkaski with some
subdivisions of cavalry, and Julius Malachowski with his chasseurs,
arrived to their assistance. A panic had seized the troops of Sier-
awski, and Malachowski with his military coup d'ceil, convinced that
victory was out of the question, sought at least to lessen the disasters
of a defeat, and devoted himself to destruction to save the army.

Alone with his free chasseurs, covering the retreat of his brothers
in arms, they showed an imposing front to the enemy, and kept him
off by a well sustained and murderous fire. Sustaining thus for
several hours the retrograde movements, he enabled Sierawski's corps
to reach Kasimierz. Although this position was totally unprovided
with facilities for retreat, Malachowski proposed, nevertheless, to de-

M. M. No. 93. 2 O

282 THE FREE CHASSEURS OF POLAND.

fend it, so much did his daring mind delight in exploits that appeared
impossible. However, the enemy having on the following day again
shown himself, the young hero once more resumed his desperate ser-
vice of covering the retreat. Occupying the defiles with his chas-
seurs and scythe bearers, he maintained his ground from nine in the
morning until five in the evening, and strewed the field of battle with
the Russian slain. This heroic resistance gave Sierawski time to
effect the passage of the Vistula in safety, and to carry off his artil-
lery and baggage. Throughout this memorable day, Malachowski
was constantly seen in the front ranks, firing himself with his double
barrelled rifle, and never missing a shot ; but when the cartridges of
his brave riflemen were exhausted, and the Russians, always gaming
ground, were within a few paces of him, then blazed up the soul of
the hero. With a convulsive emotion, he seized the scythe of a sol-
dier just fallen by his side, and rushing upon the barbarous foe,
" Comrades," he exclaimed, " follow me ; it was with this arm that
Koscuiszko fought and conquered !" Faithful to the voice of their
commander, they, to a man, rushed forward, and closing, fought
hand to hand with the enemy. The Russians astonished at such
daring intrepedity, began to give ground. Malachowski erect in the
thickest of their ranks wielding his murderous scythe, now red with
gore, looked like the angel of death mowing down all around him !
Success had already manifested itself, for this deperate onslaught of
the Free Chasseurs, when two balls struck their noble leader at the
same moment ; one in the mouth and the other in the breast. He
found the end that he had covetted upon the field of battle against
the enslavers of his country !

At the age of nine and twenty, thus perished the hero. With one
of those countenances beautiful as the creations of Grecian art, dark
lustrous eyes, sparkling with the love of glory, with a tall and grace-
ful figure, Malachowski was one of those types of men that do honour
to the creation. His character, like his form, was cast in an antique
mould ; a hero of modern times he would have been equally so, in
the most splendid periods of Greece and Rome — Noble Malachowski !
when he perished in the defiles of Kasimiers. Poland was yet free.
Ere he resigned himself to his glorious rest, he was at least enabled to
cherish some sweet, but alas ! vain illusions.

Malachowski' s death was the subject of a general mourning ; the
public papers at Warsaw long dwelt upon it. The barbarians them-
selves, unable to refuse homage to his undaunted nature, rendered
funeral honours to the Polish martyr.

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN.

THE eyes of all Europe have been lately directed with feverish
anxiety towards the East. With the early history of the present
ruler of Egypt, and with his projects of military reform, our readers
are doubtless well acquainted. We shall, therefore, only rapidly
glance at the present condition of Syria, as on the causes that led to
the astonishing success of a campaign that at one time threatened to
reconstruct, upon a new basis, the political geography of the East.

In contemplating the state of degradation and impotency into which
have fallen Syria, and that vast Peninsula which extends westward of
the Euphrates, after having occupied so proud a place in the page of
history, from the earliest traditionary periods down to the time when
the Turkish Sultans abandoned Broussa for Adrianople, we naturally
inquire what has become of the intellectual inheritance which the
ancient inhabitants of these countries left behind them. Where are
the successors of the skilful workmen of Damascus, of Mossul, and
of Angora ; the navigators of Phoenicia, the artists of Ionia, and the
wise men of Chaldea. Several distinct characters of civilization have
successively nourished in this part of Asia. To the primitive ages,
to the reign of the Pelasgi, correspond to subterraneous excavations
of Macri, and the Phrygian monuments of Sei'di Gazi ; to the Baby-
lonian power, the ruins of Bagdad, and the artificial mountains of
Van, to the Helenic period, the baths, the amphitheatres, and the
ruins of which strew the coast of the Archipelago j to the Roman
empire the military roads which traverse in every direction the whole
Peninsula ; to the Greeks of the middle ages, the church of Iznik.
And now that Mussulman civilization, which at its brightest periods
produced the beautiful mosque of the Sultan Bayazid, at Amasia, is
at its las( gasP > f°r we can with safety affirm, that not a single grand
thought, either social, religious, or political, any longer connects
together the four millions of inhabitants which the Porte numbers in
this part of her dominions. All unity has disappeared, and the
Osmoulis who compose the predominating race, no longer obey but
some old habits and recollections. The downfall of the Janizarry
system destroyed their last connecting link. Forgetting that their
destiny was conquest — that they were only encamped in the land —
that they had received a military organization for a permanent state
of warfare — that their head-quarters was Constantinople, they have
become attached to the soil, and shut themselves up in their harems,
have established a feudal system — are divided among themselves by
hereditary enmities, and their contempt for foreigners is no longer
founded on their courage and power. Near the coasts of the Archi-
pelago the European intercourse has in some degree civilized the
manners of the Turks, but as the traveller advances into the interior,
civilization sensibly decreases. On approaching the central plateau
of Asia Minor, he perceives that cultivation seldom extends beyond
the distance of half a league round a village ; the inhabitants are

284

secreted in the mountains, and carefully avoid the vicinity of the
great roads ; it is a well-known statistical phenomenon, that the most
inaccessible districts are the most populous and the richest. This will
be easily understood, when it is told, that the passage of troops
through a district is a pest more dreaded that the fatal plague itself.
The once flourishing and magnificent plains of Eske-Scher have been
deserts since the Sultan Amurath traversed them, at the head of
300,000 men, to lay siege to Bagdad. His passage was marked by
all the devastating effects of the hurricane. When a body of those
horsemen called Delhis, who are attached to the suite of every Pacha,
enters a village, the consternation is general, and followed by a system
of exaction that to the unfortunate villager is equivalent to ruin. To
complain to the Pacha would be to court instant destruction. From
this we can conceive the horror of the peasantry of Australia at the
passage of large bodies of troops through their country, and conse-
quently the obstacles a European army would encounter which
should ever be masters of the Black and Mediterranean Seas. The
Turcomans, a Nornase tribe, who sometimes pitch their tents on the
shores of the Archipelago, and who pay but a moderate tribute to
the Porte, are also another cause of devastation. But the Musseleins,
the farmers of the Pacha it is, who are the oppressors par excellence;
they are always present to despoil the unfortunate fellah, to leave
him, to use a common expression in the mouths of this oppressed
race, " but eyes wherewith to weep." The welfare of the people,
respect for the orders of the Porte, are things to them of the utmost
indifference ; to govern, is to raise men and taxes ; to obey, is to fear.
Thus the law of force reigns almost exclusively at forty or fifty
leagues from the capital. But on approaching the Euphrates the
dissolution of every social tie becomes more striking, we find our-
selves amid the independent tribes — the cruel Cendes ; among the
Tezdis — a people who adore the spirit of Erib. Towards the North
we fall in with the Lazzi, and all those fierce natives who are en-
trenched, like vultures, amid the fastnesses of the Caucasus. Again,
in the South, we discover the wandering Arabs, the pirates of the
desert, and the mountaineers of Lebanon, who live in a state of per-
petual discord. Over this immense line of countries centuries have
passed, and left no trace behind ; all that the ancients and the cru-
saders have related to us of them, is typical of their condition at this
day. The bows and arrows, the armour, exhibited as objects of
curiosity in our museums, are still in use among them. It is only by
chance, or by profiting by their intestine divisions, that the authority
of the Porte is recognised. The Pachas are mostly hereditary, and
live in a state of perpetual insurrection. Thus from the shores of the
Archipelago to the banks of the Euphrates and the Tigris, civiliza-
tion and vegetation appear to obey the same law of decrease.

It is incontestable, that Syria and the Pachalicks, on the confines
of Upper Asia, are of no real importance to the Sultan ; and that the
pride of this monarch would be the only sufferer by their loss. Deso-
lation has reached such a point in the Ottoman Empire, that it is
almost impossible to regenerate her, unless the branches of the tree,
lopped of all those parts so eccentric by their position are detached

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN. 285

from it, and organised into independent states. Towards the North,
Russia has pushed on her battalions as far as Erzeroum ; but it will
be found more difficult to govern Armenia from St. Petersburg than
from Constantinople. In politics, the calculation of distances is an
important element. In the South of Asia, Egypt lays claim to Syria,
and that part of Caramania situated between Mount Taurus and the
sea, — a territory in which she will find those resources she at present
stands so much in need of, such as timber for ship-building, &c., a
Christian population, among whom the seeds of European civilization
will be more easily emplanted. She will thus form an empire that
will one day become powerful, if not prematurely exhausted by that
system of monopoly so rigorously put in force by her present ruler.

The history of the quarrels of the Pacha of Acre with Mehemet
Ali, justifies, in some degree, the pretensions of the latter. Abdallah
Pacha had rendered himself famous by his extortions, and in 1822
took it into his head to seize Damascus. The neighbouring Pacha
formed a league against him, and laid siege to his capital, when Me-
hemet Ali negotiated his pardon, for a sum of 60,000 purses, which
of course the people paid. Interest soon prevailed over gratitude ;
the Pacha of Acre felt there was more to be gained from Constanti-
nople than from Cairo — that the authority of the Sultan in the Pacha-
lie would never be more than nominal, and that the Porte, satisfied
by some presents, would not be in a condition to prevent his ex-
actions ; he therefore sought, on every occasion, to get rid of the
influence of Mehemet Ali, and to excite the jealousy of the Porte
against him. An opportunity soon offered itself. Some Egyptian
fellahs had taken refuge under the guns of Abdallah Pacha ; Mehe-
met Ali demanded these men, but the Governor of Acre refused to
give them up, on the plea that they were subjects of the Grand
Signior, and referred the matter to the Porte, who, on this occasion,
was seized with a fit of humanity, and bewailed the oppression of the
peasantry of the Valley of the Vale — " Inde Bellum" This was at
the close of 1831.

The moment was favourable for the viceroy's great designs. Europe
was sufficiently agitated to leave him no apprehensions of an inter-
vention on the part of Russia. The Albanians and the Borneans were
in open revolt, and insurrections had broken out also in several
pachalics on the side of Upper Asia. The sultan was considered the
slave of the Russians, and his conduct excited the contempt and
hatred of the whole empire. In the meantime, since the revolution,
the exactions of the government had extended to every object of pro-
duction and industry, while the conscription decimated the most in-
dustrious portion of the population ; and if to this organized system of
spoliation we farther add the ravages of the plague and cholera, we
may form some idea of the wretched state of those provinces, and
shall be no longer surprised that the Egyptians were every where
hailed as deliverers.

Ibraham Pacha, the step-son of Mehemet Ali, was placed at the
head of the Egyptian army. Of a short, thick-set figure, he possesses
that gigantic strength which Homer so loved in his heroes, and which
inspires such respect among barbarous nations. To strike off the

286 IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN.

head of a bull with a blow of his scimitar —to execute, like Peter the
Great, with his own hand his victims — to fall, dead drunk, amid the
broken wrecks of champagne bottles, are three acts of his life. But
latterly his manners, from his intercourse with Europeans, have been
somewhat polished ; and, in deference to them, he has displayed both
clemency and dignity — in fact, Ibrahim is excessively anxious to ac-
quire the good opinion of Europe. He possesses all that strong com-
mon sense that so distinguishes the Turks, rather than an elevated
intelligence of mind. Soliman Bey, a renegade Frenchman, formerly
an officer on the staff of Marshall Grouchy, was associated with him ;
and it is to him that the success of the Egyptian army may be chiefly
attributed.

Syria, with her various productions, was the first country which
offered itself to the conquest of the Egyptians. Closed entirely on the
side of Asia by Mount Amanus, which belongs to the chain of Taurus,
and extends from the gulf of Scanderoun to the Euphrates, she is
bounded on one side by the Mediterranean, and on the other by the
desert. Her length, from Aintab to Gaza, is 150 leagues, and the
mean breadth about 30. By a single glance at the map we perceive
the most important military points for the defence of Syria, are the
fortress of Saint Jean d' Acre— Tyre, which ought to be fortified —
Balbeck, as the key to several vallies — Antakea — the passage of the
Beilan — Alesandretta, situated upon a tongue of land between the
marshes and the sea, and, lastly, Aentab and Zeuyma, which com-
mand the two passages on the right side of Mount Amanus. We
have entered into these details in order to show how destitute the
whole plan of campaign in Syria was of all stratagitical combinations.
Malte Brun estimates the population of the district of Sham at two
millions, but we are inclined to question the accuracy of this calcula-
tion, since no two travellers are agreed as to the numbers of the
Druses, some estimating them at 120,000, others at a million. The
Turks form two-fifths of the population — they inhabit the large towns
with the Greeks; the remainder of the population is composed of
Arab fellahs, of Curdes, and of Turcomans, who wander in the valley
of the Orontes; of Bedouin Arabs, who pitch their tents on the banks
of the Jordan and along the edge of the desert of Ansarich, worship-
pers of the sun, the descendants of the servants of the Old Man of
the Mountain, of Maronetes who profess the catholic ritual, of Druses
whose creed is doubtful, all the inhabitants of Mount Lebanon, of
Melualis, Musulmen of the sect of Ali, of Naplonsins and other tribes
who have preserved a state of independence. We shall not be
astonished, that amidst this prodigious diversity of races, that Syria
is more easy to conquer than to keep possession of. With the ex-
ception of the Ansarich, who inhabit the north of Syria, all of them
obeyed, at the moment when the war broke out, the Emir Bechir, a
Druses prince of the family of the celebrated Fakr el Din, who re-
volted against Amurath the Fourth. The Emir Bechir, when Ab-
dallah raised the standard of revolt in 1822, sought the protection of
Mehemet Ali, who re-established him in his government.

Let us now follow Ibrahim in his march. At the head of 32,000
regular troops, and 4 or 5000 Bedouin Arabs and Hassouras, he took

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN. 287

the same route as Bonaparte, and rapidly advanced against St. Jean
d'Acre. Without firing a shot, he made himself master of Jaffa,
Caipha, Jerusalem, Naplonsia. Tabaneh and all the country between
Gaza and Acre submitted at his approach. Master of the sea, by
which he expected reinforcements both in men and materiel, he made
haste to occupy the whole line of coast as far as Ladikich, and set
down, on the 27th of November, before St Jean d'Acre, with a corps
of 15,000 regular infantry, two regiments of lancers, 1000 Bedouins,
two companies of sappers, one of cannoniers, one of bombardiers, and
a train of field and siege artillery. The place is situated on a pro-
montory surrounded on three sides by the sea, and defended on the
fourth by a fort crowned by a tower, which serves as a citadel. This
last front, the bastions of which, from their retiring flanks being too
short, is the only one accessible on the land side, but it was enfiladed
from a neighbouring height. Bonaparte, at the siege of St. Jean
d'Acre, was destitute of siege artillery, and was not master of the
sea, he had, therefore, many more obstacles to encounter than Ibrahim.
During the first ten days the fire of the besiegers was not very vigor-
ous, but on the 9th of December, five frigates having cast anchor
before the place, with some gun-boats under sail, a general attack was
made, and from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, the
fleet and the batteries on shore kept up a well-directed fire. The
besieged on their side were not inactive, the Egyptians experienced
a heavy loss, and several of their ships were much cut up. From the
9th to the 18th the bombardment lasted night and day. On the 10th
some heavy guns were placed in battery, the operations of the siege
were now pushed forward with great ardour, but yet nothing denoted
the immediate reduction of the place. The defence of Abdallah
Pacha was marked by the most determined energy. He had sworn,
it was reported, that he would blow up the town. It was, however,
of the utmost importance to push forward the operations with the
greatest activity. The first disposition of the population which had
been favourable, might undergo a change should not Ibrahim suc-
ceed in striking a great blow. The mountaineers of Lebanon and of
Naplonsia had sent their chiefs to the Egyptian camp, and were
ready to furnish a contingent of their warriors.

The news of the invasion of Syria, by the army of Mehemet Ali,
spread terror at Constantinople. The Porte, with her usual craft
dissimulated, and feigning to see in this event, but a quarrel be-
tween two Pachas, she summoned them to lay before her their
respective griefs; but finding her orders were disregarded, she
made preparations for war. On the 16th of December, 1821,
Mehemet Pacha, already governor of Racca, was appointed governor
of Aleppo, and Seraskier of Syria and Arabia. Orders were sent to
the director of the Imperial Mines, Osman Pacha, to the Muselims
of Marash, of Sevas, of Adana and of Payas, to levy troops. Strict
injunctions were also given to the governors of Caramania, and of
Caesarea, to hold themselves in readiness; but this movement of
Tartars, was insufficient to produce a numerous army; the luke-
warm devotion of the subjects of the Porte, found ample means of
evasion ; and every day, the efforts of the Turkish government in

288 IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN.

Syria, to re-establish its authority, encountered new obstacles. The
son of the Emir Bechir, assembled troops in the mountains, and
held out for Mehemet Ali. Damascus armed itself through fear,
but retained as an hostage the Pacha, appointed to conduct the
caravan to Mecca. Memiran Osman Pacha, had been selected by
the Porte, for the government of Tripoli, but it was necessary to
take possession of it by force of arms. This port was already oc-
cupied, in the name of Mehemet Ali, by Mustapha Agar Barbar,
a man of considerable note in the country. The Seraskier Mehemet
Pacha, consented to furnish Osrnan with some thousand irregular
horsemen, fourteen small field-pieces, the latter arrived before his
capital early in April; believing the Egyptian Comander-in-chief
still occupied with the siege of St. Jean d'Acre. All his dispositions
of attack, consisted in scattering his troops over the surrounding
hills, and in ordering his artillery to play upon the town, which did
not displace a single stone ; the guns of the castle were also, so badly
pointed, that the Turkish horsemen galloped up to the very houses,
and were only driven off by a brisk fire of musketry ; which galling
them severely, they fled across the heights. Night put an end to the
affair: a few days after, Ibraham having left to one of his Lieu-
tenants, the direction of the siege of St. Jean d'Acre, and wishing to
reconnoitre the country, appeared at the head of 800 men, with six
field-pieces, before Osman's camp, who, seized with a panic, imme-
diately abandoned it to the enemy, and hastened to form a junction
with the Pacha of Aleppo, who was posted near Hameh. The
Egyptian general instantly pursued him, and took up a position at
Horn ; but threatened upon this point, by three brigades of the
Seraskier Mehemet Pacha, he retired, after some skirmishes, to
Balbeck ; where he established his camp, and was joined by Abaz
Pacha, his nephew, at the head of 800 men. But his presence was
required in other quarters, divisions had broken out on several
points, and the slowness with which the operations of the siege of
St.1 Jean d'Acre was carried on, had damped the ardour of his
partisans. At Tripoli a conspiracy was discovered, in which were
implicated, the Cadi, the Muphti, and the principal Turks.

After receiving a considerable reinforcement of troops from
Candia, and making some defensive dispositions to the south of
Bolbeck, Ibraham returned before St. Jean d'Acre, to bring the
siege to a conclusion, by a decisive attack. On the 19th of May,
the fire was recommenced with great vigour; the Egyptians made
the most extraordinary efforts to get into the city, arid experienced
a heavy loss ; but scarcely was a breach effected, than it was again
closed up. Nothing was left standing in the town, the palace was
destroyed, and Adullah Pacha obliged to retire to the caves dug by
Djezzar ; the garrison was reduced to less than 2000 men. At last,
on the 27th of May, a general assault was made. Three breaches
were practicable, one on the tower of Kapou Bourdjou, the other
two at Nebieh Zaleh, and at Zavieh. Six battalions had the horrors
of the attack, which commenced at day break, and lasted twelve
hours. At Kapou Bourdjou, the Arabs were on the point of giving
ground, but Ibraham having, with his own hand, struck off the head

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN. 289

of a captain, and having turned a battery against them,, they re-
turned to the assault. Unfortunately for Adullah, his gunners ran
from their pieces, and he was obliged to capitulate. The Egyptians
confessed a loss but of 1429 wounded, and 512 killed. Thus fell
St. Jean d'Acre, after a memorable defence of six months. The
capture of this place insured to Ibrahim the possession of Lower
Syria, and enabled him to advance in perfect security.

While the son of Mehemet Ali was thus vigorously pushing
forward the war, the Porte was still occupied with her preparations.
In the month of March, Hussein Pacha, celebrated by the destruc-
tion of the Janissaries, and by the extraordinary bravery he dis-
played on the Russian Campaign, but in other respects, a soldier
" a la Turc," was appointed chief of the expedition to Arabia. To
this soldier was confided the safety of the empire, with the title of
field-marshal of Anatolia. He was solemnly invested with the
Harvani, (a short cloak) with an embroidered collar, he received a
sabre set in brilliants, and two Arabian horses, superbly caparisoned;
and on the 17th of April, he received orders to join the army which
Hosrew Pacha had organized, the head quarters of which was at
Konisk. By the formation of new regular regiments the army had
been raised to 60,000 men, including artillery and engineers. The
mass of their forcess was composed of Beckir Pacha's brigade of
infantry, with the 2nd regiment of cavalry ; and a strong brigade
of irregulars, under the orders of the governor of Silistria ; of
Skender Pacha's brigade of infantry, and the 6th cavalry ; of that
of Nedgeb Pacha, with the 9th cavalry; and Delaver Pacha's bri-
gade, with the cavalry of the guard. Each of these corps was
accompanied by its batteries, &c. &c. An European organization
had been given to the different services, such as the pay-master-
general's department, commissareat, &c. The sultan had written
out many of the regulations with his own hand.

The young general of division, Mehemet Pacha, a manumitted
slave of Hussein's, was specially charged with the direction of the
regular troops, under the orders of Hussein Pacha ; he was tolerably
well acquainted with all our manreuvres ; and possessed some military
talent. The European instructors were attached to his suit; they
were the captain of artillery, Thernin, whose councils would have
saved the Turkish army, had they been listened to ; the engineer-
officer, Reully, a brave and experienced soldier ; and the captain of
cavalry, Colosso. The two former (Frenchmen) saw almost the
whole of the war ; taken prisoners by the Egyptians, they refused
to enter their service, and were sent back. As for Colosso, he so-
journed but a short time in the camp ; for on endeavouring to put
a stop to the frightful abuses that pervaded every branch of the
service, the generals, and colonels, formed a league against him, and
he retired in disgust.

On the 14th of May, the field-marshal arrived at Koniah, where
he displayed the most culpable negligence and carelessness ; it was
in vain that the European inspectors, requested him to put in force
" the regulation for troops in the field," of the French general
Prevan, .which had been translated into Turkish ; they were no

M. M. No. 93. 2 P

290 IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN.

more listened to than their complaints on the bad state of the
camp, and on the indolence and negligence of the chiefs.

The generalissimo even never deemed it once requisite to review
his army. The most frightful disorders prevailed in the Turkish
military administrations, and which subsequently led to all their
reverses ; in fact it was evident to every experienced eye that an
army so constituted, once overtaken by defeat, would soon be totally
disorganized, and that the Porte ought to place no reliance upon
its army. But there was an arm which, in the flourishing times of
Islamism, was worth 100,000 janizaries. This was excommunica-
tion. The Sultan at last resolved to unsheath this weapon. The
fatal fetva was launched against the traitor Mehemet Ali, and his
son, the indolent Ibrahim. Those wrho have studied the Turkish
history must have thought that the Viceroy of Egypt would find at
last his master — the executioner ; but since the late victories of the
Russians, all national faith is extinguished among the Osmanlis.
Excommunication is an arm as worn out at Constantinople as at Rome,

Whilst the Porte was fulminating her bull of communication, she
directed to the corps diplomatique at Constantinople, a note, in which
she explained her quarrel with her subjects, and in which she de-
mands the strictest neutrality on the part of the great powers, and
declares Egypt in a state of blockade. The Emperor Nicholas re-
recalled his consul from Alexandria, and even made an offer of a fleet,
and an auxiliary corps d'armee. Austria, an enemy to all revolu-
tions, went so far as to threaten the viceroy. England appeared to
preserve the strictest neutrality, while France strenuously employed
all her influence to bring about an accommodation ; but in vain.
The Divan having refused to listen to the demands of Mehemet Ali,
the solution of the question was referred to Field Marshal Hussein,
who proceeded with that calculated exertion which the Ottomans
take for dignity, and thus three weeks were lost before the army ad-
vanced upon Mount Taurus. It was only on the 1st June that
Mehemet Pacha arrived with the van guard and Beker's brigade at
Adana. A reconnaissance, pushed forward as far as Tarsons, brought
back the news of the fall of St. Jean d'Acre. It became, therefore,
an imperative necessity to occupy the passes of Syria, and to march
upon Antioch, in order to cover Beylau. A Tartar was despatched
to Hussien, who posted off in great haste to Adana, but only to halt
there for a fortnight. At last the movement was effected, and the
army reached Antioch, where the cholera broke out in its ranks, and
where eight days were lost, instead of profiting by Ibrahim's delay,
to take up a more advanced position. The latter descended into the
valley of the Orontes, and entered Damascus on the 15th June, after
a short engagement with the Turkish irregulars. But all his opera-
tions were marked by a want of rapidity. After securing Antioch,
the Turkish army should have marched upon Horns, which offered
an excellent position, and where they might have established a com-
munication with the Druses, upon whom some hopes were founded,
and from whence they would have commanded the road to Damascus,
But it was not till the 6th of July that Hussein would execute this
movement. Mehemet Pacha commenced his march ; but in their

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN. 291

haste they forgot to issue rations to the troops, who reached Horns
at ten in the morning, almost dead with hunger and fatigue. The
Seraskier of Aleppo was encamped, with his irregular troops,, at the
gates of the city ; but without deigning to even think of the enemy,
whom they thought at some distance, or to issue rations to the starv-
ing troops, they wasted their time in vain ceremonies. The young
Mehemet Pacha was carried, under a salute of artillery, into a magni-
ficent tent pitched upon the bank of the river. There the two viziers
made a long interchange of compliments, and smoked the hargueleh :
'midst of all this mummery, intelligence was brought in that the
Egyptian army was within two hours march of them. The disorder
that ensued was dreadful. The hungry soldiers dragged themselves
in masses to meet the Arabs. The latter waited for them, with their
front masked by light troops, presenting twenty-seven battalions de-
ployed in line, the left of which rested on the Orontes, and the right
upon a hamlet at the foot of a hill. The Egyptians, who were igno-
rant of the presence of the Turkish regular infantry, had adopted
this vicious disposition against their irregular cavalry. But no one
really commanded among the Turks, and thus the opportunity of
striking a decisive blow was lost. Every colonel had an opinion of
his own. One pacha wished to retreat, while the European instruc-
tors insisted on an immediate attack. In short, the artillery even
refused to advance to the front. However, Ibrahim Pacha did not
remain inactive; he pressed the Turks closely, and doubled his
line from right to left, and pushed forwards some battalions on the
side of the Orontes, but they were checked by part of Beker's bri-
gade and two pieces of cannon. Then the whole Egyptian line halted
and opened their fire. In the course of twenty minutes the left of
the Turks suffered considerably. Mehemet Pacha resolved to charge
the enemy with the bayonet ; but instead of remaining with the
second line in order to direct the movement, he put himself at the
head of his soldiers to attack the Arabs, who immediately formed
in column. Before he reached them, he was abandoned by his artil-
lery, while his cavalry, which should have turned the enemy, fell
back in disorder from before a battery which they might
have carried. The second line of infantry did not support the
movement with vigour ; and on the Egyptian columns deploying
into line, preparatory for a decisive charge, the whole Turkish army
went to the right about in the most disgraceful manner, pursued by
the enemy's cavalry. It was a general " sauve qui pent." The
approach of night alone saved the Turkish army from total destruc-
tion. The loss of the Sultan's forces in this affair amounted to 2,000
killed and 2.500 prisoners.

The wrecks of the Turkish corps retired " pell mell" upon An-
tioch. Instead of rallying them, Nedgeb Pacha's brigade, which was
encamped at two hours' march from the field of battle, fled with
them. The field marshal, on learning this disaster, took post at the
tele du pont on Djezer, on the Orontes. He received the fugitives
at the point of the bayonet, and cut off the heads of the first mutineers
who endeavoured to cross. It was in such moments that Hussein
shewed himself to be above the ordinary stamp of mankind. His

292 IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGX.

energy was admirable calculated for quelling a revolt ; but on the
other hand, though he was able to master the confusion of a retreat,
he knew not how to avoid it. Such was his military incapacity,
that he was incapable of foreseeing any thing. In a short time he
expended all the money in the military chest, impoverishing all the
districts through which he passed, paying no where, and holding up
the name of his master to universal execration. At the action of
Horns, the mass of his forces were not engaged, so that there
yet remained 40,000 regular troops ; but the field marshal allowed
an army to perish to which Hosrew Pacha had given a tolerable
organization. Instead of taking any measures of defence, he set out
for Antioch, with the view of effecting a junction with some troops in
the neighbourhood of Aleppo ; but finding no provisions in those dis-
tricts, he returned by forced marches to Alexandretta, after fatiguing
his troops by a march of 80 leagues.

However, Ibrahim was advancing, having recalled all his garri-
sons, and made new levies in the mountains. As he advanced, the
whole country declared in his favour, and the castle of Aleppo was
delivered up to him. His conduct was marked by great skill and
generosity. Under his protection the numerous Christians began to
raise their heads. There now only remained, to complete the en-
tire occupation of Syria, but to seize Antioch and Alexandretta ; but
his operations were pushed forward with extreme slowness, because
he always expected from Constantinople a decision favourable to the
pretensions of his father-in-law. The Turkish field marshal had
thus plenty of time to stop his passage into Caramania. Antioch
offered an excellent position for an entrenched camp ; but this he
disregarded, and made his advanced posts fall back upon the defile of
Beylan. This defile, formed by a deep valley, is so narrow in
some places, that a camel can scarcely pass. Nevertheless, this is
the grand route of the Mecca caravan. Nothing was more easy than
to defend it ; yet on 5th August the Egyptians made themselves
masters of it, after an action of two hours. The passage of the Bey-
lan delivered to the conqueror Alexandretta, its immense magazines,
and 100 pieces of cannon. The Turks, instead of rallying in the
rear, in the favourable positions which the ground offered, fled in
the direction of Adana. Ibrahim pursued them with his cavalry,
which passed the Djihun at a ford ; Hussein Pacha having blown up
the superb bridge of nine arches that crossed that river at Messis.

The Ottoman troops continued their retreat across the plain of
Adana, but they had scarcely reached that city, before they were
dislodged by the enemy, who were on the point of capturing the
Field Marshal. The whole district of Adana declared for Ibrahim,
who had at length reached the new line of frontiers which Mehemet
Ali wished to make the boundaries of his empire. There was now
nothing to prevent the march of the Egyptians upon Constantinople
itself; for the demoralized soldiers of Hussein Pacha deserved not
the name of an army. The Curdes and the Anotalian peasantry
murdered the Turkish regulars wherever they could find them, which
was was not difficult, for they deserted by platoons. The provinces
of Upper Asia were in such a state of insurrection, a single officer of

IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN. 293

Ibrahim's would have been sufficient to make the most considerable
town capitulate. It has been said that the Viceroy, at one moment,
had the idea of himself attacking the Turkish capital by sea, while
Ibrahim should threaten it from Scutari. But his prudence doubt-
less prevented the execution of the enterprize, for however popular
the cause of Mehemet Ali, may have been, he would have appeared
in Constantinople but as a subject, and certainly could not have pre-
vented the intervention of Russia. And lastly, had he succeeded in
these projects of unbounded ambition, what would have been the
result ? Instead of a compact state, bounded by Mount Taurus, he
would have found himself embarrassed with a great empire, tottering
to its base, and which no human power can regenerate. Mehemet
Ali listened therefore to the councils of France, and endeavoured to
obtain the recognition of his independence. But the Porte, listening
to the perfidious suggestions, and governed by the blind obstinacy
that led to the battle of Navarino and the victories of the Russians,
would make no terms, and reduced Ibrahim, after an armistice of five
months, to conquer her again. Hussein Pacha was succeeded by the
Grand Vizier, Redschid Pacha, the same who had distinguished him-
self in Greece, and quelled the revolt of Scodro Pacha. Brave, and
accustomed to the camp, a sound politician, Redschid was superior to
his predecessor, but still, even he was only a Turkish general. He
had been selected principally on account of his great influence in
Turkey in Europe. He therefore received orders to repair to Con-
stantinople, with considerable levies of Bosnians and Albanians, of
which they knew he could dispose, and with the six regiments of
infantry and cavalry that belonged to them.

In the mean time the indefatigable Hussein Pacha had succeeded
in reorganizing an army with about 40,000 regulars of the reserve,
it was echelloned between the capital and Koniah, reinforced by the
troops brought by the Grand Vizier ; it was sufficiently numerous to
have prevented Ibrahim's further advance; but there was neither
skill in the general, or ardour among the troops ; the councils of the
European instructors were as usual disregarded, while the Epyptian
army, on the contrary, was almost exclusively under the direction of
European officers. A single piece of artillery would have sufficed to
have defended the passage of the Taurus, and yet when Ibrahim
appeared on its northern declivity, he had to encounter but a few
irregulars, of whom he soon gave a good account. He then fixed his
camp on the plain of Erekli, at one hundred and sixty days' march of
a camel from Constantinople, and then advanced upon Koniah.

Reuff Pacha, who had provisionally assumed the command of the
Turkish army, until the arrival of Redschid Pacha, prudently fell
back upon Acken at the approach of the Egyptians. But forgetting the
disastrous day of Koulaktche, the Grand Vizier merely assumed the
offensive. Instead of taking up a position in the mountains, and
allowing the unusual rigour of the season to thin the ranks of the
enemy, he precipitately advanced. The cold was so excessive, the
weather so dreadful, and the roads rendered so impassable by the
snow, that only a small portion of the artillery and ammunition could
follow the movement, so that they found themselves as at Horns,

294 IBRAHIM PACHA'S SYRIAN CAMPAIGN.

without provisions in the presence of the enemy, At some distance
from Koniah, Redschid Pacha sent forward his selector at the head of
a body of irregulars, with orders to advance across the mountains
upon the village of Lile, which was occupied by a strong detachment
of Arabs, while the Grand Vizier advanced on his side with the grand
army, by the route of the plain. The attack was to have been simul-
taneous, but unfortunately the selector arrived too soon on the scene
of action, and was totally defeated. Undaunted by this check, the
Grand Vizier continued his advance, and did not halt till he was in
presence of the enemy, whom he found strongly entrenched, and pre-
pared to give him a warm reception. It was the 29th of the Redgeb,
(21st Deer.) and from the advanced hour of the day, there was no
alternative but to attack, otherwise he must have passed a night
upon the field, without bread, exposed to the action of an intense
cold that would have paralyzed the ardour of the troops. Redschid
Pacha made therefore no dispositions for the attack, but his order of
battle was best ; he drew up his army in four lines, thus rendering
useless a great part of his troops, and when he at length resolved to
alter his dispositions for a more extended order of battle, he did not
reconnoitre the ground to ascertain if it would permit such an exten-
sion of front. His left wing, therefore, was unable to deploy, and
remained formed in columns of attack, while the enemy's artillery
committed dreadful havoc on their profound masses. He committed
also another fault, that of placing his artillery between the interval of
the lines, so that it did not reach the Egyptians, while theirs on the
the contrary, posted in their front, did great execution. Mehemet
Redschid's plan of battle was to attack with the mass of his forces,
composed chiefly of Albanians, the centre of the enemy's army,
whilst the cavalry should make a demonstration upon the wings. But
Ibrahim, who had foreseen this manoeuvre, leaving only on the point
attacked a sufficient force to make head for a short time, turned his
adversary to the gorges of the mountains. On gaining the flanks of
the Ottoman party, he impetuously attacked and routed their cavalry,
and afterwards advanced against the principal Turkish corps, which
thus found itself attacked on both sides. The Albanians, in spite of
all the efforts of the Grand Vizier, broke and fled. Redschid Pacha
then put himself at the head of his guard for a last effort, but he was
again, after performing prodigies of valour, repulsed, and fell severely
wounded into the hands of the Egyptians. The loss of the Turks
was immense ; one regiment alone, the first infantry of the line, left
3,000 men upon the field of battle.

The battle was decisive, the second army of the Grand Seignior
was annihilated, and the road to Constantinople again open to Ibrahim,
and the tottering empire of Mahmoud was saved but by the interven-
tion of the Russian Autocrat, who felt that it was rather his own
property that was at stake, than that of the unfortunate Sultan.
Mehemet AH is now an independent sovereign, and it is to the mili-
tary genius of Europe that he owes this glory. While the once
formidable empire of Mahomet is rapidly sinking under an accumu-
lation of evils, the operation of which European diplomacy will in
vain attempt to arrest.

CONFESSIONS OF A TOAD EATER.

I REALLY don't believe that I ever actually ate a toad ; though I
don't know what the kindness of my nature might induce me to do,
if a great man were to request me ; I would certainly strain a point
to oblige a great man. In my paper last month, I endeavoured to
throw some light upon this interesting art, not intending to go fur-
ther than the few hints there laid down. But that amiable feeling
which has induced me through life to make sacrifices, for the benefit
of others, prompts me to a continuance — I am imbued with the pure
spirit of philanthrophy ; every action of my life bespeaks it ; else
why my concern for the world, — why betray any feeling for that mi-
serable, degraded class of my fellow-creatures, the idle and worthless,
who they prefer a career of crime to what is called " honest industry."
Honesty has many friends ; but who shall avow himself the friend of
the criminal. Yet it is to this class, that I principally address
myself — I ask them why they risk the brand, the whip, the gallows ?
why court for mere subsistence all imaginable horrors, at the bare
thought of which my sensitive nature recoils, when the noble art of
toad eating is before them. By adopting such interesting means,
they will earn their bread in a much more satisfactory manner, and
at much less risk — could my principles be brought into practice,
Newgate would be cleared of its tenants. It is much easier to catch
flies with honey, than vinegar, as I once heard a hackney coachman
say while cheating his fare — the maxim was not lost on me.

Mr. Bentley had a manuscript of mine for publication, called
" Every Man his own Toad Eater ;" but respect for the profession
induced me to withdraw it. I conceive my benevolent intentions
might be frustrated by sweet wholesole instruction, the great mystery
must be held sacred. My purpose will be best answered by affordr
ing a few hints, by which the tyro may save himself from some of
the disadvantages to which every profession is more or less liable :
experience will teach the rest. Thank heaven ! upon the whole, I
have found it a very comfortable calling; I have amassed a very
pleasing competency — I have never condescended to the drudgery of
existence; no acknowledged profession /trade or employment ever
soured the native benevolence of my mind. I was a Toad Eater
from my cradle, and by the aid of Providence I shall be a Toad
Eater to the day of my death.

From the events of my earlier history which I am about to relate,
much good may be gathered ; I was dreadfully inexperienced, and
was practised upon most shamefully ; but I forgive them from my
heart, and what is more, I will forgive them, if they do so again.

I accidentally met with an old school- fellow, we had been parti-
cular cronies together in the olden time; and an invitation to dine at
his house on the following Sunday was accepted. We met— a happy
and a- cheerful day was spent by both, all the frolics of our boyhood,
the love passages of our youth, the fates, and fortunes of various

296 CONFESSIONS OF A TOAD-EATER.

schoolfellows, made a long spring day appear very short* My
friend had been fortunate ; he had acquired a handsome independ-
ence by making himself pleasing to an old uncle ; and had wisely
retired to enjoy it without risk. From this time a friendship of the
firmest nature subsisted between us, I was consulted on all occasions,
I became absolutely indispensable to my dear friend, was expected to
give up all other engagements, execute numerous commissions in
town, and in case of an omission on my Sunday visits, I was sure to
find that he had suffered great inconvenience, had been three or four
days without biscuits, had heard it was a good time to buy coals, and
intended that I should have ordered them. In this way v/e continued
some years, during which time I often found my situation very irk-
some. But regard for my dear friend, and the knowledge of how
useful I was to him, reconciled me. Besides, he had no relations, his
health was going, and I was the only friend on whom he could rely
to see him decently laid in the grave. What a desolate situation for
my poor dear friend ; no — I could not leave him. At length he was
taken ill, and on this occasion scarcely ever suffered me to quit his
bed-side, and on his recovery, which he imputed in a great degree,
to my attention, I became more bound to him than ever. Every
fresh cold, or rheumatic twinge cost me a journey, and taxed my
poor pocket pretty severely for little delicacies, for which he ex-
pressed the utmost gratefulness. He often told me, that when he
was dead and gone, I should find he had not forgotten my kind
attention. Poor dear man — such hints were too much for my deli-
cate susceptibility. However I gradually began to reconcile myself
to the belief, that whenever it should please the Almighty to gather my
dear friend to his fathers, the bulk of his very pretty property, would
be forced into my possesion — once I detected myself — heaven for-
give ! contemplating certain alterations and improvements in the
doors and windows of the house : I had almost made up my mind
to re-model a serpentine walk, and the summer house in the garden.
I one day too, asked Mr. Smith, a gentleman who owned a small
paddock adjoining it, at what price he would part with it. I never
shall forget the peculiar look he eyed me with as I asked the ques-
tion : I cannot understand even now what he meant by the look. But
Smith was a remarkably ill-bred man.

My friend though strictly punctual and honest in his general
transactions, was certainly fond of hoarding. He would frequently
desire me to bring him fish, arid other little things, many of which he
would quite forget to pay me for, and I was poor, very poor. Al-
though sometimes, I could not be otherwise, than nettled at his
meanness ; still, the reflection that my dear friend had, perhaps, my
ultimate interest at heart, checked all irritable feeling.- I must say
that at times I speculated respecting the nature of his will, but I
always checked such interested feelings as quite unworthy the sin-
cere friendship I bore him. In short about two years from this
period, during which my visits became still more constant, I, in fact,
neglected every other connexion, and lived entirely with my re-
spected friend — he alas ! coming to town on a raw foggy morning, to
receive his dividend, took cold; which, settling in his chest, threat-

CONFESSIONS OF A TOAD-EATER. 29?

enecl the most serious consequences. I was indefatigable in my
attentions to him, day and night. I procured him the most able
medical advice, ransacked the markets for the choicest dainties, and
endeavoured by every action to show that I was utterly regardless of
expence, or inconvenience, to add to his comforts. He expressed his
gratitude for my anxiety, and his fears that the sacrifices I made on
his account would be injurious to me, and thanked heaven for send-
ing him so faithful and considerate a friend to comfort him in his last
hours. At length he died in my arms, he breathed his last — bless-
ing me with his latest sigh.

For some time I was inconsolable — overwhelmed with sorrow and
regret, and tears of grief fell from my eyes. Indeed, no other sen-
timent could, for some time, find its way into my bosom. I only
remembered his virtues, his selfishness I forgot.

However, the affairs of life claimed my attention — I was now in an
enviable state of affluence — I could at length indulge in the benevo-
lence of my nature — visions of what might be my future course of
life began to intrude. I candidly confess that the next day the feeling
of regret for my dead friend was somewhat alleviated by the pleasure
attendant on the brilliant alterations in my circumstances. I accor-
dingly waited on Mr. Fingerpenny, my poor deceased friend's solici-
tor, with whom his will was deposited, and made him acquainted
with my lamentable bereavement. After condoling with me, and
saying how highly the deceased had always spoken of me, he
suggested the expediency of putting my seal, with his own, on the
papers and effects, until after the funeral, it having been my friend's
particular desire that I should do so, and that the arrangements
should be left entirely to my management, which he had no doubt
the executors would find perfectly satisfactory. I found that the
Rev. Mr. Closeturn, and Cornelius Touchfee, Esq., M.D., of St.
Bartholomew's Hospital, gentlemen of the highest honour and re-
spectability, were appointed executors. I could not but feel this trait
of delicacy on the the part of my poor friend. Had he named me
executor, envious people might have found something to say, knowing
my situation with regard to him in his last moments.

The next day, the gentlemen, with Mr. M. and myself met. After
regretting with me the loss, and passing a high eulogium on their
deceased friend, they begged me to undertake the necessary arrange-
ments for the funeral, provide the servants with mourning, and see
every thing done that was necessary. I was determined to do every
thing in the best manner, and told my friend Betty, the housekeeper,
as she had been so many years with her poor dear master, to get for
her mourning dress the very best bombazine she could find, and Betty
having remarked that a bombazine gown would not match well with
worsted stockings, I even went so far as to treat her with a handsome
pair of silk out of my own pocket. I remember, poor thing, in the
midst of sobbing, she asked me whether I intended keeping on the
house, and if so, whether I was suited with a housekeeper ?

At length the day fixed on for the funeral arrived, when some old
acquaintances, the two executors, the man of the law, and the medi-
cal attendants, who, according to etiquette, generally squeeze them-

M. M. No. 93. 2 Q

298 CONFESSIONS OF A TOAB-KATEK.

selves in, with myself, attended. The employment incidental to those
preparations had hitherto kept my mind employed ; but when, for
the last time, I went to gaze on the departed, the recollections of the
many hours we had passed together, and the thought that in a few
days, or at utmost a few years, I should be like him, cold— desolate-
dead, and perhaps without even one befog to weep over, or regret me,
overpowered my feelings, and I sat silent beside his coffin until told
the procession was arranged.

On our return the all important task of opening the will took place.
Of course I could not be indifferent to its contents, but I endeavoured
to assume as disinterested an air as possible. I was fearful lefct any
portion of my conduct might betray an improper feeling of exultation
or triumph. I bore the covert congratulations of my friends with an
easy indifference, and talked on indifferent subjects to the moment of
opening the document. At length Mr. Fingerpenny having opened
the document, commenced reading. I could scarcely breathe, for
though I knew my poor friend was rich, I did not know the amount
of his property. After all the appointments, ordering the sale of all
his property, payment of all just debts, funeral expenses, &c., he
went oh :-— " I give and bequeath to the Society for the Diffusion of
Christian Knowledge, 30,000/. ! ! !" My heart swelled ; Fingerpenny
proceeded ; " to the British and Foreign Bible Society, 10,OOOZ. ! !"
I thought I should have burst. Fool ! fool ! I muttered — my blood
boiled — my teeth chattered — a faintness and deafness came over me :
at length I caught my own name, and I rallied. He may be richer
than I thought, passed over my mind; I may have judged too hasti-
ly. How I trembled arid gasped when he read, — " To my old and
much valued friend, in memorial of an intimacy that has subsisted so
many years, and with so much happiness to both, A HANDSOME
MOURNING RING, with the BANK NOTE FOR 50/., No. 5422, now in
my desk.

A giddiness overcame me. I heard at intervals the words, "All —
remainder — residue — property — wheresoever — whatsoever— trust —
purpose — herein-mentioned," said Executors, Build Hospital, Bible
Society. My brain whirled ; I felt a parching thirst, and tottering
to the sideboard, I attempted to drink a glass of wine, for my tongue
clove to my mouth. I tried to speak, but could not. I could stay
no longer. I left the apartment. I hurried through the passage, and
in a few moments was in the open air. Had I remained another
minute, I should have choked.

My mind was chaos. I knew not whither I walked or ran, or
which way I went. I was far on my way to London j and a chilling
darkness had come over me before I recollected the strangeness and
abruptness of my departure. I paused, and thought to myself I will
not show them what I suffer, and I turned for that purpose ; but
no — I could not face the sneers of my friends. I again turned my
face to town, and hurried to lodgings.

The remainder of that week I scarcely ate, drank, or slept. Pas-
sion, disappointment, and lethargy, alternately succeeded each other,
until the ensuing Sunday. This was the first Sunday, for many
years, I had passed in town. I dressed myself, but had no where

CONFESSIONS OF A TOAD-EATE.R. 299

(0 go. I attempted a book, but I could not read ; I saw nothing in
its pages, but — hospital— bible society — trust — purpose, &c. &c. I
quite recoiled at the air of gloom and desertion around me. Hurry-
ing towards the more crowded parts of town, I called to memory my
friend Catchflat, in the Borough, and determined to give him a call.
After expressing some surprise at seeing me,

" Well/' said he, " your old friend has gone at last, and made a
strange sort of a will, I hear ; hang it — I thought you were all right
there ; — did you overcharge him in some grocery, or did you neglect
his fleecy hosiery by the 9th of November?" and the savage laughed.
I begged him not to treat the subject with so much levity, as I was
really much hurt. /'Hurt! ah, — so you may be, after dancing after
him so many years, to get nothing."

" Dpn't talk so; it was friendship induced me to the sacrifices I
made ; and he has left me 50/."

" What ! has he left y ou. fifty ! Come, come, you're better off than
I expected." From others I received similar inquiries, condolence,
arid sneers, until I was almost tired of my life.

In a short time, Mr. M. called on me, to know what necessary
disbursements I had made on account of my deceased friend. In 'a
week I received that amount, without comment or legacy ; .1 made
up my mind to wait the twelve months without any application, and
then, if an occasion offered, to shew my feelings to them pretty plainly.
I accordingly waited with calmness until that time had expired, when,
having heard that JVIr. M. bad paid the legacies, I called upon him.
He seemed greatly surprised that I had not received mine, and told
me that the executors had taken the papers out of his hands some
time ago. Upon this I wrote to them, stating that I requested im-
mediate payment.

Jn a short time I received a letter, informing me that the papers
and affairs were in the hands of Mr. Graball, Gray's Inn Builnings,
and, on application to him, any legal claim I might have would be
promptly attended to. I went to Mr. G.'s chambers with the feelings of
a dog, who snaps the bone and worries the giver. He received me with
much politeness, requested me to be seated, and informed me he had
received a letter from the executors upon my business, — and then
went on to tell me that he had been on terms of intimacy with them
for a number of years, and that more high-minded and honourable men
did not exist, and that it was inconceivable the immense number of
trusts they were concerned for, and the very great satisfaction they
had always given to every party with whom they had transactions.
Untying, unfolding, and mumbling over the will, he said, with a
smile,

" Your deceased friend speaks of you, in very high terms, very
high terms indeed, sir. I hear you was somewhat disappointed at the
contents of this will ; and that you expected the bulk of the property
would have been bequeathed to yourself. Singular !" he continued,
without noticing the rage which devoured me. " Strange, indeed !
Your friend merely devises you the fifty pound note, No. 5422. Ah!
Ah! — now the executors say, that no such note ever came into their
possession."

300 CONFESSIONS OF A TOAD-EATER.

" Well/' I answered, " what then ; they had plenty of other fifty
pound notes."

" True, my dear sir/' he replied, " that might be, but as your
esteemed friend leaves you, d'ye see, not a legacy of fifty pounds, but
this one individual particular note, No. five, four, two, two — now
you must prove that the executors had possession of it, before you
can recover it."

"Surely," I exclaimed, " you do not mean to deprive me of
this paltry right, by a quibble ?"

" Quibble, sir," he answered haughtily, and rising from his chair,
" both myself and the executors, are men of too high a character, sir,
to descend to quibbling; if any thing is wrong, it is in the will, sir,
and not with us. I wish you a very good day."

Burning with rage and vexation, I hurried to my solicitor, who
recommended me to trace the note, at the Bank of England, where
on application, I found it was paid in by Mr. L. Do-the- world, the
stock-broker, with other monies, in part purchase of 300/. Navy Five
per cent, on account of my deceased friend, a few months^ after the
making of his will, and with his other property, had been taken pos-
session of by his executors.

Here, to me, was a clear case of fraudulently withholding on the
part of the executors, and I desired my man of law to proceed against
them forthwith. He, however, suggested the expediency of taking
counsel's opinion; nothing appeared to me more unnecessary, I how-
ever told him, to take what steps he thought proper, but not, on any
account to lose time, or submit to compromise, as I was determined
to expose this dishonourable quibble to the world, and spoil the busi-
ness of my reverend friend, and his companion, the Doctor. This
retaliation was sweet to me. He promised dispatch, and, for a time,
my brain was filled with points of law, consultations, settling of briefs,
&c. &c. Never were my spirits so buoyant; the case was clear — if
they had not the money, they had the money's worth. The equity
was indisputable, and the devil himself could not suppose there was
such a difference between law and equity, as to place me in the
wrong box. Alas ! The learned counsel, after many learned quota-
tions, was of opinion that

" The action could not be sustained, inasmuch as the deceased had left to
his dear and much valued friend, one specified article, in form, number, and
value, as aforesaid ; and afterwards, by himself, or those acting under his
own immediate controul or direction, had applied to other than the purposes
so specified, the said article, in form, number, and value, as aforesaid, the
said trust, devise, or bequest doth become null and void, no proviso being
made for or against such let, lapse, or exigency/' &c. &c.

This was accompanied by a long bill and note from my solicitor,
saying, " that after an opinion given by so very eminent a counsel,
and the trouble he had taken to ascertain the grounds, he was afraid
it was useless to proceed; and that when I had examined the items,
I should oblige him by letting him have the amount of his bill, by
return of post, as the costs were principally out of pocket. The bill
was very long and very thick, but the figures were very plain. The

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 301

attendances and consultations, very numerous; and although I never
received or sent a single letter, but that enclosing the bill, the post-
age was very large. My account, in this transaction, stood thus: I
gained disappointment and a mourning ring. I lost time which will
not return; many sums of money laid out, as I thought, at interest,
on my dear friend, during my intimacy with him ; and 44/. 6*. 8d.
for a lawyer's bill, to discharge which very nearly ruined me. I was
cured of legacies and law ; and my example may, I hope, prove a
warning to all young and aspiring toad-eaters, to beware how they

Jlace their trust in one of their own profession; for, my dear friend,
believe I mentioned, gained his fortune by toad-eating to his uncle.
Adopt as your maxim, never to trust one of your class.

Your well wisher,

TOADY.

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.
No. I.

THE INDIANS.

EVERY country and every age has beheld some science the object
of preference; while others languished in a state of contempt. —
Mathematics and dialetics, under the successors of Alexander —
eloquence and politics, under the Roman republic — History and
poetry, in the age of Augustus — grammar and jurisprudence, under
the lower empire — the philosophy of the schools, in the 13th century
— belles-lettres, to the middle of the 17th century — have, in turn,
commanded the admiration of mankind. Physics and mathematics
are now on the throne ; and what distinguishes the present age from
every other, is the facility of locomotion. As little is now thought
of circumnavigating the globe, as, fifty years ago, of making the
tour of our own island. Your very cockney aspires now-a-days to
the character of a Marco Polo, and may be seen Byronising by moon-
light, amid the ruins of the Coliseum, or exciting the scorn of the
Hungarian, by an exhibition of his horsemanship, on the Prater at
Vienna. But no one, in this locomotive era, ought to be admitted
to the rank of a traveller, who has not pic-nic'd at the foot of the
Great Pyramid — shot kangaroos on the plains of Australia — taken a
cup of bear's milk with the Emperor of China — or, should he rather
choose the western hemisphere for the theatre of his operations, he
must have played the champolion, ^amid the ruins of Cuzco — have
eaten, after a hard day's ostrich hunting, carne con cuero, with the
Guacha on the Pampas, or have partaken of a fricassee of parrots, or
the leg of a devil'd monkey, with an Indian chief, on the banks of
the mighty Amazon — then, indeed, he may be considered as a tra-
velled man. Such were the reflections that shot through my mind,
as I strolled down Bond Street, towards the close of the season, in
the year 1826. All the world were migrating ; I caught the infec-

302 HECOLLEOTIONS OF BRAZIL.

tion, and only six months afterwards, was wandering amid the virgin
-forests of Brazil : in that short space of time I had travelled back
from the culminating points to the first line in the scale of civili-
zation. With this point few of my readers are .probably acquainted ;
a short description, therefore, of the magnificence of a tropical forest,
and an account of its wild inhabitants, may not be uninteresting.

Those primeval forests, which stand in all their original wildness,
still unprofaned by the hands of man, are called in Brazil, virgin
forests. In them, European coolness refreshes the wanderer, and at
the same time presents him with the spectacle of the most luxuriant
profusion ; the never-ceasing power of vegetation makes the trees
shoot up to a majestic height, while on every §tem a new creation of
the brightest garlands of the most beautiful parasite climbing plants
are seen gracefully festooned. Instead of the uniform poverty of
species in the forests of Europe, there is here an infinite diversity in
the forms of stems, leaves, and blossoms. Every one of these sove-
reigns of the forests is contradistinguished from its neighbour. First,
the jacaranda tree attracts the eye by the brightness of its feathered
leaves ; the large gold coloured flowers of this tree, and the ipe,
dazzle by their splendour, and form a splendid contrast with the
dark green foliage. Next comes the silk cotton tree, which spreads
out its long arms at a great height from the ground. The anda, on
the other hand, shoots out its branches, profusely covered with
leaves, but which unite to form a verdant arcade. The lofty trumpet
tree, the smooth grey stem of which rises, slightly bending, to a con-
siderable height, and spreads out at the top like the mouth of that
warlike instrument; the flowering cesalpina, the airy laurel, the
lofty geoffrea, the soap trees, with their shining leaves, the graceful
cedar, the beautiful palm, the garlic pear tree, and a thousand others
not yet described, are mingled confusedly together, forming groups
contrasted by the diversity of their forms and tints. Here and there
the dark crown of the fir among the lighter green, appears like a
stranger amid the natives of the tropics, while the beautiful cocoa-
nut tree towers above them all, and high in the clear blue sky, forms
an incomparable ornament to the forest, unrivalled for its majesty
and beauty.

If the eye of the traveller turns from the proud forms of those
ancient denizens of the forest, to the more humble and lower,
which clothe the ground with a rich verdure, it is delighted with
the splendour and gay variety of the flowers, and his mind is
filled with delight and astonishment at the majestic sight. The
repose and silence of these woods, interrupted only by the buzz
of the gay beja flor, and the singular notes of unknown birds and
insects, produces an effect impossible to describe.

But the animal kingdom which people these ancient forests, are
no less distinguished than the vegetable world. Except at noon,
when all living creatures in the torrid zone seek shade and repose,
and when a solemn silence is diffused over the scene, illumined by
the dazzling rays of the sun, every hour of the day calls into action
a different race of animals. The morning is ushered in by the
chattering of monkeys, the shrill cry of the pi-py-o, the deep notes

RECOLLECTIONS O'F BRAZIL'. 303

of the tree frogs, the monotonous chirp of the grasshoppers and
locusts. When the rising sun has dispelled the mists which pre-
ceded it, all creatures rejoice in the return of day : the wasps leave
their long nests, that hang dovtfn from the branches ; the ants issue
from their curious dwellings ; the gay butterflies, rivalling in splen-
dour the gorgeous rainbow, are seen fluttering from flower to flower ;
myriads of the most brilliant beetles buzz in the air, and sparkle like
jewels on the fresh green leaves. Meantime agile lizards, remark-
able for their form, size, and brilliant colours, dark-coloured ser-
pents, which excel in splendour the enamel of the flowers, glide out
of the hollows of trees, and creeping up the stems, bask in the
morning sun, and lie in wait for insects and birds. From this
moment all is life and activity ; squirrels, troops of monkeys, leap,
whistling and chattering, from tree to tree ; the green, blue, and red
parrots fill the air with their screams ; birds of the most gorgeous
plumage, flutter singly, or in companies, through the fragrant bushes,
and the beautiful toneau rattles with his hollow bill, and in loud
plaintive notes, calls for rain.

But the sun has now attained its meredian height, and all the
denizens of the woods seek the balmy repose of the siesta ; an
appalling silence succeeds to the previous charivari — undisturbed by
the sight or voice of living thing — save one, which adds to the solemn
impression.- — Among the highest trees, and in the deepest recesses of
the forests, a sound is heard that strikes you as something super-
natural— the sound is metallic, sometimes resembling the distant
tolling of a convent bell. This extraordinary noise proceeds from
the arapunga (solitary bird), a small white bird, about the size of a
pigeon ; but which, though constantly heard, is seldom seen. About
two hours past noon, the busy orioles creep out of their long nests,
to visit the orange trees ; the fly-catchers, sitting aloof, watching for
insects, dart from the tree with rapid flight on their prey. Above all
these strange sounds, the joyous notes of the nightingale breaks
with sweet effect on the ear, while the woodpecker makes the distant
forests resound, while he pecks the bark from the tree. Thus every
living creature, by its action and voice, greets the splendour of the
day ; the delicate humming birds, rivalling in beauty and lustre the
diadems of monarchs, hover round the brightest flowers. But now
sinks the sun — •

" Not as in northern climes, obscurely bright^

But in one blaze of living light.

With dirk-like bottle, target red,

He rushes to his ocean bed,

Ploughs the broad wave with sudden light,

Then sinks at once, and all is night !**

No curfew, in the woods, tolls the hour of parting day ; but the
period is announced by a very simple and beautiful circumstance: —
amid the solemn stillness, the soft repose that marks the decline of
day, the ave-maria beetle, with its silver wings, issues forth, and pro-
claims the hour of vespers, by winding his silver horn. The Brazilian
hunter looks upon this insect as the herald of the Virgin, sent to

304 RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.

announce the time of her prayer ; and on the death-like stillness of
the forest, the evening hymn now breaks with beautiful effect—

" Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining ;
Ave Maria ! Day is declining ;
Safety and innocence fly with the light,
Temptation and danger walk forth with the night.
From the fall of the shade, till the matin shall chime,
Shield us from danger, and save us from crime."

AVE MARIA ORA PRO NOS.

And now the vampire-bats, eager for their nightly meal, are seen
flitting about, their horrid forms thrown out in strong relievo, by the
scintillations of myriads of fire-flies, that fly about like ignis fatui,
while the moon rises in all the bright effulgence of a tropical clime,
radiantly tipping with silver the graceful tops of the cocoa-nut trees,
and bathing in a flood of light the wood-crowned heights of the lake,
or river, in the lustrous bosom of which, are reflected the magnificent
constellations of the southern hemisphere. Insensible, indeed, must
he be, who can gaze unmoved on such a scene as this.

It is in these forests that we behold our fellow man in his primi-
tive state, even as he was at the birth of creation. The names of the
Brazil tribes are scarcely known in Europe but to the Portuguese,
who divided all the savage tribes of Brazil into two classes, viz. : —
Those who inhabit the sea-coast, who are somewhat civilized, and who
are called Caboclos, or Indias Mansos, domesticated Indians ; and
those of the interior, still in a state of the rudest barbarism, styled
Topayos, or " Indias bravos." The former, when the Europeans
discovered the country, inhabited the sea-coast, and were divided into
numerous tribes, who did not materially differ in manners and lan-
guage ; they all fattened up their prisoners, killed them on some great
festival with a club, beautifully ornamented with feathers, and then
devoured them. As their language was spoken along the whole ex-
tent of coast, from Para to St. Paulo, it was called the lingua geroel,
and in fact it is the language that has given names to all the animals,
plants, rivers, &c. in Brazil.*

The first class, according to this division, having changed their
mode of life, have necessarily lost their original character. But this
observation does not apply to the Topauyas, who still live in a state
of nature, and are divided into several tribes, who are distributed
over the vast Empire of Brazil, in the following order : — In Minas
Geraes, Ceroados, Coropos, Puris, Botocudos, Macuanis. In Bahia
and Porto Leguro, Machacolis, Capoxos, Catauyos, Carires, Sabujos,
Cacamacaens, Masacaros, Province of Peauli, Grecos. Of Para and
Rio Negro, Apoyencecros, Purecameraens, Muras, Mundrucas, Man-
cixos, Canna Merim, Passes, Quri, Tocana, Tapuga, Marania Juri,
Tapoca, Cutenos, Catuquinos, Uarucu, Tupenambros. Like the

* The Jesuit Vasconsellos, in his Noticias Curiosas do Brazils, mentions that
such was the passion of the Indians to partake of the flesh of their enemies, that
when there was not sufficient to give a small portion to each of the tribe, broth
was made of the flesh to make it go farther.

RECOLLECTIONS OF iiliAZlL. 305

natives of some parts of Africa, the Indians of Brazil have neither
a systematic form of religion or priests. Whether they have any
notion of a Soul it is difficult to ascertain, but that they believe in ex-
istence after death is evident by the custom that prevails among some
of the tribes the Puris, Coroados, and Botocudos, of laying beside a
corpse game and other food, for its subsistence on the journey it is
about to make. The Paes, who in every horde rank next to the
chiefs, are considered to possess superhuman knowledge and power,
but they are only conjurors and doctors, who traffic in charms, with-
out practising any thing which, in the slightest degree, approaches
the ceremonies of religious worship. In fact, the Indians appear to
acknowledge no God, but only an evil principle which sometimes,
they say, crosses their path in the form of a lizard, of a crocodile, an
ounce, or some monstrous creation of their own imagination. But
the skill of these Paes in interpreting dreams, and well as their pre-
tended supernatural powers, gives them a high political importance.
No public resolution is ever taken without their consent ; they are
equally consulted in all private affairs, and are consequently acquainted
with the secrets of the whole community. Trained, from earliest in-
fancy, to the exercise of these distinguished functions, and tried by a
long noviciate of solitude, abstinence, and penance, they are at length
admitted, with certain solemn formalities, as duly qualified members
of the order. They boast of carrying on an intercourse with a supe-
rior agency, of having witches acting under their direction, and some-
times give out that they are guided by a supreme chief, whose sanctity
and spiritual perfection enables him to remain in the most inaccessi-
ble fortresses of the mountains, far from the abodes of men, where he
carries on an uninterrupted intercourse with the great spirit of evil.
But whoever is suspected of practising superhuman acts in order to
harm his neighbours, becomes an object of hatred to the whole tribe.
The Paes very frequently turn this horror of sorcery to their own ad-
vantage, by imputing its effects to their rivals, as for instance when
disease obstinately resists the conjurations of one of these doctors^ he
gives his patient to understand that he is bewitched by the charms of
some rival juggler, and the supposed culprit is almost certain to be
assassinated either by the friends of the sick person, or by an imme-
diate order from the chief.

With the exception of the Mouras, a wandering tribe, and who
may be considered as the aboriginal gipsies of Brazil, there is not a
single horde who can be said to be entirely ignorant of the art of
agriculture. Each tribe has its own hunting territory well de"
by conventional limits, known to all. Wherever a tribe or fi
takes up their abode for a time, they have their fields which are c
tivated by the women, for the benefit of the community. Their huts
are built upon the bare ground, supported by four posts, twelve or
fifteen feet high, and from thirty to forty long ; the walls are formed
of thin laths, covered with leaves, or sometimes plastered with clay,
opening on both sides with moveable doors, made of polen leaves,
with which material the roof is also covered. The huts and their
utensils are considered as private property, but certain ideas of a
common possession prevails even for these objects, as a single hut is

M. M. No. 93. 2 R

306 RECOLLECTIONS OF li

often occupied by more than one family — thus in every one of them
there are, in different parts of the floor, hearths for the several fami-
lies residing in it. Hammocks, made of grass or of cotton threads,
which at once supply the place of beds and tables, suspended from
posts round the huts, about a foot from the ground, are the chief ar-
ticles of furniture. Some earthen pots, some baskets of polen leaves,
filled with micho or farenhade mandirea — drinking vessels, pots con-
taining the genepopa dye, and a hollow trunk of a tree, for pounding
milho in, constitute their household furniture. The walls are gener-
ally covered with the different weapons for war or the chase ; the
latter, with his pipe and hammock, are in fact the only objects which
can strictly be reputed as the real property of an individual. Theft is
almost unknown among them. The death of a relation leaves to his
family the use of all he possessed, but the idea of accumulating
property, or in fact of any thing whatever beyond a provision for
their most immediate and prf ssing wants, never enters into the head
of an Indian. Objects of a particular utility, or ornaments of extra-
ordinary beauty, have alone the power of tempting the Brazilian
to steal. Should he be taken in the fact, he is obliged to restore the
objects purloined, and is punished with stripes. On these occasions,
the chief often takes a prominent part in the infliction of the punish-
ment. Ornaments, principally trophies of skill or bravery, are the
most prized, and the most seductive offers would not induce a Mu-
ranei to part with a necklace of Jaquaar's teeth, the monument of his
skill and bravery in the chase. However, these precious objects are
sometimes deposited as pledges for the fulfilment of a promise, and a
chaplet of human teeth, the cranium of an enemy slain in battle, or
the stone, or round piece of wood inserted, by way of ornament, in
the ears or lower lip, are sometimes left as guarantees by a Brazilian
chief whenever he wishes to convince his ally of his firm resolution
of fulfilling an engagement.

These Indians are acquainted with no other mode of traffic than
that of barter, but those who have most intercourse with the Euro-
peans, are beginning to form stores of the articles most in request.
The Manhe manufactures bows of red wood — (pas d'arco) — and pre-
pares the quarari paste, of which their utensils are made ; the Man-
dracu fabricates various ornaments, with feathers of different colours ;
the Murania women make, from the fibres of the palm-tree, hammocks
which are sent for sale down to Surinam, and Essequibo ; in fact, the
major part of the Indian tribes on the Amazon and its tributaries,
carry on a trade in the Farinha de Mandioca. Several kind of beans
serve as a circulating medium. Loans and deposits are the only sort
of engagements of which they have any notion. Provisions are some-
times though rarely borrowed, and security given for the payment.
When they are disposed to traffic with one another, they lay aside
their arms, and on striking a bargain, each contracting party proceeds,
with measured steps, to regain his arms, putting on a fierce look, in
order to shew that they are ready to have recourse to arms to enforce,
if necessary, the conditions of the treaty; this is not the only symbolical
act observed by them, for when they wish to corroborate an oath
they thrust one hand into their hair, or hold it up above their heads.

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 307

They never take the hand as a mark of friendship, but rub their noses
together ; they also clap their hands together as a mark of satisfaction
whenever they conclude an affair. The master of a hut receives
a stranger lolling in his hammock, and makes a sign to him to par-
take of the common repast ; and when the head of a family removes
the pipe from his mouth, and presents it his guest, the latter may rest
assured that it is a sacred pledge of hospitality that is never violated.
A lance fixed in the earth, on the frontiers of a territory, with a notch
made in the feathers, are emblems of war.

The animal kingdom furnishes the Indians in the immense
forests of Brazil with an abundant supply of game ; but what they
bring in is regarded as the common property of the whole family ;
and therefore it is buried, in order that the women may go into the
wood and bring it home when wanted. When several Indians go
out together the game belongs to the hunter who brings it down.
No one can make use of the arms of another, especially of the Sar-
bocanna, (shooting trunk) which is supposed to be polluted by
coming in contact with the lips of a stranger. Hunting parties are
frequent, in order to destroy wild animals and monkeys ; the latter
is looked upon by the Indians as the most delicate food, and in fact
there are some species that in tenderness and flavour are superior
to a hare. They roast them on a spit before a fire, and as the struc-
ture and skeleton of these animals so closely resemble that of a
human being, the idea may have arisen that human flesh is their
habitual food. Not that these savages are free from the reproach of
cannibalism, but it is certain that it does not proceed from any
partialitv to that horrid excess, but solely to satisfy their thirst for
vengeance.

Marriage is unaccompanied by any religious ceremony, the woman
whom a man selects as his companion is formrlly purchased from her
parents, without her inclination being even consulted, and becomes
from that moment the slave of her husband. Monogamy is the most
ordinary state, although polygamy is not forbidden. The first wife
has generally a kind of supremacy over all the rest in the domestic
affairs. The husband rarely treats his wives with kindness, and
keeps them in the most abject state of subjection. These savages
often ally themselves to weaker tribes, with the view of engaging
their wives' relations to come and settle among them, and by that
means to augment the number of their warriors. Among the
Guancurus the women speak a language different to that of the men :
this may perhaps arise from their being settled in a conquered
country, the male inhabitants of which have been all exterminated.
To obtain a wife by forcibly carrying her off is a very general
practice among them. A stoical indifference to both pleasure and
pain is the principal type of masculine virtue among all the tribes of
Brazil, as with those of North America ; for this reason, in some of
them the husband abstains from cohabiting with his wife for a certain
period, and very frequently, the Paes, like the feudal barons of the
middle ages enjoy " le droit du Seigneur" — on the new married
woman.

The degrees of hinderance to marriage vary considerably, but to

308 RKCOLI/ECTIONS OF BKA/IL.

marry a sister or a niece is looked upon as infamous ; the Tupis, and
their ancestors the Zupenambus did not openly permit it, and the
Yamoes, who inhabit the hanks of the Amazon, do not permit mar-
riages amongst members of the same community, whom they consider
as relative of blood, although no real affinity can be proved.

As among all savage tribes, the woman is entirely at the disposition
of the man who marries her. He offers her person to strangers,
and sometimes he lends her to another, and may, if it pleases, repudiate
her. Adultery is held to be only criminal on the part of the woman,
and is frequently punished by death, Infanticide is common, the
Guaccarurus never rear a child until they have attained their thirtieth
year. Some of the tribes are said to even bury alive their female
children. As soon as the woman has been delivered, the husband,
in some of the tribes, takes to his hammock, and receives the visits of
his friends, as if he were really sick ; the woman, on the other hand,
when the moment of the birth approaches, goes into the wood and
carefully conceals herself from the light of the moon. The navel
strings are torn or bitten asunder, and immediately after she goes into
the stream and attends to her household concerns as if nothing had
happened. Infants are sometimes kept at the breast till they are
five years old. The father rarely manifests any thing that ap-
proaches to paternal affection : until the age of puberty the child is
entirely at his disposition ; but on attaining the age of fourteen or
fifteen he is declared to have reached the age of manhood, receives
a new name, and becomes master of his own actions. The ceremonies
on these occasions are extremely singular ; they are symbolical of
courage and intrepidity, and of their insensibility to pain and horror
of their enemies. Among the Passes the chief announces to the tribe
that his son is capable of bearing arms, by making a deep incision in
his breast with a parrot's bill. The daughters remain with their
parents until they are married. Education is unknown among them,
the father allowing the children to do just as they please. Some-
times widows disinter the bones of their husbands, clean and pre-
serve them. Orphans are sometimes allowed to perish with hunger.
In several tribes they kill the old and infirm, to rid them of an
existence become a burden to them. Formerly, among the Tupis,
when the Paie gave over a patient, he advised the friends to put an
end to his sufferings, and the body was eaten.

The Lex Taliones is firmly established among all the aboriginal
tribes of Brazil. Prisoners of war are generally put to death, after
suffering the most refined torture, in which the women are the prin-
cipal actors.

When blood has by accident or premeditately been spilt by a
member of the same tribe, the chief may insist upon the family of the
deceased receiving a compensation.

Abandoned by tradition and all historical records, the inquirer has
nothing left him but to observe the external form of these people,
their customs, and their language, in order from those particulars to
determine their rank amo-ng other races of mankind, and their general
degree of civilization.

The colour of the Brazilian Indians varies from a dark red, brown,

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 309

to yellowish white. Some of them, the ' Botoculos,' are nearly white,
and among this tribe blue eyes are by no means uncommon. They
are all of middling stature, with broad shoulders., strongly built, but
without any appearance of muscle ; in fact, a general conformation of
features and person more or less characterises them all — such as a
small forehead, a round flat Tartar face, thick lips, ^lat nose, small
black eyes, with thick lank black hair, that lias not the slightest
tendency to curl. At the first aspect, the Aboriginal Brazilian,
appears to be mild and innocent, but on a more attentive view one
discovers in his countenance something wild, distrustful, and sudden.
All the Brazil tribes go quite naked, and paint their bodies with the
die of the Jenepapos and the Racron tree ; the latter is of a bright
red colour, and imparts a ferocious expression to the countenance.
The body is painted sometimes entirely black, and at others, all
white and half-black ; but the custom that exists among some of
them of mutilating the countenance is extraordinary, and gives them
an expression of which no description can adequately convey an idea.
Thus the Botocodas make a incision in the lower lip, and in the lobe
of the ears, into which they insert round pieces of wood, by which
means the lower lip is brought up to the tip of the nose, and the ears
are distended to the very shoulders. Nothing can be more hideous
than the appearance of the Botocuda when he removes this singular
ornament, for it then hangs down and discovers the lower teeth.
The Mouras insert on each side of the upper lip two large Onza teeth,
which have the appearance of natural tusks, while another is fixed in
the chin, and hangs down like the imperial of a modern dandy. The
Maxurunas, a tribe who live on the banks of the Javari, in the
Capatania of Grand Para, near the borders of Peru, tattoo the face,
on each side of the nose, and in the lobe of the ears round pieces of
wood are fixed ; the lips are also tattoed with the thorns of the palm
tree, and at each angle of the mouth a large Arara feather is stuck.
The Juris again dye the face blue from the mouth upwards to the
eyes. The Juris Topocas wear beautiful ornaments made of fea-
thers, arranged in the most picturesque manner ; and round their
necks a profusion of necklaces made with the teeth of wild animals.

Although there is a striking resemblance among all the Brazilian
tribes in respect to their genius, character, manners, and particular
customs, as similar as though they formed but one nation ; the greatest
diversity of language, on the other hand, exists among them. This is
extremely remarkable, as they are not dialects of certain original lan-
guages, for so widely do they differ, that the Indians of different
tribes do not understand each other ; they are all extremely imperfect
in their structure, extending only to the denomination of such objects
as strike their organs of vision, but incapable of expressing any ab-
stract idea. It is to this cause that we have remained so singularly
in the dark respecting the Aborigines of Brazil, for such is the im-
perfection of their language that it is impossible to elicit any satis-
factory information from them.

The temperament of the Indian is almost wholly undeveloped, and
appears as phlegm : all the powers of the soul, and the more re-
fined pleasures of the senses are in a state of lethargy. Insensible to

310 UKCOLLKCTIONS OF BRAZIL.

the pleasure of the palate, fond of animal food, he is in general ab-
stemious, obeying only the calls of nature, without regard to time ;
but, on the other hand, he is addicted to ardent liquors, and drinks to
excess. The quantity of strong rum or brandy that we have seen an
Indian drink is surprising. Naturally taciturn, when not engaged in
the pursuits of the chace, he sleeps, or will sit for hours with his eyes
fixed on the ground. His chief attention is directed to the moon, to
whose influence he attributes all the phenomena of nature, by the
varying phases of which he calculates time, and from which he de-
duces good or evil : the former passes without notice, it is the latter
that can only make any impression upon his almost insensible nature.
All his faculties appear concentrated on one object, self preservation ;
almost incapable of distinguishing the past from the future, he has no
foresight for the morrow. A stranger to gratitude, to ambition, to
ail the nobler passions of the mind ; obtuse, reserved, sunk in indiffer-
ence to every thing but war and the chase ; cold and indolent in his
domestic relations, he follows mere animal instinct, and his love for
his wife shews itself only by his jealousy, which with revenge are the
only passions that can arouse his stunted soul from its natural state of
morbid indifference. Accustomed to continual wandering in the
forests, having his perceptions sharpened by keen necessity, and
living in every respect according to nature, his external senses have
a degree of acuteness, which at first sight appears incredible. Of all
the arms of savage tribes on the face of the globe, the colossal bow of
the Brazilian is the most formidable. They are from seven to eight
feet long, made of a red wood (pao de arco) ; their arrows are of three
kinds, either for the chase or war, and are made of a reed (taquarassii).
The skill with which they use this formidable weapon is astonishing,
nothing escapes them, not even the most diminutive object. The
nations who live on the banks of the Amazon and Kis-Negro, in ad-
dition to the bow, use clubs, and the jarbacanna (shooting trunk),
through whicb they propel a small poisoned arrow, to a distance of
forty of fifty yards. The poison in which the arrow is dipped is so
subtle that death instantaneously ensues, though, notwithstanding its
deadly nature, game killed by it may be eaten without the slightest
danger. The preparation of this poison is a secret known only to the
Indians of that part of Brazil. In the eastern and southern parts of
the empire poisoned arms are unknown. The Indians who have
formed the subject of this paper are chiefly those who live on the
banks of the Amazon and its tributaries. The only Topuyos tribes
in the southern parts are the Coroodos, Puris, and Botocuclos, and
these, as civilization advances westward, are gradually retreating far-
ther back into the interior.

The rude barbarism of the Brazilian Indians, when compared with
the advanced state of civilization in which the Spaniards found the
Peruvians, has given rise to many ingenious theories. It has been
remarked that the savage nations of an insular territory are more
rapidly civilized than those of a continent, because, circumscribed by
territory, they are sooner obliged to abandon the chase and turn their
attention to agriculture. It was to physical causes, different in their
nature but similar in their operation, that we may attribute the high

AN KSCAPfi FROM TH(£ GUILLOTINE, 311

degree of civilization attained by the Peruvians, compared with that
of the rest of the inhabitants of that continent ; they were enchained
in their vallies by the mountain barrier of the Andes, and thus instead
of hunters became agriculturists. But the Brazilian Indian was not
so confined, and he continues to this day to wander through the
boundless forests, over the vast pampas of his country, and to defy
the inroads of civilization. Such is his love for this life of savage in-
dependence that many of those who have been taken, and instructed
by the Portuguese in all the arts of civilized life, have after a time
escaped, and resumed their former state of savage independence. On
the past history of these Indians there hangs a mystery that appears
to be for ever closed against human investigation. Like every other
people on the globe they are said to have some tradition of an uni-
versal deluge. But not the slightest land marks exists to guide us in
our researches, for the only monuments of these children of nature
are their simple huts, so slight and perishable in materials that at the
expiration of five or six months not a trace is left that the spot he once
occupied was the habitation of man *.

AN ESCAPE FROM THE GUILLOTINE.

" ANOTHER victim !" I uttered involuntarily, as looking through
a window which commanded a view of the principal entrance to the
prison, I observed a crowd who, with the shouts of " pain ou sang,"
were dragging some unfortunate man to confinement, preparatory to
his final debut on the scaffold.

I saw a man cross the street, of whose purpose my heart misgave
me. This was an individual named Canve, for whom my brother
and me had interested ourselves. He had received numberless
favours from us ; we had, therefore, every reason to dread his
enmity.

It was as I conjectured ; a few minutes after I remarked his ap-
proach in our direction, we were startled by a loud battering at
the door.

" Open your door !" thundered the ruffian ; " Je te donnerai les
raisons ensuite" I, of course, refused.

" Ah ! ah !" he shouted, with a demoniac laugh, " you shall see
me return shortly, and then — " He did not wait to conclude the
sentence, but hurried away, evidently with the intention of seeking
assistance. When he had departed I turned towards my sister, who,
pale with surprise and fear, stood by me, and requested her to see to
the immediate collection of our plate, jewels, and money. This done,
we took the boxes in which we had packed them, and carrying them

* Some years ago the Captain-general of Maranham sent a young Indian of
the Geico tribe to'lasbon, where 'he was educated at the Collegia des Nobres ;
but on his return to Brazil he shortly after disappeared, and tied once more
back to the scenes of his childhood.

312 AN ESCAPE FROM THE GUILLOTINE.

into the wood-cellar, we dropped them into a hole which was fortu-
nately found there, and covering the spot with wood, we returned to
wait the threatened return of Canve, and his band of ruffians.

We were fortunate in completing our task, for scarcely had we
composed ourselves after our hasty labour, when the door with one
blow was shattered to pieces, and in rushed Canve, accompanied by
four men, all armed.

" We have come," answered Canve, who appeared to act as the
leader, " to search your house for a man called Le Cour." (The
husband of my youngest sister, who was at this moment lying ill at
our country seat.) Saying this, and without further remark, they
rushed past us.

Expecting that in the course of their search they would visit my
chamber, I repaired to it to hide a few little articles which were on
my dressing-table. As I anticipated, they came to examine my
apartment, but as if fatigued with their undertaking, they contented
themselves with examining the closets, and thrusting their swords
through the bed, saying at the same time, " If he is here, this will
spare the guillotine one job."

Having completed their survey, they repaired to the drawing-
room, seated themselves without any ceremony, and ordered my
sister to supply them with some of the best wine. By this time the
poor girl had recovered herself, and indignation took the place of
fear. She treated this demand with contemptuous silence, and Canve
started up, I believe, with the intention of striking her. I laid my
hand on the pistol which I always carried, but perhaps awed by her
firm bearing, he departed, without making any remark, in the direc-
tion of the wine-cellars. He returned shortly, loaded with several
bottles, having to appearance previously satisfied himself of its
quality. Having regaled themselves until they became in a state of
beastly intoxication, they left us, having first, out of mere wantonness,
destroyed a large quantity of china and glass, which unfortunately
lay in their way.

For three days we continued unannoyed by any of the revolu-
tionary spirits ; at the end of that time we learnt with horror that
poor Le Cour had fallen into their hands, and would on the following
day undergo his trial as a Royalist.

The next day came, and the hour was fast approaching appointed
for the commencement of the trial.

I had ever remarked that my sister possessed a certain noble-
mindedness and contempt of self which had insured her my esteem
and affection ; but I was yet to learn that she was a heroine. In the
present instance she was the only one whose presence of mind re-
mained unshaken. Well knowing the disregard paid to any defence
proceeding from the unfortunate individuals whose deplorable fate
had brought them before this bloody tribunal, as also the unwilling-
ness evinced by legal characters to undertake it, she determined to
perform the part herself. I was astounded at the extraordinary re-
solution she had formed. A young and beautiful girl, who had
hitherto appeared to me timid as a fawn, to array herself in a court
of justice — and such a court — in defence of one whom it was a crime

ESCAPE FROM THE GUILLOTINE. 313

to succour. In vain I remonstrated — she was inflexible. She de-
layed her departure to the last moment, to render her appearance as
striking as possible. Probably she thought the power of beauty
might effect that which justice might plead for in vain. If so, never
was beauty applied to nobler purpose. I could not witness the ex-
hibition, and therefore remained at home, in an agony of apprehension
for the result.

Whether the beauty and eloquence of this fair creature softened
the hearts of the miscreants who presided at that dreadful tribunal I
know not, but she was successful. The sentence of death which
Canoe (who formed one of the members of this tribunal) endeavoured
to have decreed against our relative, was commuted to banishment
for life, with three months imprisonment as a kind of preparation.

Morning after morning passed, and regularly as the hour of ten
came round did it find my sister at the prison gate an applicant for
admission, bearing such luxuries as his prison fare did not afford;
and it is with a shudder of horror that I recall to my mind when
accompanying her, the sight of blood, warm perhaps from the heart
of some victims to private revenge, streaming down the gutter which
conveyed it to the Saone.

It was during the performance of one of these morning duties
that we remarked a lady, whom we had known a few months before
as the leading star of fashions in Lyons, now walking alone to convey
to her husband such consolation as the sight of her would afford.
She, as is ever the case, early became surrounded by a crowd of
admirers, all envying the look which accidentally she might cast
upon any one in particular. Of all these none had so distinguished

himself in her eyes (as he thought) as N , and he industriously

circulated rumours that he would shortly receive the hand in mar-
rage, which was the object of general rivalry ; and even the day was
named when all doubts would be set at rest. Fortune, however, de-
creed otherwise, and threw in the way a young man whose accom-
plishments appeared in her eyes to outweigh the pretensions of a1!!
others. His noble countenance interested her— his elegant figure
captivated her — and a few weeks saw the charming — the universally
admired Annette become the bride of Romeo de Pouilli. Truly
might he say with Caesar, Veni, vidi, vici. " I came, I saw, I con-
quered."

The deaths this event occasioned must be acknowledged were but

few, but the disappointment, I may say, general ; and as N had

at one time possessed the happiness through the prospect of winning
the prize, saw now that all hopes were perished, his share of disap-
pointments were the largest; and although time seemed to have
washed from his mind the memory of his blighted prospects, still to
the veteran physiognomist traces were discernable in his features of
deep and bitter enmity to his successful rival.

Time had passed with this happy pair in a continual round of
pleasure until the event took place, which consigned so many of the

elite of France to the scaffold. De Pouilli and N were both of

the royalist creed ; but N adopted the revolutionary principles

to wreak his vengeance on the man, who, as he said, had robbed him

M.M. 'No. 93. 2 S

314

ESCAPE FROM THE GUILLOTINE.

of his happiness — they both having- been suitors to the reigning
beauty of Lyons, the consequence was that De Pouilli immediately
became the inmate of a dungeon, there to wait until the moment had
arrived when the revenge of N could consign him to the guil-
lotine. On the occasion of her first visit to her husband in prison
she had been summoned to attend the wretch who was the source of
all her misery in an apartment, the window of which looked out upon
the guillotine, where three unfortunate individuals were about to be
executed, and addressing her, he said, without any introduction —

:( There, feast your eyes upon the scene before you, and consider
that ere three days pass, the axe, which you see now about to fall on
those miscreants, will sever the beautiful neck of your adored."

" Unable to endure the sight, for at the moment he finished the axe
fell upon one of the unfortunate wretches," related Mad. De Pouilli,
" I sank to the ground, and on my recovery found him watching over
me with a look of anxious tenderness — with my faculties returned
my sense of De Pouilli's situation, and I eagerly seized on this
moment to endeavour to procure his liberty. As his wife did I sue
for him, but in vain — in vain I conjured by every motion calculated
to move the breast of man with compassion — all in vain ! At last I
touched upon the love he so often had professed for me, and named
this as an opportunity to prove his sincerity. Hitherto he had gazed
upon me with a voidness of countenance, but like oil thrown on fire it
revived the slumbering flame of hatred which I had hoped to have
subdued."

" Can you," said he, " remind me of those moments, and use them
as arguments in his favour ! Do you suppose that my memory only
retains the recollection of my former love, and not the means by
which my happiness was blasted ? Can I forget that I had a rival —
that that rival was the high-born, haughty and favoured de Pouilli,
and that he now lies in prison waiting only my command to die ?
No, no ; do not deceive yourself, but hear the only terms on which
he lives. The time is arrived when priestcraft and all its rules are
set at nought — freedom for heart and hand is amongst the blessings
of the age. Consent to be mine — discard him from your love — and
and he is free !"

" He uttered this last sentence in a slow impressive manner, that I
might fully understand his meaning ; and when he had concluded,
I still continued to gaze upon him, as if bereft of my senses. Whether
he thought favourably of my silence, I know not, but relaxing the
severity of his countenance, he approached me, and inquired whether
I was prepared to purchase my husband's life on such terms. The
inquiry aroused me from the state of torpor into which his declara-
tion had thrown me, — every nerve seemed strung anew, — my voice
was changed from that of supplication to that of desperation, as I
bitterly reviled him, and rushed from the room, leaving him motion-
less with surprise." As she finished her relation, she burst into tears,
unable any longer to control her feelings, and wringing her hands
implored the intercessions of heaven in behalf of her husband.

A few mornings after, her husband informed her that N had

directed him to prepare for his execution on the following day. With

ESCAPE FROM THE GUILLOTINE. 315

this terrible information she returned to us, and the scene which took
place was truly heart-rending ; she tore her hair — beat her breast —
called herself her husband's destroyer — and vented curses on the
beauty which had murdered him ; — lastly, throwing herself on her
knees before my sister, she implored her to save her husband's life.
I never shall forget the astonishment with which I gazed on my
sister, as she said calmy —

" I cannot save his life — it is for you to accomplish that." " I !"
she cried wistfully, " Oh ! if I knew how ; — tell me — what can I do
to save him ? "

" Return to N ," replied she collectedly, " and say you consent

to his proposal!"

We were positively aghast, and before a word could be said, she
continued — " If you will be guided by me, you shall suffer no dis-
honour. Go to N , I repeat — say that when your husband has

his passport in his hands, and you see him, from his windows if he
pleases, parting from death and danger, you will resign yourself into
his hands ! — trust to me for the rest, and now begone/' Such an
influence had Maria over her weaker friend, that without another
word to any one, she departed. Half an hour had passed ere she
returned ; pale and ghastly she entered the apartment, and sought,
by a flood of tears, to ease her over-burdened heart.

The morning came, and after a long interview with my sister,
during which I was not present, she departed with a kind of cheer-
fulness, that raised suspicions in my mind of her sanity. I watched
her from the window which overlooked the prison, until she entered
the gate, and when it closed upon her, I thought it would be for

ever

Three months after, we were the inhabitants of another soil, re-
fugees from our country, sharing the same roof with those whose
sufferings had endeared them to us, — these were M. and Madame de
Pouilli, — the story of their escape is short.

On the morning of her departure to the prison, after her interview
with my sister, who gave her advice as to the only course left her,
she visited the monster N , who was highly pleased at her unex-
pected compliance, and every thing was done as she dictated. Night
saw her husband with his passport, in a post carriage on the road to
England, and in a few hours his wife joined him — he having, by a
preconcerted understanding waited for her on the road.

The next morning spread the news of N , having been found

stabbed in his apartment by some unknown hand ; my sister's advice
— secret advice — was now no longer a mystery !

PLIK AND PLOK.

EUGENE Luc is a writer, whose works must, in the eyes of the
French people, in the form, if not in the execution, bear the first
marks of genius and originality : that is to say, he has adventured
upon a path never before tried by any of his countrymen ; and made
the good continental folks, who had never seen the sea or a ship,
stare aghast at the wonders of that mighty element ; and he has
frozen them with horror at his wild tales of bloody and relentless
pirates rioting in slaughter and debauchery, whose deeds and cha-
racters are almost superhuman. Taking Cooper for his model, he
has attempted to do for the French what the latter has done for the
American marine; and has tried to interest the French public in
habits and characters with which it professes little sympathy. The
French have never shown a great aptitude for the sea, and we may
expect a proportionate degree of clumsiness of execution in the
works of an author who devotes his talents to the illustration of a
sea-faring life. However, it may not be altogether unamusing to
observe " how they manage those matters in France," and so we
shall take a glance at one of Luc's earliest productions in this line. It
bears the very singular title of " Plik and Plok," names of individuals
who are only mentioned incidently in the tales. But M. Luc is
well aware of the magic of a title. He can appreciate the wonder-
ful effects of a clap-trap, of a singular and picturesque combination
of letters, in rousing the attention of the readers of an advertisement,
and irritating the curiosity of the gentle lovers of romance, who
gloat over relations of blood and murder, and feel their nerves deli-
ciously stimulated by the circumstantial details of a shipwreck, or an
execution. Every bookmaker must know that a judiciously arranged
title-page is half the battle, and wraps up within its short compass
the chances of the success of a production, But to the matter in
hand — El Gitano, the hero of the tale before us, is a wonderful
buccanneer, of the genus Cleveland and Red Rover, but of a more
vulgar and less lofty description of character. Gitano is the name
by which the descendants of the Moors are still distinguished in
Spain. Resembling our gipsies, they are a race distinct and pecu-
liar, and partake of all the remarkable characteristics of their African
progenitors. By the superstitious Spaniards they are held in abhor-
rence, and though the custom of burning a few of them on festival
days for the amusement and edification of good Christians has now
become obsolete, they are considered by all pious Catholics as the
chosen instruments of Satan upon earth, labouring assiduously in
his ministry until it shall please the king of terrors to reward their
services by taking them to himself. This circumstance has fur-
nished our author with a fine opportunity, which he has not neglected,
of bringing into strong relief the superstitious folly of the Spanish
people, and the malicious pranks resorted to by the Gitano to
heighten their belief in his connexion with the demon, and to play

PLIK AND PLOK. 3.17

upon their credulity for his own advantage. The Gitano is a pirate,
like all others of the same species, with the form of an angel and the
heart of a demon. His heart of course has been warped from virtue
by sundrv assassinations, which the fatal bent of circumstances have
necessitated him to commit, to revenge the murder of a father and
the dishonour of a sister; and after this preparatory process he is
qualified to take his stand on the deck of a vessel as the ironhearted
captain of a lawless band. Most of our readers must be aware that
a great part of the coast of Spain is inhabited by bold adventurers,
who exercise the trade of smuggling as their forefathers have done
before them from generation to generation. Nothing can be finer or
more picturesque than the appearance of these contraband heroes
mounted on their fine Andalusian horses with their cavalier equip-
ments and costume ; their bold and undaunted demeanour, and the
swarthy beauty of their forms arid countenances. We have often
thought they would furnish fine materials for the novelist, and we
are surprised that Luc has not managed to make a little more of
them, and to exhibit them in more attractive colours. But though
he sometimes sketches with ability and accuracy, he does not seem
gifted with an inventive genius, or with the power of weaving his
web of circumstances so as to produce a sustained interest through-
out his tale.

The inhabitants of the little town of Santa Maria are thrown into
a state of the greatest consternation by the appearance of the dark
vessel of the Gitano coming to an anchor off the coast. The barber's
shop is crowded with the eager news-gatherers, and all is bustle and
curiosity. The dark deeds of the Gitano are the subject of sundry
recitals, and various are the conjectures upon the object of his ominous
visit to the shore of Santa Maria. Of course the Gitano is a listener
to the senseless prattle, and electrifies the assembled gossips by dis-
covering himself, and then disappearing as if by magic.

But the curiosity and surprise vanish in the all-absorbing interest
of the bull-fight that is fixed for the morning. Here, again, the
Gitano prepares a fresh surprise for the thoughtless inhabitants of
Santa Maria. The games had begun : the bull was a most noble
animal, and the light-limbed matadors were performing feats of skill
that drew upon them the applause of the crowd, and the smiles and
acclamations of their mistresses. The circus was situated on the sea-
shore, and was only accessible by two gates. On a sudden the gate
which fronted the government-box was violently flung open, and a
cavalier presented himself in the circus.

" He was not a Chulilo, for he did not wave in the air the thin veil of red
silk, nor did he brandish the long lance of the picador, nor the double-edged
sword of the matador ; neither was his cap festooned with ribands, nor his
dress embroidered with gold. He was habited in black, after the fashion of
the Croatians. - He wore leather boots, falling in numberless folds upon his
legs, and a mariner's hat, surmounted by a white plume, was on his head.
He was mounted on a spirited black horse, caparisoned in the Moorish style,
a pair of richly-mounted pistols hung at his saddle-bow, and he carried in
his hand one of those short, narrow sabres usually worn by marines. As
soon as he appeared the bull retired to the other extremity of the arena, pre-

318 PLIK and PLOK.

paratory to rushing upon his new adversary : hence the black cavalier had
time to put his steed through some showy movements, and to post himself
beneath the box of the monsa (a nun,) and there he fixed his eyes upon the
betrothed of the Lord. The countenance of the damsel became purple, and
she hid her head in the bosom of the abbess, indignant at the temerity of the
stranger. ' Holy Virgin, what audacity !' cried the female portion of the
spectators. 'What devil's whelp is this?' said the men, equally surprised at
such coolness. On a sudden a general cry burst from the "auditory, for the
bull started forth to rush upon the cavalier of the white plume, who turned
about, saluted the monsa, and said : ' For you, senora, and in honour of your
bright eyes, beautiful as the azure of the skies/ He had scarcely uttered the
words when the bull came headlong upon him. With singular address,
aided by the wonderful agility of his horse, he eluded his pursuer, and dis-
tanced him so far as to have time again to halt before the monsa, and say to
her, 'Once more for you, senora; but this time it is for the sake of that
vermillion mouth, rich as the coral of Peru.' The bull came on furiously.
The cavalier of the white plume awaited his approach with cool deliberation,
drew a pistol from his holster, levelled it, and hit his mark with such ex-
quisite precision, that the animal rolled at his horse's feet. On observing the
imminent peril to which this singular being was exposed, the monsa uttered
a piercing shriek, and threw herself forward on the balustrade of her box.
He seized her hand, carried it to his lips, and then continued to gaze at her
fixedly.

" There was so much to astonish the Spaniards in this strange scene that
they remained petrified. The fantastic costume, the bull killed by a pistol-
shot contrary to all received customs, the fact of kissing the hand of a be-
trothed of the Lord, all this was in such open violation of the established
practices, that the alcalde and the governor remained lost in astonishment,
while the author of all this mischief still kept his eyes fixed upon the monsa,
exclaiming, ' How very beautiful she is !' At length the yelping accents of
the alcalde were heard — the nun quitted the box, and two Serjeants sprang
forward and seized the bridle of the cavalier, who offered no resistance.
' Who are you ?' inquired the alcalde. ' By what right have you killed a
bull destined for the amusement of the public ? How dare you address a
young damsel, who to-morrow is to pronounce the holy and irrevocable
vows ?"

' Who am I ?' said the strange cavalier, haughtily raising his head, and
discovering features of faultless symmetry. His eyes were quick and piercing ;
black mustachio shaded his vermillion lips, and his thick whiskers termi-
nated at a finely moulded chin. ' Who am I !' repeated he with a full and
sonorous voice — ' you shall know presently, worthy alcalde/ He grasped
his bridle, and spurred his horse, which gave such a prodigious bound, that
the two serjeants rolled in the circus.

" Who am I ? I am the Gitano, the accursed— if you like it better, the
damned Gitano, worthy alcalde ;' and he wheeled about, flew through the
gate, gained the beach, and dashed into the sea."

This feat of stemming the tide on horsback is, we are quite sure,
quite new to our readers. Sailors may laugh at the idea of a horse
marine, but if they consult M. Luc's pages on the subject, they will
find that it is no laughing matter, and that such a being is not quite
so imaginary as a mermaid. The Gitano is seldom introduced with-
out his black steed, which must certainly be of the breed of those
that drew Neptune's car ; for since Homer's time we have never seen
anything more sublimely imagined in the horse-marine way than
M. Luc's exquisite picture. Just observe the alertness with which

PLIK AND PLOK. 319

the noble animal extricates himself from a position in which all other
quadrupeds of his species are most helpless.

" A sort of inclined floating bridge, fastened to the ship's side by long
iron bars, was lowered into the water. The horse placed his forefeet upon
the extremity of this plank, and with a vigorous bound reached the deck,
which was almost level with the water."

The assembled multitude, who have just heard the declaration of
the Gitano, rush almost simultaneously in pursuit of him. But be-
sides that their eagerness and numbers obstructs their attempt, they
find on reaching the shore that the boats have all been turned adrift.
However, they are consoled by the appearance of two revenue-
cutters that are bearing down upon the pirate. From this new danger
the Gitano is delivered by his coolness and courage, and his superior
knowledge of the coast, though we must confess we do not exactly
comprehend how he manages it ; but we believe it is by the sub-
stitution of an empty consort, resembling his ship in every particular.
After this we find him superintending the landing of his cargo, during
the performance of which exciting task he does little else than blas-
pheme, and jeer at a poor monk who is specially hired to bless the
goods, and to efface the traces of Satan left on them by his hands.
We shall quote a morsel of this as it presents us with another feat on
horseback.

" While this discussion was proceeding, a man was seen hurrying down
the cliff. It was the fisherman, Pablo. ' In the name of the Virgin, fly/
said he, 'fly — the leather-coats are out — we are betrayed by Punto/ —
' Death to Punto !' and the knives flashed in the moonlight. ' This is not
all/ added he, ' the crimes and profanations of the Gitano recoil upon you j
and the bishop has directed them to shoot you like dogs, for having leagued
with an excommunicated heathen.' ' The holy father changes his sheep into
wolves — what a miracle !' exclaimed the philosopher. ' Death to Punto,
the traitor ! exclaimed the group of smugglers. ' He's done for/ said the
Gitano/ kicking the dead body ; ' and so load your goods in haste for the
tide is rising, and the sky is growing cloudy ; and if once the carbine of the
leather-coats shall glitter on the steep, your choice must lie betwee'n'fire
and water, my lads.' He then gave a low whistle, and his crew of blacks
instantly repaired on board the cutter. The Gitano remained upon the
shore, mounted upon his trusty steed. His countenance assumed a rather
equivocal expression, when a brisk fire of musketry announced the presence
of the revenue officers on the ridge of the cliff. All hope of retreat on that
side was cut oif. ' Holy Virgin, save us, noble captain/ said the monk ;
' show us the secret passage/ * What passage ?' saith the Gitano, ' you
are dreaming/ "

" A sharp fire was kept up upon the group, and three of the smugglers
had already expired upon the beach. The terror of the monk was at its
height: he dragged himself into the water, and there in accents of the deepest
despair, he besought the Gitano to save them. ' Invoke Satan, and I will
save you/ said the Gitano. ' Behind these rocks is a secret passage, masked
by a moveable stone: it will shelter you against your pursuers/ 'Well then,
Satan, since Satan you must be, save us/ cried the Spaniards, with a cry of
anguish. The Gitano shrugged his shoulders, turned his horse's head in the
direction of the vessel, and swam towards it amid a shower of bullets, singing
aloud an old moorish romance of Hafiz. The Smugglers remained thunder-
stricken. They had only to choose between fire and water, as the pirate had
predicted. The Gitano, alone, made his escape. ' By heaven/ exclaimed the

320 PLIK AND PLOK.

officer, ' his ship is on the point of being smashed on the rocks. God is just.
He is standing out to sea, but perish he must.' "

But the Gitano does not perish, but pursues his triumphant career,
and, a little farther on, we find him frightening the crews of two
revenue cutters out of their wits, by the sudden display of his super-
natural powers, for supernatural they must be, it* we are to take the
text at the letter. Those who take delight in the spirit-stirring
sketches of such writers as Scott, Cooper, and Basil Hall, have only
to peruse the following passage, to be convinced how immeasurably
M. Luc transcends these vaunted writers in truth of colouring, and
vigour of imagination.

'• The whole crew of the cutter, remained staring in stupid astonishment
on the deck. The sea was calm, and the night was pitchy dark. All was
black around- Just then, an immense furnace of red and glaring light sud-
denly burst forth, The sea reflecting this flaming brilliancy, rolled its waves
of fire : the atmosphere became illuminated, and the summits of the rocks of
de la Torre were tinged with a purple light, as if a mighty conflagration were
raging along the shore. This stream of light was furrowed, at intervals, by
long flashes of flame, which shot forth in a thousand columns, and fell again
in showers of gold, of azure, and of light. They formed so many myriads of
burning meteors that flashed, and sparkled, and scattered around them streams
of dazzling light. And, lo! in the midst of this lake of fire, appeared the
Gitano's vessel; There was the Gitano himself, arrayed in black, with his
black cap and white plume. He was mounted on his little horse, whose
housings were of rich purple, and whose mane platted with golden threads,
and weighted with precious stones, fell upon his neck. Close by the con-
demned, and leaning upon his horse's neck, stood Tasillo, also arrayed in
black, and holding in his hand a long carbine, while Bentick and his negroes,
ranged in two lines, stood in silence at the guns. A more imposing spec-
tacle could not well be devised : it had all the appearance of satanic appa-
rition— for the silent, stiriess crew — the dark vessel with all her sails closely
furled, seemed to rise from the bottom of the abyss, amid waves of light and
flashes of flame. The calm figure of the Gitano, whose look wore a super-
human expression, all was well qualified to terrify Mazareo and his band,
who regarded this pyrotechnic contrivance, as nothing else than the triumph
of Satan. The voice of the Gitano thundered, and the whole crew of the
cutter, who were on their knees, and as it were, fascinated by this strange
sight, fell flat, with their faces against the deck."

The Gitano then proceeds to scold away in Ercle's vein, as if he
was addressing a refractory negro, on his own deck, and after
sending them a broadside, he retires, highly satified with himself.
But his career is fast drawing to its close. His passion for the
beautiful monsa of the bull-fight, had taken possession of his soul ;
while the noble bearing and flattering attentions of the Gitano, had
produced a corresponding effect on the heart of the fair Ronta.
With all a lovers ardour, he climbs the walls of her convent, but
his entrance is observed, and he is surrounded and taken prisoner
by the soldiers. Trial and condemnation quickly follow, and after
being exposed for three days, in the burning chap 3! in the square
of St. Juan, he is formally executed, to the great c^tisfaction and
edification of the assembled thousands of spectators, M. Luc has
exhausted the resources of his art, in giving a picturesque effect to

PLIK AXD PLOK. 321

the execution ; it is detailed with exquisite minuteness. The
haggling bargaining of the executioner, about the price of his labour,
the mutilation, and subsequent death-blow, all are sketched with
fidelity arid accuracy. The manner in which his friend Tassillo
avenges his death, is not a little singular. He pledges himself to
the dying Gitano, that the whole population of Spain shall rue his
death, and he fulfills his threat to a letter. He sails to the coast
of Tangeir, in the pirate-boat, to the command of which he has
succeeded, by the death of the Gitano ; takes in a cargo of goods
infected by the plague, sails again for Spain, and casts them on the
shore. Of course they are carried away by the inhabitants, and the
consequence is, that the plague burst out amongst them, and carries
them oiF by thousands. Such was the revenge of Tassillo, for the
death of his commander and his friend. There is another tale in
this volume, in which the fate of the pirate Kernock, is meant to
serve as a contrast to that of the Gitano. After running the same
career of blood and rapine, Kernok withdraws from the scene of
warfare, enjoys his " otium cum dignitate," and his ill-got treasure,
and goes down the vale of years, a grey haired sire, whose only
frailty is an undue affection for the brandy-bottle, which ungener-
ously requites his predilection by causing his death.

Such are M. Luc's powers, as demonstrated in the work before
us. He makes no unfair estimate of them himself, when he only
aspires to the honour of leading the way into an hitherto unexplored
field of composition, and pointing out to more elevated genius,
and more practised psns, what may be effected by them in this new
line. The real merits of his productions are neutralized by ex-
aggeration, and a continued straining after effect. He seems to
fancy, that; to be very horrible, is to be very sublime, and that a
disgusting account of massacres, and orgies, cannot fail, and must be
peculiarly agreeable to the reader. In this, however, he does not
differ from his compeers, as they are all infested by the same per-
verted taste.

SONNET.

BY KENRICK VAN WINCKLE.

Our ship is drifting fast upon the shore.
O, for a being of a master-mind,
To take the helm ; who, looking not behind,

Would steer right onward — one not rich nor poor,
Nor of the vulgar, nor the too refined ; —
Who has at once the will and power combined,

Boldly this sea of rocks to guide us o'er —
Not from self-love, but love of human kind.

Clouds frown, winds howl, rocks threaten, billows roar,
And thunders burst. Quick ! or our doom is signed.
Clear the deck of its lumber ! Lame and blind,

Make way! and we may hoist our sails once more —
Once more our prow may beat the foaming seas,
Once more our flag may flutter in the breeze.
M. M. No. 93. 2 T

RECOLLECTIONS OP A FREE TRADER.

44 It's very odd these kind of men, won't let a body be."— Hood 's Whims.

IT is too often the fate of meritorious, active public servants, to be
neglected by those, from whom they had every reason to expect
encouragement ; and therefore are they constrained to throw them-
selves on the public for that support which should have been drawn
from private channels. Such, unhappily has been my lot; my
exertions in the cause of science have been unrewarded ; and those
labours, which have been undertaken for the benefit of my fellow-
creatures, have involved me in trouble and punishment — instead of
having produced those effective and valuable remunerations, to which
they were entitled ? I am therefore compelled, in self-defence, to
bring certain facts before the public tribunal, and thus to address
myself to the more considerate and benevolent portion of mankind,
who will view my case, as one richly deserving sympathy, and me,
as an individual, unjustly sacrificed to the petty, narrow-minded
prejudices of an ignorant and overbearing faction.

My father was a great naturalist and horse-dealer — he was for many
years the first knacker in Kent-street, and from him I received the
rudiments of my professional education ; but I will not detain the
reader reciting any of the exploits of my boyhood while in my father's
service, but enter at once into that portion of my busier career which
bears upon the subject I propose — confound the word, I cannot leave
it off for the body of me.

My father's pursuits were odious to me, for I abhor cruelty to
animals — I would not hurt a fly. I resolved to turn my talents to
some account, and to start in the resurrectioning line. Abjuring the
Sadducean doctrine, which denies the resurrection of the body, and
determined to prove the falsehood of, at least this one portion of their
creed, I united myself to a most extensive firm of bady-snatch-
ers, and soon became an active and efficient employe.

My first professional engagements ied me to attend all the funerals
in a certain number of churchyards near the metropolis, where I was
posted till the notice of any particulars connected with the inter-
ments ; and the proceedings for the night were generally regulated
by my daily reports. But, before entering into the details of my
experience, I may be allowed to premise, that I disclaim, with indig-
nation, any connexion with the Burking party, and that one object I
have in view in bringing forward these my confessions, is, to prove
that, neither directly nor indirectly, did we adopt their style of
practice.

Having been employed as scout without witnessing any incidents
of peculiar interest, seldom any thing worse than a slight ducking in
a horsepond, I was now promoted, and became the principal agent
with the undertakers. The scientific and better-disposed class of
them made but little difficulty in adopting our views, and so, being a

11ECOLLECTIONS OF A FREE TKADElt. 323

muscular lad, I frequently attended their funerals, and was deputed
to remove the subject from the coffin into the long black bag, which
they always have at hand for the purpose. The tenantless habitation
having been conveyed to the attendant hearse with great apparent
labour, my better filled bag was carelessly deposited by its side, and
on the return of the equipage we had but little difficulty in removing
our spoil to head quarters. Walking funerals were sometimes a little
more troublesome, but these were managed by my remaining a few
minutes behind, and then following the procession with my bag, at a
respectful distance. This manoeuvre most effectually screened me
from all interference, as it was of course presumed that I belonged to
the melancholy party.

It happened, during my early experience, that we were much op-
posed by a large neighbouring firm, who had recently entered into
an unprofitable contract with one of the borough hospitals, and it be-
came almost impossible for us to do any real good. They kept a
sharp look out in every quarter, and for very many weeks completely
superseded all our exertions. It was therefore agreed, on my sug-
gestion, that mock funerals should be arranged — and so it was — our
own members were sufficient to furnish bearers, and pages, and
mourners ; and, by some little expense, we contrived, for several
weeks., to get up these imposing processions, the coffins of which were
iron ; and by contriving that they should always take place in burial-
grounds contiguous to the general scene of our opponents' operations,
we continued, for a length of time, to throw them upon false scents;
while we, by keeping a close look-out in the remoter districts, gene-
rally succeeded in our more important arrangements, and began to
get a good name for ingenuity and success.

The leading member of our fraternity being a man well to do in
life, and passing as a respectable tradesman, at this time engaged (for
the ostensible purposes of a warehouse) a small range of premises, the
back of which looked upon a burial- ground, in the northern London
district : he also succeeded, in a short period, in getting for me the
appointment of night-watchman to this ground, which, he urged,
was an indispensable precaution against the numerous gangs of in-
surrectionists who were then in operation. This mode of securing to
himself the whole spoil, was credible to his ingenuity ; for while I
practised an unrelaxing vigilance, and effectually prevented the in-
trusion of a foreign footstep, I essentially served the interests of my
own firm. Our principal partner never lost an opportunity of saying
a word in my behalf, in quarters most influential, so, my wages were
speedily raised, every question of security was set completely at
rest, and the rumour of resurrectionists infringing on the burial-
ground of B , was never so much as breathed.

Matters having gone on prosperously, it was agreed that I should
obtain the chapel key, and have a cast taken : as the vaults beneath
would open to us a considerable spoil, wherein our proceedings
would be conducted with less labour and greater security, and as
out of door's work, in wintry nights, was not agreeable. Being on
most intimate terms with the sexton, our purpose was speedily
effected ; but on the first experiment, an incident occurred, which

324 RECOLLECTIONS OF A FREE TRADER.

put an end to all practice in this neighbourhood, for a consider-
able time. We had descended into the vault, and disinterred four
subjects, which had been recently deposited there, and which, in
consequence of my excellent watchmanship, were considered secure :
these were removed into the vestry, and nothing now remained
but their immediate conveyance to the adjoining warehouse, and
the closing of the vault. As ill luck would have it, one of our
party, " Lushing Miles," as we called him, discovered a key, in the
door of the vestry closet: curiosity (it could be nothing worse)
induced him to take a peep at the contents, and there his eyes were
rivetted on a tolerable store of spirits and wine. With our friend.,
the sight of these goodly things was an irresistible temptation ;
and before any of the party were conscious of his proceedings, he
had ascertained the quality of nearly a pint of brandy. We all
then, in turn, helped ourselves, and the night proving bitterly cold,
the cordials were acceptable ; but one bottle begot a second, a
second a third, and so on, until, after the directions of Shakspeare,
who says wisely, " mingle, mingle, mingle ; ye who mingle may," —
we mingled the wine and spirits, to our own utter confusion. As
our senses began to give way, riotous mirth became predominant.
After several foolish freaks, we arrayed ourselves in the sacerdotal
attire, which hung in the vestry. Thus metamorphosed, did they
continue their potations, until they all sank down, with little remain-
ing symptoms of life. They had, however, while some glimmer-
ings of sense yet remained, directed me to close the vault, and to
remove every thing which might, on the following morning, which
happened to be Sunday, give any intimation of our visit. Had I
done as directed, a few minutes earlier, I might have avoided the
appalling consequences which ensued ; but it was too late. — I had
no longer the power to close the vault — but the vault, in a few mi-
nutes, enclosed me ! As, bending forwards, to see all clear below, I
rolled down headforemost ; and the stupefying effects of the spirit,
together with a violent blow on the head, which I received in the
fall, rendered me as perfectly insensible, as the most ancient tenant
of that gloomy tomb. Of the scenes next ensuing, I was not an eye-
witness : I heard, however, that my companions remained sound
asleep, until after the chapel had been opened for divine service, and
that the beadle, looking into the vestry, and observing all the officia-
ting officers there, in full canonicals, did not venture to interrupt
them, until the bell gave notice, that the hour for the commence-
ment of divine service had nearly arrived. Awakened, for the first
time, by an admonitory tap on the door, by the beadle, my compa-
nions became suddenly startled into a fall sense of the painfully ridi-
culous and dangerous dilemma in which they were placed. There
was no time for reflection — no opportunity of searching for me — no
means of rescuing me from my subterranean abode, even had they
known it. In an instant, the various disguises were thrown off, and
placed on the exhumed bodies ; the vestry-door was locked inside,
to give the chance of time for escape ; and assuming the air and,
appearance of quiet and orderly workmen, my companions escaped
through a back door in the vestry (which opened on the burial-

KF.COLLKCTIONS OF A F1IEE TRADEtt. 325

ground), and passed out of the gate, at the very moment when the
clergyman and clerk were entering in haste.

In a few minutes all was uproar. After some little remonstrance
from without, with the supposed tenants, whose silence excited sur-
prise, the vestry door was wrenched open. The state of confusion
which it displayed — glasses and bottles, and the smoky fumes of the
night's debauch, petrified with horror, the sober-minded clergyman
and his attendants; but their alarm at removing the surplices and
clerical gowns from the bodies which they concealed, was past all
description. The truth was now clear — pursuers were dispatched in
every direction, and immediate notice given at the police offices, but
to no avail. Our leading actor having reached home, so completely
altered his appearance, that he became, in a few miuntes, one of the
most sober-looking of the whole congregation, and as violent, as any,
in indignation. Being a man of some influence, his advice was taken:
in the course of but a short time, the bodies were replaced in their
final resting place, and,, quietly redeposited in the vault. The services
of the day were entered upon, and conducted with as much order and
regularity as the circumstances would allow; and, immediately after,
the stone was securely replaced at the mouth of the tomb, by attend-
dant workmen; and / was consigned, for a while, to that living
death, the horrible remembrance of which haunts me to this day, and
is, even in my dreams, continually before me, in all the vivid fresh-
ness of reality.

But how shall I attempt to picture the scenery of that dreadful
night — the terrors of the place — the horrible conceits and loathsome
smells, which tormented me. I must have remained, for some time,
asleep and insensible of my situation ; arid when, for the first time, I
awoke to feeling, and half unclosed my hesitating eye, alike careless
and unconscious of my position. I well remember the faint cold
thrill which passed through my veins, as if it would freeze up the
fountains of my existence. Raising myself up gently and timidly,
I endeavoured to look around to recognise some features, by which to
ascertain where I was, but all was dark. Faintly recalling the events
of the preceding night, I imagined that I had been taken in my
intoxication, and conveyed to the black hole of the watch-house, and
in this apprehension, I consoled myself for a time. Finding my rest-
ing place hard and damp, and comfortless, I arose, and in so doing,
struck my head against the lower part of the arched roof. Compelled
from the violence of the blow to sit down, I found myself resting on
a coffin, broken and mouldering, which gave way beneath my weight
— then it was, that the knowledge of my real situation, first broke
upon me. I, who in my ordinary avocations in the path of my
duties, could deal with death in all its forms, without the slightest
reluctance, was now suddenly paralysed with horror, at finding my-
self alone in that foul vault, to which no wholesome air breathed in.
My seat having broken from under me, I suddenly felt almost stifled
— the dust of earthly decay arose around me, and increased the
parchedness of my fevered lips — the pollution seemed to cling to
mo, as glad to be once again united to any thing living. Shuddering
with horror. I endeavoured to shake it from me, but in vain. Rush-

326 RECOLLECTIONS OF A FREE TRADER.

ing from my seat, I hurried to the further end of the vault, and sat
myself down for awhile, endeavouring to collect my wandering
thoughts. The more I reflected, the more bewildered I became; and
my mind recalled, with a frightful accuracy, all the supernatural
tales of death, wherewith, in infancy, my ear had been assailed. In
this bed of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep, surrounded with
yellow chapless sculls and dead men's rattling bones, did I remain,
until my mind gradually gave way, beneath the excitement., and rea-
son no longer retained her controul. Imagination peopled the vault,,
with a ghastly and numerous tenantry, with whom I held discourse,
believing myself one of them, and as escentially departed from the
living world as they were; but ever and anon, the low desponding
echoes of my own sepulchral voice startled me into momentary sensi-
bility: it was, however, but momentary, for I soon again sunk back
into my former state of wild delirium. Then, starting into motion,
and believing that I had been unfairly deprived of my resting place,
I scooped out, with my bony hands, the consents of the coffin, on
which I had, at first, seated myself, and deposited my exhausted
frame therein ; and there I lay, for a while, at rest, being surrounded
with all the mute appalling emblems of decay.

Shut up in that charnel house and almost stiffled, I laboured for
breath, well do I remember to have grasped the remains of more
than one human being, bending over the senseless clay, and won-
dering why I could not partake of their stillness and insensibility.
At length, exhausted reason completely relinquished her hold — her
farewell beam past away, and I sunk down in convulsive agony
between two newly deposited coffins, nor did one single gleam of
sense revisit me during this living death, to which I could not
have been exposed for less than si x-and- thirty or forty hours. The
next circumstance of which I have any recollection, was being
awakened by gentle whispers, and opening my eyes, I discovered
anxiously bending over me, the face of one of my companions, who
with my father appeared to exhibit some anxiety for my condition —
no words of recognition passed between us ; but believing myself
still in the vaults, I spoke incoherently and wildly. It was many
weeks before health of body and of mind returned, or before I learnt
the particulars of my own story. It had been supposed for some
time, that I had escaped, during the general uproar on the Sunday ;
but not making my appearance, my companions became alarmed,
and on Tuesday morning early they effected their entry to the
chapel, again unsealed the mouth of the tomb, wherein I lay
stiffened and senseless, and by great labour and contrivance had me
conveyed to a secure resting place, where after a lengthed interval,
and by constant attention and kindness, I became at last convales-
cent. For awhile, the impressions left on my mind by this inci-
dent, absolutely prevented me from taking any prominent part in
the business. I became fearful and heartless, ashamed of myself,
and the derision of my companions, who expressed their regret at
having rescued me from the grave, wherein they urged, "l had
better have remained, as I was then worse than useless to them, bur-
densome rather than serviceable.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A FREE TRADER. 327

Under these depressing circumstances it became absolutely neces-
sary for me either to resume my duties, or to bid farewell to the
craft at once, and for ever. To minds of a feebler and less resolute
turn than mine, thank God happens to be, this occurrence might have
proved injurious. I however soon recovered the inconvenience,
and although the affair does even yet haunt me unseasonably,
I soon prepared to resume my necessary avocations, for which I
entertained a natural relish. Young snatchers, may from my expe-
rience learn, that the profession is not always as agreeable as they
in the hurricane of their poetical imagination may fancy it ; those
who have not a decided turn for the pursuit, had better not adopt
it. A genuine snatcher, as the classics say, is, " nascitur non fit."
The business of claiming the unknown bodies of suicides and of
those who died friendless and unowned in workhouses, was in many
instances left to my management, and so successfully was it for a
time prosecuted— while the great cause of anatomical science was
thereby assisted, our pockets gave most sensible and satisfactory
evidence of the good resulting from this branch of practice ; but I
got involved in a dilemma, which had like to have ended seri-
ously.

The body of a young woman had been found floating down the
river by a waterman, who brought it on shore ; it was deposited in
the bone-house of St. Saviour's, and advertised. Of course I identi-
fied the body, declaring it to be that of a very dear sister, who had
lately left the country, to take the situation of lady's-maid in a family
at the west end of the town, with whose name I was unacquainted.
To assign any reason for the rash act, was out of my power; I
merely stated that she had been deserted by a young man, who was
endeared to her by an acquaintance of years, and that his having
married another person, might have so far preyed on her health and
spirits, as to have driven her to this rash act. After having mani-
fested an abundance of sorrow, tears flowing plentifully, and bitterly
lamented that my own circumstances were so narrow, as to prevent
my giving her the funeral attentions I might have wished : the jury
before whom I had appeared, expressed much sympathy, and a dis-
position to afford me some pecuniary assistance. This was almost
too good. As they were about to consult on their verdict, and
determine the matter, as they doubtless would have done, to my
satisfaction, a most unacceptable intruder made his appearance, who
completely altered the face of the affair, and put my character in a
remarkably unpleasant state of jeopardy. A rough, uncouth-looking
man, of about forty years of age, attired as a mechanic, entered the
room, and, in an unceremonious manner, stated that she had been
living for some years as a milliner, occupying apartments in his own
house, for which she had paid regularly, until within the last few
months. This man continued to state, that during the last few
months she had become acquainted with a man, who represented
himself to be chief clerk in a merchant's counting-house, who had
succeeded in gaining the affections of this poor girl, and on the pro-
mise of a speedy marriage had, in addition, borrowed of her the last
penny she possessed, and induced her to put her name to various

328 RECOLLECTIONS OP A FRKK TRADRR.

bills, two of which had already been dishonoured by her, and the
threats to which she had been exposed by the holders, together with
the disappearance of her heartless acquaintance, had driven her into
a state of phrenzy. This man, added he, raising his stentorian voice,
till the walls rung again with his violence, is now before you, and
there he stands at this moment ! — demure looking hypocrite ! I know
him well — too well, unhappily; and if any proof of his identity is
required, he wears a cork leg, which no hypocrisy, no disguise, can
conceal ! The fellow having fixed his eyes fiercely on me during his
harangue, and swearing most positively to my identity, I was in-
stantly brought forward and examined. Alas ! / had a cork leg!

This unfortunate coincidence, told sadly against me, indeed, he
made the matter appear so plausible, that my guilt seemed apparent
to all. I began myself, almost to believe there might be some truth
in his statement ; my head was completely bewildered, and the whole
circumstances were so against me, that I was unable to do more
than hammer out a denial, without offering any explanation. The
coroner, now stated, that he should feel it necessary to delay the
conclusion of the inquest until a future day ; during the interim,
every effort should be made to obtain fresh evidence, and this self-
styled relation, whose character and conduct appears to have been
almost miraculously brought to light, should be accomodated with
as secure a resting place, as the most captious individuals could
require. I was, accordingly, handed off to durance; followed by
the execrations of hundreds, and introduced to the solitary enjoy-
ment of my own unassisted reflections. 'Twas not however, even
in this the depth of my depression, so melancholly as might have
been supposed ; the consciousness of my own innocence, gave me
comfort, as did the knowledge that all I had done, was in the fair
way of trade ; and I formed a determination to convict, and punish
heavily, this perjured false- witness. I confidently, relied on the
honourable acquital which must await me, on the congratulatory
and sympathysing testimonials of the court and jury, and on the
ultimate possession of the claimed and well-deserved body. After
thejinterval named, the court re-assembled, by great labour on the
part of my friends, the wretch, who actually had thus served the
poor girl, was discovered, and brought forward, and, although the
personal resemblance between him arid myself, appeared to asto-
nish the court, I cannot say, for my own part, that I should ever
have mistaken the one for the other ; for he was, to say the best of
him, any tiling but a good-looking gentleman-like sort of man. Of
course, the burden being now removed from my shoulders, and
fixed on those where it should have rested, I was set at liberty ;
but not until I had undergone a strict examination, as to my purpose
for claiming the body ; at first, I stuck to my point, vowed it was
my sister, and claimed peremptorily ; the coroner, however, did not
view the matter precisely as I might have wished, he was more in-
quisitive than agreeable, and did certainly propose some puzzling
questions. While the investigation was going on, I observed at
the further end of the room, certain police-officers, whose significant
looks and occasional smiles, discomposed me, and I therefore inti-

THE CHILD'S GRAVE. 329

mated, that as one, and so great a mistake had already been made,
it was more than possible, that I also might be in error ; I therefore
begged, to be allowed to view the body a second time, and on my
return did not find myself by any means so certain as I had been,
on the former occasion ; my grief was therefore, in some measure^
moderated, and I left the room, expressing my determination, in-
stantly to go in pursuit of my sister.

THE CHILD'S GRAVE.

Sleep on! 'tis better far for thee,

Within thy narrow cell,
In peace to rest, than still with me,

In shame and grief to dwell.

From dust we spring, and must again

To rest in dust return ;
And thou art gone 'ere grief and pain

Could triumph o'er thine urn.

Thine infant heart hath never bled,

And now can never bleed,
Like mine o'er peace and pleasure fled,

A barren hopeless weed.
The primrose pale, above thy tomb,

Springs gently into life-,
Sweet emblem of the child with whom

The sepulchre is rife.
The morning dew — the noon-day sun —

The peaceful calm of eve —
Are nought to thee ; thy goal is won,

Thou hast no life to leave.

But every day, and every hour,

Are messengers to me,
And every year a higher tower,

From which I look towards thee.

And yet how vain to deem this eye

Will see thee smile again ;
And o'er thy grave at eve to sigh —

How madly, fondly, vain.
Farewell my child ! My fallen leaf,

My flower of purest love ;
I bear with joy the weight of grief.

So thou art blest above.
Sleep on ! sleep on ! the grave is deep ;

No pang can reach thy breast ;
A parent's prayers their vigil keep ;

A mother guards thy rest.

M.

M. M. No. 9^. 2 U

THE REJECTED ONE !

A TALE OP THE PIG AND WATCH-BOX.

" Cruel, cruel fate !" said the young Augustus Blenkinsop. drop-
ping a tear into the empty porter mug, " wherefore dost thou torment
me thus ? I have a prepossessing leg, an inimitable tie, and a mind
far above buttons — yet I was born to disappointment ! Evil, thrice
evil, is the fate that dogs the representative of the Blenkinsops ; —
thou art rejected of men."

The eyes of Stoker gleamed with the intelligence of those of a
deceased mackerel,

" Help yourself," said Stoker, with emphasis, replenishing the pot
with Henry Meux's best XX.

" Kindest of men," cried Blenkinsop, " love may perish, but friend-
ship never dies !" The pot not being born beneath the same horoscope
with the speaker, was not rejected.

" Come, Blenkinsop, my boy," said Faucitt, filling his pipe, " no
long faces here. Let's have a song, — or 'spose you tip us a bit of
autobiography. Waiter, — another quart of stout; — remember what
the great Dr. Watts' says —

" Woe is the child of thought, and kin to fear,
One yields to pipes, but both must yield to beer !"

"My sorrows," answered Blenkinsop, can yield to neither. O, Leged,
emperor of Ethiopia ! well hast thou said —

" O, curse Leged," said Faucitt, " let's have none of him."

" Certainly not," said Stoker.

"Well then, friends, listen and be dumb; but first, I'll trouble you,
Stoker, for the other mug !" A deep silence followed, broken only
by the protracted breathing of Augustus at his draught, until, having
rivetted his eyes for a moment on the bottom of the pewter, he set it
down with a sigh, and proceeded.

" Need I tell you that I am the only son and heir of Reginald
Nicodemus Blenkinsop, of Dot-and-go-one Hall, county Somerset, —
that his father was —

" We knows all that already," interrupted Stoker.

" Rash young man !" said Blenkinsop, with solemnity ; " the
blood of a hundred sires burns within me ! but I forgive you. You
know I was born with considerable expectations — that godlike for-
tune seemed to welcome me from the hour of my birth, and that the
heavens, for a time, appeared to smile benignantly on the scion of an
ancient stem. In the words of the poet —

" O d — m the poet !" shouted Faucitt.

" Certainly," said Stoker.

Blenkinsop looked sternly.

" Alas !" said he, " those were the last hours of unadulterated
happiness that I ever enjoyed. I went to the university — I studied
hard — I bought an alarum clock— eschewed wine parties — proctors
reverenced me— my tutor smiled upon me — my acquaintance cut

THE REJECTED ONE. 331

me — I read for my degree — I stood the examinations — heavens and
earth, I was rejected !"

The two friends exchanged looks of astonishment, though in a
peculiar fashion.

" Next morning I was far from Oxford. Rouse thee, O Augus-
tus I" exclaimed I to myself, " and let not this misfortune over-
whelm thee. The Spartan mother shed no tears over her departed
son, and why shouldst thou mourn for a paltry degree ? No ! rather,
like my sires of old, will I take my father's sword from the wall, and
go forth against the enemies of my country to conquer or to die ! So
saying, I lighted a cigar. The Blenkinsops have always voted with
ministers — I had interest at head-quarters — I was promissed a com-
mission, and I at once purchased my regimentals, and let my mous-
tachios increase. ' Never/ cried the enraptured, though alas ! suf-
fering tailor, as he gazed upon the martial figure that issued from
his hands all scarlet and gold, ' never seed I a gemman vot looked
better !' And he spake aright. I felt then within my bosom the
ardour which lighted up as with a spell the soul of Anthony, and
drove Themistocles to the combat ; and I called to mind the glorious
saying of Miltiades, ' Cowards die many times, but a brave man
never dies !' "

A prolonged whistle issued from the lips of the petrified Faucitt.

Stoker squinted with a horrible obliquity of vision.

Blenkinsop sighed.

" My evil destiny again interposed. That very evening I received
a letter from the War Office. Fire and steel ! what did I behold !
Cruel Hobhouse ! Relentless Hill ! Implacable Wellington ! My
application was rejected !"

I fixed my useless sebre in the wall, and retiring to the other end
of my apartment, prepared to die like Cato ; but the carpet caught
my spurs, and I fell prostrate on the ground. I rose an altered man,
and sitting calmly down, I drank deeply of thought, and brandy and
water cold without. After all, said I, war is a savage pastime ; ,the
soldier is but a hireling. So saying, I drew another cork. Life, I
resumed, is but short ; thou knowest this well, O immortal Flaccus !

" Oh, confound Flaccus !" said Faucitt.

" Certainly," said Stoken.

" Yet despair not, Blenkinsop ! Thou wert formed to shine in the
court, and not in the camp : surely there is many a beautiful maiden,
saturate with silver, who would be proud to be called Mrs. Augustus
Blenkinsop I"

" Miss Emily Pelican was both rich and beautiful ; she had the
figure of a Cleopatra, and the mind of a Sappho ! She had published
a volume of poetry, called " The Undispairing One of Kamtskatka,"
and she had two thousand a-year ! Her hair was of the hue of sunset,
a rich and glorious crimson, and her eyes were of a pale, etherial
green. The first moment I saw her, I loved her ; and hope whis-
pered me that she was my affianced bride. I gave a post obit to a
wealthy Shylock, Manasseh Ben Melchiseeek, who at cent, per cent.,
furnished the supplies. Stulty again suffered, and I sported a cab.
The sweet Emily received me favourably, add I won the good will
of her maiden aunt, by escorting her twice to church."

33-2

THE KKJKCTKU ONE.

Fawcett thrust his tongue into his cheek ; and Stoker significantly
elongated his outstretched hands, resting his left thumb upon his
nise. The very bars of the grate grinned. " I sat with my beloved in
the same box at the Opera. I was her partner at balls, her attendant
every where, and I thought at last I could discover the symptoms of
a reciprocal attachment. The crisis was approaching— bills came
fast pouring in, therefore my love must be confessed.

One day she was reclining on an ottoman, caressing a corpulant
poodle, while I lay stretched before her on the carpet, in the attitude
of the Dying Gladiator. Tenderly, yet impressively I seized her
hand, and modulating my voice to its lowest and most musical tone,
I ventured to say, " Emily, sweet Emily ! do you love ?"

A roseate blush overspread her countenance. " Spare me, Au-
gustus !" she murmured."' ' Ah ! dost thou confess the soft enslaver,"
said I, starting to my feet. " O thou terrestrial seraph ! speak — tell
me — will thou wed?" A blush still deeper than before dyed her
burning cheek. Gates of paradise ! — and when ?" In half audible
accents she whispered — " Wednesday !"

I seized her hand again ; O Cupid ! fairest denizen of Olympus !
What do I not owe thee for this — Wednesday ! Sweet, sweet Emily !
adored Miss Pelican ! On that propitious day shall I lead you to the
altar ! On that day shall I place the sacred ring upon

She started with a look of astonishment — " You lead me to the
altar! on Wednesday I am to be married to Captain Ferdinand
Fitzspurs !" —

My brain spun round — a red gleam of fire flashed before my
eyes — a bolt of ice quivered in my heart — I staggered, and reached
the street, I know not how. O the agony of that moment ! I feel
it even now — my heart — my brain — my soul ! O Stoker — O Faucitt
— how hard it was again to be rejected !

" Werry," said Faucitt.

" Werry," reverberated Stoker. And he grinned like a bag of
nails.

" I rushed home like a demon. Fury was in my heart, and I
kicked over a stall of oranges — I reached my lodgings, and entered
my room — amongst an infinity of bills lay a packet, carefully sealed
— was it a remittance from my relenting father — I seized — I opened
it — madness! my two last Articles for the Monthly Magazine,
rejected ! O friends, do you not pity me ? —

" I do, pon my credit/' said Faucitt. The interesting youth had
just emerged from the Insolvent Court.

" I do, pon my honour," said Stoker. He had been horsewhipped
at Epsom, for cheating at a thimble-rig.

CULINARY REFLECTIONS ON REFORM.

" QUOT Galli totidem Coqui," has been, from old time, the meri-
torious characteristic of Frenchmen ; while, with us, the office of a
cook is degraded in public estimation in exact proportion to its in-
trinsic importance. In the days of Charlemagne the director of the
kitchen was ever one of the prime ministers of state ; conferences were
held over the gridirons ; cutlets were inserted in protocols ; national
boundaries were indicated by the'cleaver ; and dispatches were given
and received, while the under secretary of state for foreign affairs
basted the loin which the head of his department had just before
spitted. In those days Kitchiner and Mrs. Rundell would have ac-
quired immortality; while Ude, uniting the philosophy of cookery to
the art of dressing meat, might, not unhappily for the nation, have
been elevated to the premiership : and, if reform had been peremp-
torily suggested, he would, with consummate skill and prudence, have
concocted a system seasoned to the national taste — having due and
professional regard to the rights of corporate bodies, and the pre-
servation of the constitution. He happily would not have set before
us a dish of calf's head without brains, but with an overwhelming
garnish of tongue; but rather have afforded us that well-esteemed,
plain, and wholesome joint, so congenial to the British palate, from
which we may rise satiated, but not palled ; nor left us to the peni-
tence engendered by mock turtle, which, if it tickle the palate, is of
most difficult digestion. Had reform looked backward to a better
age, and derived instruction from experience, instead of speculating
on undefined futurity, it might have been well with us; and, as it
has been decided by medicine and philosophy, that the mind takes its
tinge from the stomach, and that the moral character is influenced, if
not wholly directed, by the aliments supplied to the physical man,
and the manner of their preparation ; if by study and inquiry we can
ascertain any important departure, in our own age, from the culinary
rules of our forefathers, surely it will be far more reasonable to ascribe
the actual outcry for reform and change to novel modes of refection,
than to render confusion worse confounded, by reference to Magna
Charta and King John, — Lord Chatham and the American war — the
fair humanities of the first French revolution, — or the late glories of
Lafayette and the barricades, which, happily, have as much to do
with the question as Mr. Manners Sutton or Mr. Alderman Anybody
without manners at all. The cause of public excitement and agita-
tion once ascertained, the remedy would be easy. A Secretary of
State's warrant, for the search and seizure of Cayenne, -wherever it
may be found, as mediately provocative to treason — a proclamation
for the apprehension of Mulligatawney, as tending to the disturbance
of the public peace— a general outlawry of curry, whiskey, gin, and
spices, as inimical to church and king, and wholly subversive of the
constitution, should at once appease the popular fever, and restore us
to tranquillity — while " the Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the

334 CUL1NA11Y REFLECTIONS.

Bill/' might then be worthily employed (schedule A and all), in
cooking a salutary, and simple food ; and be devoted to that pot to
which it had designed us in the mass. How much would not the world
have lost, had not the full enjoyment of his enormous repast bestowed
on the sage and moralist (Dr. Johnson), that happier flow of temper.,
which enabled Boswell to delight, instruct, and improve society, by
the wisdom and eloquence of the great Lexicographer's hours of relaxa-
tion ; and, if he stand unrivalled in this degenerate age, let it be also
be remembered, that his chief rnangiatory pleasures were confined to
a veal pie and raisins — and an unsalted leg of pork boiled to rags,
without the pernicious condiments of our days. How mild, serene,
and beautiful, was the harsh-tempered Parr, in his after-dinner col-
loquy, when nature was satisfied, and his passions all appeased. Even
old Thurlow's thunder was quelled to the music of a rippling stream,
as, with the withdrawal of the cloth, he sent the great seal where we
should scarcely like to be ; and, if we required living examples of
honour, truth, and virtue;, of well-acquired fame and dignity; of
length of years ; and (however men may differ with them upon prin-
ciple) of the purest patriotism, we have but to regard Lords Eldon
and Stowell — Ciceronian Commentaries " De Senectute," who,
in preserving a homely and genuine taste for the unsophisticated plea-
sures of the table, stand octogenarian reprovers of the depravity of
modern taste, and our dereliction from better principle, by the un-
fortunate perversity of our appetites. States and empires, with
kitchens, have their periods of declension : and when, so early as the
clays of Homer (whose heroes had the undoubted merit of being all
cooks) we find the utmost disregard of culinary science, and behold
Patroclus joining Achilles in the quartering of oxen and spitting loins,
without mention of the lighter graces of sauce or gravy, it is easy to
predict the uncertain tenure of Grecian power. Even all the wisdom
of Pythagoras went no farther than the rejection of beans as food : a
degree of refinement which, in better days, would but have extracted
a sickly smile of contempt from the immortal Brummell. If Roman
history refer, with pride, to the crude turnips of Cincinnatus, we can
better appreciate the astonishment evinced by the Samnite ambassa-
dors, especially if they had ever heard of cholera morbus. Horace's
recommendation of oblong eggs, is but a sorry proof of Epicurean
talent. The satire of Juvenal on the frying of a fish, is really worse
than juvenile. The six thousand weight of lampreys provided by
Cesar for his imperial supper, would excite the disdain of an alder-
man, and the jeer of a waiter at the cider-cellar ; while Heliogabalus
himself was more distinguished for his attention to quantity than
quality : and, although " in the palmy state of Rome," Paulus Emilius
strove' to save his country by establishing the important axiom, " That
no less skill is required to set forth a feast than to lead an army ;
since, if the one was to annoy an enemy, the other was to please a
friend ;" Rome necessarily fell in unwisely preferring her generals
and senators to her Rundells and her Tides. A shoulder of mutton
put Mahomet's divinity to the test, and cost him his life : and as to
his descendants, while the Arabian tales associate the merits of well-
peppered cream tarts with the glories of the caliphate, by a declension

CULINARY REFLECTIONS. 335

of taste in the sultans, we have beheld the Russians at the gates of
Constantinople. The Danes, happy under a despotic government,
unacquainted with reform or revolution, afford a pleasing picture of
lengthened content and tranquillity ; but it is, at the same time, to be
recollected, that the dish of grout served up at the coronation dinner
of England's kings, has been still preserved amongst its inventors ;
and history will have to record, that the first denial of that venerated
dish to a British monarch, had place under the administration of Earl
Grey. What it will further have to record as the consequence, it
might be neither prudent nor agreeable to declare.

The first important difference relative to our repasts, is the gradual
deferment of the hour of dinner, which threatens to justify the re-
mark of the Hibernian, " that, very soon, we shall dine to-morrow
instead of to-day :" and, it can scarcely be doubted, that previous sto-
machic exhaustion can not be otherwise than unfavourable to digestion,
and ill calculated to permit the moral powers their free and full de-
velopement in that post-pranzatory hour devoted to politics and the
consideration of the affairs of state. Hence springs that unfortunate
mental delusion so frequently displayed by a certain influential and
talented assembly, which produces majorities on questions which
would have been in the minority with their fathers : and, as the late
hours of nine and ten at night were first brought into fashion by my
Lord Grenville, when he assumed office in 1816, without charging
them with a culpable intent, it is clear that the whigs considered the
posponement of refection until appetite was wearied, as in no slight
degree favourable to their measures : but the firmness of George the
Third in resisting innovation and midnight banquets, drove them from
place, and, for a time at least, averted the dangers of indigestion and
reform.

Should Sir R. Peel return to power, it is to be hoped that he will im-
prove upon this hint, for the public safety ; and, in his amendment of
the criminal law, a trifling paragraph, rendering it a statuteable of-
fence to dine later than four, or felony, without benefit of clergy, to
sit down to table by candle-light in summer, might be productive of
essential national benefit. Indeed, the Roman catholic countries of
southern Europe offer us an example worthy of imitation. There new
constitutions and reform have blazed, like a Roman candle for a mo-
ment, and then disappeared ; and there, as the angelus of noon is sound-
ed, each one recites the heavenly salutation, winds up his watch, and sits
him down to his light and frugal meal. The use of knives and forks
has been too long and generally adopted to be yet dispensed with ;
but whenever a reform of customs be contemplated, it may be fit for
consideration, that in the most ancient nation in the world, and that
which has best endured, untroubled by change, they are regarded
with contempt ; and that two sticks of ivory and ebony with the
Chinese, serve all the purposes of our bidental and tridental instru-
ments, which had better, haply, have been left to Pluto and Neptune,
and the Saturnian age. In the olden and more tranquil times of
France even knives were unused, while in democratic Switzerland
they were at the same period of general adoption, as we are informed
by old Montaigne, who, travelling in the latter country in 1580, ob-

336 CULINARY REFLECTIONS.

serves, " Et jamais Suisse n'est sans cousteau ; auquel ils prennent
toutes choses et ne mettent guere la main au plat." If digetal appli-
cation to a dish somewhat shock our refined ideas, it is yet the custom
with the most noble of the Turkish empire, where an orthodox rule
of government has so long prevailed. An amusing instance of this

habit occurred to the late Sir T — M , when he visited Bucintro,

on the Grecian continent, some years before his death, to treat with
Ali Pacha, of Janina, for the cession of Parga to the latter, who emi-
nently desirous of consulting the taste of the distinguished Christian,
in soliciting his presence at a repast to be given in his honour, consi-
derately suggested that the cook of the British general should attend
him, as the Turkish dishes might haply be unpalatable to him. The
feast was served, and Ali's acute observation was directed to the
many acts of politeness demonstrated by the officers of the general's
staff to the Countess of L , his relation, who had solicited per-
mission to be present on such an interesting occasion, and who had
been placed at the right hand of the Pacha. The latter, more accus-
tomed to dictate to than to sue the gentler sex, was for some time at a
loss how to evince his attention to the noble lady, until a boiled fowl
and oyster sauce, prepared by the general's cook, attracted in no slight
degree his examination and surprise, until, not knowing what else to
make of it, he decided that it should become the channel of a com-
pliment. Inserting his comprehensive hand into the dish, and grasp-
ing a liberal quantity of the shell fish, while its unctuous concomitant

streamed through his sovereign fingers, to the horror of Lady ,

he held it forth for her acceptance; "What is to be done?" ex-
claimed the horror-struck female to the general, as the greasy sub-
stance was shoved into her hand, and, the very picture of despair,
her imploring looks solicited some charitable suggestion how to get
gracefully rid of the disgusting present. '' Eat it, to be sure," was
the laconic and unconsolatory reply to her appeal ; and, anxious to
avoid offence to her Turkish host, in bending her head, in token of
regaling on the luscious bivalves, she let them gently slip her hold to
the ground, to the somewhat equivocal improvement of her gros de
Naples robe. Of the meats adapted to our use, the unconstitutional
nature of soups is equally evident from the materials whereof they
are composed, and their foreign derivation. The black broth of
Sparta was essentially democratic ; and the barley compound of our
northern neighbours, undoubtedly promoted their separation from
the episcopal church, for the more desecrating tenets of John Knox ;
while soup maigre is the type and image of popery. The very name
of Terrine (although taken from the French) was, but a century since,
in no wise connected with the purpose to which it is now applied,
being used for a most substantial composition of dainty meats, com-
pared, by a writer of that day, to a Spanish oglio ; from the abandon-
ment whereof may probably be dated a change of national policy,
and a taste for the customs of France.

In the preparation of fish, we have, to our honour, but slightly de-
rogated from the rules of our ancestors ; although it is well to sug-
gest that the arrangement of mackerel with gooseberries, as formerly
practised, may hereafter merit legislative attention ; and that the

CULINARY REFLECTIONS. 237

lengthened legal appropriation of sturgeon to royalty should be con-
tinued at all hazards : the great estimation it was once held in by the
merchants of London, existed during a sounder state of commerce
than at present prevails ; if revived and joined to the effective re-
storation of the provisions of the Navigation Act, it might tend greatly
to further the interests of Great Britain. Fish as an article of food
may, however, merit cautious examination with the real friends of
the constitution, from the suspicious predilection evinced by one of
the ministry to plaice — the disposition to carp exhibited between my
Lord Palmerston and Mr. Hume — and the no slight propensity to
flounder of many of the would-be supporters of the bill.

Beef, the main stay of the country, has preserved the simple dignity
of its character, amidst all the changes of public opinion ; and so long
as the glorious sirloin preserves its pre-eminence on the board, we
have more than a hope of safety against the best efforts of the worst
faction in the land. Yet our predecessors so far differed in taste with
ourselves, that, a century ago, the Westminster boys, on days of public
rejoicing, had an ample allowance of vinegar to eat with the roast.
Rumps of beef were served up, well covered with virgin honey;
while at Bedlam there was a famous shop, to which citizens resorted
to eat stuffed beef in perfection. Mutton was then scarcely consi-
dered palatable without carrier's sauce, a composition of salt, onion,
and cold water ; while veal was ever presented garnished with but-
tered currants. Pickled turkies were also regarded as a high relish
at that day ; but an exquisite, although anomalous., dainty was turkey
poults fried in batter, while the more philosophic gourmands decreed
hen turkies to be " a most melancholy food." Stubble geese at
Michaelmas, and green geese in May, were then, as now, infinitely
correct; but it would have been truly vulgar to denominate the
carving of this bird otherwise than by the " breaking up the goose;"
and, in the Corinthian order of gastronomic society, it was ever usual
to demand of the person destined to anatomize a fowl, " frust that
chicken," " spoil that hen," " sauce the capon," or " mince a plover."
Pepper, oil, and lemon, were the constant associates of a partridge ;
and a peacock, plumed at the head and tail, was regarded as of prime
elegance at public repasts. Sauces for meat or poultry were ever
sweet ; and it was not until after the accession of George the Second
that rocombole, eschalot, and garlick, with other stimulants, were in-
troduced from Frrnce, as part and parcel of their confection. The
unlimited use of pork by our ancestors, even at their suppers, might
have justified the interdiction of the Roman law in its regard, and the
censure bestowed upon it by Cato. Larded hog's feet and bacon tart
were strange favourites, even with the softer sex ; the brawner's head
was particularly reserved for Christmas night, when it graced the
centre of the board, irrigated with mustard, and adorned with sweet
rosemary and bays, while an orange graced his fearful tusks. The
ancient Romans had the taste of eating honey with their pork ; their
descendants at this day look upon ham and ripe figs as the greatest
delicacy ; while the good people of Boston and Philadelphia do not
hesitate to accompany their pork with molasses. Luxuries which,
whatever may be their intrinsic merits, can scarcely be recommended

M. M. No. 93. 2 X

238 CULINARY REFLECTIONS..

for British adoption, on reference to the political tenets of the nations
which sanction such peculiar dainties.

The connection of Pork and Politics may be somewhat elucidated

by the case of General M , not long since the representative of

a Schedule of Scottish boroughs,, who, at his election dinner, took the

earliest opportunity of urbanely soliciting of Mr. Provost ,

" the honour of taking a glass of wine with him." " I prefer taking
a slice of that Pork by you, sir, if you please," was the somewhat un-
sophisticated recognition of the candidate's politeness. But in no
dish was the fertile invention of our venerated ancestors, and the
skill of their cooks more displayed than in the preparation of pies
and pasties, which were generally substantial of composition, as mag-
nificent in extent, as much to be compared to the diminutive con-
structions of our day, as Windsor Castle to Bute Cottage, Lord
Chatham to Mr. Hume, or Sheridan to Lord Poltimore. In honour of
the first James, a superb pasty was exhibited, from which came forth
the celebrated dwarf, Jeffery Hudson, armed with sword and buckler ;
and it was haply well for a brilliant but diminutive author, of our
own day, that a succeeding sovereign, in menacing him with insertion
in the wine-cooler, had it not present to his mind, as, although supe-
rior to a puff, the witty poet might have been deemed worthy of the
paste. Flights of birds from pies were also formerly deemed an
elegant and curious pleasantry ; but we have it on record that a Lord
Mayor improved in his civic imaginings on the practical wit of
others, in having a live hare enclosed in crust, the agility of which,
on recovering its liberty, so provoked the Nimrod passions of the
multitudinous guests, that quitting the table, with one consent, noble
and cockney joined in the pursuit, until puss, escaping into Cheap-
side, was followed by her napkin-decked suit, armed with knife,
fork, ladle, and spoon, to the equal enjoyment of the hunters, and
astonishment of the people. But no one ever acquired greater or
juster celebrity than the famous Kitcat, who was so renowned for
his relishing pies, that his house became the resort of men of rank,
and taste, and wit ; who at length formed a club, the chairmen of
which had their portraits taken, by the first artists, of uniform size,
to adorn the walls of the room, whence the denomination of Kitcat
sketches ; but which body was yet more honourably distinguished by
its attachment to the constitution, and an ardent support of its prin-
ciples. Hence, in leaving puffs for the exclusive use of certain legis-
lators of this day, a return to the venerable pasty of the olden time,
may be safely recommended as of no unimportant consequence to the
consideration of our best institutions. To vegetable diet, little of
praise may be afforded ; but as cabbage formed the first dish of an
ancient Egyptian meal, it should not be wholly contemned ; while as-
paragus, from having been introduced amongst us, subsequently to
the accession of the Stuarts, may be regarded as a modern plant ;
and Johnson and Parr were even of different sentiments as to its or-
thography. Cucumbers were, in old time, appropriated to tailors,
and even the Beggar's Opera treats them with scorn, although they
were occasionally produced on the table of our ancestors, boiled with
oil, vinegar, and honey, and a salad was served up, accompanied by

CULINARY REFLECTIONS. 239

mushrooms, mangoes, and bamboons. Pudding has, however, been
constantly esteemed as the product of our native ingenuity, and with
whatever adoration a plum-pudding be regarded, and however pain-
ful it may be to our feelings to detract, in the slightest degree, from
the high merits of a dish, on which national affection has been so
long placed, the fearful consequences of adopting an erroneous article
of food, tending by its rich and enticing qualities to propagate politi-
cal wrong, and to abet the wicked purposes of the foes to our inesti-
mable constitution, renders it a stern and peremptory duty to declare,
that the modern and foreign derivation of its principal and stimulant
ingredients, proves that it was beyond the use of our forefathers,
and that although Smyrna and Zante might, in former times, have
contributed raisins and currants, to its confection, yet spices were
little known of old amongst us, and the necessary insertion of rum
proves, that its best concomitant could have been attained but subse-
quently to the discovery of the West Indies, and the still later plant-
ing of the sugar-cane in its Islands. Some portion of returning sense
in the people, has induced the recent neglect of sandwiches, which
had their rise from the Lord whose name they bear, and who, when
First Lord of the Admiralty, being engaged for twenty-four hours in
play, without rising from his seat, ordered some broiled meat to be
placed between two pieces of toast, which served to support nature
without diverting his attention from the cards. The stakes for which
he played being enormous, great attention was attracted to the per-
formance, and his lordship's ingenious mode of refection soon became
popular. The name of lunch is probably a corruption of the slight
repast made by the monks in awaiting their dinner, and which was
termed <{ des onges" by the French, and fl das onge" by the Spaniards;
and if so, its very origin stamps it as unworthy. Having endeavoured,
however feebly, to establish the connection between the state of the
constitution and the constitution of the state, an easy and useful de-
duction may be made from the premises, and without intending an
offensive comparison, the repast provided for the nation, but now, by
our ministerial cooks, is scarcely dissimilar in character and result,1 to
a banquet given a few years since in one of the Ionian Islands. Dr. C — ,
of the British Medical Staff, having been appointed, pro tempore,
inspector of the quarantine department, soon experienced the delight-
ful difference between comfortable and fixed quarters, a most respecta-
ble salary, official rank and influence, and the other pleasing appur-
tenances to a colonial appointment, as compared with frequent re-
movals from place to place ; frequent change of abode, and the hard
duties of his ordinary military situation. To secure such advantages,
policy and prudence dictated the propriety of a dinner to the big-
wigs by whom he hoped to be patronized, but the close and unexpen-
sive character of the Doctor induced many a deep and bitter sigh, ere
he could finally resolve upon the extraordinary pecuniary sacrifice a
banquet demanded, which would comprehend all his gains in the
office he had as yet filled. The promise of wealth and ease for life,
prevailed. Tickets to knight and baronet, general and colonel, trea-
surer and secretary, were issued. Wines, new, strange, and anoma-
lous to the medical palate, provided by Angelo, (the costly hotel-

240 CULINARY REFLECTIONS.

keeper) of the town, directed to prepare the viands ~the day arrived
— the hour was near, and the Doctor, in expecting his guests, made
acute calculations of a solid and lengthened consumption of what
might remain of fragments from the feast. The clock struck — the
guests had arrived, and the solemn impatience for refection was ge-
nerally exhibited, when John entered to announce dinner, and at the
same time the arrival of a vessel from Smyrna, in quarantine, having
Colonel F d on board — (a gentleman equally and closely con-
nected with royalty, as with all that is graceful and gallant in his
profession) — What was to be done ? With the Colonel, the Doctor
had unfortunately quarrelled previous to the former having left the
Island ; official civility might repair the breach, and it was of some
importance that reconciliation should occur. Placing his guests at
table, and promising to return in an instant, the Doctor took his way
to the Parlatorio, where the Colonel awaited him, and having ex-
hausted his politeness in greeting his arrival, ventured to suggest that
all former coolness might be discarded. " My dear sir, give me your
hand," exclaimed the officer, and the delighted physician, eagerly
offered the desired pledge of renewed friendship, unsuspicious of
any wicked design against his comfort or his banquet. The Doctor
had now subjected himself to quarantine. The other sworn officers
of the establishment dared not relax. An official and supplicatory
report was hastily made to the authorities enjoying themselves at his
own board, under his proper roof; but the law was clear and must
be obeyed. The necessary and distasteful orders were given ; and
while his guests poured a huge draughts of Rhenish down" in drink-
ing to the sanitary state of their host, he ruefully took his place by
the malicious Colonel, dinnerless and placeless, for his imprudence
could not be well overlooked, and he retired from his unpalatable
prison to cold quarters, and to the roughing it of a soldier's life, with
the dinner-bells for his amusement in his hours of leisure.

ON BABBAGE'S CALCULATING MACHINE.

Inventa est hoclie cum rairo machina sensu,
Expers est cerebri, computat ilia tamen ;

Omnibus ab numerisque soluta, en dividit, addit,
Multiplicat, repetit, quadrat, opusque prubat

Nusquam aluid caput ex ligno solertius exstat ;
Et verum in manibus, jam Xoy adS^M habes.

THE RIOTS IN 1780,
BY AN EYE-WITNESS.

As some of our grey-headed readers may have forgotton those
remarkable scenes, and others may never have seen a fair account of
them, they may not be unwilling to receive such an account from one
who was present in the scenes he describes.

Lord George Gordon called on the members of the association of
which he was become the head, to meet him in St. George's Fields,
thence to proceed, in a body, to present a petition to parliament, pray-
ing they would not grant any relief to the Roman Catholics, or in
any way diminish the evils they suffered from the existing state of
the laws. The place of meeting exists no longer in the state it then
was in — a line drawn from the Asylum to the Magdalen, there to the
King's Bench, along Newington Causeway to Fishmongers' Alms--
houses, to the Dog and Duck, then existing where Bedlam now. stands,
on to the Staggs, on the road to Kennington and Vauxhall, and
passing behind the ground belonging to the asylum, inclosed a field
in which, at that time, there did not exist a single house. The obe-
lisk has been recently erected where it now stands. All the roads
which now meet around it were laid out, and the foot-ways on each
side of every road carefully separated by wooden rails from the turf,
appropriated to the feeding of cattle. The association was divided
into sections, named according to the quarter of the town in which
they lived, and the dictator directed that all the members of each
division should assemble in one division of the field, that every man
might be under the observation of his neighbour ; his lordship took
his own station near the obelisk, that he might be at hand to address
each division in its turn ; and I, having no object but that of a curious
observer, placed myself as near to him as I could get, with a design
to hear what he said.

Having given his directions to all, he proceeded on his way along
the Borough-road to Southwark ; his followers fell into rows, of six
or more each, with tolerable order, proceeding through the City to-
wards Westminster. The men seemed all to belong to the lower
orders of tradesmen and working men, dressed in their Sunday
clothes, with clean linen, and well washed faces. As the gratification
of curiosity was my only motive for being there, having seen the
body set off, I passed over the West end, where I lived, thinking that I
should see more than I should by following the crowd. I walked on
till I met the cortege in Fleet Street, turned about, returning to my
own house, remaining there till the whole had passed in to West-
minster.

The procession proceeded to Westminster, gradually filling Palace
Yard, Abingdon Street, some streets beyond, and every thing thence
up past Charing Cross — several hours were occupied in doing this.
The time for the Houses of Parliament to meet was approaching —
the members had to pass through this dense crowd ; in doing so, all
were insulted, and some injured in person ; and some had their

342 THE RIOTS IN 1780.

carriages broken. Guards, both horse and foot, were stationed for
their protection, but the mob becoming uprorious, it was found ne-
cessary to read the riot act. Justice Hyde was sent for to do this,
and as there was something ludicrous as well as serious in this pro-
ceeding, I shall describe what I saw of it.

Hyde, a mean tradesman, in his usual dress, with the Act of Par-
liament, held open with both hands, was seated on one of the light
horseman's horses, the bridle held by one of the soldiers on each side,
to make him keep pace with themselves, and a strong detachment of
the corps, with drawn swords, were pressing, in double quick time to
force their way through the immense crowd, to arrive at the scene of
action ; the crowd yielding with difficulty to the pressure, and closing
upon their haunches when they were passed. They arrived in Palace
Yard, the Riot Act was read, and the soldiers disturbed the crowd
by driving them from one place to another, though most unwilling
to disperse ; a large mob continually closing up towards the entrance
of the House of Commons, expressing insolent reflections upon those
members who were hostile to their cause Lord George frequently
left the house, and from a window or balcony, repeated to the mob
without, what he said was said in the house by the hostile'members ;
he repeated this so often that at last Colonel Gordon, a member of
the same family, seized him by the collar, drew his own sword, and
vehemently threatened to run him through the body if he did not
return into the house, and remain there quiet till it adjourned; — this
put an end to the disgraceful scene in that quarter. As the evening
closed in, the number of the mob diminished, and with difficulty I,
accompanied by a friend, made our way to the entrance of the house,
where several groups were encouraging each other, by gross reflec-
tions on the Catholics and those who favoured their cause. We heard
one group repeating to each other, now we will go to Lincoln s-Inn
Fields, and moved away in that direction. My companion and I
followed, intending to see whatever was done there. At the entrance
to the Chapel in Duke Street, about an hundred persons were
assembled, not the decently dressed persons who had followed Gordon
in the procession, but butchers' boys, bricklayers' labourers, and
other persons of a similar description, who are known to be inmates of
St. Giles's and others, the worst part of the town. These had collected
a quantity of stones, bricklayers' rubbish, and similar materials, with
which they attempted to break the great window of the Chapel, but
the strong wire screen which covered it, opposed so much resistance
that they seemed to have little chance of success. They seemed re-
solved to persevere, and my friend and self being equally resolved to
see the event, we placed ourselves against the rails enclosing the
centre of the square, whence we could see all that passed without
mixing in the crowd.

The useless battering of the window continued; the mob, and
the uproar increased. Wallace, at that time, attorney, or solicitor-
general, living in Newcastle House, adjoining to Queen Street,
came and stood by my companion and me, quietly contemplating
the scene. At last, one of the mob obtained an iron crow, with
which the door was soon broke open : the mob rushed into the

THE RTOTS IN 1780. 343

chapel ; its contents were brought out, and burned, as well as the
chapel itself, amidst shouts of " No Popery/' from the surrounding
crowd, which continually increased. When the conflagration was
nearly complete, a strong body of soldiers appeared, keeping the
mob at a distance; but they continued their vociferations till the
fire was extinct. Why Wallace, a member of the government, re-
mained a quiet spectator of this scene for two hours, instead of
taking any measures to prevent it, I cannot even conjecture ; but I
am certain of the fact. On the same night, a catholic chapel near
Moorfields, was burned, and others were reported to be so ; but it
was not known authentically, whether those reports were correct.

On the following morning the town was in confusion. Business
was interrupted, and the streets crowded with persons vociferating,
" No Popery/' and similar exclamations. These became more nu-
merous as the day advanced, till, afternoon, they attacked two large
distilleries in Holborn, the property of Langdale, an eminent Roman
Catholic. They staved all the vats containing the fluids, in every
stage of manufacture, as well as the puncheons of finished spirits ;
these were suffered to run down the streets, filling the kennels, and
overflowing the whole. Some of the mob went on their hands and
knees, to drink from the gutters ; then rolled over on their sides,
plunging in the fluids, and careless who rolled over them; thus
accumulating a scene of brutal intemperance., which those who did
not see, can never understand. The streets, from Middle Row to
Newgate, were so crowded, that it was difficult for one man to pass
another. Towards evening a report spread, that Newgate was to be
burned that night. Intending to be present, I made my way
through the crowd, to the south-east corner of St. Sepulchre's
Church-yard, beyond which I could not proceed ; and from that
elevated spot, had a full view of all that passed before the prison.

The people were crowded together as closely as possible, except a
small space in the centre, left for the operatives to attempt to work
in. They threw stones at the windows of the governor's house, in
hopes of breaking them, but in vain : they battered the door with
sledge hammers, but it did not yield. At last, some men placed their
hands against the wall, others jumped on their shoulders, broke the
windows, and that way gained admittance, opened all the doors, and
thus admitted the mob, who set all the inmates at liberty ; carried all
that was in the house into the street, burned it, and likewise burned
the building itself most completely. This conflagration employed
a great part of the night, without other interruption, but from the
City Association, which was no serious interruption whatever.

All business was now at an end. On the following morning, de-
putations from the mob went to the Fleet and King's Bench prisons,
giving regular notice to the inmates, to remove their private property
in the course of the day ; and what must seem extraordinary, is,
these notices were acted upon, as if they had been strictly legal : all
the prisoners did remove their own property, and themselves, with-
out interruption from the legal authorities. Late in the day, the
mob came, burned down both the buildings : the conflagration, in
both places, was tremendous, and occupied the whoje of the night.

344 THR 11IOTS IN 1780.

On the same night, a terrible scene of another kind, took place not
far distant. Upon Blackfriars Bridge were toll-houses, as there are
upon other bridges at present, for the toll-gatherers to reside in :
in the morning the mob had destroyed these, and, for reasons best
known to themselves, threatened to return in the evening, and do
further mischief. The government had now assumed activity, and
caused a strong body of troops, both horse and foot, to be stationed
in Chatham Square, on one side of the bridge, and by the Albion
Mills, on the other. These orders were given simultaneously, and
executed when they were not expected by the people, who not only
filled the bridge, but the streets leading to it, to a distance on both
sides. As the horse-soldiers, on both sides, mounted and rode at a
quick pace, to take possession, the crowd retreated before them, on
each side the bridge, till they could not be crowded closer together,
which, to them, had the most serious consequences.

I had heard the King's Bench was to be destroyed that day, and,
being quite at leisure, determined to be a spectator. With this view,
and my way being over the bridge, I attempted to go that way ; but
the soldiers stationed there, would not allow me to set a foot within
the Square, and I was forced to proceed over London Bridge. Vexa«
tion now prompted me to see what was doing on Blackfriars Bridge :
I made my way there, but found I could not be admitted there,
more than I was on the London side, and submitted to the disap-
pointment, fortunate to me, since to it I owe the power I have, of
writing this account of a transaction at which I was present, though
I write it from the description of one who was an actor in the
scene.

The Horse-guards in those days, were very different from what the
corps so called, is at present ; like the mousquetaires under the old
government in France, the officers were of rank superior to many
other officers of other corps in the army; the privates were very
superior to common soldiers ; they were men of property, mostly in
business, and all of them purchasing their employment for the regu-
lated price of 400/., and selling it for the same sum whenever they
chose to quit the service. Their duty was to be guards to his Majesty
and household, and so regulated that each man was on duty four days,
and their turn did not come again till after twenty-eight days had
elapsed. These circumstances made the horse-guards of that time,
very different from what they are at present. I was well acquainted
with one of these men, who was on duty that day upon Blackfriar's-
bridge, and described to me the scene in which he was engaged.

The bridge, and the street leading to it on each side, were crowded
with the insurgents, the soldiers taking possession of it, moved at the
same time on each side, driving the mob before them, till the bridge
was as much crowded as it could be, and none were suffered to pass
the guards, or go on to, or off from the bridge ; being confined in
this manner, they became riotous, and insulted the soldiers with foul
language, and throwing stones or dirt when they were to be got ; the
men bore this with patience and good humour. The mob broke into
the house nearest the water, on the west side of Chatham-square,
broke the windows, tumbled the moveable furniture into the street or

THE RIOTS IN 1780. 345

the river, and from the exalted station they had thus gained, they
insulted the military with additional virulence; this was continued
the whole day, but still increasing, till some time after dark, a shot,
from either pistol or blunderbuss, was fired from an upper window of
the house, and wounded one of the horse-guards ; this put an end to
all forbearance on their part, and was a signal to begin the tremendous
scene that followed.

The men were ordered to dismount, secure their horses, unite, and
attack the house, break open the door, and while one party remained
in the street to prevent any one from escaping, the rest entered sword
in hand, attacked and cut down all they met None of the mob who
entered that house ever left it alive : when all were prostrate, whether
dead, wounded, or dying, the soldiers threw them out of the windows
into the river. The house was closed, and the soldiers now remounted
their horses.

It was now determined to attack the mob on the bridge itself; the
attack was made on each end at the same time. The horse charged
sword in hand, the infantry with bayonets fixed, and firing, at the
same time driving the mob from each end towards the centre — all
were cut down, or otherwise killed, except those who were active
enough to climb over the ballustrade and crouch down upon the cor-
nice over the arches, in hopes of escaping notice by that artifice,
which rendered them but little service.

When the military were masters of the bridge, they proceeded to
throw all the bodies found upon it, without discrimination, into the
river ; in doing this, they saw those who fancied they were secure by
getting outside the ballustrade, and with fixed bayonets or other
means that were at hand, drove them from this, their last refuge, into
the water, where they all perished. The amount of human life sacri-
ficed in this affair, was never known, though it must have been very
great ; for a friend of my own, who lived by the river side, at the
bottom of Arundel-street, informed me that he passed many hours of
that night at his windows, listening to the firing on the bridge, the
cries of the wounded, and the falling of bodies into the water as they
were thrown over. Wherever bodies thus disposed of, grounded on
the banks of the river, they were buried without notice ; most of them
might have been of the mob, but others among them of a different
description : young men imprudently mixing in crowds to see what
was going on, might have been caught on the bridge and killed, as
well as the more guilty, in this indiscriminate slaughter.

On the same day, the Duke of Bedford's house, in Bloomsbury-
square, was attempted, but on throwing open the gates, a strong body
of military was seen stationed in the fore-court; there the mob
showed no inclination to attack, and made no attempt. The Earl of
Mansfield's house, on the north east side of the same square, was
burned, and his most valuable library, containing the result of all the
professional labours of his long life, were totally destroyed.

On the following morning the mob seemed to have acquired the
greatest degree of assurance. They paraded the principal streets in
numerous gangs, going from door to door asking for money to sup-
port the POOR MOB, and marked the houses of those who refused to

M. M. No, 93. 2 Y

THE RIOTS IN

give, with chalk, threatening to return in the evening and burn
them for refusing. Whatever induced the ruling powers to neglect
this matter so long, they now began to stir. Soldiers were drawn
trom different parts of the country towards London. One camp was
formed in St. James's Park, another in the gardens of the British
Museum, and others in different situations where they might be
useful. This was now become highly necessary ; for the mob, find-
ing their orders had been obeyed at the Fleet and King's Bench, sent
a similar notice to the Bank of England, intimating their determina-
tion to visit that establishment. They now began to mount the
sky-blue cockade, which had long been the favourite symbol of
VVilkes and liberty ; they wore it themselves, and likewise insulted
those who did not. This was now interrupted by the appearance of
light-horsemen in the street, sometimes singly, at others in pairs,
riding as patroles with sabres drawn. Where they saw several of
the mob together, they were ordered to disperse ; where blue cock-
ades were seen, the possessors were ordered to give them up to the
soldiers. This was, by these children of liberty, thought a hard-
ship, and resisted by grumbling, which was generally overcome by a
few smart strokes from the fiat side of a sabre, but I saw none who
indicated a desire to be subjected to the operation of losing blood.
As every thing indicated an important change in the order of things,
I changed my resolution from being present at seeing what was
going on, to that of seeing what had been done after it was over.

The sight of individual houses burning, or, after having recently
been burned, had entirely lost the charm of novelty for me, and left
scarcely any other, they were so very common. Walking home one
night, I counted twelve extensive streams of light in different parts
of the firmament, reflected from different fires in various parts of
the town, and heard different vollies of musquetry, which indicated
that mischief was doing its work in various parts of the town.
This induced me, the following day, to survey, in the safety of
broad day-light, the scenes in which the firing that I heard the pre-
ceding evening passed.

In going towards the city, where the principal actions of the pre-
ceding evening seemed to have passed, great alterations in the streets
were perceived. Holborn was deserted, and the pavement so dry,
that not a single drop of gin was to be perceived, nor any individual
capable of drinking it had it been there. Newgate was a deserted
ruin, as much so as King John's Palace at Eltham, or Kirkstall
Abbey in Yorkshire. The first symptoms of animation— that is, ac-
tive mischief — shewed itself at the top of Cheapside : this induced
me to press forward to the fountain head whence all this mischief
sprung. I learnt that the mob had kept its promise, sending to in-
form the governors of the Bank they would go in the evening to
receive their dividends in person, not doubting that they would be
duly honoured. The silence, if not the civility, they were received
with, misled them to believe the rest would be a matter of course.
Upon knocking at the gates a pause first ensued, then the gates
opened slotvly. Those assailants who were nearest being pushed for-
wards by those immediately behind, and they by others in succession

THE BTOTS IN 17^0 34^7

— for a dense crowd extended far beyond the Mansion House in one
direction, and Broad-street in the other,, the advanced corps could
not recede, but being pressed forwards by the crowd behind were
received with a volley of musketry from regulars who had been clan-
destinely admitted by the back ways. The assailants could not
immediately turn about and run for it at once, being prevented by
those who, ignorant of the danger, kept pressing forwards. At last
they did face about, and fled with all possible speed towards the top
of Cheapside, being pursued by a hot fire from their pursuers, who
followed them closely, firing low and frequently ; for the shops being
still shut, I saw very numerous bullet-holes in the shutters the whole
length of Cheapside : they were fired with good intent, for the holes
made in the shutters were so low, that if the body of a man had been
placed before them, that man must have been destroyed ; and from
these circumstances that the destruction of human life, in this rencontre,
must have been very great.

All was now quiet, but the real commanders of the insurrection,
whoever they might be, though disappointed by the check they had
so unexpectedly received, now determined to make a more serious
attack on the following evening, and preparations were made to re-
ceive them with equal energy. A large body of troops were
admitted by the back ways, and stationed within the Bank, Strong
patroles paraded the outside, to prevent people from assembling in
the streets outside, and indeed to prevent people from collecting in
groups in any direction. The different corps of the City Association
assembled at their different stations, to prepare for the conflict which,
it was believed universally, would take place on the following night.
All who were disposed to be in safety retired to their homes, and
left the streets free for the combatants. As all who were present
during the conflict, I who was not can only say, that upon that night
a more violent attack was made on the Bank than that of the pre-
ceding night, and the defeat was more complete. The severest con-
test is said to have been between the Bank and New Broad-street,
where the greater part of the City Association was stationed. Tlieir
-services on this occasion were very great, and their victory complete.
The insurgents did not make head after that night. When order
was restored, Wheatley, an eminent artist of that time, was employ-
ed by authority to paint a large picture representing the most re-
markable scene, as it took place in Broad-street. This was engraved
by Heath, and sold very extensively; and wherever it is still to be
seen, it may justly be taken as a correct representation of the fact.

Mischief had now done its worst ; and retribution, in its turn, now
began to work. Lord George Gordon was arrested for high treason,
«nd committed to the Tower. The police was set to work to seek
for the working rioters, who were found without difficulty. A spe-
cial commission was issued to try them as soon as possible ; of this,
Lord Loughborough was placed at the head. On this occasion he
obtained much praise, from one party for the energy he displayed in
conducting these trials, while by those who were favourable to the
insurgents or their cause, unceremoniously compared him, though

348 THE RIOTS IN 1780.

with reason, to Judge Jefferies. In every case, execution speedily
followed condemnation, and generally took place before the ruins of
those buildings the offenders had destroyed. Of this I saw one in-
stance— which tends to prove, that if proper resistance had been
made, much of the evil that did take place would have been pre-
vented.

In the beginning of these troubles, a party of his lower neighbours
attacked the house of Mahon, a Roman Catholic apothecary, who lived
at the eastern corner of Great Russell-street and Bow-street, Covent-
garden ; it is now a book or printsellers. A large crowd assembled
round his house. He caused his shop to be shut as securely as
possible, barricaded his doors, and placed himself outside the windows
of his first floor, standing upon the top of his shop window at the
corner, whence he could have a full view of every thing that passed.
A large crowd assembled round the house, yelling " No popery !
Down with him !" and many similar ejaculations. He stood a quiet
spectator. Those behind pushed those who were before them for-
wards, exciting them to begin. The operatives on one side pre-
pared to batter the doors and shutters. Seeing this, Mahon called
to the most active individuals, describing them by their dresses
or other peculiarities, telling them of the illegality of their proceed-
ings, and advising them, in well-measured terms, of what might be
the consequences. This caused the operatives to pause ; while their
companions at some distance, perhaps not hearing what he said,

vociferated, " D n his eyes, don't mind his jaw ; knock

him down !" and other equally delicate expressions.

When Mahon had brought his opponents to a stand still on one
side of his house, their companions became more troublesome on the
other; he fled to that and received them in the same manner, thus
moving himself continually to address that part of the mob who
seemed most disposed to do mischief, he kept the whole at bay for
more than two hours, till a strong body of foot-guard came to the
spot, surrounded the house, which suffered no injury.

This intrepid man, it seems, employed his time in carefully mark-
ing his assailants, for, after the riots were ended, he discovered seve-
ral of the guilty — prosecuted them to conviction — and two were exe-
cuted before his house. I was present during the riot, and saw these
persons were among the most active of those who were engaged in it.
One was a boy, not more than fourteen years old, and the other cer-
tainly not twenty. The crowd assembled to see them suffer, was as
numerous as those who had witnessed their guilt. Mahon did what,
perhaps, it had been prudent to avoid. He stood, during their exe-
cution, motionless, upon the same part of his house, on which he
stood while he exerted himself, successfully, to prevent them from
doing the injury they meditated.

One most remarkable circumstance of these scenes was, that all the
persons, who attended Lord George Gordon, in his procession, were
decent looking men, clean and well-dressed, according to their appa-
rent rank in society, but these seem to have disappeared with the
day-light, on the first day ; for most of those I found surrounding the

COMPLIMENT TO THE CLERGY. 349

House of Commons, were evidently mere blackguards, prepared for
mischief; so were those I found in Lincoln's-inn-fields; and, indeed,
the same may be said of all those who were most active in the various
scenes of mischief, I had opportunities of seeing. Whether they
were really different classes of people, or the same differently dressed,
according to the different scenes in which they were engaged, cannot
now be known.

COMPLIMENT TO THE CLERGY.

Old Sheridan, of witty notoriety,
Gave once a dinner to a high-bred party ;

Of wines and viands there was great variety —
Happy the guests were, and their welcome hearty.
His tradesmen having heard the prodigal
At last had pension got and place,
Sent in his orders freely one and all ;
Who should be foremost there was quite a race.
For all this cost and preparation made,
I marvel if the bills were ever paid ?
Dinner announced — the guests expecting stood,
And viewed with eager eyes the dainty food.
The host, with solemn face,
Was just beginning to say grace,
But stopping, quoth he — " pray
Is there a clergyman here to-day ?"
" No, sir," replied a youngster, " one and all,
From end to'end, are laical."

" Then," and the roguish wit, with hands upraised,
And meekly bowing, said, " The Lord be praised."

THE THREE FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

PROM THE UNTRANSLATED WORK OF CICERO ON THE REPUBUC.

A mixed form of government is now so universally admitted to be
the best that human wisdom can devise, that it would be superfluous
to produce arguments in order to establish the proposition which
Cicero lays down and history confirms. The Roman government
was of that description ; and the most renowned nations of antiquity
were of the same form of state polity. Lycurgus* established it at
Sparta, where it lasted for many centuries ; and it was the means of
saving that state from the thraldom of a tyrant and the licentiousness
of a democracy, to which the other monarchies and republics of
Greece were continually exposed. According to Aristotle f and
Plutarch, J Solon, the legislator of Athens, placed the city of Minerva
under a mixed form of government ; though, as we all know, it
eventually merged into a pure democracy. The constitution of Car-
thage^ so well entitled to rank as one of the most eminent nations of
antiquity, the mother of Hannibal, the mistress of the ocean, and the
rival of Rome, was founded on the same principle.

The advocates for the simple forms of government are now either
the paid advocates of an absolute monarchy, or the visionary enthu-
siasts of an equal democracy. And though there are some few ex-
ceptions to this general remark, the men who thought the most deeply
on politics in ancient and modern times, Aristotle and Cicero, Bacon
and Montesquieu, have agreed in considering a mixed form of govern-
ment the best adapted for securing the liberty and stability of a state.

Liberty never has any domicile but in the state in which the sove-
reign power resides in the people, and certes nothing can be sweeter,
though if it be not equality, it ceases to be liberty. But how can
equality exist, I will not say in a monarchy where the slavery is
neither doubtful nor disguised, but how can it exist where the people
have merely the name of being free ? They give them votes, they
delegate their commands, they are solicited and canvassed by candi-
dates for the government, but these things must be given even if they
were not desirous so to do, and if they themselves did not possess
what they are solicited to bestow. For they are deprived of all civil
and military command, and of the rank of judges, advantages which
are obtained by the antiquity of and the influence of wealth.
* * * * #

" According to these philosophers, when there have existed in a
state one or more individuals of surpassing opulence, privileges have
arisen through their pretensions and pride, and also in consequence of
the inactivity and weakness of the other citizens, and their suc-
cumbing to the arrogance of the rich. But let the people preserve

» See Polvlius, Book VI.

t See Aristot. Polit. II. 72.

$ Plutarch in Solon, xvii.

§ See Servius to Virg. JEnead. iv. G82.

j| See Book I. c. 31, 32, 33.

THE THREE FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

their own rights, and they say that nothing can be freer, happier, or
more excellent ; since shey are the masters of the laws, of the courts
of justice, of war and of peace, of treaties, and of the life and fortune
of every citizen ; and this alone, in their opinion, is properly entitled
to the name of a commonwealth, that is, the weal of the community.
It is for this reason that a state often breaks from the domination of
kings and of senates, and asserts its right to liberty, and that free
people do not put themselves under the government of kings, or
under the power and influence of an aristocracy. They further say,
that this scheme of popular liberty ought not to be rejected on ac-
count of the crimes of a wild, ungovernable people; that nothing is
more immutable, nothing more durable, than a people unanimous in
their sentiments, and performing every act with reference to their
security and and liberty : that concord is most easily obtained in a
state where every thing is of the same advantage to all ; that discord
is produced by a variety of conflicting interests, when the same thing
does not equally* interest every citizen. Thus, when an aristocracy
has obtained the supreme power, the commonwealth has never re-
tained its splendour ; and far less in monarchies, in which, as Ennius
says,

Nor faith nor holy concord e'er exist.

Therefore, since law is the bond of civil society, and equality is the
equity of law, by what equity can the union of citizens be retained,
when their condition is not equal ?

" But * supposing a free people should have the choice of those to
whom they might entrust their interests, and should choose the most
excellent citizens, as they certainly would, if they wished to enjoy
security, it must be admitted that the safety of states depends on the
counsels of these men ; and especially since nature has implanted this
principle, that those who are distinguished for their virtue and intellectA
should not only rule the weaker, but that the latter also should be
desirous of submitting to the former. They further tell us that this
most excellent form of government has been destroyed by the erro-
neous opinions of mankind, who, through their ignorance of virtue,
which few actually possess, and which few can appreciate, suppose
that the best men are those who abound in the greatest opulence and
wealth, and are descended from an illustrious family. When, in
consequence of this mistake of the multitude, the power, and not the
virtues, of a few, have kept possession of the republic, these chiefs
obstinately retain the title of the aristocracy, while in reality they
have no right to that appellation ; for riches, glory, and influence,
without any fixed method by which your own life may be regulated,
and other men may be governed, are replete with infamy and super-
cilious insolence ; nor is there any form of government more detest-
able than that in which the most opulent are reckoned the most
excellent. And what can be more illustrious than a state under the
government of virtue? When the man who commands others is
himself a slave to no inordinate passion ; when all the tilings which

Book l.ch. 34.

352 THE THREE FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

lie has appointed for the observance of the citizens, himself has em-
braced ; and who never imposes laws on the people which he himself
does not obey, but, on the contrary, exhibits his life like a law for
the inspection of his fellow-citizens. If this single individual were
able to perform every thing, there could be no occasion for any more;
and if the multitude always perceived what is best to be done, and
unanimously agreed on it, no one would desire an aristocracy. The
difficulty of a wise determination on political subjects, has transferred
the administration from a king to a larger number of persons ; the
errors and indiscretion of the people have also transferred it from
the multitude to a select body of individuals. Thus the aristocracy
have obtained a middle station equally removed from the weakness
of a single person, and the headstrong impetuosity of a multitude/
than which nothing can be better regulated ; and when the common-
wealth is under their protection, the greatest happiness must neces-
sarily be enjoyed by the people, unoppressed with any thing demand-
ing care and thought ; their repose secured to them by others who
must preserve it, and who must never commit any action which may
lead the people to think that the aristocracy neglect their interests."

Lalius then presses Scipio to give them his own opinion on the
three forms of government, and likewise to tell them which of the
three he considers most calculated to secure the prosperity and sta-
bility of a state. He states, in reply, that a mixed form of government
is, in his opinion, far better than mere monarchy, mere aristocracy,
or mere democracy ; but yet, if he were compelled to give his pre-
ference to one, it would certainly be to monarchy. In this, Cicero
only imitated the Grecian poets and philosophers, most of whom,
though born in Athens, the most democratical of all the cities of
Greece, still strenuously advocated the government of a single person.
Daily witnesses as they were to the bloody scenes of a factious oli-
garchy, and the wild fury of a headstrong democracy, what wonder
that, disgusted with such horrors, they should fly to the opposite
extreme, and stand forth the champions of monarchy ? It is however
a remarkable fact, that their influence was never diminished by such
opinions, and that, on the contrary, they were admired by their co-
temporaries and succeeding generations, as ornaments of their country,
and instructors of mankind. What poet of Greece was so enthusi-
astically loved as Homer? The children learnt to lisp his verses; the
youth cherished them as the grand depository of all that was glorious
and sublime; the aged reverted to them as the joy of their juventi-
tude, the delight of their manhood, and the consolation of their old
age ; they were chaunted by rhapsodists at private feasts and public
festivals; in them was depicted the beautiful mythology of the Greeks,
the basis of the popular religion, — from them the poets derived sub-
jects for their odes, their tragedies, and their epics, — and yet Homer
was the bold uncompromising advocate of monarchy, and the severest
censurer of democracy ; for he declares, in the strongest terms, " no
good comes from the government of the many — let one be ruler and
one be king."*

* Iliad, Book ii. 1. 204.

THE THREE FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

353

After arguing at some length oh the advantages of u monarchy,
Cicero enumerated the revolutions to which the simple forms of
government are continually exposed ; and proceeds in order to exa-
mine tthose to which a monarchy is subject, And the first is, when a
king ceases to be just, oppresses his subjects, and becomes a tyrant,
for them he is sure, sooner or later, to be deprived of his sceptre, and
hurled from his throne. This is one of the few teuths, which no one
has the boldness, or rather the ignorance to dispute ; it is confirmed
by history both ancient and modern, sacred and profane ; for whether
we consider a Rehoboam, or a Tarquin, a Charles, or a Louis, we in-
variably find that oppression by the king, produces rebellion in the
subject.

<f But* this is the first, and most certain revolution in royalty.
When a king begins to be unjust, monarchy immediately perishes ;
and such a person is a tyrant, the worse form of government though
bordering on the best. If the aristocracy has crushed him, the state
is then subject to the second of the three kinds of government, and
it forms a species of royal, or rather paternal authority, by the union
of the principal citizens consulting for the good of the people. If
the people unaided, and by themselves, have killed or banished a
tyrant, they act with moderation, as long as they preserve the facul-
ties of thought arid of reflection, are delighted with the glorious ter-
mination of their exploits, and are desirous of preserving that
government procured by their own exertions. But if the people have
inflicted violence on a just being, or have robbed him of his kingdom;
at even, a more frequent occurrence, have tasted the blood of the
nobles, and have made the whole state completely subservient to
their headsteong passions, be assured that no sea — no conflagration— -
is so terrible, but that it is far easier to master them, than to appease
the unbridled licentiousness of a multitude."

And we cannot be surprised, that p. people long oppressed by
slavery, and udacquainted with the sweets of liberty, should after
obtaining their freedom, be unable to use it with moderation. Their
crimes rest upon the head of the tyrant, who kept them in such
abject vassaluge, that the transition from servitude to liberty, pro-
duces the most terrible and awful effects. Here Cicero translates a
passage from Plato's Republic ; in which is described a pure demo-
cracy unrestrained by any authority either human or divine. It is
written with that brilliancy of imagination, which is conspicuous in
all his works, and which has entitled him to the somewhat anoma-
lous designation of the " poetical philosopher." Liberty can scarcely
degenerate into such licentiousness as Plato describes ; but after re-
flecting upon the French revolution, the assertions of the Grecian
philosopher will not appear totally devoid of truth.

^Thus we again come to the original proposition, that a mixed form
of government is the most excellent of all. Cicero, in the next book,
gives a masterly delineation of the early history of Rome ; but our
limits forbid us to follow him into this part of his subject.

* Book I. c. 42.
M. M. No. 93. 2 Z

354- NOTES OF THE MONTH.

We hope, however, that the extracts we have given are sufficient to
shew the beauty and the energy with which the work is written, and
that the political maxims of Cicero will obtain some weight in the
present times, so rife with mutations in the government of states. It
ought not, however, to be forgotten that there are eome, who attack
the character of Cicero, impugn his political creed, designate him as
an enemy to liberty, nnd brand him with the foul names of a recreant
and an apostate. Such vile calumnies it is not our intention at pre-
sent to refute, though it would not be difficult to shew that Cicero
ever thought, spoke, and acted with a view to promote the welfare of
Rome, and was ever ready to sacrifice his time, his property, and his
feelings in the cause of his country, dying at last a martyr to the ex-
piring liberties of the world. But this work on the republic is of
itself a sufficient refutation ; the patriotic thoughts of a great man
breathe in every sentence and in every line. His dislike of tyranny,
his hatred of a despotic aristocracy, and his utter detestation of a
headstrong democracy, have evidently appeared in the preceding
pages. But disregarding such calumnious imputations, it is highly
encouraging to all aspirants in the walk of philosophy and of litera-
ture, to observe how the opinions of a man, perpetuated by works of
sublime genius and profound erudition, are still treated with respect
and veneration ; and that as centuries after centuries roll on, they
only seem to acquire greater influence, and to rivet their dominion
more firmly over the minds of mankind. Thus the name of Cicero is
never mentioned but with reverence by the learned in any quarter of
the civilized world ; andj while the conquests of Alexander and of
Caesar only serve for a passing theme to the moralist, or a subject for
the inspiration of the poet, the Roman orator still lives in all his ma-
jesty and grandeur ; his letters still delight, his eloquence still com-
mands the feelings of men, his works of deep philosophy are still un-
ceasingly admired, and his treatise on politics, this work on the
republic, is still venerated by the statesman, still instructs the poli-
tician by the truth of its maxims, and has ever been appealed to in
the British senate as an authority of indisputable weight.

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

CLOSE OP THE SESSION. — The curtain has fallen on the first act
of the Reform Drama, without letting us know much of the plot of
the piece. An opinion of its progress or termination may be
hazarded, but only with safety by those who have had long expe-
rience on such a stage. For ourselves, we do not pretend to divi-
nation, but, from present appearances, it would seem that the authors
have determined upon playing a safe game, and have either no talent
for, or will not risk brilliancy or effect. They are satisfied to escape
damnation, and are not ambitious of unqualified success. In plain
words, the session having closed, the humblest may form his opinion
of its efficacy.

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 355

The speech from the throne, which has dismissed the faithful
guardians of our rights and breeches pockets to their midsummer
holidays, is about as satisfactory as a complimentary circular from
the "honest tradesman" to the customer who pays his bill. He is
thankful for the past, and solicits future favours. Happy monarch !
delighted people ! Never was good easy country gentlemen more
satisfied with the stewards who bring him his rents,, than is our gra-
cious king with his loyal and dutiful servants, who have drawn upon
his lieges so liberally, and at as little cost as possible. Every subject
of legislation is touched upon, and the monarch is enchanted with all.
He speaks so rapturously of the wisdom by which their measures
have been dictated, and anticipates such prosperous and glorious
results, that we are induced to bow with, if possible, an increased
veneration for the perception of royalty, seeing that three parts of the
people can argue no such happy deductions from such premises. To
be sure, few people are happy enough to view things through the
medium of a civil list, which makes every thing appear coleur de rose.
Few have looked with greater respect upon the intentions of mi-
nisters than ourselves. They have had much to cope with, and if
they have yielded in many instances, to the great disappointment of
the more enlightened classes of the community, it must be remem-
bered the formidable and grasping interests they have had to struggle
with. But there are points for which there can be no excuse, not
even palliation, by which no rich man can calculate profit or loss,
no aristocratical pelf endangered. We allude more particularly to
flogging in our military service. We happen to be practically con-
versant with military details, and if we possess more correct know-
ledge of the efficacy of such punishment than many of the decorated
tyrants who would fasten an odious responsibility upon others, from
which they would shrink with horror themselves j we are not pre-
suming upon more than a very moderate share.

We are firmly convinced that no healthful moral tone can be
introduced into the service until so degrading a punishment be done
away with. Until then, the ranks of our army will be a refuge for
felons — for such as have no shame, and can fear no degradation.
Such refuse may fight in the field, but higher qualities are expected
from them at home. The refusal of ministers, even to make a trial
of another system of punishment, is as disgraceful as unwise. It is
lending themselves to the prejudices of a few military martinets,
against the united supplications of an entire community. It is be-
traying the very worst spirit of the old Tory times. It is traitorous to
their own recorded sentiments — unjust to an oppressed and degraded
class — and ungenerous to the people to whom they owre a power they
so ungratefully repay.

" BRITONS NEVER WILL BE SLAVES." — There is no slave more
debased on the earth than your free-born Briton, He will go stamp-
ing and roaring about, and screaming till he is hoarse, touching the
blessings of his liberty ; and if any astonished stranger should inno-
cently remind the deluded savage of the clank of his chain, he will
forthwith knock him on the head with half a dozen of its links.

356 NOTKS OF Tin; MONTH.

What is impressment in the navy but a species of the most ignominious
slavery that ever was inflicted upon a people. It will be seen that Mr.
Buckingham's very humane motion for the abolition of this disgust-
ing law was lost; but the smallness of the majority gives us hope that the
close of the next session will not see this disgrace upon our statute-book.
Members spoke of expediency, as if expediency were the slightest ex-
cuse for the violation of every social tie. Jt seems to us a national dis-
grace that any man possessing the feeling and spirit of a gentleman can
be found hardy enough to bless his God that he owes his safety to
such ignominous means. If the service held out proper inducement,
men would never be wanting on any emergency, and if we can afford
to pay millions for the partial manumission of slaves, we can afford,
at least to pay men the wages they are worth to others. The Ame-
ricans can afford a fair remuneration to the seamen, the merchant
service can afford it, and why are we to force men to risk life, and
limb, and brutal treatment, for half the wages they can get anywhere
else. It was amusing to witness the effects of office in the person of
Sir James Graham, Lord of the Admiralty. What apostates is not
this same office capable of producing. When he was candidate for
Hull, if we remember right, he was enthusiastically eloquent on the
wrongs of the seaman. In how different a strain were his paltry
pointless sarcasms, in his attempted reply to Mr. Buckingham, yet
some witless boobies condescended to cheer him. Hear the Honourable
Gentleman ; " he did not look upon impressment as a hardship upon
seamen ; they entered the sea service voluntarily ; by being subject to
impressment they only changed masters" Did any one ever hear more
flippant, and at the same time more heartless observations. If they
entered the service voluntarily why need impressment ? As to their
only changing masters by impressment it may be very true ; but the
law of England, in every other case, allows a man to change his own
master, and if one may judge, few would choose a service regulated
by such a specimen as Sir James Graham.

A GREAT CRY AND LITTLE WOOL. — A great fuss has lately been
made by certain interested parties in the City, touching the late
transactions of Sir John Key ; now although we do not pretend to
act the Don Quixotte, by running a-muck at these windmills, or in
other words, becoming Sir John's champion, yet wherever we see an
act of oppression, and know the base nature which prompted it, our
journal shall never be the last to place the affair in its true light, be
the view we take of it, popular or not.

Now the fact is, that the trade to which Sir John has the ill-luck to
belong is about the most envious and covetous of all those numerous
guilds that batten within the liberties of this most renowned City of
London, a small circumference ; but, we do not hesitate to say, en-
closing the greatest number of rogues in the known world. Now the
worshipful company of Stationers are rogues par excellence, one half
of them would stick at nothing short of the gallows, and it is this
class that have never forgiven Sir John Key, elevating himself by his
own conduct so much beyond them, as to deserve the thanks of his

fellow citizens, and the reward of hia sovereign. It must not be for-

•

JS'OTSS OF THK MONTH. 357

gotten that Sir John Key was for two successive years a most efficient
and upright chief magistrate, and did more than any man of the time to
promote the wishes of the people,, by placing the present ministry in
power. He was neither niggard of time nor fortune in such endea-
vour, and the only thing he has ever asked was this paltry situation
for his son, who was well qualified to undertake it. It does not take
a man's life to know a good sheet of paper from a bad one. That
Sir John Key has been guilty of subterfuge in this business, is as
much the fault of a corrupted system of government, as of the man.
Ever since our blessed and glorious boroughmongering constitution
has flourished, patronage has always been a matter of peculation.
Did no one ever hear of noblemen's daughters holding commissions,
and drawing pay as captains of cavalry ! was such a thing unheard
of as boys at school receiving commissions in the army, and having
leave of absence till they could join as senior officers ! or of ladies
maids having fifty pounds per annum, as state trumpeters ! What
lying and swearing must have preceeded all these and hundreds
more; yet they are " all hanourable men." Whoever has witnessed
the installation, or whatever they te.m it, of a Bishop, has heard the
right reverend oath commencing " Nolo, &e." and yst these noble
ecclesiastics sit on their bench in the House of Lords as meek as
sucking doves, — as though they nevor told a lie in their lives.

We do say, that setting aside Sir John Key's previous services in
the cause of reform, or the sacrifices he made as magistrate, it is un-
justifiable to single him out of a host of noble and right honourable
delinquents, to gratify an envious and greedy crew, each man of
whom would sell the rags from the back of his own father, if he
could get fourpence a pound by them.

THE CORMORANT CLERGY. — The clergy have resumed business
with greater energy than ever. Imprisonment and distress is rife
from one end of the kingdom to the other. The hounds of the law are
let loose, and the parsons are halloing on the pack. They evince a
spirit worthy of the blessed times of Smithfield and faggots, and
if the present state of feeling will not permit them to indulge in the
pleasant pastimes of their ancestors, they will go as near as they
can, for conscience sake. One of the principal victims to clerical
mammon, has been Mr. William Tait, the proprietor of the Edinburgh
Magazine bearing his name, and a more liberal and just man does
not exist. He resisted the flagrant imposition of the annuity tax, and
was forthwith consigned to jail. If the clergy who were the means
of such an outrage being committed on the person of so respectable a
citizen had any other feeling than of rapacity and love of violence,
they would have respected the scruples of such a man as Mr. Tait,
and have tried the question with him in a less offensive form ; but
no ; the jail is the best argument to quiet the cries of such contuma-
cious subjects ; it is the least troublesome course* consequently, the
better to be adopted by the professors of Christian charity. In Eng-
land, the rapacity exhibited by our pastors, one would think emanated
from the suggestions of the arch-enemy himself. The shearing by
those shepherds has been so close, that nothing less than the skin

358 AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

will satisfy them. The accounts we have heard of the sufferings of
many of the poorer classes in different parts of the country, is ap-
palling. Will it be believed, that a clergyman, the Reverend Mr.
Blanshard, has had the heart to imprison a labouring man for three
months, because his cottage does not afford sufficient to cover the
amount of two years tithe upon his miserable wages ! The earnings
of such poverty-stricken objects as the half-naked girls who scrape
cockles on the sea coast, are valued at a penny a head !

Go your lengths, good friends ! we are delighted to see you so em-
ployed ; we heartily wish you such success as may stimulate you to
encreased exertions ; assuredly, then, shall we be the sooner quit of
you. With your own hands are you digging the pit into which you
must fall ; we are sorry for the many just and good men who may
suffer, without whom the system would have long ago fallen to pieces ;
but the time is fast approaching when justice shall be dealt out to all
classes, and we guess what sort of share will be set apart for these
wolfish spoilers.

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

WHEAT HARVEST, which commenced on some few of the most forward
soils in the last week of July, may be reported as having been finished on
such by the middle of the present month ; and at the date hereof, it is
scarcely to be supposed that there is any wheat abroad throughout this coun-
try. A finer and less expensive wheat harvest no living man has witnessed.
As a peculiarity of the season, the wheat being finished, a pause ensued in va-
rious parts, neither the barley being ready for the scythe, nor. in fact, any other
crop. Business has however proceeded with the most forward crops, but it
will take a considerable portion of next month ere a complete finish can be
given to this most nationally important occupation.

We speak from old experience — let no man set up as an agricultural pro-
phet, or risk predictions of events dependent upon the most vacillating,
variable, and uncertain of all nature's phenomena — the action and course of
the atmosphere. A retrospect of the farming events, and the variety of sage
opinions held and broached during the present year, will prove an admirable
lesson in the case. For our own share, we do not wish to stand excused.
There are certainly some favourable reports of the wheat crops, especially as
to quality and weight ; but they proceed chiefly from the best and most
favoured soils, either as to local position, weather, or tillage. Perhaps on
such, the crop may prove a full average in point of quantity, the weight and
quality of the sample being of the highest order. Some samples of this
description have reached market. A parcel of red wheat, of the species
denominated the " golden drop," from the famous and leading wheat
county — ESSEX, was lately sold at Mark Lane, which weighed 661bs the
8 -gallon bushel, clear of the sack. These, however, are indeed rara aves in
terris, the average weight being from 58 to GOlbs. The general accounts
represent the wheat crop of the present season as much inferior to the last,
both in quantity and quality, grain and straw : in fine, considerably below
an average. It has received great and serious injuries from the long and
unseasonable prevalence of cold northerly and easterly winds, these check-
ing by night the vegetation and growth fostered and promoted by the solar
heat during the day. This cause has induced its legitimate and well-known
effects, more or less, throughout England. It is said there is more smut in

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

the present crop of wheat than has been known for some years, with its
usual concomitants, burnt ears, the whole of which may be blown away like
tinder, ear-cockle (burnt and shrivelled kernels), red gum, &c., all the natu-
ral effects of lliyht ; the straw, however, is said to have been more fortu-
nate, and to have escaped better than the ear, which agrees with our own
observation. It is really amusing to read certain friends' letters on the
ancient and weather-beaten subject of smut in wheat. They lament, with
so much gravity, the neglect of many farmers, in that they did not brine,
and lime, and dress their seed wheat last autumn, in order to prevent smut.
A neglect certainly, yet the said process will never prevent the disease in a
smutty season like the late, abounding in constant interchanges of heat
and cold, moisture and drought. Smut has indeed, in the present as well as
preceding seasons, according to our information, acted with much impar-
tiality, affecting, in equal measure, the briners and non-briners.

We have spoken of the superior samples of this golden crop, and even
among those, many have been found of a bad hand and damp, a state in
which the bulk of this year's wheat has unfortunately, and somewhat
strangely, been found. Yet surely it is a singular occurrence that, in so dry
or rather droughty a season, there should be no mean of getting wheat up
dry. No doubt the reasons for these hasty measures are sufficiently obvious —
want of money, and apprehension of a decline in the markets. But there
are numerous growers that such motives cannot and ought not to influence ;
and, after all, this hurrying the corn to market may contribute more towards
bringing down the prices than any other cause in speculation. With the
above exceptions, then, in regard to quality and quantity, which we hope
wLl amount to one-fourth part of the crop, there will remain three-fourths
much below an average in quantity, and in quality middling, inferior, shri-
velled and light, diseased. The stock of old wheat in the country is perhaps
considerably larger than has been calculated, to which may be added the
quantity of foreign in bond ; but it is yet too early to speculate on either the
autumnal or following spring markets. There is a vast quantity of wheat so
damp, that it will not acquire a good hand for market without the keeping of
many months. The price of wheat, wavering in some few parts, is generally
held up with considerable firmness.

The most unfavourable accounts we have seen are from the south-western
parts generally. Their wheat harvest closed about the middle of the month,
the weather being constantly fine and giving no interruption, and the whole
business performed with little more than half the usual labour and expense ;
but the sting in the tail of this benefit is, the number of sheaves to be carted
was poor indeed, even below expectation, though from a crop on the ground
which had, during a long time, appeared fearfully light. We should hope
there is some exaggeration of misfortune in the following account, which we
have seen in the newspapers. " According to the estimate of two practical
farmers' and professional valuators, on four thousand acres of land, much of
them in the Vale of Taunton, so famous for the production of wheat, the
average produce of that grain, in the present year, is but 13 bushels per
statute acre !" A Somersetshire farmer proceeds to remark on this — " the
present price of new wheat being 6s. 6d. per bushel, the above acreable
amount is 41. 4s. 6d., whilst the cost of production is, in many instances,
double, and in very few can be taken so low as 61. 15s. Of the other crops,
little can be said until next month, yet of that little, more than is pleasant.
Barley will be much under an average, it is supposed ; a light crop in corn
and straw, and the grain lean and much discoloured ; with, however, favour-
able exceptions, as in the case of the wheat crop. Pease short in quantity ;
beans also defective, and since this continued drought gone off in many parts
in so alarming a degree, that there will be scarcely any crop at all ; and that
upon heavy clays, where beans are the farmers' chief dependence. Potatoes,

360 AGRICULTURAL UK POUT.

according to appearances, will be a lighter crop than last year, which was
also inferior to the preceding. Mangel Wurtzel in the same, or a worse pre-
dicament, since much of it has been ploughed up as worthless. Turnips,
that supposed successful and safe crop, have also gone off from the drought ;
and, strange as it may seem, the fly has really attacked them in this late
stage of their growth. As an old stager lately said to us — " who the devil
would now be a farmer that could help it ?" Oats are still deemed the best
crop of the year, together with tares, and some of the seeds. Hops have
hitherto borne a good report, though in a season one would suppose more
favourable to the fly than the fruit. Betting on the duty varies between
170,000/. and 200,000/. From the want of rain the pastures, particularly
upland, and those in light and dry situations, are as bare of herbage as the
King's highway ; in course, the holders will no longer find themselves at a
loss as to what to do with their large stocks of hay. There is nothing else
left wherewith to feed ; and in those countries where labouring oxen are in
use, the consumption of hay will be great indeed. Late cutting the clovers
has greatly reduced the second crop. Of what value would a score acres of
well-cultivated, clean lucerne now prove ? but who is in possession of such a
prize? Though cow-grass hay, trefoil, and water and best meadow, have
proved crops, but generally the quantity of hay is far short of last year's.
Fat cattle, on the whole, hold price, with temporary and local variations, and
mutton has experienced an additional demand, from the opinion of the medi-
cal faculty of its superior salubrity, in these our days of apprehension from
cholera morbus. Store cattle also hold price, notwithstanding the scarcity of
feed. Wool, so long a drug, has advanced 40 per cent, during the last twelve
months ; and there is yet a demand, in particular for the long or combing
species, the exclusive produce of our own country. Of the fine, or clothing
wools, the supply has been great from the opposite continent, and from New
South Wales and Van Dieman's Land. At the late great fair of Horncastle,
good horses sold at very high prices ; many foreign purchasers attending,
and going to the price of one to three hundred guineas.

No part of Northern Europe seems to have had such a harvest of settled
fine weather to boast as England. In the northern parts of Scotland they
have been impeded by rains and high winds. In Germany, particularly the
northern parts, their harvest has been obstructed by cold rains and high
winds, and their general expectations, from this year's crop of wheat, are
below our own. To the Southward, in the Italian States and Sicily, the
crops have proved most abundant. Our own dear and fortunate country is
still disgraced by damnable INCENDIARISM, whilst "the divine justice of
retribution sleeps \"

The Dead Markets, by the carcase, per stone of 8lbs. — Beef, 2s. to 3s. 6d.
Mutton, Is. 2d. to 4s. — Lamb, 3s. Gd. to 4s. lOd. — Veal, 3s. to 4s. 6d. — Pork,
3s. to 4s. 8d. — 5s. dairy.

Corn Exchange. — Wheat, 40s. to 66s. — Barley, 24s. to 35s. — Oats, 14s. to
24s.— Hay, 50s. to 80s. — Clover ditto, 75s. to 95s. — Straw, 25s. to 30s.

Coal Exchange. — Coals in the Pool, lls. to 20s. per ton. — delivered to the
consumer at an addition of 9*. to 12s. per ton.

Game at Lsadenhall Market. — Accounts of the Grouse from the North, and
the quantity of Game generally in the country, highly satisfactory. On the
17th the market was first well supplied, and the Game in high condition.
Partridges were sold at from 6s. to 9s. the brace. Leverets of good size, and
remarkable fine condition, 4s. to 5s. each. The market, on the 24th, was
well stocked with Grouse, in fair condition, selling at 4s. to 6s. the brace.
Black Game, fine and plentiful, from 7«. to 8s. Plenty of good Leverets at
4s. each.

Middlesex, August 26.

Baylis and Leighton, Johnson's-court, Fleet-street.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XVI.] OCTOBER, 1833. [No. 94.

JOINT STOCK BANKING.*

THE disastrous consequences which attended the failure of so
many private Banks in 1825 and 1826, must be fresh in the minds of
our readers. To use the words of the present First Lord of the Admi-
ralty " one eighth of the country Banks were ruined. Terror pre-
vailed, credit was at an end ;" and so frightened was the Old Lady of
Threadneedle Street, that she t( actually refused to discount, in the
ordinary course of trade, the acceptances of some of the bankers of
the best established credit in the city"; of course the industrious
classes in all parts of England suffered great misery and distress
during these periods of panic, and the frequency of their occurrence,
and the extent of the mischief they created, is proof positive, that the
English system of Banking has hitherto been unsound. It appears
for instance by a parliamentary paper lately published, that commis-
sions of bankruptcy have been issued during the last fifty years,
against no less than 407 Banks ; which is not perhaps a Jlfth part
of the total failures : — Many of these being wound up under trus-
tees, or otherwise privately compromised ! Even in London it will
be found that one-third of the total number of private Bankers haye
failed within the last thirty years j whilst, in Scotland — under a
different system, only two or three, or about one twentieth, and
these of. the most insignificant of her thirty or forty Joint Stock Banks
have suspended their payments.

Is it at all surprising, therefore, that these frequent disasters,
which give such serious checks to the industry and prosperity of the
country, should gradually have led to the conclusion that there was
" something rotten in the state of Denmark," — something radically
wrong in the English system of Banking ? And that the monopoly
in favour of the Bank of England, practically restricting all other
Banking Establishments to six partners, could no longer be main-
tained with safety to the trade and industry of the country ?

The late Lord Liverpool was many years ago so strongly impressed
with the necessity of bringing about a more secure system of Bank-

* The Safety and Advantage of Joint Stock Banking. By an Accountant. Second
Edition. 1833.

Considerations on Joint Stock Banking , chiefly with reference to the Situation and
Liabilities of Shareholders.

M. M. No. 94. 3 A

362

JOINT STOCK BANKING.

ing, that he urged the Bank of England, as a preliminary measure,
to establish branches in various parts of the country ; and the prin-
ciple was afterwards still further acted upon by allowing the forma-
tion of Joint Stock Banks, with an unlimited number of partners,
within sixty-five miles of London, thus drawing a protective circle
round the aforesaid Old Lady, and continuing to her the full enjoy-
ment of her ancient monopoly in the most important part of the
empire. In the meantime, various Joint Stock Banks were formed
throughout the country, and although still clogged by many ridicu-
lous and very absurd restrictions, these establishments have yielded
handsome dividends, and are gradually adding to their own stability,
and to the perfect safety of their shareholders and security of the
public by a rapid accumulation of " reserved funds," over and above
their paid-up capital; ready on any occasion to meet every possible
contingency, without rendering it at all necessary to make further
calls upon their numerous and wealthy partners.

It is still, however, supposed to be unlawful for more than six
partners to carry on the business of Bankers in London within the
proscribed circle of sixty-five miles round it, and it was only discovered
towards the latter end of the last Session of Parliament, that the re-
strictions did not extend to the formation of Joint Stock Banks of
deposit in London and its vicinity ; and finally, the Bank Charter Bill
declared the formation of such establishments, with an unlimited
number of partners to be perfectly legal.*

In this new situation of affairs a number of spirited individuals,
perfectly independent in point of fortune, and well acquainted with
the safety and advantages of the Scotch Joint Stock System, lost no
time in associating themselves for the formation of a Bank of Deposit
upon similar principles to those pursued so successfully in Scotland,
Liverpool, Manchester, and elsewhere. They affirm, that they will
be able, especially in times of pressure or difficulty, to give fair and
equable assistance, secure and steady accommodation, to the shop-
keepers, tradesmen, and other industrious classes in, and about the

* The following Clause in the Bank Charter Bill, authorises the establish-
ment of such Banks : — " And whereas the intention of this Act is, that the
Governor and Company of the Bank of England should, during the period
stated in this Act, (subject, nevertheless, to such redemption as is described in
this Act,) continue to hold and enjoy all the exclusive privileges of Banking
given by the said recited Act of the 39th and 40th years of the reign of His
Majesty King George III. aforesaid, as regulated by the said recited Act of the
7th year of His late Majesty King George IV. or any prior or subsequent Act
or Acts of Parliament, but no other or further exclusive privilege of Banking.
And whereas doubts have arisen as to the construction of the said Acts, and as
to the extent of such exclusive privilege, and it is expedient that all such
doubts should be removed. Be it therefore declared and enacted, that any body
politic or corporate, or society, or company, or partnership, although consisting of more
than six persons, may carry on the trade or business of Banking in London, or within
sixty-five miles thereofSprovided that such body politic or corporate, or society, or
company, or partnership, do not borrow, owe, or take up, in England, any sum
or sums of money on their bills or notes payable on demand, or at any less time
than six months 'from the borrowing thereof, during the continuance of the pri-
vileges granted by this Act to the said Governor and Company of the Bank of
England."

JOINT STOCK BANKING. 363

metropolis at all times, and even under circumstances in which the
private Banker (as in the panic of 1825 for instance) has so much dif-
ficulty to protect himself, that his usual customers are left entirely to
their own resources.

It has been urged against the success of such undertakings in the
metropolis, and to deter persons from becoming partners in them, that
the responsibility of the shareholders is unlimited — that such concerns
cannot be well managed by the instrumentality of directors — that there
is something peculiar to the business of banking, and to the class of
customers in London, which will prevent such Banks being profitably
conducted ; that not being Banks of issue, they cannot allow any in-
terest on deposits ; and that their capital being merely nominal, or not
paid up to the full extent, they only offer an apparent security to the
public ; and that without a charter or act of parliament they cannot
sue or be sued, &c. To these objections it has been answered, that,
by the deed of copartnery, the shareholders mutually agree to gua-
rantee and stand by each other, against any claim that may be
brought against them; and that, practically, each member is only
liable to the amount of his share — holders of the stock of the Bank of
England being exactly in the same predicament.* And it is further
urged, that by the provisions of the same deed, each partner, in the
event of one-third of his subscribed capital being lost, can effectually
secure himself against further damage. The successful manner in
which the affairs of the Joint Stock Banks in Scotland, and also the
important concerns of the Bank of England, are managed by directors,
is a sufficient refutation of the second objection ; and in regard to the
third, it is difficult to conceive, amongst such a choice of customers,
and with numerous partners scattered over every part of the metropo-
lis, and interested in conveying the best intelligence to the directors
of the Bank, that any peculiarity in the class of customers can, if
proper circumspection be used, prove injurious. With regard to

* The 20th chapter of the 5th of William and Mary, establishing the Bank of
England as a corporation, declares this liability, and " that in every such case an
action for debt shall and may be brought," &c. " against all and every, or any one
or more of the persons who shall be members of the said corporation," &c. : and
the 49th section of the 20th chapter of the 8th and 9th of William III., provides,
" that the Governor and their successors shall always take care that the sum
total of all their debts do not exceed the value of their capital stock," and that if
any division of money, " or other dividend whatsoever," be made, " so that the
value of the joint-stock or capital undivided, shall not be sufficient to answer their
just debts then remaining unpaid ; in every such case the particular members, and
every of them respectively who receive any share of such dividend, shall be
severally liable, so far as the respective shares so bj them respectively received
upon such dividend will extend, to pay and satisfy the debts which shall remain
due and unpaid by the said Governor and Company," &c., and may be sued ac-
cordingly, u any thing in this act, or in any former act, charter-, or otherwise
howsoever to the contrary notwithstanding."

We have not space to give these clauses at length, but they are worth the
serious consideration of the holders of Bank Stock, who will not find in any of
the acts of parliament a limitation of responsibility in their favour as a privilege.
The consequence, therefore, would appear to be, that the proprietors of Bank Stock
are, like the partners in any other commercial establishment, liable at common
law, jointly and severally, to the debts of the Bank of England ;— a fact which
should be generally made known.

364 JOINT STOCK BANKING.

their not being Banks of issue, neither are the London bankers : and
although a Joint Stock Bank cannot issue notes, yet, when we look
at the evidence given lately before the Bank Committee, and see that
the expense of maintaining the paper circulation of the country Banks
and the Bank of England, is equal to two or two, and'a half per cent.,
whilst the acknowledged profit is only three per cent., it seems that
the actual profit by the circulation is very trifling ; and that by allow-
ing a moderate interest on permanent deposits to insure their per-
manency, a Joint Stock Bank of Deposit may have as fair a margin
for a moderate profit, as if it were burdened with the expense of
maintaining a fluctuating and uncertain capital through the instru-
mentality of a paper currency. With regard to capital and security,
let us inquire what is the actual capital of the Bank of" England,
available for the purpose of carrying on its business, and we will find
that its subscribed capital being in the hands of government, it has to
depend upon its " rest" of about two millions and a half, its Bank
notes, and the deposits of its customers. Now, a Joint Stock Bank
like the London and Westminster, for instance, with a nominal capital
often millions, if one-fourth were paid up, would have the same amount
of available capital ; and if it be unable, on one hand, to raise a fic-
titious capital by means of notes of hand, it will not, on the other, be
burdened with various expenses, especially that of keeping some mil-
lions of gold and bullion laying unemployed and unproductive, to meet
the payment of its paper. The capital of the Bank of England in the
hands of government, may be considered an undoubted security to
the public for the safety of the monies deposited in the Bank ; and,
in like manner, a Joint Stock Bank Avith perhaps a thousand partners,
most of them men of very great wealth, presents what may be fairly
considered an equally undoubted security to depositors. With regard
to suing and being sued, there can be little doubt that parliament will
not refuse to grant to any respectable body of men associated commune
bonum, that privilege which is not denied to similar establishments ;
but even if that were possible, it would be little impediment to the
carrying on the business of such Bank of Deposit; and, in fact, most
of the Scotch Banks prefer to sue and be sued (when such an extra-
ordinary proceeding becomes necessary) through the instrumentality
of trustees, rather than be at the expense of obtaining a charter —
an instrument more for the benefit of the public than the convenience
or advantage of the copartners of the Bank. In short, in the language
of a writer in favour of Joint Stock Companies, " It seems quite pos-
sible that a Joint Stock Bank of Deposit may, by giving an additional
stimulus to the trade and industry of some portion of the community,
open new channels, and find sufficient business for the safe and profit-
able employment of its capital in transactions not worthy of the notice
of the Bank of England, nor courted by the present race of private
Bankers." And if such be the result *of these new establishments,
we, in common with all who wish well to the industrious classes of
the community, shall rejoice in their prosperity. We have only been
able to afford room for a very brief sketch of these new, but important
institutions ; but we may revert to the subject at more length here-
after.

HINTS TO ARCHERS,

BY CAPTAIN CRAM, H. P. ROYAL HORSE MARINES.

With loynes in canvas bow-case tied,
Where arrows stick in mickle pride ;
JLike ghats of Adam Bell and Cly mme
Sol sets— for fear they'll shoot at him.

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.

I AM an enthusiastic admirer of the long-bow, that " noble weapon
of renown." I have made myself acquainted with its history, from
the day it was first invented by Apollo to the present time. I have
studied minutely the great Ascham's " Five Points of Archery"
— I have practised standing, nooking, drawing, holding, and loosing ;
and written practical observations on each movement. I can tell you
all about the TARGET, the BRACER, QUIVER, BELT, POUCH, TASSEL
and GREASE-BOX ; I have attentively read, nay, even learned by
heart, Ascham's " Toxophilus," Strutt's " Sports and Pastimes,"
Moseley's " Essays on Archery,'7 Roberts' " English Bowman,"
Barrington's tract in| the " Archaeologia ;" besides every writer of
antiquity that has treated, ever so remotely, on the long-bow. The
result of my studies will be apparent in the following pages — it will
be seen that I am no contemptible shot.

Great glory is due to the ladies for their unceasing endeavours to
revive this truly manly pastime ; much reason have they long had to
complain of being debarred from the exhilarating sports of the field ;
such disgusting monopoly will soon be at an end ; for by the practice
of archery they will gradually acquire such strength of limb, such
power of form, such robustness of constitution, that at no distant
time they will be able to back a horse, and hallo a hound with any of
the boasted Nimrods of the North. We shall then have the benefit
of their patronage, of the much-neglected Prize Ring, and the Racket
Court, and it may eventually lead to advantageous changes in their
social condition, and a freedom from vexatious restraints ; in fact,
there is no knowing what the long-bow will do for them. Some dis-
advantages may possibly ensue from the first practice of a long-dis-
used art; but they are trifling, and I beg to remark to any lugubriously-
minded poet, who may peradventure be wandering among the green
lanes, heedless of the twanging with which the kingdom is resounding,
and should suddenly find himself stuck through the midriff, by some
unfair hand, let him on no account blaspheme the art, but die quietly
like a good poet ; for be it known that our good King Henry VIII.,
of glorious memory, being a great patron of the art, provided for such
contingencies, by declaring the archer — after the usual cry of " stand
fast !" — free from blame or penal visitation, by whose stray shaft
any unconscious vagabond might be stricken. This is a consoling
fact, and ought to be known to all our fair sportswomen, that they
may shoot freely. The tyro must on no account limit her range from
any apprehension ; she may take the word of one less veracious than
a Cram, that she is in no danger.

The long-bow is a weapon of the very earliest antiquity ; it is sup-
posed to have been introduced into Englnnd by the Cretan auxiliaries

366 HINTS TO ARCHEIIS

under Julias Caesar. The weapon was never much in esteem among
the Legions, though after reading the commentaries of the Roman
hero, I cannot help suspecting that the " immortal Caesar" was himself
no stranger to its practice. The English, however, in the earlier
times, did no credit to their Cretan masters. We find at the battle
of Hastings, that the Norman bowmen threw them completely into
the shade ; for the historians inform us that the flights of the Norman
arrows were " so thick as to obscure the light of the sun." No
wonder then, that the gallant British king fell a victim, when such
ungenerous, I may say, such unsoldierlike advantages were taken, to
slay him in the dark.

Almost every great man of antiquity was an archer, from Homer
'downwards ; but it seems the Scythians were the most expert of any
as a nation. In fact, according to the best authorities, the term
ARCHER is derived from the name of this people, which is in its turn
supposed to be deduced from the Teutonic word schleten, or scheten,
or schuten, or shuten, signifying great shooters ; so that the word
Scythia, by the most natural transposition possible, is clearly nothing
more than shooter or archer.* It was from the Scythians that the
Greeks became acquainted with the weapon, and here we have some
record of its value by that glorious old archer, Homer. We read of
his heroes Teucer and Pandarus ; — what prodigious shots they must
have been ! and what weapons they had. He tells us, that the bow
of Pandarus was formed from the single horn of a mountain goat,
killed by his own hand. This horn was sixteen palms in length !
We have no such goats now-a-days. There can be little doubt that
the poet was a practical man, or he never could have described such
a weapon and its uses so truly.

Although the Romans, as a people, were not celebrated for ex-
cellence in the art, yet Suetonius and others give some wonderful ac-
counts of the prowess of many of the Emperors. Commodus was an
absolute marvel ; Herodian says, he would kill a hundred lions in the
amphitheatre with a hundred arrows, and never miss, or merely
wound, in a single instance. That was not all ; he would cause
arrows to be made with sharp circular heads, and when the ostrich
was urged to full speed, he would remove its head so dexterously,
that the unconscious bird would continue running as though nothing
had happened ! The emperor must have been a devil of a shot, and
so was Herodian.

But these were isolated cases. — It was reserved for Britons to carry
the palm of archery against the world. In Scotland the bow was
practised as early as in the south, if we may believe one Macpherson
— a poet of a very remote age, and the author of Ossian. — " Sons of
Leith," says Macpherson, " bring the bows of our fathers ! the sound-
ing quivers of Morni !" And in Wales there were archers of won-
derful skill. Giraldus Cambriensis relates, that, during a siege in that
country, two soldiers in haste to regain their tower, were annoyed
by the arrows of the Welsh. They succeeded in closing the portal ;
but were killed notwithstanding ; for the arrows went clean through
the defence, which was of hardened oak, closely studded, and four

* See Encyclopaedia Londinensis.

HINTS TO ARCHERS. 367

inches thick ! William cle Breusa, himself an archer, likewise relates,
that he saw a horse-soldier, clad in complete mail, with buff coat be-
neath, struck through the hip with an arrow, which not only killed
the rider but, piercing the saddle, killed the horse. " But," says
William, " although that might be thought a clever shot, it was
nothing to another I saw." Another Welshman struck another
mailed horseman, in a similar way, and fastened him to the saddle
through the hip ; but the wounded man turning his horse by the
bridle, the same archer dealt another shaft, which, strange to say,
observes William, passed through the other hip, and completely fixed
him : and the horse plunged so fearfully, that men marvelled to see
so clever a horseman, not knowing the ingenious manner by which he
was made to keep his seat ! If the gentleman did not affirm that he
saw these things, I should hardly have believed him. This De Breusa
was a member of the " Royal British Bowmen," which society exists
to this day, and can produce as good shots as William.

But of all who have conferred lustre on the annals of archery, none
are so conspicuous as the bold outlaw of Sherwood, that " most gentle
theefe,/ as Grafton calls him in his Chronicle of Breteyne. — It would
be endless to repeat the exploits of this hero of the bow ; suffice it to
say they were obliged to take his life by treachery, — " For the said
Robert Hood, whom men call Robyn Hood," says Grafton, " being
troubled with sicknesse came to a certain nonry in Yorkshire, called
Berklies, when desiring to be let blood, he was betrayed and bled to
death." He was buried by the highway-side by the prioress of the
nonry; and " upon his grave the sayd prioresse did lay a very large
stone, wherein the names of Robert Hood and William of Goldes-
borough, and others were graven." Dr , Gale, Dean of York, has
preserved his epitaph, which is as follows :

HEAR UNDENEAD DIS LATIL STEAN
LAIZ ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGDON,
NBA ARCIR VERZA HIE SA GEVD
AN PIPL KAULD IM ROBIN HEUD.
SlCK UTLAWZ AZ HI AN IZ MEN
VIL ENGLAND NIVR si AGEN.

Obit. 24. kal-Dekembris, 1247.

Dr. Hanmer speaking of the extraordinary things performed by
Robin Hood and Little John, says, the latter is reported to have shot
an arrow a mile; " but I leave these," observes the worthy doctor
rather discourteously ; " among the lies of the land." I don't know
why he should disbelieve it, when many greater things than that,
have been done, with the help of the long bow ; as any one may see
who reads the doctor's " Chronicles of Ireland !"

I would willingly recount the feats of the great archers of former
days, but I have no space, I must pass over the great Zosimus, who de-
scribed a friend of his at the battle of Mursa, who had the wonderful
gift of discharging three arrows at once, and killing a man with
each ! Phillip de Comines and Froissart were great shots, as any one
will discover by reading their Chronicles. And Sir John Smith who
tells us of the " valleys which ran with rivers of blood, caused by
the slaughter from the Turkish bow." The great Lord Bacon too,

368 HINTS TO ARCHE11S.

a splendid archer, who writes " The Turkish bow giveth a very forci-
ble shoot ; insomuch that it hath been known that the arrow hath
pierced clean through a steel target, and a plate of brass two inches
thick !" I must leave, though unwillingly, the exploits of these great
men and good archers, and touch upon the moderns, and with great
justice ; for however grand are the recorded feats of former days, I
will back the performances of our own times against them, whether
for length, strength or ability.

I believe, I have hinted in my title, that I have the honour to be-
long to that highly-respectable and distinguished corps, the ROYAL
HORSE MARINES, so called from their always riding at anchor, and
from my long service in different countries have had much experience
in these matters of which I treat.

I have witnessed the practice of each country, and hardly know to
which to award the palm. The Americans take an extraordinary
range and shoot very fearlessly. The French if not so strong, are
peculiarly dexterous ; but an Irishman possesses a wonderful facility
for shooting round corners, particularly if a tailor is after him. The
most extraordinary feat I ever witnessed was of an Irishman, who
shot up Holborn Hill, and with such prodigious force, that both his
eyes went clean through a brick wall ! This is a fact ; for I saw it.
I have known some good shots among the English, particularly the
ladies, who draw a very powerful bow ; one, particularly I remember,
who shot so far beyond the mark, that her shaft was positively lost in
the clouds ! She was a member of the " Toxophilite" society, of
which the late king was president. There was another capital Eng-
lish shot, a friend of mine, who belonged to the " Royal Kentish
Bowmen ;" he used to relate, that once riding from Seven Oaks, he was
overtaken by a thunder-storm, he hoped to escape it by giving his
horse the reins, and singular enough he just kept a-head of it by
about half a yard ! In this manner he gallopped at speed five miles,
I may say, neck and neck with the thunder cloud ; the rain, or rather
torrent, descending exactly upon his horses crupper all the way ; the
road behind was literally deluged ; as he emphatically observed, it
could only be compared to being within half a yard of the falls of
Niagara ! He was fortunately saved from the cataract by shooting
up a gateway It was a capital shot. If any impertinent doubt was
ever expressed at this relation, the archer would say fiercely ; " Sir,
if you want a lie, I'll give you one; but that' s a fact by G — d!" and
no man was better able ; he was one of the best shots I knew.

I mentioned the French as dexterous marksmen. I once knew a
gentleman from Gascony — proverbial for its archery; he had been
an officer under Napoleon — by the way. I have always remarked the
superiority of soldiers and sailors in their management of the weapon
— he told me of a duel in which he had been engaged at Paris, where
the signal was un, deux, and to fire at the word trois. It must be
understood we had been quizzing the Parisians on their affectation in
rolling the letter R about their mouths previous to utterance. " My
opponent," said the Gascon, " was of the garde imperial — sacre ton-
nere — he was a dead shot. I had but one chance, and I watched it
narrowly. The second gave the word, tin, deux ; but cade-di, long
before he could Jinish the word TROIS, I shot my man dead !" I must

HINTS TO AECHERS. 369

observe that my lively friend was equally good with the pistol as with
the bow. He was very jealous of the honour of his province, which
he never allowed could be exceeded in any thing. Some discourse
once took place concerning the height of Monsieur Louis, the French
giant, who measured six feet ten inches, <e Tonnere!" cried he, what
a shrimp ! Why, in my country, I knew a man so tall that he was
positively obliged to get up a ladder every morning to shave himself;
he was a tall man, if you like." He admitted that he never knew
but one man of that stature, and that he was a very long nay off. My
friend was elected, some years since, a member of the " Royal Edin-
burgh Society" of Archers, and is an ornament to that distinguished
corps. After all, I must in justice say, that the Americans beat us
all out of the field. Neither French, English, nor Irish, can compare
with them in the use and practice of the long-bow, although I am
aware that I risk giving offence to many meritorious and skilful in-
dividuals. How does the incredulous cockney stare when he hears
of the great SEA SERPENT ! He does not believe it, not he — he little
knows it was an archer to whom the glory of the discovery is due.
What can he know of monsters of the deep, except cod-fish and
oysters in sauce ! What can he know of the howling wilderness, un-
less it be Wilderness- row ! What of roaring cataracts, save that of
low water at London bridge ! He can form no idea of the trackless
waste by that of Walworth and Newington Butts ; or of interminable
forests, by that of Epping. His scepticism, therefore, is no scandal ;
it requires an enlarged mind to comprehend the wonders of America,
and to judge of the enterprise of archers by whom it has been ex-
plored. A very ingenious friend of mine, and, curious enough, of the
same name as myself, a native of Boston, and a splendid shot, has fre-
quently astonished me with the exploits of American archers. He
said, that once, when he went into Kentucky to witness a trial of
skill, he stayed by the way at a public-house, and observing in the
room such an amount of broken ware, and equivocal marks, he was
quite convinced, knowing the savage nature of Kentuckian fighting,
that a desperate and murderous affray had taken place there. ,He
remarked the servant sweeping the floor, and putting the contents
carefully into a basket. Rather surprised, he asked her what she
was preserving with such care. " Oh !'' said the girl, " nothing very
particular, only a few eyes" " Eyes !" inquired my friend. " You
'• see," she said, " about fourteen gentlemen went home blind last night,
so I was just picking up their eyes, 'cause the gentlemen, when they
get sober, may becalling for 'em, I guess !"

There is little doubt that the Kentuckians of the back woods are
descendants of Ishmael, the son of Hagar, who was driven from the
house of Abraham to wander in the forests of Beersheba. Of Ishmael
it is said in Genesis, " and God was with the lad, and he grew, and
dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer." Some have been
sceptical on the point, seeing, that however the latter part of the verse
might argue them descendants of Ishmael, the former portion clearly
had no reference to them. This point I leave to the curious.

My friend Cram I have a great respect for, both as an accomplished
archer and an excellent man. He has witnessed some wonderful
MM NX 9 4. 3 B

370 HTKTS TO ACKERS.

exertions of the art ; indeed, those wherein he has taken an active
part, are not to be excelled by any professor of any country whatso-
ever. I remember, before I went to America, and became intimate
with him, I was introduced to his sister, then residing in the county
of Down. I forgot to mention he has some Irish blood in his veins,
which may perhaps account for his superiority in skill and power.
His sister, to give me an idea of the wonderful prowess of her beloved
brother, gave me a letter to read which she had received from him on
his return to Boston from England. I will give an extract.

" We had a pleasant sort of passage enough, but I missed my sport
sadly. We, however, managed to practise with the bow and rifle, and
I need not tell you, with some advantage over my less practised com-
panions. Occasionally, when the weather was fine, Captain Mizen,
knowing my love of the sport, had the boat lowered, and we mustered
up a shooting party. There is capital shooting on the Atlantic, but
the game, though plentiful, is by no means varied. During our
passage I met with no other than the "flying fish." One day I
managed, however, to bag fifty brace of these amphibious birds, the
sailors rowing us under the very trees in which they build their nests !
We sometimes had some good fishing. The dolphin is an extra-
ordinarily rapacious fish ; an instance of which I will relate. We
caught so many, one day, that several were thrown in the sea again,
and we continued merely for the sake of the sport. One of the fish,
by some accident had his tail cut off, and, being short of bait, I put it
upon my hook ; in about a minute I hooked a fish, and, much to our
surprise, it proved to be the very mutilated dolphin, positively caught
by his own tail !

" I must not forget to tell you that we landed at Bermuda, and
found the niggers all bald, which I heard was occasioned by the habit
of butting in their personal encounters with each other. This fact
convinces me that the organ of combativeness is not, as Gall has
placed it, behind the ear. The Bermudians are a very singular
people. I was informed that those who lived on the other side of the
island are quite amphibious, and live for days under water. This is
in consequence of their living entirely on fish : — I have no reason to
doubt the fact. Fish here is extremely good, but all kinds of meat are
inferior to those of England, except pork, which is so excellent that
the Bermudians literally eat it till the bristles grow out of their skin !

" The inhabitants have no occasion for lamps or candles of any
kind, for the atmosphere, at night, is positively in one blaze of il-
lumination with fire-flies. These beautiful little creatures not only
dispel darkness, but when we went to light our cigars we need but
catch one of these luciferous insects, and holding it to our tobacco,
fire is procured."

I shall forbear quoting more of Mr. Cram's letter ; the reader will
doubtless be pleased with the spirit of observation displayed through-
out. I can myself vouch for the authenticity of his statements, for,
not long afterwards, I made the same passage, and witnessed the
things he describes. I had the good fortune, likewise, to bring down
many coveys of the amphibious birds he mentions, the flying-fish, as
well as several sea- woodcocks, which, having no dogs, he could not

HINTS TO ARCHERS. 371

flush. Knowing this, I had taken care to provide myself with a
brace of water-dogs, and found them very useful.

I never shall forget the first evening I arrived at Boston. Cram
had invited many congenial spirits to meet me, and I never passed a
pleasanter time. Of course our favourite weapon bore a prominent
part in the conversation. Cram gave us a very interesting account
of a vessel foundering near the coast, which was the means of eluci-
dating a curious fact ; he wished to prove a superiority of instinct in
the scaly inhabitants of these waters, over those of every other. It
was no uncommon thing, he said, after that event, for the fishermen
to take a kingfish clothed in a bed-gown of Manchester stripes ! a
shark was killed with a Guernsey shirt on ; a whole shoal of por-
poises were seen with red night caps, and a guard fish was hooked
that wore a gauze veil ! A gentleman, however, from Trinidad, a
Mr. Muscovada, denied the intellectual superiority of the American
fish over those of the West Indies; "and to prove it," observed
Muscovada, " I remember once after the Thunder frigate was
wrecked in the gulph of Paria, one of our whale boats harpooned a
grampus, who, it was found, had the man-of-war's mainsail tied round
his neck for a cravat !" What do you think of that ? said he. Cram
was floored.

But the most curious sporting anecdote I remember was told me
by Cram, one evening over our brandy-and-water ; as he was the

Earty concerned, it may be relied on. We were speaking of Eng-
ind^ and I was relating to him the different societies of Bowmen.

Among other persons the name of his sister was introduced, and he
mentioned several interesting anecdotes of her skill, when she was a
member of the " Hainault Foresters." I happened to mention having
been much pleased with the letter he had written to his sister, which
I had the good fortune to read, and, at his wish, related the points of
it. (t Ah ! my dear Captain," said he ; " that letter was written under
very singular circumstances ; I never knew till this moment what
I wrote, although from your repetition, I have only, related the facts
as they occurred." I expressed some surprise, and he continued :
" The fact was, I had been to a party that day, and had so astonished
the natives with my skill upon our weapon, that I believe I over
exerted myself. When I returned, I commenced writing to my
sister, as the packet was about to sail, and I remember well writing
the words ' My dear sister," and when I tell you that I wrote the
whole of that communication, to which you allude, fast asleep, I tell
you nothing more than the fact ; and what is more, actually folded,
directed, and sealed it, and should not have waked, had I not burnt
myjtngers with the wax !

COPY OP AN AUTOGRAPH UNPUBLISHED LETTER FROM ALLAN RAMSAY,
AUTHOR OF THE " GENTLE SHEPHERD/' TO HIS FRIEND MR.
SMIBERT.

" MY DEAR OLD FRIEND,

" YOUR heal and happiness are ever ane addition to my satisfaction :
God make your life ever easy and pleasant. Half a century of years
have now row'd o'er my pow, that begins now to be lyart; yet,
thanks to my Author, I eat, drink, and sleep as sound as I did twenty
years syne. Yes, I laugh heartily too, and find as many subjects to
imploy that faculty upon as ever. Fools, fops, and knaves, grow as
rank as formerly, yet here and there are to be found good and worthy
men, who are ane honour to human life. We have small hopes of
seeing you again in our old world, then let us be virtuous, and hope
to meet in heaven. My good auld wife is still my bedfellow ; my son
Allan has been pursuing your science since he was a dozen years
auld — was with Mr. Hyssing at London, for some time, about two
years ago; has been since at home, painting here like a Raphael.
Sets out for the seat of the beast beyond the Alps, within a month
hence, to be away about two years. I'm sweer to part with him, but
canna stem the currant which flows from the advice of his patron's
and his own inclination. I have three daughters, one of seventeen,
one of sixteen, one of twelve years old, and no ae waly dragle amang
them — all fine girls. These six or seven years past I have (not)
wrote a line of poetry ; I e'en gave o'er in good time, before the cool-
ness of fancy that attends advanced years, should make me risk the
reputation I had acquired.

" Frae twenty -five to five and forty

My Muse was nowther sweer nor dorty,

My Pegassus wad break his tether

E'en at the wagging of a feather,

And throw ideas scour like drift,

Streaking his wings up to the lift ;

Then then my saul was in a low

That gart my numbers saftly row,

But eild and judgment gin to say,

Let be your sangs, and learn to pray.

I am, Sir,
Your friend and servant,

ALLAN RAMSAY.
Edinburgh, May 10th, 1736.

THE RESTORATION.

Banners are streaming to the breeze,

And brazen trumpets ring,
And shouts — yet not alone of these

Thinks a returning king :
His thoughts are straying from the scene,
From what is now to what hath been ;
When death hung o'er the royal head,
And far from throne and home he fled ;
His sceptre but a broken reed,
Another reigning in his stead !

And where is he, whose arm of might

Rul'd with an iron sway ?
Gone, like a troubled dream of night

Before the' approach of day ;
The feeble heir he leaves behind,
Reft of his father's giant mind,
Lost, dead to glory and to fame,
Inherits but his father's name ;
Like a small water's hidden course,
Obscure, though ocean be its source.

They came, they came, a noble throng,

The loyal and the true ;
And now the monarch rides along,

Girt by his chosen few :
But many eyes may look in vain,
To find, amid that splendid train,
The kindred forms that left their home,
With banished royalty to roam ,
That clung to him they could not save,
Their recompense — an exile's grave !

Spring-buds on every path are strewed,

A sweet and lovely group,
As virgins brought from solitude,

In the world's gaze to droop ;
And prancing chargers paw the ground,
Scattering these pale young blossoms round ;
And snowy plumes are fluttering by,
Pure as the white clouds of the sky ;
And nod, and smile, and wave of hand,
Are welcoming that joyous band.

All, all is bright and glorious now,

No traces of the past ;
But thus it is with all below,

Where nought is doomed to last ;
One moment dazzle, the next all bright —
Alternate bloom, alternate blight;
The son of sire struck headless down,
Now called from banishment to crown ;
A fitting type of human state,
Sad record of a monarch's fate !

BULWER AND HIS BOOK.*

WE have all read of the frog in the fable, which, aspiring to be ac-
counted an ox, made a split of it, and was never afterwards in a situa-
tion to raise the wind towards a second experiment. This is precisely
the predicament of Mr. Bulwer at the present moment. From the
" indigesta moles" of his mind he created a little world of profit. He
wrote novels, " beautiful exceedingly;" he penned poems, delicate
Ariels, which the Calibans of criticism were loath to visit too roughly.
The former were, nay, we believe, are still, indispensable to maid,
milliner, plain twaddler, and complicated bore; the latter, we are
given to understand, were sucked in by the insatiate trunks of this
elephantine metropolis.

The mental tadpole having thus become transformed into the lite-
rary frog, what more natural, reasonable, proper, than that he should
imagine himself capable of undergoing further and more extensive
changes ? The reform was never intended to be final — why should
the fen circumscribe the frog ? — wherefore not that internal power
which, gradually swelling and increasing, shall at length convert it
into the bival dimensions of a commensurate ox-lord ? But it was
not to be.

When a man proposes to write a book upon a given subject (we do
not stop to inquire whether his subject was given to^Mr. Bulwer) he
usually takes the trouble of thinking a little before he commences his
work.f It is not an improbable supposition, also, that he examines
himself touching his competency to fulfil the task which has been as-
signed to him, or which he has proposed to himself. He will also
consider whether his subject do not involve a discussion of points upon
which men of equal capacity — perhaps of equal capacity with himself,
are strongly and honestly at issue. That preliminary process having
been gone through, the course which the incipient author has to pur-
sue, becomes inevitably obvious. He is bound to state his opinions
strongly, forcibly, above all, plainly : and he feels himself under the
not unpleasing necessity of addressing his readers in a tone of equality,
indeed, but also with some show of respect. Mr. Bulwer has chosen
to do neither ; whence we not unfairly conclude that he has not only
not considered the manifold subjects he has presumed to handle, but
that he has altogether forgotten the readers whom he has deemed it
fitting so insolently to address. A more miserable tissue of puerile
contradictions, a more wretched mixture of foreign philosophy and
home-made ignorance, it was never before our fault to read — a more
oracular and pedagogue arrogance in the expression of them, it was

» By Edward Lytton Bulwer, Esq . M. P. &c. 2 vols. 8vo. London, Bentley,
1833.

f Mr. Bulwer, more experienced in book-making than ourselves, is of a con-
trary opinion. " It is astonishing," he says, " how few men deem it necessary to
think a little when they are writing much." The author of Pelham has almost
converted us to his opinion.

BULWER AND HIS BOOK. 375

never heretofore our misfortune to witness. When husks are thrown
before men it is well that they be not projected with the air of one
who is casting pearls before swine.

And, then^ the solemn foppery of the man, the ludicrously grave
manner in which some worthless scrap of purloined learning is pre-
sented to us. The considerate Mrs. Glasse instructs us, before pro-
ceeding to cook, to catch our hare ; but the author of " Pelham" fur-
nishes his ideas after he has prepared the illustration. A child feasting
on jelly is, with Mr. Bulwer, a tradesman at his dinner ; and why ?
the currant jelly reminds him of a leg of mutton. This invention of
of an idea from an illustration which the idea itself should suggest, is
productive of the most laughable results ; nor is the solemn manner in
which conclusions are drawn, on the strength of an absurd anecdote,
less fraught with materials for unbounded mirth. " There was a tribe
in Thessalonia," — then follows the illustration — " thus we see," &c.
" There was a certain merchant" — and an anecdote is presented to us
involving a silly pun, made, it might be presumed, by Samuel Rogers
sitting on a tombstone — and a philosophical conclusion is drawn from
the authentic incident just related.

Let us try our hand at an anecdote — let us exert our skill upon an
illustration — let us draw our conclusion from the first — let us find our
idea for the latter.

" There was a certain drover in Smithfield who could not get his
beast along. f I say, Tom/ quoth he, ' I can't get this ere hanimal to
move.' ' Hit him over the raw, then/ ' He hant got none.' ( Then
'stablish vun.' — Thus we see the native ferocity of the English cha-
racter."

By taking down this folio we shall probably succeed in catching an
illustration. " A certain country was inhabited by a people whose
heads did grow beneath their shoulders." Ha ! very good : now for
the idea — we have it. " There is a remarkable similarity between the
people of the country just spoken of and the people of this country :
here the power to bear taxation is greater than the ingenuity to inflict
it — the shoulders are above the head."

But now let us take a hasty survey of Mr. Bulwer's two volumes
We find, then, that " Book the First" is inscribed to Prince Talley-
rand, and comprehends a view of the English character. This would
seem to be tough work for a philosophical tyro, but our intellectual
Garagantua makes light of it. He illustrates a national prejudice —
he draws a national distinction — he draws up and exhibits the root of
our notions — he gives us an anecdote — he plucks out the heart of the
mystery in a trice, leaving us to wonder how the deuce it happened
that we never heard these things before.

The French and the English are both, it appears " eminently vain
of country; yet if there be any difference between the two more
strong than another, it is the manner in which that vanity is shewn.
The vanity of the French consists (as I have somewhere read) in be-
longing to so great a country ; but the vanity of the Englishman ex-
ults in the thought, that so great a country belongs to himself."

Whoever made the observation which we have just quoted, and which

376 BTJLWER AND HIS BOOK.

Mr. Bulwer has somewhere read, was a blockhead. It will not do
for our author to draw nice distinctions. The national vanity of the
French and English, however different in degree, and however unlike
in expression, must be essentially the same passion. As exemplified
by Mr. Bulwer, there is no vanity on the Frenchman's side — there is
no national vanity on the part of the Englishman. The Frenchman,
by our author's showing, is proud and vain of his country — the
Englishman is personally vain. Mr. Bulwer further adds, " He (the
Englishman) is vain of his country for an excellent reason — it pro-
duced him."

Let us restate our author's proposition. The vanity of the French-
man consists in belonging to so great a country ; the Englishman is
vain of his country, for it produced him. The consciousness of be-
longing to a great country could never create vanity, although it
might stimulate it ; and the theory, that an Englishman is vain of his
country, because it produced him, is too extravagant to be entertained
for a moment. Indeed, the statement, as respects the Englishman, is
not so much a matter of opinion as a question of fact. It is not a fal-
lacy— it is false.

We have been at some pains to show, that Mr. Bulwer either takes
no pains to think before he writes, or that he has not the capacity of
thinking, in the philosophical sense of the word. Let us now exhibit
how gravely he continues to utter nonsense. He is still comparing
and contrasting the vanity of the two nations.

" The worst of all our notions, as of all our laws, is to be found in
the sentiment of property. It is my wife whom you shall not insult ;
it is my house that you shall not enter ; it is my country that you shall
not traduce."

We grant that it is upon this principle that we pull a man's nose
who insults our wife, and consign to the magistrate the burglar who
has entered our house ; and that such acts arise out of a sentiment of
property. We should be glad to learn, upon what different principle
it is that the Frenchman does the same thing. But I do not resent an
insult to my country, because it is mine, in any sense involving a pro-
perty in it. because I have no such property. England is my country,
as she is my mother who " produced me," but only " in a manner of
speaking" — I have no property in either. It cannot, therefore, be a
sentiment of property that causes me to resent an insult to my
country.

And now let us turn to Mr. Bulwer's view of the English character.
The author of " Pelhajn" is inclined to think that we are not quite so
independent as the woji*ld generally supposes. He says,

" It is an old maxim among us, that we possess the sturdy sense of
independence ; we Value ourselves on it, yet the sense of independ-
ence is often but the want of sympathy with others.

" There was a certain merchant sojourning at an inn, whom the
boots, by mistake, called betimes in the morning. ' Sir/ quoth the
boots, ' the day's breaking.' ' Let it break/ growled he, ' it owes me
nothing.' This anecdote is rather characteristic ; it shows the con-
nexion between selfishness and independence."

BULWER AXD HIS BOOK. 377

If it shows any thing, it shows that Mr. Bulwer cannot take a joke,
which, we doubt not, agitated the midriff of the more jocular boots
with titillating vibrations.

Mr, Bulwer, then, infers from this anecdote, that we are rather a
selfish than an independent people ; but as, when such a man as he
condescends to write about English character, it is well to know what
his opinions are — (we use the word in the plural number advisedly,
for he has two opinions upon that point) — we shall place in juxta
position several sentences that will, perhaps, enlighten us either as to
the English character, or to Mr. Bulwer's competency to judge of it.
Mr. Bulwer, be it remembered, has previously stated his belief that
the English are quite as selfish as they are independent. But

" The English are an eminently generous people. I do not mean gene-
rous in the vulgar sense of the epithet, though that they would deserve, if
but from the ostentatious and artificial spirit I have already described ; but
the loftier and more moral one. Their sympathies are generous ; they feel
for the persecuted, and their love is for the fallen ! !"

" Poverty, — crime itself, — does not blunt this noble characteristic. In
some of the workhouses the overseers devised a method to punish the re-
fractory paupers by taking away from them the comforts, permitted to the
rest ; the rest out of their own slender pittance supplied their companions !
In his work upon prisons, Mr. Buxton informs us, that in the jail at Bristo
the allowance of bread to criminals was below the ordinary modicum neces-
sary for subsistence; to the debtor, however, no allowance was made, their
friends, or the charity of strangers supported them : there have been times
when their resources have failed, and some of the debtors would have lite-
rally perished for want, but that they were delivered — how ? By the gene-
rosity of the criminals, who voluntary shared with them at once the food
and the distress."

" In other countries poverty is a misfortune, with us it is a crime."

" Our extreme regard for the chaste, induces a contemptuous apathy to the
ttnehaste. We care not how many these are, what they suffer, or how far they
descend into the lowest abysses of crime. Thus, in many of the agricultural
districts, nothing can equal the shameless abandonment of the female pea-
santry. Laws favouring bastardy, promote licentiousness, and as I have
before shewn, the pauper marries the mother of illegitimate children, in order
to have a betier claim on the parish. In our large towns, an equallyjsystem-
tical contempt of the unfortunate victims — less perhaps of sin than of poverty,
produces consequences equally prejudicial. No regard as in other countries,
by a rigid police order, is paid to their health or condition ; the average of
their career on earth is limited to four years."

" Thus, then, generosity is the character of the nation ; but the character
rather of the people than the nobles ; and while a certain school of theorists
maintain that the chief good of an aristocracy is to foster that noble quality,
they advance an argument which is so easily refuted as to endanger the
cause it would support."

Having thus heard Mr. Bulwer on our generosity, let us listen to
his opinion of our honesty and morality.

" But, if the commercial spirit makes us attach undue importance to
wealth, it keeps alive also a spirit of honesty as to the best means to acquire
it. Thus the same causes that produce our defects, conspire to produce
many of our merits. The effect of commerce is to make men trust- worthy
in their ordinary dealings, and their social relations. It does this, not by the

M.M. No. 94 3 C

378 BULWER AND HIS BOOI.

sense of virtue, but by that of self-interest. A trader soon discovers that
honesty is the best policy. If you travel through Italy, and your carriage
break down, there is, perhaps, but one smith in the place ; he repairs your
carriage at ten times the value of the labour ; he takes advantage of your condi-
tion, and his own monopoly of the trade. Whoever has had the misfortune
to make the tour of the Netherlands in a crazy caleche, can speak from ample
experience of the similar extortion practiced also in that country, where the
standard of morality is much higher than in in Italy. This would rarely,
if ever, be the case in England."

In his review of the poor laws, however, he remarks.

" But how, in so industrious a country, arises the indifference to toil ?
The answer is obvious — wherever idlenes is better remunerated than labour,
idleness becomes contagious, and labour hateful."

" In no foreign country even of far less civilization than England, is there
the same improvidence : in France where there is a much greater inclination
to pleasure, there is yet a much more vigorous disposition to save. The
French peasants never incur the wicked, because voluntary, calamity of bring-
ing children into the world which they cannot feed, the youngest a rew
robber of the pittance of the eldest ; brother the worse foe to brother, and
each addition to the natural ties bringing nearer and more near the short and
ghastly interval between Penury and Famine, Despair and Crime : nor do
they — no, nor the peasants fof Spain, of Germany, of Italy, of Holland,
squander in the selfish vices of an hour, the produce of a week's toil. The
peasant is not selfish in his pleasure ; he shares his holiday with his family,
and not being selfish, he is not improvident : his family made him prudent,
the same cause often makes the Englishman desperate."

" I think, however, that I need take no pains to prove the next character-
istic of the English people — a characteristic that I shall just touch upon, viz.
their wonderful Spirit of Industry. This has been the saving principle of the
nation, counteracting the errors of our laws and the imperfections of our con-
stitution. We have been a great people, because we have been always
active ; and a moral people, because we have not left ourselves time to be
vicious. Industry is, in a word, the distinguishing quality of our nation — the
pervading genius of our riches, our grandeur and our power."

" Rogues among traders, and swindlers among gentlemen, there are in
this, as in all countries ; but they do not suffice to stamp the character of the
people. There is no systematic mockery of principle with us, nor that sort
of maison de jeu morality, which you find jamong the philosophical elsyans
of Paris and Vienna. A fine gentleman in London is a formidable person to
young heirs ; but of these fine jgentlemen there are thank Heaven, not above
a dozen or two. In private character, as in the national, an English patri-
cian is rather the dupe than the receiver : at least he keeps his deceits for
his parliamentary career."

Wherever I look around on the state of morality in this country, I see
the want of the cultivation of moral science. A thousand of the most shal-
low jejune observations upon every point of morality that occurs, are put
forth by the press, and listened to by the legislature. Laws are made, and
opinions formed, and institutions recommended, upon the most erroneous
views of human nature and the necessary operations of the mind. A chasm
has taken place between private and public virtue — they are supposed to be
separable qualities ; and a man may be called a most rascally politician,
with an assurance from his asperser " that he does not mean the smallest
disrespect to his priuate character!" Propping morality merely on de-
corums, we suffer a low and vulgar standard of opinion to establish itself
amongst us ; and the levelling habits of a commercial life are wholly unre-

*

BULWER AND HIS BOOK. 379

lieved and unelevated by the more spiritual and lofty notions, that a well-
cultivated philosophy ever diffuses throughout a people.

I have heard an anecdote of a gentleman advertising for a governess for
his daughters ; an opera-dancer applied for the situation ; the father de-
murred at the offer : " What !" cries the lady, '• Am I not fit for the office ?"
Can I not teach dancing, and music, and French, and manners ?" «« Very
possibly — but still — an opera-dancer — just consider!" — " Oh! if that
be all," said the would-be governess, " I can change my name !" I admire
the naivete of the dancer less than her sagacity ; she knew that nine times
out of ten, when the English ask for virtues, they look only to the name !"

" With us the word virtue is seldom heard, out of a moral essay ; I am
not sure whether it does not excite a suspicion of some unorthodox signifi-
cation, something heathen and contrary to religion. The favourite word is
" respectability" — and the correct meaning of " respectability" may cer-
tainly exclude virtue, but never a decent sufficiency of wealth : no wonder
that every man strives to be rich."

" To the want, too, of a cultivation of morality as a science, all its rules
are with us vague, vacillating and uncertain ; they partake of the nature of
personal partiality or of personal persecution. One person is proscribed by
society for some offence which another commits with impunity. One woman
elopes, and is " the abandoned creature ;" another does the same, and is

only the " unfortunate lady." Miss is received with respect by the same

audience that drove Kean to America. Lady is an object of interest, for

the same cause as that which makes Lady an object of hatred.. Lord

ill uses and separates from his wife — nobody blames him. Lord Byron

is discarded by his wife and is cut by society. * * * is a notorious gam-
bler, and takes in all his acquaintances — every one courts him — he is a man

of fashion. Mr. imitates him, and is shunned like a pestilence — he is a

pitiful knave !"

And now it may be worth while to make a resume of Mr. Bulwer's
notions respecting the English character.

We are, in the first place, rather selfish than otherwise. But we
are eminently generous. Poverty does not blunt our generosity.
Even our criminals have been known to share their food with debtors.
Yet poverty, in other countries a misfortune, is considered by us a
crime. We care not how many descend into the lowest abysses of
crime. Thus, then, generosity is the character of the nation. Again,
we are honest ; we know that it is the best policy to be so. But
,\vhen we can get more of other people's money by idleness than we
can procure of our own by industry, we shall prefer to be idle. And
in no foreign country is there so much improvidence j we incur the
wicked calamity of bringing children into the world whom we cannot
support. We squander in selfish vices the produce of a week's toil.
The continental peasant, on the contrary, is not selfish or improvident.
And yet a wonderful spirit of industry is our chief characteristic.
This has made us a moral people, for it has left us no time to be
vicious. Once more ; although there are a few rogues amongst us,
there is no systematic mockery of principle; no conventional mo-
rality, such as it to be found at Paris or Vienna. And yet, looking
around on the state of morality in this country, a thousand shallow
and jejune observations, upon every point of morality, are put forth.
Propping morality merely on decorum, a low and vulgar standard of
opinion is established amongst us. We care not for virtues, we look

380 BULWEll AND HIS BOOK.

only to the name. The word virtue is seldom heard with us ; the fa-
vourite word is " respectability." Not cultivating morality as a
science, all its rules are vague ; we proscribe one, we acquit another.
We court * * * *, Mr. — — imitates him, and is shunned like a
pestilence.

And this is the English character, as it has been elaborately drawn
by Mr. Bulwer ! We contend that we have a perfect right to put all
these extracts together, and to condence them, to the end that the
spirit of his conclusions shall be more immediately brought under the
notice of the reader. We defy him to impugn the honesty with
which we have selected these specimens. We defy him to show that,
in any one instance, he has been speaking of a particular class, and
that we have given it a general application. That Mr. Bulwer has
arrived at general conclusions from a review of the vices or weak-
nesses of particular classes, we admit j but that is his fault, and not
ours. He must permit us to take them as they are presented to us,
namely, for conclusions affecting our national character.

In truth, looking at the discordant and infinite elements of which
the several classes of this country are composed — the conventional
wants, the artificial desires of the higher orders — the real misery and
distress — the abuse of good laws — the framing of bad ones — the
stimulants to crime, and the insufficient inducements to virtue which
operate upon the lower classes — taking a general survey of all the ap-
parent phenomena which illumine, whether to purify or to destroy
our moral atmosphere, it will readily be conceded, that a philosopher
might well pause ere he put forth conclusions respecting our national
character, drawn from a sifting and contrasting of so multifarious an
assembly of qualifying causes. No wonder, therefore, that Mr. Bul-
wer has signally failed in the attempt, being, as by this time he must
feel himself to be,, endued with just as many faculties that go to the
formation of a philosopher, as his friend Mr. Disraeli enjoys in his
assumed character of historian.

We shall take another opportunity of adverting to our author's
second-hand opinions respecting the Poor Laws, Education, and
Modern Philosophy. It may be sufficient to say, that he has urged
nothing with reference to the former two, that has not been advanced
many times before ; and that he knows nothing whatever of philo-
sophy— neither its history, its objects, nor its employment.

We shall select two instances of the very common-place order of
mind which it is Mr. Bulwer's misfortune to possess, and we have
done with him; on a future occasion, we may, perhaps, take the
trouble of exposing his insolence and pretension in matters upon
which he has, or ought to have, some power of discrimination.

When Mr. Bulwer devotes a few pages to a review of our modern
polite literature, and barely mentions the name of a man who — leaving
out of the question his merits as a philosopher, is a distinguished
ornament to it — we mean Mr. Coleridge — we know that there is some
private, personal and mean motive which has actuated him. But
when he affects the philosopher, it is another matter. We see, and
we despise his superficial coxcombry, and we laugh at his folly. We
know that there is no power on earth— not even his power of conceit

*

BULWEK AND HIS BOOK. 381

and impudence/ that could ever have converted him into one ; he
has done his best, and we forgive him.

. Mr. Bulwer thinks that practical men are the last men in the world
whose opinion ought to be taken respecting matters upon which they
are practical men, and he illustrates his position thus ; —

" If you want a reform on the stage, you would be told that the best per-
formers are the most practical men, they have all an interest in the monopoly
they enjoy; poor Kean, accordingly said before the Committee of the House
of Commons that he heard the voice, and saw the play of countenance, as
well at the back of the centre boxes at Covent Garden, as in the side boxes of
the Haymarket. Mr. Kean's answer is the type of most answers, on what-
soever point, that you extort from practical men in opposition to thinking
men ! they reason according to their interests ; practical men are preju-
diced men ; usually knowing the details of their own business well, they are
astonished at the presumption of men who think to improve the principle.

Now, we think, it requires neither a very practical nor a very
thinking man to descry the surpassing absurdity of this. Kean's evi-
dence was not that of a practical, but of an interested man ; he did
not reason according to his interest, he spoke in behalf of it ; it was
not an opinion — it was a falsehood. Mr. Dowton, a practical man,
also, gave directly contrary testimony.

Mr. Bulwer is seized with a desire to exterminate popular fallacies
Bentham had succeeded in destroying a few — if Bentham, why not
Bulwer ? He discourses of them thus — he opines that he has caught
one, and he proceeds to slay it after this fashion : —

" When the world has once got hold of a lie, it is astonishing how hard it
is to get it out of the world. You may beat it about the head till it seems to
have given up the ghost ; and lo, the next day day it is as healthy as ever.
The best example of the vitality of a fine saying, which has the advantage of
being a fallacy, is in the over-hacknied piece of nonsense attributed to Archi-
medes ; viz. " that he could move the earth, if he had any place at a distance
from1 it, to fix a prop for his lever." Your Excellency knows that it is one of
the standard allusions, one of the necessary stock in trade for all authors,
poets and newspaper writers ; and persons whenever they meet with it, take
Archimedes for an extraordinary great man, and cry, " Lord, how wonder-
ful !" Now z/Archimedes had found his place, his prop and his lever, and if
he could have moved with the swiftness of a cannon-ball, 380 miles every
hour, it would have taken him just 44. 963, 540,000,000 years to have raised
the earth one inch ! And yet people will go on quoting absurdity as gospel;
wondering at the wisdom of Archimedes; and accounting for the unparalleled
suicidalism of the English, till we grow tired of contradiction ; for, when ycu
cannot convince the Squire Thornhills of the world, you must incur the mor-
tification of Moses, and be contented to let them out-talk you."

Not satisfied with this triumph, he breaks out in a note thus : —
" Critics have said, ' what a fine idea of Archimdes ! ' but how much
finer the fact that refutes it ?"

We cannot seriously imagine that there are many men in this
country, save Mr. Bulvver, who would have committed a logical
absurdity like this. Archimedes exemplifies the power of the lever
by a strong figure — ' ' Give me my lever and a prop, and I will move
the earth j" Mr. Bulwer proves that he could do it, very slowly in-
deed, and thinks that he has refuted the fact, and exposed the fal-
lacy. This comes of walking upon stilts !

382 SCEAPIANA.

To conclude. We seriously advise Mr. Bulwer to leave off making
philosophical experiments. His results are, like those of some of our
popular lecturers at a mechanic's institute, who never proceed to illus-
trate a philosophical principle, but the machinery, from some unto-
ward cause or other, is certain to fail ; but Mr. Bulwer's defeat is
not to be attributed to the same cause — his results are ludicrous, be-
cause his principles are unphilosophical. Let Mr. Bulwer take our
word for it ; by no conceivable process could he be elevated into a
philosopher. His course is smooth j the height of what should be his
ambition, is obvious enough. He is still young, and may live to
write many popular novels.

He is still young — yes, he is, we believe, about thirty — a critical
age. Dr. Young has said,

"• At thirty man suspects himself a fool! "
Let Mr. Bulwer be more suspicious for the time to come.

SCRAPIANA.

A German merchant at Valparaiso, fond of scientific researches, has lately
had explored by a very intelligent Danish sailor, named Kenous, some dis-
tricts of Chili, which have hitherto never been visited by European travellers.
This man, it is announced, has made some interesting discoveries. In the
Andes of Chillao he found a plain strewed with the ruins of a considerable
city. Now as the actual Indians of Chili have always been monastic, and as
the Incas could never firmly establish their dominion over that country, this
city must have been built by a civilized people, that have since become totally
extinct. We know that in other parts of South America traces of a high de-
gree of civilization have been discovered, of which there are no longer any re-
mains among the Indians who at present inhabit that continent.

CORK LAWS. — A sack of flour of 280lbs. in France costs 31s. English
money, while the same weight in England costs 53s., making a difference of
70 per cent. A loaf of bread of four pounds weight costs in France four
pence three farthings, and second quality three pence three farthings. But
the French have no corn laws — property is more equally divided — trade is
flourishing and prosperous beyond all precedent.

The handsome bridge of Dinant over the Maese in the Netherlands has the
following inscription : —

Ce pont a etefait id.

A boy bringing a present of a basket of fruit to a lady in Southampton from
a friend in the vicinity, after emptying the basket, and looking about
anxiously, said — '• Zooks ! madam zaid she zent her compliments with the
fruit, but I can't zee 'em nowhere !"

Ferdinand VII. on being informed that they were going to pull down the
house formerly inhabited by the illustrious author of Don Quixotte, Miguel
Cervantes de Saavedra, situated in the Calle Fravero, No. 20, at Madrid,
immediately purchased the house, and has given orders to have it restored.
Upon the principal front will be placed a bust of that great man.

Brescia. — There has lately been discovered here a Roman temple dedicated
to Mars. In making excavations in this edifice, a statue of Victory in gilt
bronze was found, which by connoisseurs is pronounced superior to any that
Milan, Venice, or Naples possess ; it is supposed that there will be found
near this temple one of those sumptuous country houses, with which the
Romans had covered Italy.

SCRAPIANA. 383

One of the consular agents of France in India has written home to his go-
vernment, stating, that there has lately been discovered in an Indian pagoda a
MS., which details in the most precise manner the arrival of a man from the
west, the nature of his studies under the direction of their Indian Brahmins,
and his sudden departure. This book contains the physical and moral por-
trait of the Saviour, exactly such as it has been transmitted down to us. It
dwells upon his benevolence, his love of humanity, and his inestimable piety,
which so admirably corresponded with the beauty and mild expression of his
countenance.

Last week a querist at Cowes, where smuggling is sometimes carried on
to a considerable extent, asked a by-stander what animals there worked the
hardest, and were the most contented with their labour ? " Wby (replied
the by-stander), I should say the donkeys — for they carry angels by day and
spirits by night !"

There appears plenty of work cut out for the second reformed parliament,
there being not less than one hundred and thirty-four notices of motions
placed upon the order book for the next session.

The gas-lamps of London alone consume not less than 38,000 chaldrons of
coals in the year. The gas-pipes of the metropolis, were, in 1830, of the
total length of upwards of 1000 miles.

Play-bills were formerly affixed to the numerous posts which formerly en-
cumbered the streets of the metropolis ; and hence the phrase " posting-
bills," which is still retained.

; AN IRISH RUFFIAN. — He acknowledged that he had been present at a
murder — that he had been tried and transported ; he thought he could sleep
well if his hands were imbrued in innocent blood ; would rather kill twenty,
men than take a false oath ; if a man took a false oath he never could repent ;
but if he committed murder he might repent. He would not act as a hang-
man for 100Z. ; he would not put a rope round a man's neck ; but he would
shed the blood or blow the brains out of an innocent man ; had rather do
that than put a rope round a man's neck convicted of murder.

TO THE SAINTS OF " ST. BRIDE'S."

" Take not a house in that part of the city where the people are
ignorant and devout."— Persian Proverb.

THE Saints, usurping sovereign sway,

Command our city's sinners

To save their souls on sabbath-day —

And go without their dinners.

The butchers dare not open shop,

Nor grocers move a shutter :

Woe to the wench who twirls a mop,

Or goes abroad for butter !

The publicans — unjiallow'd elves !

Heap angry imprecations

Upon the Saints, who feast themselves,

Though paupers want their rations !

With beldames, of each apple-stall,

The godly heroes grapple,

And preach to them of Adams fall,

Effected by— an apple I

L. L. T.

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.

DOMESTIC MANNERS.

ONE of the most celebrated lawyers of the present day has often
been heard to say, that during the whole course of his long and ar-
duous career, and with all his professional experience, he had never
yet been able to discover the true meaning of the word " gentleman/'
The Arabs have upwards of one hundred words for the horse alone ;
but the copiousness of the Arabic is absolute povert}', when com-
pared with the ductile flexibility of our English tongue, which pos-
sesses a word that defines at once every class of his majesty's liege
subjects.

" Gentleman," however, is not the only word in our language which,
as our French neighbours would say, "fait le desespoir," of our lexi-
cographers ; there is still another term, the application of which is
equally vague and indefinite — one that is applied to that nondescript
race who, on making the tour of Europe in a well-padded travelling
chariot, are deemed qualified for the traveller's club. But, by the
shade of that prince of travellers, Marco Polo — by the shade of Baum-
garten, whose eagle eye saw the traces of Pharoah's chariot wheels on
the shores of the Red Sea, when I look upon that " servile Pecus," I
am not only tempted to say with Burke, " the days of chivalry are
past," but to go farther, and exclaim, the days of travellers are past !

The bell of the Igrega Madre was just tolling the hour of Ave
Maria, and the vesper hymn floated sweetly on the evening breeze, as
I slipped out of the narrow precincts of a canoe, in which I had been
confined for nearly two days, and once more stretched my limbs on
" porto," as it was pompously called, of St. Joam de Pernaiba, a little
town on the banks of the mighty river of that name. For eighteen
days previously I had been travelling through an uninterrupted
desert, and after narrowly escaping the jaws of an alligator while
taking a siesta on the banks of a river. After declining the warm
and lasting embraces of a huge boa — after — but I must say no more,
lest I shock my reader's nerves, or expose mine own to even & severer
shock, by a charge of Brucism — suffice it, therefore, to say, with only
half a skin, for the musquitoes and a tropical sun had taken woeful
liberties with the other division, I arrived at the aforesaid Villa de
Pernaiba, where so tranquilly flows on the tide of human existence,
from the cradle to the grave, unmarked by aught to diversify its un-
deviating strait line of monotonous uniformity, that my arrival caused
even more sensation than that of a Russian grand duke, or a Turkish
plenipotentiary extraordinary at Mivart's or the Clarendon.

" Tel brille au second rang, qui s'eclipse au premier."

In our last we endeavoured to give our readers some insight into
the domestic organization of the aboriginal inhabitants of Brazil, wre
shall now reverse the picture, and exhibit the manners of the European
conquerors — the Brava gente Braziliera, as they call themselves.

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 385

In all the maritime cities of Brazil since the removal of the court
of Portugal to their trans-atlantic dominions, European civilization
and manners have been fast blotting out all traces of colonial life.
But in the interior, from the difficulty of communication, and from
the scantiness of the population, the traveller may still behold the
curious spectacle of a phasis of civilization such as existed on our
continent two centuries ago.

There appeared, at first sight, to be an artless simplicity, both of
manner and mind, in these people, that insensibly led back the ima-
gination to the more primitive and picturesque ages of mankind ; but
this illusion was soon dispelled, for, on a nearer inspection, I dis-
covered that it was coupled with the most shocking depravity. In
Brazil morality appears to decrease in proportion as the population
becomes ruralized ; and in the interior of that empire I have witnessed
acts that would have induced me to suppose that their perpetrators
had taken a high degree in the first school of Escroquerie in Europe.
The enciente of St. Joam de Pernaiba might easily have been contained
in that of Belgrave-square ; but it had its senado or camera, its com-
mandante das armas, and a garrison of ten soldiers — a custom-house,
and all the paraphernalia of a villa of the first class. From all these
official dignitaries, as well as from the other magnificoes of the place,
I received the customary visits of ceremony the day following my
arrival. A stranger to their manners would have imagined them the
most generous people in the universe ; presents of fruit, sweetmeats,
&c. poured in from all quarters — in fact, every thing they possessed,
I was told to freely consider as mine own. But to my cost I soon
learnt, that these high-flown professions were merely vox et prceterea
nihil — a habit derived from their Moorish ancestors. On the contrary,
I never saw a servant approaching my door with a tray on his head,
but I mentally exclaimed,

" Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,"

for what with the douceur to the bearer and the return present, in-
variably looked for, I was generally a loser by the transaction. Nay,
I soon found out that there was as much art in making presents as in
making a book for the Derby or St. Leger. Of six bottles of Rosolio
that I one morning sent off as a present to a neighbour, four of them
actually found their way back to me at the end of a week, presented
by no less than three different individuals. Had I remained much
longer I must have found out some Brazilian Gully or Crockford to
have made my presents (not my bets) by commission, otherwise, to
use the language of the knowing ones, I should have been fairly
cleaned out, for the very servants latterly used to bring presents in
their master's name for the sake of the douceur a I'Anglaise.

Notwithstanding its insignificance, the Villa de St. Joam de Per-
naiba had actually, a few months before my arrival, raised the standard
of revolt against the Emperor Don Pedro, and actually declared itself
a republic, but which the terror of Lord Cochrane's name alone dis-
solved. Half the leading people of the place were under arrest in
their own houses, " en attendant" the arrival of a military commission,
sitting at the time, and dispensing its leaden mercies in the adjoining

M.M. No. 94. 3 D

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.

province of Ceara. I could not help one day expressing, in company,
my sense of the folly that could have induced a paltry little place
like theirs to take such a step, but I was cut short by a mode of ar-
gument I certainly did not expect : — Have the goodness to tell us,
Senhor Inglez, what was the beginning of Rome ? A community of
brigands, was my reply — Pois. And since that was the case, to what
lofty destinies may not Pernaiba aspire, with her heroic population ?
Fuimos vendidos, we were sold, or you would have seen. I have al-
ways remarked, that both Portuguese and Brazilians invariably at-
tribute all their disasters to treachery — a strong proof of the venality
of the national character.

It will be readily conceived, that the official dignity of the public
employes was on a par with the supposed importance of a plan whose
influence on the future destinies of the world would, some day or
other, be so considerable. And, in fact, ceremony and punctilio were
carried to a pitch of most ridiculous extravagance. On passing the
house of a friend you were expected to remove your hat, though no
member of the family should be visible. In returning the visits of
ceremony I had received, I called on the Padre Vagario before the
Commandante das Armas — " inde bellum !" the latter, who had never
heard of the revered maxim of " cedant anna togce," took it in high
dudgeon, and declared that I was a spy. " Would that heaven would
send us many more such spies," said the revered padre, giving me a
warm embrace. Now, whether this compliment was owing to the
respect I had shown to the holy mother church, or to a sense of my
own demerits, I shall not stop to examine, suffice it to say we became
sworn allies. The Reverendissimo Padre was a warm admirer of the
English style of living, particularly of our late dinners, a taste he
took almost daily opportunity of gratifying, and which, as we were
literally starving at the time, owing to a drought that had continued
upwards of two years without intermission, was certainly a delicate
mode of showing his admiration of Old England.

One evening, I recollect — provisions at the time were dreadfully
scarce — the padre and myself were just sitting down to a fine capon,
when,

" Medio de fonte leporis, surgit aliquod amari,"

the worthy man was called away to administer the extreme unction to '
a dying sinner. " Agora, amigo," said he, " you see what it is to be
a padre — A hi de me!" — (I had been expatiating on the calm tran-
quillity and dignified retirement of the ecclesiastical profession) — and
casting a longing look at the smoking capon, he bustled off j for my-
self, on the gastronomic principle, that

" Un diner rechauffe ne valut jamais rien."

And expecting to see no more of him for that evening, I plunged in
medias res, when, in less than a Credo, the padre was back. He had
been sent for by an old devotee, who had a megraine, and to whom he
told me he had already administered the viaticum five and twenty times.
Society, in a place where the women are kept in a stile of worse
than Turkish seclusion, it will be easily conceived was at a very low

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 387

ebb. The chief occupation of the men was gambling. That of the
women of swinging all day long in a hammock ; and the conversation
of both sexes confined to the very narrow circle round which ranged
their small stock of ideas. The existence of these people I can com-
pare to nothing else than a stagnant pool. Still it was a negative
happiness, for that mental misery, the curse of a more refined civili-
zation, was certainly not theirs.

Very fortunately for me there was residing in the villa a French-
man, in the common parlance of the place styled merchant, whose
store was a receptacle of every thing, from Champagne and English
broad cloth to Agoua ardente and Bacelhao. He was, however, very
unpopular ; for his habits of superior enterprise and industry had
monopolized all the trade of the place. Loud were the clamours in
consequence. Freedom of industry was declared to be incompatable
with liberty and independence, and the interference of Government
called for ; but the Frenchman held his ground, as he often held it
before, with a very different enemy in his front. For he was a man
who had formerly moved in " glory's van."

" C'est un drole de metier nest ce pas, pour une homme qui a porte
I' epaulette," he would frequently say to me. "Mais Je me console par
lire de temps a temps quelques Odei d'Horace." Poor fellow, with all
his affectation of philosophy, he possessed that happy equanimity of
temper under misfortunes which philosophy in vain aspires to. He
first saw fire at Jena, and when the sun of Napoleon sank on the field
of Waterloo, he was a captain in " les Landers Rouges de la Garde"
The benumbing influence that chilled the military world, extended
itself to the narrow orbit in which he moved, and suddenly hurled
from his sphere ; on his return he was disbanded. I have sat for hours
listening to the history of the eventful scenes in which he had moved,
and often observed the tear trickle down the fine countenance on
which the bivouac had left its traces, as he spake upon his former
chief in terms of fond and bitter regret.

One morning that I was at his store, the juiz or president of the
Camera, honoured him with a visit. This personage had been
formerly a Vaquero, and,faute de mieux, I suppose had been elevated
to his present appointment. With an air of dignified importance, he
requested a private audience. It turned out afterwards that this
Brazilian Minos wanted to purchase a bottle of wine. " He had no
money/' he said ; " but he was hourly expecting a remittance of two
hides from a place up the country." f( Voila un tableau de meurs qui
est impayable" said my French friend, as he related to me the
anecdote. — But

" Nunc est ad bibendum, mine pede libero
Pulsanda tellus "

It was the anniversary of Brazilian independence, and a party of
the Aristocracy of Pernaiba were assembled to commemorate that
event. We had been regaling ourselves. Hear it ye Gunters.
Hear it Jarrin, thou King of Conectioners. With pine apple jam, and
Guava jelly iced with salt-petre, and sipping some delicious Curacoa
refrigerated by the same process. The whole party were lolling in
hammocks swung round a spacious viranda, and inhaling the aro-

388 RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZILS.

matic perfume of segars, such as Hudson or Friburg never dreamt of
in their philosophy.

" Nox erat et fulgebat luna serena
inter minora sedera."

It was indeed a lovely night ; the moon, the tropical moon,
sailed high and bright in the starry heavens. Nox had put on her
jewelled diadem ; and on her dark bosom shone resplendent the
southern cross — while the smaller stars sparkled like diamonds
through the dark foilage of the cocoa-nut trees, as they waived their
graceful tops wafting towards us the aromatic perfumes ofthe neigh,
bouring orange groves. There reigned a delicious stillness, broken
occasionally by the distant notes of a guitar which danced wildly
sweet on the evening breeze as the chords of an GElean harp swept
by the wind. The softness of the hour had lulled the joyous mirth
of the party till the silence was interrupted by an old colonel of
cavalry.- " Si senhor } senhor si" he exclaimed, the invariable ejaculation
with which the Brazilian breaks the pause that will occasionally in-
terrupt the conversation, the mieux soutenue. " From what I have
heard, and from what I have read — which, gentle reader, was mighty
little — England must certainly be an extraordinary country ; but
nevertheless, it is one in which I could but exist twenty-four hours."
"• And how so, Colonel?" I inquired; " we have ample means of
neutralizing the cold of our climate" — for I confess I thought it was
to that he was alluding. " That is not what I mean. Estou Valente
no frio. I am capable of bearing an intense degree of cold." (I
much doubt if the old fellow had ever experienced a lower degree
than 70 in his life). " Then, my dear Colonel, in what consists
your objection to Old England ?" " Why, simply in this — to the
incessant report of fire-arms/' " You must be jesting, surely ?"
" Not at all. You are the second Englishman who has ever
resided here — and I have observed that the occupation of you both
has been that of firing at a mark from morning till night, from which,
I infer it is the usual pastime of the English, and a most detestable
one, too, it is ; for I have not had a comfortable siesta since your ar-
rival here." It is to be hoped the gallant Colonel was a better
soldier than this wide application of the ab uno disce omnes shewed
him to be a logician.

I one morning shortly after this received the following laconic
epistle from the master of a Mulatto servant I had hired : —

" Senhor — If you shoot my Mulatto, remember his price is 250
milrees."

At the risk of being styled a barbarian, I cannot refrain from relating
the cause that produced this singular letter, illustrating as it does so
strongly the manners of the country. On the previous evening, in
order to amuse my friend the Padre Vigario with a pistol bullet, I
offered to strike a teacup out of the hand of my Mulatto servant,
a feat which, by dint of practice, I knew I could, without risk, at the
distance of twelve paces, accomplish — and which was accordingly
done, to the great wonderment of the Padu, who, to my surprise,
insisted on me making the trial on him, but which I obstinately for

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 389

some time refused, fearing, as he had not been trained to the sport,
that he might swerve into the line of fire. However, he overruled
all my objections, and took his ground accordingly, with a small
plate as his target. In the next instant crack went the plate ; but to
my consternation, down went the Padre like a pigeon shot on the
wing. To my great joy, however, it turned out to be merely
a sudden panico that had come over him, which he was never able to
account for. While this was going on, the master of my Mulatto
servant accidentally passed, and, taking the liberty to look in at
the window, he perceived his slave in the posture aforesaid ; but too
polite to spoil sport, he merely returned home ; and as a precau-
tionary measure, wrote me the note as above.

Although the foregoing anecdote plainly shews that the slave popu-
lation of Brazil, are out of the pale of humanity, valued only in the
light of beasts of burden, still to do the Brazilians the justice, there
is no country where that moral gangrene slavery exists, where the
unfortunate victims of it are so humanely treated as in Brazil. No
where in that country do we find that strong line of demarcation,
which in our colonies so divides all bonds of sympathy between
master arj,d slave. Religion too, has spread her protecting mantle
over the unfortunate African. On acquiring a slave, the first care of
the pious Brazilian is by baptism, to have him duly received a mem-
ber of the church, and with an amiable regard to their prejudices, a
black virgin, and one or two black saints have been added to the Ro-
mish Calender, whose festivals are celebrated with extraordinary pomp.
For some time after my arrival, I may be said to have held a daily
levee, and one would really have imagined that many of my visitors
had taken a high degree at the Stock Exhange, so fertile were
they in projects, that were to produce the most magnificent re-
sults. There were diamond districts, that might be worked " a la con-
trabcmd," mines of boundless wealth, of course known only to the
projectors, which only required the aid of British capital, and British
credulity, besides other schemes many of them as wild as any that
ever entered the head of the hero La Mancha. As I of course turned
a deaf ear to all their suggestions, I became very unpopular, and was
further accused of Jazer poco caso, making light of the good people of
Pernaiba, so that like a disgraced minister, my anti-chamber was
entirely deserted.

One morning just as I was preparing to sally out on a shooting
excursion, my servant ushered in a gentleman whom I had never seen
before, and who advanced towards me with an energy of intention,
that convinced me I was to be honoured with a hug, a mode of salu-
tation, for more reasons than one, I always begged to decline. He
was a little short, thick set man, with a piercing black eye, that ap-
parently strove at a glance to see what I was made of, after pouring
forth a volley of the most fulsome compliments, he looked anxiously
around, and asked if there was any body within hearing. As he had
something of the greatest importance to confide to me, being answered
in the negative, he arose and spoke as follows : — " That day so
ardently desired has at length dawned upon our St. Joam de Pernaiba,
that day in which her unbounded resources hitherto held in check,

390 RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.

by the jealousy of the province of Moranham, will now be rapidly
developed by foreign science and intelligence." Here I bowed of
course very low ; but not to fatigue my readers with the whole of this
celebrated oration, I will briefly relate the object of a visit which he
had previously, he said delayed so long, the better to lull the suspi-
cions of his neighbours. At Villa Vicoza, formerly a Jesuit Mission,
then about twenty leagues from our place of residence, he told me
there was a large field, covered with innumerable tumuli, bearing an
inscription ; from earliest infancy it had occurred to him, that these
inscriptions related to some treasure buried there by the Indians;
and which by means of my knowledge of languages, which he had
taken into his head was extraordinary, he felt confident might now be
discovered. If these inscriptions, said I, are as I suspect, in the abo-
riginal language of Brazil, I must candidly tell you, I can be of no
service to you in this matter. However I offered to accompany him, as
I had long intended visiting the spot; it was therefore agreed between
us, in order to excite no suspicion, that I should give out I was going
to spend a week at his house, which was about a league from the
villa. We must be cautious was his expression, for when you the
least expect it, you are closely watched. The third morning after
this conversation, saw us on our road towards Villa Vicoza, and the
nearer we approached this supposed El Dorado, the spirit of my sin-
gular companion appeared proportionably to rise ; he laughed, talked
and frequently sang con amore, some stanzas of the patriot hymn.

" Brava gente Brazilera, longe vai temor servila,
Ou ficar a Patria livre, ou morrer Pelo Brazila."

My own attention and reflections were directed into other channels,
for upwards of two years not a drop of rain had fallen in this part of
Brazil, the crops had failed, the cattle had all died, and famine, and
its concomitant disease was making frightful havoc among the inha-
bitants. We met columns of these unfortunate creatures, coming
from the interior to the banks of the Pernaiba, where they could at
least find water, and their appearance beggared description. Yet
such was their indolence, that although living as they did upon the
banks of a mighty river, the banks of which were so low, that by the
simplest mechanical process, a great portion of the country might
have been irregated, and the effects of the drought neutralized, no
such attempt was made, and upwards of 5000 people actually pe-
rished by famine, which the slightest modicum of industry might
have averted. Here was an instance of the empire of climate, ac-
cording to Montesquieu, le premier de tons les empires, unmitigated in
its intensity by the operation of moral causes. From what I wit-
nessed not only there, but in other parts of Brazil during a residence
of nine years, I have no hesitation in expressing my confident convic-
tion, that the abolitionists will be woefully mistaken, in their calcula-
tions of the supposed results of free labour It is perfectly absurd to
cite India as an example, their population presses so narrowly on the
means of subsistence, that the Hindoo has but the alternative to
labour or to starve ; but the reverse is the case in the western world,
where as long as one day's labour will suffice for the subsistence of

RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL. 391

the other six, the dulce far niente, will be regarded as the summum
bonum of existence.

The sun was just making his exit through the balconies of the
west,, as we alighted at the residence of the Padre Vigario, de Villa
Vicoza ; but such was the impatience of my travelling companion,
that he would have dragged me off immediately to the spot on which
was centred all his hopes ; had I not told him that we should need
the light of the moon to read the inscriptions, upon which you know
Amigo every thing depends. No lover, I believe, ever more anxiously
awaited the hour of assignation with his mistress, than did this man,
the rising of the moon, but all things have an end, and at last we
reached the object of our research, it was a large plain covered with
small mounds ranged in rows, and surmounted with flat stones,
placed perpendicularly, on the flat surface of which was burnt in a
bright red colour some Indian characters, which it would have puz-
zled a Champolion to have decyphered ; as I stood amid this scene
of death, and by the pale light of the silvery moon, and gazed upon
these relics of a civilization long extinct, I insensibly fell into a re-
verie, from which I was aroused by my companion, who in a tremu-
lous tone of voice, inquired if I had made out the inscriptions. No,
nor does there live a man on this earth who can decypher
them, was my reply ; " but by referring to some of your dictionaries,
do you not think you may yet succeed." Not a whit better, these
characters are those of the Gentios as you call them, and in all pro-
bability of a race which no longer exist ; it is therefore bootless to
attempt to decypher them. We retraced our steps to the Vigario's
house in silence, and when left alone with our reverend host, I could
not help expressing my astonishment to him, at the mania of my
companion. " These golden legends," said he, " are the curse of
Brazil, there is not a province in which there is not some tradition of
rich mines that were formerly discovered, and of which all traces
have been lost, and thus the wretched inhabitants dream away their
existence in the pursuit of these fabulous II Dorados, neglecting the
pursuits of agriculture, on a soil that almost spontaneously produces
the fruits of every clime. Your companion is not only convinced of
the existence of this treasure, but what will surprise you still more,
he is certain that you perfectly understand the characters, and that
you have only feigned ignorance in order to appropriate the whole
treasure to yourself, take care of him, therefore, for the people of
these parts are a vindictive race/' I laughed heartily at this commu-
nication of the good padre, and resolved to be even with my suspi-
cious friend. Near the Villa de Pernaiba there was an Indian tomb,
and which from the hideous noises that ensued from it, was supposed
by the simple inhabitants of the country, to be the abode of an evil
spirit, but which on exploring it, an act in their opinion, of almost
super-human courage, I found proceeded from myriads of vampire
bats, who had made it their head-quarters. I accordingly arranged
my plan of campaign, and to speak a la Jomini, resolved to make this
my objective point. The next morning I found him pacing the
Verandah with a brow black as Erebus. He scarcely noticed my
morning greeting. After enjoying for some time his disappointment,

392 RECOLLECTIONS OF BRAZIL.

I at length approached him, and exclaimed mysteriously, " follow
me to a place where we can converse in safety." A ray of hope
lightened up his dark countenance as we walked from the house.
" S^nhor Antonio," said I — " what is at present passing in your
mind, I can read as perfectly as I did the inscription on the Indian
tomb. (( Then there is a treasure," he exclaimed — " diga me esso —
tell me that" — and he this time succeeded in hugging me like a bear.
" There is, as you suppose, a treasure, but prudential motives led
me to conceal it from you, lest your intemperate joy might have be-
trayed itself to our friend the Padre, which would have defeated our
enterprise — follow me, and you shall know all. On the wings of
impatience he accordingly hurried me to the plain. " Now," said I,
" mark me attentively, for it is on your knowledge of the country
that our future success must depend." In the most figurative language
I could command, I proceeded to describe the position of the Indian
tomb I have mentioned.

" Christo Santo !" he exclaimed, " it must be the tomb of St.
Ildefonso it alludes to ; its position is so accurately laid down. " I
candidly confess to you that it is the very conclusion I came to
myself last night ; and having now ascertained the position of the
treasure, the next subject for our consideration, must be the means of
securing it." " Well indeed may you say that, Cavallero," was his
reply ; " for, are you aware of the stories current about that tomb —
why, there is not a man in the province who will venture within half
a league of it." "And can you give ear to such idle stories?"
" Idle or not. I have myself heard the horrible sounds that nightly
issue from it. Nay — more — I once saw something in the wood near
it that froze my blood with horror." " The mere effects of a dis-
ordered imagination. You surely will not hesitate to snatch the
glittering prize, now that it is within reach ?" He remained silent
for some time, during which I could observe, from his varying
countenance, that avarice was struggling with superstition. At last,
breaking silence, he said, with great energy of manner. " If this
treasure is concealed in the tomb at St. Ildefonso, there it may lay for
me, undisturbed, to all eternity ; for, were the angel Gabriel to de-
scend from heaven, and to offer to bear me company, I would shrink
from so perilous an enterprise. You can scarely think, therefore,
that I will venture into it with a heretic like yourself."

I saw very little afterwards of this singular being — but he never
suspected the trick I had played him — and always spoke in the
highest terms of my supposed knowledge and wonderful discretion.

THE WIDOWED WIFE.

A TALE OP FRANCE.

AT the extremity of a shrubbery of sweet bay that terminated the
bright lawn of an inn, or auberge, in the hamlet of Andevin, arron-
dissement of the Charolle, was a little bower so closely shadowed by
the clustering shrub, as not to admit a single sun-beam, and so cun-
ningly contrived that a common observer would not easily have dis-
covered its entrance — and in that same little bower were seated, in
secret consultation, Antoinette and Lily St. Aubert, the two nieces
of Madame Delcourt, the proprietor of the before-named inn.

" Well, well, Lily, I will tease you no more about it — though in
in fact it is no longer necessary ; for, although you do not deign to
answer me by word of mouth with sincerity, those tell-tale blushes
cannot deceive me."

" Corne, dear sister,-! will be frank with you, and to be so, I must
premise by confessing that I do love Baptiste Claremont — dearly —
that is — I have done so hitherto ; but that must end. If he marries
Madame Delcourt from choice — (and choice I fear — I mean, I think,
must be his only motive) he is unworthy of my love — nor would it be
correct. — No, no — I ought not, I will not. — But if he marries my
aunt from necessity, or "

" By the way — I know Baptiste has something of importance to
communicate to you; he told me so this morning," observed her
sister.

" I shall not listen to him," replied the other in a dejected tone.

" Now that is wrong, Lily — very wrong — very absurd indeed."

" There our opinion differs, Antoinette."

" Well, well, whatever opinion is right, or whichever opinion is
wrong, (and I think my own right,) I have a scheme in my brain
which / call a very hopeful one. You know Francois Claremont has
begged his brother-in-law, Monsieur Le Grand, to be present at his
son's marriage with my aunt, and sign the settlement ; — now don't
cry about it, Lily !" —

" Well," said she, sobbing.

" And he's expected down here, to-day," continued Antoinette.

" Well," again uttered her sister.

" Now, I've been thinking that he can't take any very great interest
in the matter, inasmuch as he has never yet seen his brother-in-law,
Monsieur Claremont — so, as they say he is a very good-natured man,
I've made up my mind when he does come, to go boldly up to him —
state the facts of the case — and beg his intercession. What say you ?"

" Indeed, I don't know."

" Oh, you're really quite stupid;— but come along, we must go up
to the house — come along, I say — and do dry your eyes." Saying
this, she parted the boughs of the shrub with one hand, while with
the other she dragged, rather than led, her sister through the aper-
ture, and they both stood upon the lawn facing the house.

" Oh ! see !" exclaimed Lilv, releasing her arm from her sister's,

M.M. No. 94. 3E

394 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

" There is Baptiste. — For heaven's sake let me go another way. — I
would rather die than meet him now."

" Stuff and nonsense. — Indeed you shall not go another way. —
Now just hold up your head — and don't let him see you've been
crying, or let him think you care a pin's point for him. — Pretend to
pick that daisy behind you, and wipe your eyes, girl. — It is so foolish
— and mind — hush — here he comes. Well, uncle — uncle that is to be,
I mean, how do you do ? — You don't look over well. — Hold your
head higher, child." This was said, as the play-books have it,
" aside."

"How are you this morning, Lily?" said Baptiste Claremont,
advancing with his extended hand towards her as he spoke, without
appearing to notice her sister, " What, won't you shake hands with
me?"

" Oh, you won't speak to me, won't you ?" said the slighted An-
toinette— " Very well, sir — I wish you a very good morning — I shall
go and seek some one who will answer when I speak to them, for I
hate to have all the conversation to myself." — " Antoinette," exclaimed
Lily, endeavouring to detain her — " sister — "

" Indeed, Lily, I must go. — You know I shall get a horrid scolding
as it is — for my aunt has been waiting for me this half-hour to help
her to dress — so good bye. — Good morning, dear uncle," — and away
bounded the beautiful girl towards the house.

" Lily, Lily, — will you not even speak to me ?" said Baptiste.
" Pray do not turn away," he continued, at the same time gently de-
taining her as she was preparing to follow her sister. " Is this kind
— or even just?" — But leaving for a while his question unanswered,
we will follow Antoinette into the dressing-room of her aunt (on the
second-floor back, of the aforesaid inn,) who was standing before a no
mean-sized looking glass, complacently contemplating her figure and
effect. Although Madame Delcourt had arrived at what ladies term" a
certain age" — and which they interpret as the " shady side of forty: —
still there was in her manner that peculiarly French light- heartedness,
which made her appear a good ten years younger than she really was
— and indeed her dress on this, the morning of her intended second
marriage, in no wise served to diminish her good looks. A rich, and
apparently quite new, white satin petticoat, trimmed with lace, and
fitting closely to her well made figure, was short enough to leave
exposed to view an extremely small foot and well turned ancle —
while a boddice, trimmed at all points with .lace, although, perhaps,
if too strictly scrutinized, might be deemed as cut somewhat low, still
seemed so studiously arranged, as only to leave exposed a finely
curved throat. On her head was placed a fillet of real and choice
flowers which she was carefully arranging at the time of Antoinette's
entrance, whom she greeted with a " How is this pray ?" and turning
sharply round as she spoke, continued, " Why were you not here an
hour ago ? — How is it I say ?"

" I'm sure, aunt, I don't know."

" Don't know ! the same excuse, hey ? that eternal ' don't know,
I'm sure ;' — come — fasten me this band behind."

" Yes, dear aunt — there" — she continued, as she completed the

THE WIDOWED WIFE. 395

task allotted to her — ee upon my word you look particularly well to-
day/'

" Do you think so ?" — asked Madame Delcourt. whose anger was
somewhat softened by this evident shew of taste on the part of her
niece.

" Indeed I do — that tasteful head-dress makes you appear at least
a full twenty years younger." —

" Foolish girl" — exclaimed Madame Delcourt, though in a tone of
unquestionable self-satisfaction.

" But in spite of that, do you know, aunt, I can hardly bring
myself to believe that you are really going to marry Baptiste Clare-
mont — although you are even now dressing for the occasion —
" Mind your own busines, if you please."

" But you know aunt, you are older than he is by twenty-four
years."

te Hold your saucy tongue, — do ;" — replied her aunt — " what is it
to you — or to any one indeed, — whom I marry — for I know it's the
talk of the whole hamlet — though, forsooth, it's just the same to me,
for the matter of that. — I am a widow — in prosperous circumstances
— and I will marry whom I like : — what does it signify if Baptiste
is a little younger than myself?"

" A little younger !" thought Antoinette.

<( However, it matters not what people think," continued the bride
elect — " I have settled every thing with his father — and in another
hour or two, when Monsieur Le Grande arrives, we shall sign the
settlement, and be married. — It would, indeed, be strange, if after a

widowhood of twenty years, I might not be permitted "

" How, aunt ! is it twenty years ?"

" Aye — full that. — You were not yet born, when my poor dear

husband, Philip left me. Ah ! that was a sad pity, but he would

go to sea — and the consequence was, that he was shipwrecked, — and

perished with all the crew. — Heigho ! 1 wish Monsieur Le Grande

was come."

" Oh ! you mean the gentleman from Paris, who they say is > so
rich, and whom Monsieur Claremont, although his brother-in-law,
has not yet seen."

" The same, my love. — He's an upholsterer — nothing more — he
fell in love with Monsieur Claremont's sister, and though she hadn't

a sous, he married her. But come — I am ready," continued

Madame Delcourt, as, repressing with the back of her right hand a
forward black curl, she took a prolonged, final, and satisfactory look
at herself in the glass — " Do you stay below, Antoinette — and if
any traveller arrives, attend to him."
" Yes, dear aunt."

et By the way," continued Madame Delcourt, as they left the
room, " should you see Monsieur Claremont, tell him I wish to see
him particularly, will ye ?"

" Certainly, dear aunt," replied she. And, leaving Madame Del-
court and her niece Antoinette, to pursue their respective avocations,
we will return to Lily, whom we left standing on the lawn with Ma-
dame Delcourt's bridegroom, preparing to answer the question he had
put to her and,

396 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

" What can you have to say to me, sir ?" was the answer he
received.

" Oh, Lily, I perceive by your cold, your cruel conduct, that you
think me a faithless villain — but by heavens you wrong me."

" Indeed," faintly uttered Lily.

" Aye, indeed you do. It is my father who forces me to marry

Madame Delcourt, because pray do not turn away — if you will

but listen, I will explain all — and you, instead of neglecting me thus,
will pity me, I am sure ; for believe me, dearest Lily, I ever have,
and ever shall, love you ?

" And marry my aunt ?"

" Why will you taunt me ? — What can I do ? — Will you but listen
to my explanation ?

" Well !" said the distressed and anxious girl.

" You know, some time back, that your aunt lent my father 3000
francs for a time, to pay off a mortgage on his farm, which would
have ruined him."

« Well !"

Cf His bond for that 3000 francs is now due, and she has offered to
release him from it, on his effecting my marriage with her ; he, over-
joyed at the proposal, will not hear any reason, but has peremptorily

commanded me to sacrifice my happiness for life, and marry her

You hear me, dearest Lily, do you not ?"

" Yes, Baptiste."

" And do you not pity me ? — you know how dearly I love you —

you must know it."- He again paused — and on receiving no assent

from Lily, he continued, " I never yet have disobeyed my father !
never — in thought or word — although — but tell me now, but let me
think, that you feel I have intentionally slighted you — much as I
honour his commands, and I have proved I do — he shall not be
obeyed on this — one — distressing point."

" No — no — Baptiste — you must not do that. It would be very
wrong."

<s Then tell me, have I exculpated myself?" Lily's preferred hand
was the only answer Baptiste received.

" Dear, dear Lily — how very much I love you !" exclaimed he

passionately.

" God bless you, Baptiste — and though hush— here comes your

father — for God's sake, let go my hand."

" Ah, Monsieur Claremont," said Antoinette, overtaking him from
the interior of the house as he stepped on the lawn, " my aunt wants
to see you particularly — she told me to tell you so."

" Indeed !" exclaimed he, " then I must be off to her. I think I
know what she wants me for — at least I hope I do. Is she dressed
all ready ?"

" Oh yes — quite," answered Antoinette. '• By the way — is Mon-
sieur Le Grande come yet ?"

" Not yet, I'm sorry to say, and that makes me rather uneasy,
though that he will arrive I have not the least doubt, as he says so in
his letter ; and as we have never yet seen each other, I'm sure he will

not neglect this opportunity of becoming acquainted with me.

But where did you say Madame Delcourt was ?"

THE WIDOWED WIFE. 397

" I'll take you to her ; this way, if you please." — And leaving
Antoinette to conduct Mons. Claremont to his future daughter-in-
law, and Baptiste to make a further assurance of his eternal love to
Lily, (for which performances the reader is requested to conceive a
lapse of ten minutes,) we will station ourselves at the entrance of the
auberge, where a carriage and four has just stopped.

" Hallo ! — somebody house here ! house" loudly called the

late tenant of the carriage, as he stepped from it into the house.
" Mind you give them a full feed, but don't take the harness off" —
he continued, addressing one of the postilions, who was preparing to
lead the horses into the stable.

" Aye, never fear for that, sir" — was the man's answer ; and then
turning to two superbly liveried lacqueys, who had assisted him to
alight from the carriage, he continued

" And you had better go in, and get your dinners."

" Thankye, sir," said they, touching their hats, and went and

did his bidding.

" Have I the honour of addressing Mons. Le Grande ?" said An-
toinette, as she advanced and held open the door for the admission of
the stranger.

" Yes, my dear yes " he replied : and a slight shade

of thought passed over his features : he might have been thinking

of his carriage — or horses— or what not. However (whatever might
have been the cause of it), the cloud passed away, as with a smiling
countenance, he said —

" I am right, I fancy ! This is Madame Delcourt's inn ?" The

speaker was a short, fat, good-natured, cunning looking man, of be-
tween fifty and sixty years of age ; he was dressed in a light green
frock coat, nankeen trowsers, shoes with silver buckles, and silk
stockings ; a broad black ribband was fastened round his neck, over
which fell his long shirt-collar, giving him a combined appearance of
respectability, comfort, and coolness.

" Oh, yes, sir," replied Antoinette, in answer to the question of the
respectable, comfortable, and cool-looking gentleman.

" Aye, 1 thought I was right" he replied.

" I'll run and tell Monsieur Claremont you're come," said Antoinette,
and she made a movement towards the door.

" Run and tell whom ?"

" Monsieur Claremont !" replied Antoinette.

" Oh, ah ! no not just yet wait a bit tell me

what's your name ?"

" Antoinette St. Aubert, sir."

" Antoinette St. Aubert, hey ? a very pretty name, that, An-
toinette."

11 I'm very glad you think so, sir."

" Are you ?"

" Indeed I am because "

" Because what ?"

" Oh ! nothing in particular, sir."

" Ah ! but I must know why !"

" Why, sir, if you really must know 1 thought that I wanted

to ask a favour of vou, but "

398 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

'< A favour, hey ! well out with it 1 promise you 111 grant

it.

Will you really, though?"
I will indeed."

'" What ! grant it ?"

" Aye -grant it."

" Without hearing it ?"
" No, I must hear it first."

" Well, then, I'll tell you. In the first place Oh ! but it's

a secret though"

" Well ! 1 can keep a secret."

" Ah ! but you'll think it wrong of me to tell you, perhaps."
" No — indeed I won't do that either."

" Very well then — you know you are come here to sign Madame
Delcourt's marriage settlement."
"What!—"

" With Monsieur Baptiste Claremont, I mean ! — "
" Oh aye — I see — well — go on — "

" And it so happens but you must promise me faithfully not

to tell !— "

" I do promise — go on — go on — "
" Ah ! but you must say, upon your honour ! — "
" Upon my honour, then — "

" Well, I think I can trust you. — It so happens, you must know,
that Baptiste Claremont doesn't care a fig for my aunt — "
" Who's your aunt ?"
" Why Madame Delcourt, to be sure — "
" You Madame Delcourt's niece !" —
" To be sure I am — ."
" Well, go on — go on — I'm interested." —

" Thankye, sir. — As I was saying, Baptiste Claremont doesn't
care a fig for my aunt! — but he's desperately in love with my
sister ! — "
« Well !—

t( And my sister now promise me, you won't tell this ?"

" I do promise — any thing — every thing — go on — "
" And my sister's desperately in love with him ! —
" Aye—."

" Now you know, sir, it's a terrible hard thing for a handsome
young man to be obliged to marry an old woman, when he's in love
with a young one— isn't it now ?"
" Very, I should think — "

" Now, sir, I've been thinking, that if you would, you might be of
very great service to us in this matter" —

" Can I ? how ?— I'll do it with all my heart and soul ; but first
tell me — why does not Clerville — Isn't his name Clerville ? — "

" Upon my word," said Antoinette, laughing heartily — " you're a

Sretty uncle, not to remember your nephew's surname — Claremont's
is name — Claremont — "

" Oh, aye — true — Claremont — to be sure it's a long time aye —

aye — Claremont — but why doesn't Baptiste Clareniwrt — Clareville, I
mean — dear — dear"

THE WIDOWED WIFE 399

" No — no — Claremont is his name." said Antoinette, her ill-con-
cealed laughter bursting out —

" Yes — yes — I know — did I say Clareville ? — how very odd — but
why does he, if so averse to it, marry Madame Delcourt then ?"

" Why, sir, I'll tell you — if you'll particularly remember not to
tell, for it's a very — very great secret — "

" You may quite depend upon me." — Antoinette placed her beau-
tiful lips almost close to his ear, and in a whisper said,

" She forgives your brother-in-law the 3000 francs, when his son
marries her !"

" What ! my brother-in-law take 3000 francs from his wife — his
son's wife I mean — "

" Hush — hush — for heaven's sake talk lower — "

" Well, well — never mind — you're a very good-hearted nice little
girl — and there's a kiss for you — "

" I'm sure, sir, you're very kind — "

" And you may tell your sister to make herself quite easy — for
after all I have heard, I promise you, upon my honour and word —
I won't suffer the marriage to take place. And now you may inform
Monsieur Claremont I am here."

" That I will, sir, directly but pray remember not to mention

to him what I have told you."

" Not I, believe me — and you must be as secret with'the assurance
I have given you, as regards every body but your sister."

" To be sure, to be sure," said Antoinette, and away she ran to
communicate to, first Monsieur Claremont, and then her sister, the
news that was respectively intended for them.

In a few minutes Monsieur Claremont entered the room — " My
dear brother-in-law, how are you ? how happy — how delighted I am
to see you ! how are you ?" As he said this, he clasped the object
of his apparently tender solicitude, in his arms, and hugged him
passionately.

" Oh ! I thank ye — I'm pretty well," said the latter, as soon as he
had sufficiently recovered from the effects of his brother-in-law's
affection, as to be able to speak — " quite well, indeed ; — how are they
all here ?"

" Oh ! they're all very well — and have been waiting hourly for
your arrival with great impatience !"

" Ah ! I suppose so — quite natural — "
" But why didn't

my sister come with you?"

" Why, poor thing, she's got a little bit of a cold, and the doctor
told her she mus'nt on any account leave the house — "

" Dear, dear" — said Monsieur Claremont, in a sorrowful accent,
" I'm very sorry to hear that— poor little Sophie !— how very pro-
voking— she promised so faithfully she would come — "

" Yes, poor little Sophie, as you say — I'm sure she's quite as much
annoyed at it as you can be — and I assure you I'm the bearer of all
manner of regrets and loves, &c."

" Well, it can't be helped," said Monsieur Claremont despondingly,
' ' but how's my little nephew ? — is he quite well ?"

" Your nephew !— my a — "

400 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

" Little Francois,, I mean."

" Oh ! little Francois ? Why, he's quite well — as lively as a shrimp
— if you could but see the little fellow dancing about "

" Dancing about !" observed Monsieur Claremont, in astonishment,
(t dear me ! he's very forward at two months !"

" I don't mean you to think, my dear Claremont, that he literally
jumps about ! When I said dancing about, I meant— dancing about,
you know— you understand what I mean — dancing about — on — in —

" Oh ! now I understand you — I was thinking he was somewhat
unnaturally forward at two months."

" Oh ! horrible— unnaturally forward, as you say."

" Poor little Francois ! Is he like you at all ?"

" Why yes — I think there is a something — about the nose !"

" Ah ! so my sister writes me — I suppose you mean to execute the
settlement — hey ?"

« I do ?"

" Yes !"

" To be sure I do !"

" That's right— "

" But when am I to be introduced to your intended?"

" My intended !" replied Monsieur Claremont, starting back a
good yard's distance in astonishment, " you mistake — it's my son
who's going to be married."

" Well ! I know — I know — I was going to say your intended

daughter-in-law/'

" Oh ! I beg your pardon. Oh ! I'll introduce you to her directly
— this way — this way. Oh !" continued Monsieur Claremont, stop-
ping short, " how very like you are to the picture my sister sent me
of you "

" Ah ! it was done by a clever artist," and, so saying, they left the
room, and soon joined, upon the lawn, a party of about thirty people
(villagers) who had been bidden to the wedding.

" Come, my friends," said Monsieur Claremont, addressing them,
" let me introduce you all to my very worthy and much esteemed
brother-in-law, Monsieur Le Grande." All seemed delighted at the
introduction. " Here, Antoinette," he continued, " run and tell your
aunt that my brother in law is waiting the pleasure of her company
oh ! here she comes." As he spoke, the figure of Madame Delcourt
was seen passing in the room before them. She presently joined the
party on the lawn, and Monsieur Claremont, leading his brother-in-
law, advanced to meet her.

" My dear Madame, allow me to present my brother in law to
you ?"

" I am delighted to have the pleasure but, good Heavens !"

said she, looking earnestly at Monsieur Le Grande, " I do not know
_but "

"I am delighted, Madame, at the introduction," said he, as if
endeavouring to remove the embarrassment under which she la-
boured.

" Good God ! that voice" — she continued, at the same time pressing
her hand to her forehead

THE WIDOWED WIFE. 401

" Oh look ! my aunt is ill/' said Lily St. Aubert, hastening towards
her. Madame Delcourt only shook her head ; and, after taking a
prolonged look at the man, who seemed so much to astonish her,
exclaimed —

" It is he ! — it is !"

" Well, I know it is !" — said Monsieur Claremont, pettishly —
" and what of that ? — have you ever seen my brother-in-law before ?
Speak, Monsieur Le Grande — Do you know Madame Delcourt?"

" Me ! I don't know her ! 1 never had the pleasure of seeing her

before in my life but don't alarm yourselves — it's nothing at all —

the mere usual emotion attendant upon a first marriage !" As he said
this, Madame Delcourt rivetted her black eyes upon him, with a
keenness from which he was compelled to shrink.

" But you forget, Monsieur," observed Monsieur Claremont, " she
is already a widow !"

" Indeed ! — then I confess I am at a loss to account for her con-
duct"— and, pausing for a few seconds, he added, " I came here,
Madame, with the intention, and hope, of rendering myself service-
able to you on your marriage ; but if I thought that my presence — "

" My dear brother in law," interrupted Monsieur Claremont, who
probably began to apprehend fatal consequences from any misunder-
standing between his brother-in-law and the bride, " no offence is
meant, I assure you, on my honour:" — then, turning to the latter, he
added in an under tone, " Really, Madame, this is a very strange
reception to give my brother-in-law !"

" Are you sure he is your brother-in-law ?" asked she, in a similarly
suppressed voice.

" If marrying my sister makes him such, he certainly is "

" Aye — but are you sure he did marry your sister ?"

" Upon my honour, Madame, that's a very singular question !"

" I must — I must speak with him," she continued, though speak-
ing more to herself than to Monsieur Claremont, who had been
addressing her.

" Monsieur Le Grande," she at length said, " might I be allowed
one minute's conversation with you ?"

" Oh ! with pleasure, Madame," replied he. Still Madame Del-
court seemed to hesitate.

" Could I speak with you — alone ?" at last she said.

" Unquestionably" replied he — " that is, if your intended husband
has no objection."

" None in the world !" answered Baptiste.

11 What a nice bridegroom," observed Antoinette to a by-stander,
though loud enough to be heard by him ; while at the same time she

conveyed a glance full of meaning to her sister. Meanwhile

Monsieur Le Grande walked forward with Madame Delcourt.

" In what way can I have the pleasure of assisting Madame Del-
court ?" said he, when he perceived, that although removed from be-
yond the hearing of her friends, she still did not seem disposed to
impart to him the subject of her communication.

" I — hope you will excuse me for what I am about to say — I think
I know you ?" — She at last did say

M. M. No. 94. 3 F

402 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

" It — is possible, certainly Madame," replied he ; "but I regret I
cannot claim a reciprocal honour — "

" Tell me, Monsieur, did you not leave your wife ?"

" I confess I have done — that "

" My dear — dear love — " exclaimed Madame Delcourt, suddenly
embracing him with open arms — "

" For God's sake, Madame, remember what you are about, and
whose eyes are upon you ! — "
" Why ! have you not confest ?"
" Confess what ?"

" Why that ." But it here strikes the writer

that he is not doing a very correct thing in relating what passed
during this conversation, and as the doing so might be deemed by
some a species of confidential treachery, he regrets that he has already
proceeded so far — and by way of endeavouring to make atonement

for his fault, he will stop here.

Monsieur Claremont, who had not happily witnessed the embrace
of Madame Delcourt, presently advanced, and asked her if she did

not think it high time to return to the bridegroom.

" Yes, I know — wait a minute — there's no hurry "

" No hurry !" repeated Monsieur Claremont in amazement, ee why
just now you were fretting that the clergyman had not come, and now
he has, you say there's no hurry — It's really very extraordinary —
Pray, Monsieur," he continued, addressing his brother-in-law, " are
you the cause of this change ?"

" Me ! not I truly — come, nephew," he continued, addressing Bap-
tiste, " take the bride's hand, and away to the church — "

ft Why, really, as to that/' said Baptiste — " if Madame Delcourt

sees so hurry — I must say I do not see why "

" Madame Delcourt," said Monsieur Claremont, interrupting his
son, " I must beg that you explain this conduct at once — Is it that

my brother-in-law "

ee Yes, it is — indeed it is" — said she, in a hurried voice, and with-
out waiting to hear the remainder of his sentence.
" How do you mean, it is" — said Claremont.

" Why," continued she, " since I have seen him I have had certain
thoughts come across me — "

" Certain thoughts !" said Claremont, in greater astonishment than
ever — "

" Oh ! my dear uncle, how very much I thank you for effecting this

change," said Baptiste to Monsieur Le Grande.

" Indeed, you've nothing to thank me for," said the latter.
" Monsieur Le Grande," observed Claremont, in a voice of some
authority — as if determined to call somebody to account for this alter-
tion ; " allow me to tell you, that your conduct on this occasion, as a

married man, and the husband of my sister "

" I assure you, my dear brother, 7 have done nothing/' replied
Monsieur Le Grande — " it is all Madame Delcourt." —

" Well ! I don't care who it is, so as it is but somebody," said Bap-
tiste, as he snapped his fingers, and capered to the spot where Lily
and Antoinette (both, after the assurance they had received, pleased,

THE WIDOWED WIFE.

403

though surprised spectators, of the passing scene), were standing — he
took a hand of each, and, to an ordinary observer, gave each an equal
pressure, while his face beamed with unsuppressed joy.

" Oh, my ill-used sister !" ejaculated Monsieur Claremont. —

" Come, come, this is very absurd ;" said Le Grande, — " I wish you
all a very good morning — it's quite impossible for me to stay here to
be taken for a ghost." —

" A ghost !" echoed a dozen voices. —

" Yes, a ghost — Madame Delcourt thinks me a ghost — therefore,
as I have no wish to interrupt the ceremony, I will take my leave. —
Madame Delcourt will doubtless explain her reasons for forming that
opinion of me."

" For heaven's sake, my dear uncle, do not go !" said Baptiste, in
alarm.

" Go, young man, and console your bride — for myself, my resolu-
tion is fixed ; I go and order my servants to prepare my carriage for
my instant departure. — Good day to you all ; — and so saying he
hurried into the house. Every body was for some time too much
surprised to speak, and the countenances of Baptiste, Lily, and
Antoinette bespoke their returning fears — many sought from Ma-
dame Delcourt an explanation of Le Grande's words — but she paid
no heed to them. —

" His carriage ! and was that beautiful carriage his ?" asked she
of Baptiste, who stood near her.

" To be sure it was," answered he, — t( and the lacqueys — and the
horses — all his — as you seem to know him so well, you had better get
him to stop !"

" I will — I will — I will implore him, as he loves me, to stop," she
exclaimed, half frantically. —

" Implore him ! Loves you !" cried Claremont, in indignation ;
tc however, without any imploring — he shall not go — he came here to
perform a certain office for me, and until that office is performed he
shall not quit this house — I will oppose it !" ,

" And /." — seconded Baptiste.

" And I,"— faintly echoed Lily St. Aubert.

" Then you had better make good haste," said Antoinette, " for see
yonder ! " as she spoke, and where she pointed, the carriage that had
brought Monsieur Le Grande was seen driving away. — ft He is gone !"
and I am lost," were uttered in concert by the bride and bridegroom.
— " You see Madame what you have clone," said Claremont ; " you
have driven away, by your unparalleled conduct, my dear brother-
in-law !

" A carriage ! — four horses ! — two lacqueys !" said Madame Del-
court without appearing to regard what her father-in-law was saying
to her — " Why did'nt I wait ? — why did I think of marrying him ? "
and the looked round scornfully at Baptiste.

" Claremont, who stood near enough to hear this remark, and
whose whole thoughts were centered in the 3,000 francs, cared not
to remark upon it, but observed, in a most persuasive tone of voice,
" But you know, my dear Madame Delcourt, my brother-in-law is
a married man !" —

104 THE WIDOWED WIFE.

" Chu, chu 1" replied she, sharply ; " don't talk to me ! and two

postilions — all his — what have I lost ?"

" Come Baptiste/' said Claremont ; " take your bride's hand. — "

" Indeed father, you must excuse me, but after what has happened,
I cannot think. — But," added he, suddenly dropping his voice, " I
see a sight which revives me.— "

Madame Delcourt, (who probably thought that if she went on at
the same rate she was then going, she would have ultimately to re-
main in the same predicament she was then situated ; that is, remain
a widow, now began to consider it necessary to endeavour to obli-
terate any little unpleasant feelings that might have generated in the
mind of her elect bridegroom, in consequence of witnessing all that
had lately passed), now advanced towards Baptiste, with one of her
sweetest smiles, and said, " Come then, dear Baptiste, I will keep

you in suspense no longer — Come we will But see !" and she

pointed towards the door of the inn, from which issued Monsieur Le
Grande, dressed in the peasant costume of the country. Madame
Delcourt rushed forward to meet him.

" My husband — my dear husband — are you not my husband ?"

" Well Lisette, I suppose it is so — I suppose you are my wife !"

" Why, my dear brother-in-law ! what means all this ? — my brother-
in-law, and the husband of my son's wife ! — What the devil do you
mean ? Why do you come here, sir, to disturb the family ? Go sir —
leave the house Monsieur Le Grande."

" My name is not Monsieur Le Grande, it is Jean Philippe Del-
court — I am not your brother-in-law ; I am this lady's husband, and
my object in coming here, at this moment, is to preserve 3,000 francs
in my family, that I fancy was on the point of being very unworthily
bestowed."

Monsieur Claremont seemed quite satisfied with the explanation
thus gratuitously made him, at least so it may be supposed, for he
slunk behind, without another word, to the very back of the peasant
circle, who were fast pressing towards the centre of attraction, Mon-
sieur Delcourt. — The truth was soon known amongst them, and the
long-lost Monsieur Delcourt was greeted with three cheers." —

" But tell me, dear Philip," said his wife, regarding his altered ;
dress — " what means this disguise ?"

f( Disguise ! my dear wife — it was my other dress that was a
disguise !"

" What mean you ?" asked she, in evident anxiety — " your car-
riage ?" —

" My carriage ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! — then all your good people
really did think that that beautiful carriage belonged to me ! ha ! ha !
ha ! well — that's good — 'faith its none of mine. I met it on the road
— and as I was somewhat tired with a goodish long walk, I begged
the coachman's permission to get inside, promising him, by way of
remuneration, that on our arrival at the first inn, I would defray
the expenses of feeding the horses and treating the men. I thought,
you know, I could promise that with safety, as he was driving me
to my own house ; when I arrived here, I gained, no matter how,
intelligence of certain facts, so I was determined to divert myself a

THE WIDOWED WIFE. 405

little at your expense; — so, 011 being claimed by Mr. Claremont as
his brother-in-law, I acquiesced in the claim, and passed off for such
— though how I escaped so long without detection is to me incredible
— and had it not been that Madame Delcourt called me aside, when
introduced to her, and taxed me with being her husband or his ghost
— I really do think I should have let you have gone to the church
door before I discovered myself."

" Indeed — you're very kind?" — observed Madame Delcourt —
evidently piqued at her husband's want of gallantry, and possibly
annoyed that the carriage he came in was not his own —

" But Lisette," continued her husband, " are you not overjoyed to
see me ?"

" Yes — indeed I am," replied she ; " but then the carriage,

really "

"Was not mine; but, as I have not travelled so many years
without deriving some advantage from it, if you are bent upon a
carriage — .why a carriage you shall have."

" Oh ! my dear — dear husband," said Madame Delcourt, em-
bracing him ; (e how very — very glad I am you're come back — but
really Philip, it was very unkind your not writing to me for so long
a time."

" My dear Lisette, it was quite impossible. I have been by turns
in Spain — Italy — England — and America ; — by turns merchant —
soldier— sailor — doctor ; — sometimes shipwrecked — sometimes impri-
soned— sometimes this — and sometimes that — in short, there's hardly
any place where I hav'nt been, and hardly any thing that I hav'nt
seen — why, Lisette ! I mean to publish an account of my travels and
adventures."

" Ah !" observed Madame Delcourt, " all your miseries happened
because you left your wife !"

" And pray do you attribute all my riches to the same source?"
asked her husband. A general laugh, in which Madame Delcourt
joined heartily, followed this sally.

At this moment a note was handed to Madame Delcourt, who redd

it aloud. It was written by Monsieur Le Grande to Claremont,

regretting that the dangerous illness of an aunt prevented him from
attending the ceremony at Andevin.

" Never mind — never mind," said Monsieur Delcourt, " I will
supply his place — I will sign the settlement."

" What mean you — sign what settlement ?" asked his wife.
" The marriage settlement between Baptiste Claremont and my
dear little niece here, Lily St. Aubert. There be only to change one
name in it, you know."

Let it not be supposed that either Baptiste or Lily, or indeed
Antoinette, had remained unconcerned during the progress of the
discovery of Monsieur Delcourt's real character, during the subse-
quent interval. Thanks — congratulations — vows — hopes — and va-
rious other well wishing, &c.'s had passed among them, and Antoinette
now easily saw how it was the assumed Monsieur Le Grande was
enabled to give so certain a promise that the marriage between
Baptiste and Madame Delcourt should not take place.

406 MEETING OF MUNCHEN-GRATZ.

On hearing his late announcement in their favour, Baptiste and
Lily flew to him full of thanksgivings.

11 But I believe we keep the clergyman waiting/' said he presently.
" Here Baptiste, my boy, take your pretty bride's hand, and away to
the church ! Come, my friends—to the church ! — to the church !
Ah ! my pretty Antoinette !" said he, as he passed her, " 'twill be
your turn next, I suppose, You see I can keep a secret. Come
along — come along !"

" They went to the church, and were married they say,
And went to the father the very same day,
Saying, honoured father, we tell unto thee
That we are m-a-r-r-i-e-d !"

And the tf honoured father/' in the shape of Monsieur Claremont,
was not displeased thereat, as his son brought him a discharge from
Delcourt for the 3,000 francs.

MEETING OF MUNCHEN-GRATZ :— THREE AND THE

DEUCE !

Meeting of Despots — Diet of Frankfort— Apparent Disposition of the German
People — Political and Literary— Their Supineness— Emperor of Austria's
Fears of a German Revolution— Ordinances of the Diet in Consequence —
Last Argument of King's— Duty of the Princes of Germany to Resist— Noble
Instance of the Grand Duke of Baden in 1818— Sketch of Principal
German States — Wurtemburg— Hesse Cassel — Bavaria— Hesse Darmstadt
— Nassau, &c.

WE hope that Germany will yet make an effort to emancipate her-
self from the degrading thraldrom that now, like an incubus, weighs
down her energies. Swayed by a set of petty tyrants, who in their
turn worship in abject fear the rod that smites them, what hope of
freedom can exist for numberless brave men that now writhe in their
chains, unless it be by a unanimous exertion of their own to demand
a constitutional exercise of their own laws. They have a glorious
example in France, and the ordinances of the Diet of Frankfort were
not worse than those of Charles X.

The despots of Europe are now congregated to wage war against ".<
the rising liberties of the Continent. The chains of Germany im-
posed by the Frankfort Diets, will now be rivetted, and even allowed
by the people themselves ; who present the anomaly of a nation
singing, with an almost ferocious earnestness, their songs of liberty,
and dancing to the clank of their fetters ! When tyrants confer, it
behoves men to whom liberty is dear, to be upon their guard. Then is
the time to make a stand. France by such means is already on the
high road to freedom ; England has made a glorious step in advance.
But Germany remains in almost feudal barbarity, still crouching at
the feet of her detested task-masters.

Despotism throwing off the mask, has made a solemn declaration
of its principles. Through the organs of the German Diet, the
monster has already proclaimed aloud what are its intentions and its
prospects, what blessings it has in store we shall shortly see. It is

MEETING OF MUNCHEN-GRATZ. 40J

evident, that if the Revolution of July, and the Reform of England
are the declarations of the one extreme party, the Decree of the
Diet of Frankfort is the reply, which on the other side, the kings of
Europe make to it.

The apparent apathy with which the German nation have borne
the suppression of their nascent liberties, was a matter of unbounded
surprise to all who had for the last twenty years listened to their
boastings ; their pretensions of patriotism, and of superiority in
literature assumed and too easily conceded to them. Our own
standard of the German character in general, having never come up
to that of their extravagant admirers, we confess our disappointment
has been comparatively less acute. The grand question agitated in
the last century, <f si un Allemand pent avoir de I' esprit" appears to us
as undecided as ever, at the present day ; at least, if by the word
esprit is understood taste in letters, and common sense in politics and
philosophy. A German is still the same laborious triflerin literature,
that he was an hundred years ago, and the land now as then, is over-
run by philologers and savants, the height of whose literary ambition
is to edite a classical author, or to hold a fierce and virulent contro-
versy concerning the Eolic Digamma. German literature, to be of
any avail in the approaching contest, must descend a little from her
sublime speculations and hazy heights, and be somewhat more con-
versant with whatever touches the physical necessities of man. She
has more need of making advances towards breaking her feudal
chains than of making any farther progress in the world of ideas
and sentiments. With what feelings must we regard the man who
can pass his life-time in meditating upon the summum bonum, when
he hiinself is at the beck of a petty prince, and his peasantry are
adscripti gleba within a few miles of his dwelling as was the case-
near Hamburgh not twenty years ago ! Cut off from participating
in any share of the government of their country, the citizens of easy
fortune retire into the insignificance of domestic life to dream of the
doctrines of the Stoic or Epicurean philosophy, the Ideologists and
sluggish and willing slaves trampled upon with impunity by every
, petty despot, the men whom Napoleon and Tiberius would have
"uled with a rod of iron. When will Germany cease to be other
"lan the " schiavi brutali" which Petrarch denominated them ! 0
]uam parati ad servitutem homines ! But what matters it to a German
that he is taxed without representation, when he has Kant and
Schelling to console him. And what slings and arrows of out-
rageous fortune can touch him, when he can fiddle more learnedly
than the Greeks themselves. When Paganini himself is challenged
to a trial of skill on an Austrian theatre, can Germany attain to
higher glory ?

Venimus ad summum fortunse !
Psallimus — Achivis doctius. — HORACE.

The voices of most men would have declared, that by the ordinance
of Frankfort, Germany was placed in the same situation as that in
which France was placed by the ordinances of July, and that it was
her duty to obtain in her turn, a position among nations, or resign
herself to a slavery, yet more intolerable than that which oppressed

401 MEETING OF MUNCHEN-RRATZ.

her. The Decree decides the future fate of Germany, and we may
regard it as of still greater importance than that of Charles X. In
July it was a single prince who placed himself arbitrarily in advance,
it was one of those flashes of lightning, which illumine the horizon
of a calm and serene 'day, the harbingers of a storm, whose relations
and extent we do not perceive at the time. But in this case, the
whole line of Despots deploys itself upon the political scene, their
banner is raised, and they have given Europe to understand, what are
the public rights and law, according to which they intend to govern
the destiny of the people. Nations who flattered themselves with
the hope that the last revolution of France would have served as a
lesson, and would have taught them to abandon to the necessity of
the times, certain dogmas of their arbitrary creed, clearly perceive,
that they have laid aside none of their principles or antipathies, and
that the example of the two great constitutional nations has only con-
firmed them more and more in their obstinacy and arrogance.

The declaration of the German Diet is but another link in the
chain, with which the Congress of Vienna, in their chimerical hope
of having finally consummated their act, had bound the happiness of
the psople. " All the powers," it was then said, "of necessity,
requiring to be united in the head of the State, the Sovereign ought
not to be tied down to the co-operation of the Chambers, except in
the exercise of certain rights." Is it in virtue of these certain rights
allowed to the people by their Constitution, that it is now-a-days
declared the States can in no case refuse taxes, and the discussions of
their Chambers ought to be superintended by a commission of the
Diet ? In the face of France which has finished her revolution, and
England which has brought about her Reform ; thisj£rwza« of de-
spotism arrived upon the political scene, and from its matchless
assurance, one wrould be led to suppose, that Charles X. had triumphed
over his insurgents, or that the Duke of Cumberland was President at
St. James's. The stupid people of Germany have not the brains to
judge of the extent and importance of this event; they have not the
tact and political courage, which in constitutional countries, renders
the people so far-sighted in these cases. This apathy might have
been accountable a few years ago, when both the internal and external
relations of Germany were so differently circumstanced, when in
England there ruled' Castlereagh, and in 'France, the Bourbons, but
now it is unaccountable. The Emperor of Austria, however, at the
head of the Diet, fears that even slaves may be excited by long acts
of tyranny, for he himself declares " that the revolution in Germany
marches onwards to its maturity with gigantic strides." In the face
of these new difficulties, real or imaginary, despotism unfolds new re-
sources. An Ordinance destroys the liberty of the press. The cen-
sorship which was formerly imposed upon writings of twenty pages,
is now extended to all foreign books, whose circulation is absolutely
forbidden, and the system of Austria is thus extended to all Germany.
A special commission is charged with the surveillance of the Cham-
bers, and the debates of the constitutional assemblies are no longer
any thing else than the disputes of coffee-house politicians, subjected
to the espionage of police ; and now comes the conference of Munchen-

MEETINO 0*' MUNCIIEN-GRATZ. 409

gratz to clinch the measure. Surely this is too much for the dignity
of the people to bear. If the commission of the Diet, making use of
the powers with which it is invested, should dare to invade the
liberty of a single deputy, this might possibly become a rallying point
for the people. Is it in anticipation of such an event that Austria
and Prussia now retain on service such immense armies? If it be so,
and if such a contingency should happen, it would be seen what would
be the conduct of the mass of the people when the thunder of cannon,
the last argument of kings, came to decide before them a question of
the press or of the House of Deputies.

There is not a more evident violation of constitutional law than
the act of those ministers who sign the resolutions of the Diet of
Frankfort. A prince who had truly at heart the interests and the
rights of his people, and had steadily opposed the usurpation of the
Diet would have possessed his throne more firmly than ever. A
recent instance of what the firmness of a prince, when placed under
the protection of his people, can effect, is not without interest. In
1818, at the time of the serious quarrel which took place after the
peace of Vienna, between Bavaria and the Duchy of Baden, the
Grand Duke of Baden, after a long altercation, and when every thing
seemed to go against him, addressed the following letter to his oppo-
nent.

" SIRE,— I am not surprised at the position in which I find my-
self placed ; nothing astonishes me ; I am prepared for every thing :
but I declare to you that if it be their intention to snatch from me
by force what they shall never obtain willingly, I shall in my defence
make an appeal to public opinion, and your Majesty will with diffi-
culty find a more powerful ally."

These emphatic words, which were addressed to Austria and
Prussia as well as to Bavaria, whose cause those powers supported,
did not fail in their effect. The Grand Duke came out of the quar-
rel triumphantly. If the father of the present Grand Duke knew
the power of public opinion so well when there was an attempt made
to diminish his territory and his rights as sovereign, why is the son
ignorant when an attempt is made to change a king into a vile goaler
of his people, and to make him break his royal oaths pronounced in
the face of the whole world. The excuse is not then admissible on
the part of any government however limited in extent. The crime
of the ministers is clear.

It is now necessary for the people to act — violence may be averted.
For the defence of their cause no other means are yet necessary than
what the law affords. When the Diet passes from threats to violence,
it will be time enough then to oppose force to force. But even then
it is necessary that their political education should keep pace with
their power, that they be instructed in their rights and duties. We
see what ages it has taken Englishmen, what trials and political tem-
pests to acquire the knowledge requisite for the conducting a consti-
tutional monarchy. If an unanimous voice is not raised against the
declaration of the Diet, it is because there does not yet exist among
the multitude a feeling of its importance and injustice. It will riot
be, as in France, by an instantaneous explosion that the people will

M.M. No. 95. G

410 MEETING OF MUNCHEN-GRATZ.

attack but by a progressive movement. Protestations have already
Commenced in many places. We hope the example will not be lost,
and in proportion as individual discussion, so powerful in Germany,
increases the circle of propagation, we shall perhaps see energy
arise along with conviction. The system of intellectual prohibition
can for some time stop on the frontiers of kingdoms, the powerful
commerce of ideas but once imported among the people they will
take root, fructify, and spread themselves like the green bay tree.
It will be interesting to consider the part which each individual state
of the Germanic Confederation will have to act in future. The intel-
lectual statistics of the country will not be less important.

Wurtemberg, which has been so quiet during the present time,
occupies notwithstanding the first rank among the people of Ger-
many. The pretensions of the prince who wished to infringe the
charter, were obliged to yield before the unanimity of his subjects,
who acquired for their country a constitution the most popular and
liberal in Germany. The reception given at Stutgard to the decla-
ration of Frankfort is a happy omen of what may be expected of
them by and by.

The people of Hesse Cassel have shewn no less firmness. Op-
pressed since 1815 by the most odious despotism, they have almost
emancipated themselves during the last two years. Their constitu-
tion is a victory which they have gained over the prince, and a jewel
over which they watch with the greatest solicitude. If any thing is
to be feared, it is rather that they will be compromised by their
ardour. The position of this country, and its mountainous nature,
are advantages which in the event of a general war would not be
without importance.

Of all the constitutional states of Germany, Bavaria is the most
powerful from its extent. It has possessed a constitution since 1818,
but the body of the people is in general much less enlightened than
in Wurtemberg. In the north, political knowledge is widely disse-
minated, and in these latter times Rhenish Bavaria, so often placed
in advance upon the scene of contest, seems to have forgotten its un-
importance in its eagerness and activity. The cause of freedom will
have a powerful position on the Rhine. The liberal institutions
which the Duchy of Baden possesses have given it great importance,
but we are sorry that this seems to have degenerated into a narrow
and absurd opinion of its own nationality. Its government, however,
pronounced in favour of the Diet.

In the Duchy of Hesse Darmstadt, the people are poor and
miserable ,• insurrections of the peasantry a little after the revolution
of July, took place every where, indicating their disaffection. The
Chambers of this State have however resolved to resist the interfe-
rence of the High Commission with their freedom of debate. They
have remonstrated with the Sovereign, and it has to be seen which
party will give way. The Chambers could hardly have proceeded
to this step without the hope or prospect of support from the rest of
Germany.

The people of Nassau are prevented by the force of their powerful
neighbours alone, from rising. No constitution has ever been more

AN ATTACK UPON THE u RIGHTS OF MAN." 411

frequently and more grossly violated, and no government has ever
been more blind and tyrannical.

The people of the North of Germany are generally less advanced
than those in the South. The feeling of nationality belongs as yet
only to the better class of people. In Hanover, Saxony, and the
Duchy of Brunswick, political knowledge seems equally spread.

We shall hasten to conclude this rapid review of the political opi-
nion of the German people. We have shown what opposition the
measures of the Diet have raised, and pointed out in what manner
this even most insignificant resistance may be constitutionally in-
creased. The friends of constitutional liberty, at all events, may rest
assured that Germany will never entirely fall back under the ancient
yoke of despotism, and that some political reform must be the conse-
quence one day of its religious reform. The sentiment of patriotism
must overleap the narrow limits of frontiers, and unite all the petty
states into a single nation. Germany, then tearing asunder the bonds
which confine her, and feeling her dignity and her strength, will
enter into the European family with the rank which is suitable to the
daughter of the Caesars, Italy also, but here we must not trust
ourselves on that subject-—

Tomb of Arminius ! render up thy dead,
Till like a standard from a watch-tower's staff,
His soul may stream o'er the tyrant's head :

Thy victory shall be his epitaph,
Wild Bacchanal of Truth's mysterious wine,

King-deluded Germany !

His dead spirit lives in thee.
Why do we fear or hope — we are already free !

And thou lost paradise of this divine

And glorious world ! thou flow'ry wilderness !
Thou island of eternity ! thou shrine !

Where desolation clothed in loveliness

Worships the thing thou wert ! O Italy !
Gather thy blood into thy heart ! — repress
The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces ! ,

AN ATTACK UPON THE « RIGHTS OF MAN."

BY AN EYE-WITNESS.

COUNT ZENOBIO was one of the wealthiest landed proprietors
among the Venetian Nobility, under the ancient government of that
Republic; but in consequence of his Jacobinical principles, and perhaps
actions, he was proscribed by the State Inquisition, and all his estates
confiscated or sequestrated. A conformity of political views led to
his acquaintance in Paris, with Paine, who, when the treaty of peace
was negociating by Buonaparte at Campo Formio, between the French
Republic, and the Emperor of Germany, prevailed on the member
of the French Directory, Reveilliere Lepaux, the patron of Buona-

412 AN ATTACK UPON THE " 11IGHTS OF MAN."

parte, to write to that general to stipulate for a private article in the
treaty, requiring the restitution of Count Zenobio's property in the
Venetian territory. This having been effectuated, the Count's grati-
tude to Paine induced him to invite the latter to consider his house as
a home, and Paine accordingly was a constant visitor at Zenobio's
residence, in Paris and in the country.

The Count had taken a beautiful mansion and demesne, at a place
called Plaisepiquer, about half a league from Sceaux, and Paine,
who used to stay there for several days together, had a room in it
wholly appropriated to his use. Paine was rude in his manners,
domineering, and somewhat peevish ; fond of his bottle, though a
man always ready to do a friendly action, and very kind to those he
considered his inferiors ; Zenobio a learned, highly accomplished and po-
lite gentleman. It happened that on a Sunday evening, sometime in the
year 1798, he was sitting at table, after dinner, next to Court Zeno-
bio; there was a tolerably large party, and among others was citizen or

Monsieur D , (a very particular friend of the Countess's), one of the

Secretaries of the Minister for Foreign Affairs, whose little child, a
boy of about two or three years old, was placed on the table, where
he was trotting about, knocking down the glasses, spilling the wine,
pelting the fruit, and kicking up a devil of a noise. On his approach-
ing Paine, who was deeply engaged in a political discussion with the
Count, onwhich he might fancy the fate of Empires depended, Paine
turned round to a servant, and said snappishly, " take this troublesome
brat away out of the room." Madame Zenobio, (an Englishwoman,
and who ruled the roast), immediately said, commmandingly, " Mis-
ter Paine, that child shall remain wherever I am. — " Then," said
Paine, unhesitatingly, <( take yourselves off, both together ." On
this, the Countess looked thunders at her little Count, who, rising
from table, said, " Mr. Paine, the Countess Zenobio is in her own
house, if any one, sir, is to leave the room, it must be you." Paine
left the room immediately, went to his chamber to make up his
bundle for departure, (a philosopher's luggage is generally of small
bulk), and having written a challenge to Count Zenobio, went back
to the dining-room, and asked if he could be accommodated with the
carriage to take him to Sceaux, where he would find the stage for
Paris. This was, of course, assented to.

It happened that when Paine returned to the dining-room, Count
Zenobio was standing with his back to the fire and his hands behind
him; Paine assumed exactly the same position, and for the purpose of
preventing the act of delivering the challenge from being seen by the
ladies, who were still there, he slipped the paper into the Count's hand
behind, who never suspecting its import, read it immediately, tore it,
and threw the scraps in the fire, without saying a word. Paine instantly
gave him a slap in the face ! Then all became uproar and confusion ;
the male visitors flew at Paine ; the ladies screamed and fainted ; the
servants came to their master's assistance. Louis, the old butler, the
big fat Dutch footman, the humpbacked Italian Latin secretary,
cooks, scullions, dogs, and stable-boys, all, all attacked the unhappy
Paine, who was knocked down, mauled, and merely escaped broken
bones by the number and scramble of the assailants, and by the

AX ATTACK UPON THE " UIGIITS OF MAN." 413

arrival of the Commissary of Police, whom one of the servants had
gone to seek, and who, having inquired into the origin and progress
of the battle, addressed the Count and Paine to this effect : — " Gentle-
men, you are old friends and good Republicans, the cause of your
difference is trifling — your honour is untarnished — pray make up this
trifling dissention, which is unworthy the high reputation you both
maintain in Europe, whose eyes are ever directed to you as examples
of all that is dignified and decorous in society, and try to forget that
your happy friendship has ever deviated from the paths of cordial and
mutual esteem. Soyez amis, Messieurs, soyez heureux." Ever since
the commencement of the French Revolution, the recommendation of
a Commissary of Police has had peculiar weight in every class of
society in France ; and Paine was accordingly bundled off in the
Count's carriage to Sceaux, whence he reached Paris the same eve-
ning.

Count Zenobio having, during the night, reflected on the unfortu-
nate occurrence, went the next morning to a mutual friend in Paris,
to consult with him on what was to be clone in such a predicament ;
saying, that as Paine had really been insulted in his house, he deemed
it would be only proper to give him the satisfaction due from one
gentleman to another, and requested that friend to wait on Mr.
Paine without delay, to mention he accepted his challenge, and would
meet him when time and place should be appointed.

The friend went off to Paine, found him, at half-past eleven, still
in bed at his lodgings, in the Rue de Odeon, scratched, battered, and
bruised, like a common prize-fighter, and having communicated the
Count's message, received for answer • — " What, sir, / meet, / fight
a fellow who, when he had had a smack on the chops, sent for a
Commissary of Police ! ! No, sir, go tell the little long-nosed con-
temptible brute, I shall lampoon him."

Paine, however, was not an universal genius ; he was not a poet ;
but he wrote the following verses : —

1.
Walking along the other day,

Upon a certain plan ;
I met a nose upon the way,

Behind it was a man.

2.
I called unto this nose to stop,

And when it had done so,
The man behind it then came up,

And made ZENOBIO.

When this doggrel made its appearance among the refugee English
in Paris, most of whom were indebted to Count Zenobio' s generosity
and hospitality, it gave general disgust ; but one of them, a Mr.
Thompson, who was much attached to the Count, took up the cudgels
for his friend, in the following lines, as a reply :

1.
Walking along the other day,

I met a face, 'twould suit a vicar ;
It did a ruddy moon display ;

Behind it reel'd a form in liquor.

414 THE MAN WITH THE

2-
This face displayed a deal of Pain,

For it had allowed all its Rig/its;
And nothing human did remain ;

Brandy had drown'd the inward lights.

3.
Unhappy face ! led by the nose,

From bowl to bowl, from can to can ;
Philosophers, learn from its woes

To know the wrongs and Rights of Man.

THE MAN WITH THE

A MYSTERY.

" All the world's a stage." — SHAKPEARE.

IT was during a whim-prompted love of locomotion that I one
morning mounted the Dover coach, and, having secured a comfort-
able seat on the roof, I indulged myself with a pinch of Skinner's
" 19," and offered the box to a person who sat opposite — such being
my usual method of introducing myself to strangers.

*' Not I, sir," said he ; "I never snuff. Thank heaven ! I've no
small vices ; I can find other ways to cheat Time's wings of their
lead."

The speaker was a singular looking being, possessed of sharp
animated features and a quick dark eye. His attire was strangely
fashioned, and consisted of a suit of prepared canvas ; a hat covered
with the same ; gloves, of ditto, and a pair of brown shoes armed
with double soles. Somewhat disconcerted, I sought for something
else to occupy my mind, and soon found it in contemplating the
objects around. My companions were, as I afterwards found, a half-
pay officer, a methodist parson, who we called the." gentleman in
black," and my friend with the canvas coat. Our conversation was
at first confined to the localities through which we passed. The Park,
the noble hospital of Greenwich, and the majestic silver-bosomed
Thames, which sweeps in front, form as varied a series of views as
the lovers of the picturesque could well desire ; not to mention the
emotions excited by a bird's-eye peep at the glorious edifice — the
retreat of J^roes — bringing to mind a thousand glorious deeds of old,
with a thousand tales of peaceful security in recompense. The gen-
tleman with the canvas clothes gave utterance to his thoughts on the
subject in language which astonished me. It was really eloquent.

" ' Cheat Time's wings of their lead!' you would rob his glass of
half its sand," exclaimed the officer, who was evidently an enthusiast,
and had been considerably amused by the traveller previous to my
accession to the party.

" Nay, I would rather add to the quantity ; but then it should be
dust of gold, to glitter as it went !" said he of the canvas. The
superiority of his address and conversation over his appearance in-

THE MAN WITH THE 415

duced me to a form a higher opinion of him than his garb warranted.
My conventional scruples were at once ended, for I saw he was a man
of mind ; and, inhaling one more pinch of pungent Portugal, I
determined in my own mind that he should be my companion for the
journey. At this moment the coach stopped for the purpose of per-
mitting an inside passenger, who had arrived at his destination, to
alight ; and during the temporary delay so occasioned, two mendi-
cants approached, whose appearance alone might have warmed with
charity the coldest heart. One was an old man whose silver hair
and beard silently spoke in his favour : his cloathes were tattered ;
his cheeks sadly furrowed ; and he was totally blind. The other was
a girl not more than sixteen, with such a pensive countenance, and
such an appealing blue eye that I involuntarily threw her a piece of
silver. The captain's feelings were similarly acted upon, but the
gentleman in black buttoned up his coat, and subacidly exclaimed,
" Young woman, young woman, you ought to know that we are
commanded not to eat the bread of idleness. Fie ! — Depart to
labour — I encourage not sloth."

Never was rebuke more harshly made nor more meekly taken ;
the girl courtesied, and placed the old man's powerless arm upon her
shoulder, as if to intimate that a continual burden like that could be
no idle lot. I am sure that such was her meaning, for though she had
been amply relieved, I heard her sob, and saw the big tear swelling
from her eye as she turned to lead her tottering parent. God knows,
my heart ached for her. I believe that the man in canvas enter-
tained similar sentiments ; for in a very subdued tone he exclaimed,
te Poor unfortunate girl— poor feeble fellow ! Egad, I ought to give
them something. Here, coachey ! lend me a couple of shillings till I
have an opportunity of getting change, will you ?"

" Who's that as wants two shillings ?" inquired Jarvey, as he was
putting on his gloves, and adjusting his reins previous to mounting.

" I'll larn," said the guard, coming round to the side whence the
voice proceeded — any gemman ask for two shillings?" he bawled.

" Yes, I did," returned my opposite neighbour.

" Oh !" said the other, " its ' the man with the' "

" Ah ! then its all right," interrupted the coachman, " hand him
over the blunt."

" The man with the — what ?" wondered I.

" Thankee, thankee," said the borrower ; then casting a furtive
glance at him of the sables, he called back the young woman, and
gently dropping the money into her hand, added, in a tone of bene-
volence— " Here, sweeting, here's for food ; and when you raise it
to your lips, do so with the "conscious assurance that it is more
worthily earned than the bread which cant daily wrings from poverty."

Again the girl curtsied, but this time a smile accompanied the
action, which added wonderfully to her beauty.

" Come, I think I have managed that very nicely," said the last
speaker, " I've relieved that girl without dipping into the odd
change which I had reserved for the necessary expenses on the road,
and it is more than probable that coachey may forget to ask for repay-

416

TIIK MAN WITH THE

ment — so that I shall be nothing out of pocket/' and he chuckled at
thought.

This piece of meanness quite took the poetry out of the man ; and
when happening to look back, I saw the female on whom he had
bestowed his alms, gazing with glistening eye upon a piece of gold
which she held between the shillings in the hand, and heard her
exclaim — " Oh, father ! I have again seen the good gentleman with

the " I lost the last words, for crack went the whip, and off we

started like lightning.

" With the what?" my curiosity was raised.

Not long after this the atmosphere darkened, and in a few minutes
a copious shower of rain unmercifully descended upon our heads,
and as there was not an umbrella amongst us, we were speedily
soaked with the exception of the man in canvas, who sat laughing at
the rain as in defiance.

" This may be sport to you, but it is death to us, as the frog says
in the fable/' observed the half-pay officer, much annoyed at his ill-
timed mirth.

" I really ask your pardon," returned he, " but it is enough to
tickle the diaphragm of an ourang-outang to see yourself, my friend
with the snuff-box, and the gentleman in black there, all dripping
with wet, when a little common prudence would enable you to walk
dry beneath the falls of Niagara. See here, the water runs off me
like a duck, on account of the materials I use for clothing. But its
all my own invention — made of number one canvas, lined with
flannel. Capital stuff ! get some and try, but be sure not to ask for
number two, if you wish to take care ef number one — ha, ha, ha !" and
he laughed every now and then at this joke until we changed horses. /

" Save in appearance, I do not deny the utility of such clothing ;
but wherein consists the secret of rendering it so imperious to wet ?"
I inquired.

" In oil of tar," he exclaimed ; " steep number one canvas in that,
and you are waterproof for life ; but have a care, all other oils, after
a time, evaporate and leave the canvas stiff and h*rsh — oil of tar
always keeps things pliable. Then for shoes, you should never
think of buying that crickity-crackity trash which, for the sake of
look, is generally worn. No, no, purchase your own leather, as I *
do ; not blacked, but tanned — the black they use rots the leather — '
prepare it with oil of tar ; and when you want it made up, have it
done under your own nose, or the thief of a cobbler will humbug
you most barbarously. Make him put two solid soles, and not cram
any d — d rubbish in to bulge them out and soak up the water.
Here, look at these, I had them made on purpose for hard weather ;
they'll never wear out ; I can't live long enough to wear them out; —
had Adam worn these, and had existed till now, he couldn't have v
worn them out !"

A short time after this dissertation on leather the sun once more
peeped upon us, and drove away the angry clouds with their liquid
burdens. The weather is an inexhaustible topic, and v/e had each
something to say on the change.

THE MAN WITH TIIK 417

" Behold !" exclaimed the canvas man ; " behold how delicately
the light shines upon the tearful face of nature, as if to impart a
portion of its own gladness to her. Ah ! now she is gay again, and
every hill is sheen, and every tree bears a myriad of illuminated
drops. Oh ! I would not be an atheist for the world, to be deprived
of the rapturous enjoyment of sending up my heart to the Almighty
on these occasions !"

This touch of enthusiasm at the tail of oil of tar, number one
canvas and tanned leather, came forth so singularly that I hardly
knew whether to laugh or to admire. I resolved, however, to fathom
my friend's eccentricities ; but became more foiled and puzzled every
minute at the broad humour, poetical ideas, vulgarity, and refinement
which alternately characterized him ; and during our converse lie
took a cigar from his pocket, and having lighted it by means of a
phosphorus box, he applied it to his lips, and puffed away with
symptoms of strong satisfaction.

" I beg you will not blow your smoke so much this way, it both
blinds and chokes me, sir," said the gentleman in black, rather surli-
ly ; for he seemed to look upon the other as a very graceless sort of
being. " Sir, I will reply to you by asking you to solve me a riddle,"
said the smoker ; " Why is the north-east wind like a recruit in the
47th foot ?" " I cannot tell, sir, indeed/' said he in black, excessively
piqued ,• " because, sir, it goeth where it listeth" returned the man of
canvas. The gentleman in black was still more annoyed by the
mirth which this sally occasioned. — "A filthy practice," said he;
" neither beneficial to yourself nor useful to others." " Aha ! say
you so, my man of sable," returned he of canvas ; " doth it not teach
a moral ? While watching the fickle vapour as it struggles with
the breeze, are we not forcibly reminded of life and its changes — call
the humid matter man, and we see him now depressed, then elevated.
Sometimes strong, at others weak, and when at last he gains some-
thing like an altitude, fate — a puff of wind — shews us how transient
a nature he is. Look at the remains of this cigar, it is now worn and
torn, useless, and near its end ; — like the thankless world we drop it
from our lips, and then what is it, less than the noblest frame that
ever trod the earth, when laid low ? A little heap of ashes !"

There was something beautiful in the solemnity of the speaker's
tone; he was fighting a battle with but small weapons, but he silenced
the parson. The gentleman in sable looked as black as his own coat
upon the matter, not having a single sentence to reply. We now
stopped to change horses, and gladly embraced the opportunity of
descending to warm our chilled irisides with a tooth-full of brandy.
Suffering the others to precede me, I went up to the coachman in
order to learn, if possible, who the odd personage was that had so
excited my curiosity.

" Ha ! ha ! he's a rum un, sir, e'nt he ?" said the handler of whips,
by way of answer to my inquiry.

" Yes, yes ; but who is he ?" said I impatiently.

" Who is he ?" reiterated the coachman ; " blow me tight if I
knows. Why, Lord blesh you, sir, we none of us knows nothing

M. M. No. 94. 3 H

418 THE MAN WITH THE -.

about him, though he comes this road very often — so we calls him
the man with the "

11 Here, coachman," interrupted a fellow, puffing and blowing,
" deliver this parcel the moment you reach Dover," thrusting a pack-
age into his hand.

" Yes, sir/' said Jehu, touching his hat, and immediately after-
wards three or four came on the same errand, and effectually cut
short my inquiries. Positive that it would prove of no avail to seek
further information just then, I entered the inn, and pursued my way
into the parlour, where I found all the passengers assembled, except
the man in canvas, and, oil inquiring for him, was told that he had
preferred taking his glass in the tap-room, as it would cost him a
penny less there than in the parlour. I thereupon left the room to
join him, and in the passage met a waiter with some liquor in his
hand ; thinking this to be what I had ordered as I went in, I offered
to take it myself.

" This en't yours, sir ; it is for the gentleman in the tap," said lie ;
" I must serve him before any one else ?"

" Indeed ! is he a man of such importance, then ?" I inquired.

" Isn't he, by jingo ?" was the laconic and comprehensive reply.

(C Then who may he be ?"

" Why, d'ye see, every body knows him, and yet nobody don't
know him, if you can make that out: but from the circumstance
of "

(e Aye, that's what I want to know, the circumstance of "

" John, make haste with that brandy-and-water ; what are you
waiting there for ?" interrupted the landlady, in a treble squeak.

" Directly ma'am — and so you see, sir, on that account we calls him
the indiwidual with the "

Tingle, tingle, tingle, chimed the accursed bell.

" Coming, coming," responded the waiter, starting off, and leaving
me in an agony. However, I made all speed to the tap, and found
my oil of tar friend drinking a glass of ale, and gravely rebuking the
waiter for detaining it so long. " You are of the right kidney," said
he, on seeing me enter. ' ' ' A penny saved is a penny got ;" and a
clean deal table is as wholesome as a mahogany one, though the latter
does grace a parlour."

I confess that I felt a little mortified to find my motive for joining
him so completely misconstrued, but I let it pass, and seated myself
on a hard wooden bench. He smiled, and seemed pleased ; then'
turning to the waiter, inquired what was to pay.

" Nineteen and twopence," returned the knight of the napkin.

" Man alive, how you talk ! — Nineteen and twopence for a glass of
ale ? — stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed my mysterious friend of the

" You forget, sir, the nineteen shillings you borrowed last May-day
to distribute amongst the village girls," said the water.

" But did'nt I give you a sovereign afterwards ?"

" Yes you gived me a sovereign, which, you says, says you, keep
for yourself Jem, says you; but that warnt paying me the nineteen
shillings you owed me, you know."

" True," said the man in canvas, " I forgot that ; I shan't be here

THE MAN WITH THE .

again for some time, so I'll pay you at once." He then emptied his
pockets of all the silver they contained, but found, on counting it,
that he had only eighteen shillings. " Then I must break into gold,"
said he, " and since that is the case, let us adjourn to the parlour, and
I'll stand a glass of wine." With that he threw a piece of gold upon
the silver, and walked out of the room.

Whilst the wine was going round, the landlady came in, and ab-
ruptly inquired if there was " e'er a doctor amongst us ?"

" Because," said she, " the daughter of a poor widow woman down
the lane is dying, and our doctor can't attend without a fee."

Upon this, canvas jacket quickly popped on his hat, and turning
to me, exclaimed, " Will you come, old snuffy ?"

Had any one else so nicknamed me, I should have knocked him
down ; but diving into his charitable motives with a thought, I at
once signified my readiness, and we were proceeding, arm-in-arm,
when the coachman arrested our progress, and said that he could not
possibly wait a moment longer.

tf A few minutes," said canvas.

" I durs'n't, sir -3 it's as much as my place is worth," was the coach-
man's reply.

" Then tell your master we broke down. Don't refuse, you dog,
or I will damage your lynch-pins ;" and slipping something into his
hand, the coachman said ' ' Ah ! sir, you'll be the ruin of me ; but
howsumever I can't refuse you nothing, you've got sich winning
ways." We were about to start forward, when the gentlemen in
black suddenly stopped us.

l< I have some trac ts by me," said he ; " which may serve to com-
fort the poor sinner."

" Barren tracts, I'll be bound, said canvas. If you never dispense
more solid relief to the poor, you are cock sure of damnation, old
croaker •" so saying, this strange man winked at me, turned on his
heel, and strode after a little boy who waited without to conduct us
down a green lane, at the extremity of which we could perceive a neat
cottage, in which the widow dwelt.

What a miserable spectacle met our gaze ! In the centre of a room
.utterly destitute of furniture, was spread a quantity of straw, covered
with an old blanket ; on this was prostrate, rather than laying, the
form of an emaciated black-haired girl of about nineteen, and appa-
rently in the last stage of existence. Her only covering was a coarse
rug, and her only pillow a bundle of rags ! Across the room, on each
side of this wretched bed or pallet, a cord was stretched from wall to
wall, and a few worn-out garments hung upon it, as some slight
screen from a continued draft of air which found its way through the
crevices. The poor object shivered incessantly with the cold. My
own heart turned into a ball of ice as I looked upon her. There was
no grate in the chimney — no fire — no appearance of fuel. The walls
were decorated with the tattered remains of handsome paper, and a
few brass-headed nails here and there furnished evidence of having
served as supporters to pictures, and proved that the apartment had
riot always worn its present aspect. It was indeed a picture of deso-
lation.

420 THE MAN WITH THE .

My companion took all in at a glance, and a pallid whiteness
usurped the place of his healthy complexion. " This is a misery/'
said he, emphatically, as his vision dwelt upon the scene. f( I can
scarcely credit it now •" then turning to the widow, he said, " woman,
how came all this about ? Don't be periphrastical."

Her tale was soon narrated. It was the old sad story — yet not
a whit the less heart-breaking for that — her husband dead, poverty
and distress ensuing.

(f After this," (her husband's death and that of her younger daugh-
ter) she continued, " nothing went right ; my landlord grew impatient
for his rent — he knew we had not a friend in the world to relieve us
— money became every day scarcer, and at length my remaining
child — my sweet Mary — sunk upon a bed of sickness. Would you
believe it, sir ! Five days afterwards, that bed was taken from under
her by the broker for my arrears of rent and taxes, together with
every piece of furniture in the house. My last shilling was wrung
from me by the doctor and undertaker who attended poor Emma,
and now we are destitute of medicine. — food — fire — or the means to
procure either."

" And why not apply to the doctor who attended your other daugh-
ter ?" questioned the man in canvas.

" He refused to attend without a fee ; adding that there was the
parish surgeon for paupers," answered the widow, weeping.

The poor widow sunk at the foot of the straw bed with tear -bathed
eyes and cheeks ; I endeavoured to console her, during which the
man in canvas seated himself by the invalid, and took her hand in one
of his, and with the other gently parted the black locks that shaded
her blanched brow.

" Death has taken his abode there," said she, sadly and faintly.
" Tush, tush ! " he replied, in the tenderest voice imaginable —
" you must not die, deary," and he gazed cheeringly and kindly upon
her.

" There is no hope ! " returned Mary, with an expression and tone
of blended inquiry and assertion, as she raised her eyes tranquilly to
his face.

Meeting her look with of open — an almost paternal smile, he
responded, ft No hope ! — yes, yes ; search your heart, and you will
find the goddess lingering there still ; and if not, raise a phantom of
your own ; trick it with wings and anchor, and call it Hope — come
come, take comfort ; the same POWER that recalled the widow's son to
life, can restore a widow's daughter to health." With these words the
speaker relinquished Mary's hands, and rising, inquired the doctor's
address. A large house opposite the widow's cottage was pointed
out, and the man in canvas immediately taking my arm, strode up to
it, and played a sesarara with the knocker in a style of execution
which a London footman might have despaired to equal ; in a mo-
ment the door was opened, and a burly porter with inquiring eyes
filled up the entrance.

" I want your master," said my companion, laconically.
" Ugh ! — Eh !" growled the rotund gentleman in livery, gazing
•with " all his eyes."

4

\

THE MAN WITH THE . 421

" Tell your .master I want him," cried the other.

" Tell my master, eh ? — Oh yes, I should'nt wonder — more like
you wants the constable — else he wants you ; — no, no," said the
porter, as he scanned the inquirer's habiliments.

a You are a queer chap, however," retorted the patronizer of oil of
tar, pushing the door-opener aside — and entering without ceremony.
At this moment, Mr. Takefee, finding his Esculapian studies inter-
rupted in so unusual a manner, stepped out to demand the cause,
Our knight in canvas armour, no sooner saw him than he pounced
upon him, and exclaimed, " Come here, you sir ; I want you."

" Insolent — " cried Takefee ; but ere another word could escape
the orifice which his crotaphites had opened, his unceremonious
visitor clapped something in his hand, and exclaimed : " Pugh !
don't talk, but come along with me — time is precious — never mind
your hat — come along ! " All this time the voluble speaker was pro-
ceeding towards the cottage, dragging the man of Galen with him,
although I noticed that he made little or no resistance, and even
smiled with an air of strong satisfaction.

After feeling his patient's pulse, the physician put us all in high
spirits by saying that anxiety and too sudden a deprivation of the
comforts of life was Mary's chief complaint, and that with a warm
bed, nourishing food, and a little soothing medicine, he would under-
take to restore her in a few weeks. Upon this, the man in canvas
rubbed his hands with great glee, said " Thank'ye, doctor ; attend
well to the medical department of the case, and I will look to the
rest ; you may go now ; call again to-morrow, and each succeeding

day till she is well ; Mr. will always have your fee ready. —

Good morning." Takefee backed out, as if he was leaving the pre-
sence of a potentate. He then wrote a brief note, and directed it to
a London banker, and presented it to the widow. I would have given
a day's existence for a glance at the signature ; but this was rendered
impossible by the sudden motion with which she, after its perusal,
thrust it in her bosom, and then clasping her hands, exclaimed, " Oh,
sir, is it to you I am indebted ? — you, the patron of literature — the
lasher of vice — the" —

" Inventor of oil of tar everlastings ! — But, pshaw ! what nonsense
this is ; why d'ye stand calling me names in this manner ? "

During this, the widow had flown to her daughter and whispered
something which caused as bright a glow of gratitude to irradiate
the latter's cheek as I had ever seen.

" May your MASTER bless and acknowledge you," she said, in a
peculiarly melodious tone of solemnity, and raising her lustrous eyes,
now lambent with excited feelings, she added, " My father owed all
his success to you ; his daughter shall prove her gratitude."

" What a lot of howling is here about nothing," cried the man in
canvas, rather impatiently. " Why don't you do as I bid you ?"
added he, addressing the widow.

" Shall I mention your name, sir," inquired she, drying up her
tears.

" No ; merely say that you were sent by the Man with the

Or, stay, I cannot await your return, so will order the things myself,

422 -THE MAN WITH THE

and also give directions for a few articles of furniture to be sent you.
God take ye both in his holy keeping ! " He raised his hat on
uttering the sacred Name, and while yet the music of their voices
dwelt within our ears, we crossed the humble threshold, elated by no
common sensations.

We reached the inn, where the passengers were impatiently await-
ing our appearance; accordingly f him of canvas' bustled in to
perform his self-imposed commission, and as I was following rather
more leisurely the barmaid crossed my path. Now be it known
that I have a warm heart towards a pretty barmaid, so I lovingly
chucked her under the chin in passing, whereat she reddened
like the sun in a fog, and flouncing by, muttered, "Humph! —
I should'nt have thought of the likes of that, indeed, from a scrubby
outside passenger !' '

At this moment, my fellow ' outsider' returned, and, first nodding,
he took her round the neck, and gave her a hearty buss, in return for
which she simpered and dropped a low curtsey. He passed on, and
I remarked — " I see you have not an objection to all outside pas-
sengers."

" Oh, indeed ! that's a very different thing — that's the gentleman

with the "

" How dare you be gossiping there, you saucy minx," shrieked the
landlady, " why don't you give a glass of ale to the gentleman .with

the ? " The guard sounded such an infernal peal with his

horn at that moment, that I lost the sentence. " Now, gentlemen, if
you please," said coachey, " I can't wait another moment for the
Hemperor of the Hingies."

The sun was then setting behind a long rauge of low hills; it was
indeed a beautiful scene as we bounded along the road : I jocularly
commented upon the extravagant imagery used by poets when
speaking of sunset. " Sir," said Canvas, " were the brains of Milton,
Shakspeare, and all the poets that ever existed, made into one, it
could not produce a figure of fancy worthy the subject : does it not
remind us of GOD, and. impart some idea of His glory? And what
can equal or delineate our thoughts at such a moment! The glorious
sun ! — I have seen him in Persia sink like one of the scarlet lilies
which spring from the soil, whilst in Greece he sets like the ball of '
St. Paul's newly gilded; in Arabia he looks like a copper tea-kettle,
and at the North Pole like a globe of silver, with the new moon
shining upon it. There I have looked up, all pale and cheerless as he
shone, and fancied him a guardian spirit come to chase away the
gloom that for months had kept all beneath cold and dark, but in other
places, (Chimborazo's heights, for instance,) I've stood and laughed
as he rolled like a ball of fire at my feet, and triumphantly told him
that his presence was not needed until morning. I remember lux-
uriating in the most genuine sunset feelings, a few summers ago ;
it was at Genoa, and the scene still lingers before my mind's eye, with
the freshness of an actually witnessed object. Not a tree — not a leaf —
not a blade of grass, but possessed a poetic charm, and conjured up
images never to be forgotten. The lake lay calm and placid as a
sleeping infant before me ; mountain towered above mountain, until

THE MAN WITH THE . 423

the very clouds were pierced with their heights, and I thought while
contemplating them, of the mighty structure which men in the
olden time designed should reach Heaven. Around me waved the
foliage of many a noble tree, like plumed giants bowing a courteous
welcome. From afar, the breeze came laden with sweets as delicious
as the perfumed gales that scent a Persian garden, and every fresh
swell was accompanied by a faint note of music ! In the distance,
about a dozen peasants, male and female, were dancing ; but the
great space between us rendered their forms so indistinct, so aerial,
that they appeared like a band of spirits wantoning through the air,
to greet the evening. Beyond these, on the summit of a little hill, was
defined the form of a young cavalier, in bold relief against the sky ;
whilst the slender, graceful form of a girl was bent with affectionate
interest towards him, and above all this — this assemblage of the
beautiful and grand — the gallant and the lovely — shone a setting sun,
so large, so gorgeously bright, so magnificently sublime, that my soul
thrilled with wild ideas; I thought myself in Paradise, with the
Eternal Eye gazing upon me ! But even this," he continued, " was
inferior to what I felt, when, on returning to England, I saw the sun
set beneath the billows which lave its shores — the shores of my own
nativity ! "

" And what mighty fine thing did you compare that to ? " sourly
and sarcastically inquired the man in sables.

" To a jolly, red-faced old buck, who having nearly worn out his
jacket in our day's service, was descending to renovate it in oil of tar
against the morrow. There's poetry for you, my old raven," said
Canvas ; " what think you of that, old dead-alive ? " — and he gave
him a slap on the back that made him groan again. A roar of
laughter at the expense of the gentleman in black, enlivened us for
some time, until our spirits waned as the evening closed in, and our
eyelids felt heavy with sleep. The gentleman in black was the first
to drop off, and after him followed the ditto in canvas, comfortably
reposing against the luggage, leaving the officer and myself to pursue
our own reflections. Now, it struck me, was the time for learning
who my friend in canvas was, and accordingly I anxiously asked the
military gentleman by my side for a solution of the enigma. He
smiled and replied : " It is very simple — From what you have no
doubt already remarked — that is, from the circumstances — you
see of — "

" Exactly ; but that is what I want to see."

te Why, in consequence of which, you see, he is not unaptly desig-
nated on the road the man with the " At this moment, the

coach deviated most ominously from the perpendicular, and at the
next, crash, crash, went the axletre^, and away flew the passengers in
all directions like a flock of pigeons. I just remember myself with
outstretched legs and pinions, essaying my first flight across a hedge,
and alighting with singular dexterity on a heap of manure in an ad-
joining field.

" Every mother's son of you whose bones are broken, scream out
for dear life," cried the man in canvas at the top of his voice, starting
upon his feet, with a presence of mind that was surprising, consider-

424 THE MAN WITH THE .

ing he had been asleep the moment before. After a pause, he added,
" Then give three cheers for our escape ! " With that he waved his
hat to the time of ' hip, hip, hip,' to which we all joined chorus, hurraing
like schoolboys at a breaking up, or rather in our case, at a breaking
down. Whilst yet the air vibrated with our acclamations, a sight at
once supernatural and harrowing, met our startled gaze. It was the
spectral appearance of a figure rising slowly from the earth, and
attired in white from top to toe ; of the same chilling hue were
likewise its hair, face and hands ! It furnished no mean idea of Lot's
wife when she became a pillar of salt.

" ' Angels and ministers of grace defend us !' " exclaimed our
facetious friend — though now somewhat shaken, as the pallid spectre
approached — " Art thou a minister from heaven, or ghost from hell ?

" I am the ' gentleman in black/ " whined out the white figure,
in a piteous tone.

" The devil you are ! " exclaimed Canvas significantly ; " Then in
future let no man say that two and two are not five, or that black is
not white ;" — but perceiving that the preacher was in some pain,
having fallen down a shallow chalk pit by the wayside, he humanely
proffered his assistance in supporting him to the nearest village. As
it was not more than eleven o'clock, the coachman proposed that we
should endeavour to get the damage repaired that night, and then
the half hour which had been previously wasted at the inn — such was
the gentleman's idea of things — might be accounted for to the pro-
prietor, as being occasioned by the accident.

' ' With all my heart ; you may lie through a deal board if you
like," said the man in canvas, quickening his pace. We soon reached
a cluster of houses, with a pretty grass lawn in front, and the whole
animated by a sparkling moon. With very little trouble we soon
gained the assistance of a carpenter and blacksmith, and whilst the
dislocated member of our vehicle received the benefit of their pro-
fessional skill, the passengers made themselves as happy as possible
with the materials around them.

I shall merely observe here, that during our short stay in the
village, the man in canvas prevented an elopement — reconciled a father
to his daughter and her lover — turned a magistrate into a laughing-
stock for all the bumpkins within a league of his residence — knocked
down a constable — knocked up a parson — paid the fees of a wedding —
lit up a bonfire — and completely astonished the natives ; sometimes
uttering the sentiments of a god in a poet's language — sometimes
drawing tears from all eyes by his pathos, and not unfrequently
using the epithets and performing the antics of a buffoon, — However
I must hasten to my journey's end.

On reaching Dover I secured the only vacant bed-room at the inn
where we put up, and then descended into the parlour to skim the
papers. I had scarce read the first paragraph of a very interesting
murder, when ' mine host' entered, and with some confusion in-
formed me that through the inadvertence of his waiter he had not
been informed that I had taken a bed until he had unfortunately let
it to a traveller.

4f Then the traveller must vacate and go elsewhere," said I, lean-

THE MAN WITH THE . 425

ing back and crossing my legs with all the complacency of a man that
1 pays his way/ being satisfied of my indubitable right to the tene-
ment.

" Not for the world, sir," said the landlord.

I stared at the fellow ; and then rejoined, " Is he of such conse-
quence to the prosperity of your establishment that you would thus
infringe the laws of right ?"

" I must own that he is, sir ; why 'tis the Man with the — I meant
to say — sir, I beg your pardon, the gentleman is your fellow pas-
senger."

Down went the paper from my hold in a twinkling. " The man
with the what?" said I.

" Dear me, sir, is it possible ! Did you never notice his — "
ce Landlord fill us another bottle, look sharp, and let it be of the
right sort, d'ye hear ?" hiccupped a young spark in a high key,
seated amid a knot of officers.

This was another man of consequence, I suppose, for Boniface
immediately left me to attend him, at which my equanimity was so
disturbed that I resolved to take possession of my room coute qui
coute, and bar it against all intruders whether in canvas jackets or in
the livery of Beelzebub himself. Full of» ire, I sprung up the stair-
case, and on reaching the landing place, I found my door open and
the man of tar coolly seated within. He had a huge purse before
him, made of the same materiel as his dress, into which he was
thrusting divers handfuls of Napoleons.

" Who's there ? oh, come in/' said the occupant of my apartment
in a breath, " I was just balancing my accounts, and find that I owe
you a shilling, (he had borrowed one for some purpose or other on
the road,) there it is ; and now die where I may, no man can point
at my grave and say I owe him a shilling, ha ! ha ! eh ?" so saying
lie put a shilling into my hand.

" You are an irresistible person be you who you may," said I, my
mortified feelings brightening into good humour, " and you must
know human nature well to make such use of it."

" I don t know that my method is simpler than you suppose.
Human nature seems to me to be very like a pack of cards, conti-
nually shifting positions and playing odd tricks; nevertheless always
having its share of trumps, which reconciles me to it. Yes, sir, there
are hearts of gold every where ; yet there is a lust after wealth
abroad that commits an infernal lot of mischief. When young I was
reckoned a virtuous youth ; but was poor ; so the noses of folks who
passed me turned astronomers ; you understand ? they gazed intently
on the heavens whenever I was near. With that I damned them for
a set of money-loving asses, and very consistently turned my own
thoughts towards the scraping up of riches. In process of time I got
me a sack, of canvas, mind, and I crammed it with stores of gold,
and when I told the world what I had done, good lord ! how the
disinterested creatures flocked around me, and I laughed mightily in
my sleeve. I was soon, however, heartsick, and dropping the super-
fluity of a name, I set out, upon my travels, taking with me the talis-
man to the hearts of all men — GOLD. Since then all climates have
M.M. No. 94. 3 I

426 THE KING; GOD BLESS HIM!

been familiar with me, and it is only the reflection that many fellow-
inheritors of my native soil are pining for what I have so liberally
dispensed to foreigners, that I begin to think it my bounded duty to
raise smiles in our own land before creating broad grins in another."

" And yet you are now going to France," observed I.

" Because I have important business there. This metal which can
dry a widow's tear and bend a proud man's neck, is now destined to
work miracles with affairs in Gallia — I go to — "

" What?" said I, as he appeared to check himself.

" To look at the French pigs — they are elegant animals, arn't
they ? and have smaller waists and thinner legs than our vulgar,
home-bred swine. Must be off at daybreak, though — so good night."
So saying this singular being bowed me very civilly out of my own
room ; but as I was at the door I determined on another struggle to
gratify my curiosity which had become little short of intense.
et Excuse me, sir/' said I, " but since I have had the pleasure of
your company, I have witnessed so much happiness conferred, such
joy has followed your footsteps, that perhaps you will do me the
favour to say to whom I am indebted for so many hours of gratifica-
tion." The man of canvas placed both hands to enclose my ear as
though to ensure the secrecy of what he was about to unfold, and
whispered, " THE MAN WITH THE — ClDanbag 3$ag." E. L.

THE KING; — GOD BLESS HIM!

A FEW SCRAPS TOUCHING HIS MAJESTY.

(A Christmas parly near the Leman Lake, consisting of expatriated
" Half-Pays.")

" Turn we to survey

Where rougher climes a nobler race display ;
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread ;
No pro "

" ENOUGH of poetry, although it be Goldsmith's, now that the
mountain and the flood are shut out from view, and we are left to the
placid and sober enjoyment of more homely things than the hoary
majesty of Mont Blanc, and the fair expanse of Leman Lake. Un-
doubtedly are they glorious to behold ; but while December's Bise
announces itself without, in a strain mild and pleasing, as what are
generally termed " murmurs" in the Chamber of Deputies, or in those
genial accents which astounded the ears of majesty of late, in the most
influential and polished assembly in Europe ; and while the snow-
drift rides the blast, I must own that the prejudices of frail mortality
induces rather a sneaking kindness in me towards this oaken board —
the cheerful lamp — the crackling of the blazing log — this flask of
generous burgundy — and other " the fair humanities" of my humble
domicile. War, plague, and revolution — the schoolmaster, Lord Vaux,

427

" et praeterea nihil" — may rage elsewhere, if they will ; but with
Galignani's consumptive Chronicle to indicate the " whereabout," my
"friend and pitcher/' and a contented mind, though exiled from the
land I love, yet may I, in this season dear to the Christian world, and
dearer to none in it than those who, in our land's language, now
haply tell of good and gentle things which have happened heretofore.
Fill up your glass, old boy. " The King ; God bless him !" and I
warrant me the sentiment is not more truly felt, nor more honestly
expressed, by any on the shores he rules, than in this sequestered
nook — surrounded as we are by forest, flood, and mountain. The
glow of patriotism is not likely to lose its force in the land of
William Tell, nor the love of country to diminish where each citizen
is armed for its defence, and where, with the well warranted pride
of a freeman, tenacious of his hard-earned liberty, and conscious of
the happiness of his social state as of the unrivalled beauties of his
romantic country, each of its sons may not immodestly exclaim, — " I,
too, am a Swiss, by the grace of God." This was uttered by a noble
looking, but weather-beaten old Captain in the Navy.

" The King ; — God bless him !" continued the Veteran. " Few
have had better experience of society, in his own and other lands, than
William the Fourth. The early hardships of a sailor's life ; the stern
discipline of the naval service; the unflattering and uncourteous
buffeting of winds and waves ; the equivocal pleasure of the nightly
watch ; the scarce dazzling splendour of a short nine to the pound in
the un-Crockford-like saloon of a cockpit ; the un- Johnsonian oratory
of its inmates ; their glorious defiance of all Brummel's consecrated
rule of manners ; hard biscuit, junk, and grog; — and all and each
on the bleak and ironbound coasts of Nova Scotia, where his Majesty,
when a midshipman, was some time stationed, come in strange and
somewhat ridiculous contrast with the gorgeous magnificence of
Windsor Castle — the pomp of royal festival — the proud solemnities of
regal state — and the high duties of the kingly office : in the midst of
which, the sovereign of earth's mightiest empire may oft recal to
mind the pinching frost of an American winter — the rude Micomac
in his light canoe — the joyous course of the sleigh on the snow — and
the many pranks of the once light-hearted middy, which were
effected with singular science, to the somewhat bewilderment of the
honest and simple Acadians."

" Have you ever visited that blissful region of fog, codfish, bears,
and breakers?" inquired a Major of the 92d.

" Yes ; in my yearly youth, and some years subsequently to Prince
William Henry's quitting the station ; and it was surely then one of
the least attractive spots in his royal father's dominions. The natural
severity of the climate, and the lengthened Nova Scotia winter, were
then unmitigated by extensive cultivation of the earth. The
naval squadron wintered generally at Bermuda ; but often, at the
approach of autumn, and to the calendar's infinite confusion, while it
was yet high summer in England, a delicious north-wester would
suddenly succeed to a warm rain, — like my Lord Chancellor's keen
and cutting commentary on the ardent representations of a certain
gallant peer, — and the shrouds and tackling of the ships in harbour

428 THE KING ; — GOD BLESS HIM !

would at once become encrusted with a coat of ice which, however
unwelcome to the sailor, was singularly beautiful as the sun beamed
lull upon the seemingly chrystal-rigged vessel ; while the forests on
shore, decked in like brilliant garb, almost realized, in those northern
regions, the enchanted diamond gardens of the Arabian tales. The
Prince must have had them at his fingers ends at the time. The
inhabitants of Halifax, the seat of government, consisted of a few of
the old French settlers, numbers of Germans from Brunswick and
Hanover — excellent people, and Irish, Scotch, and English emigrants.
Every house in the town, with one exception, was built of pine,
admirably adapted for the purposes of Captain Swing, as it required
about the time occupied by a quarter deck sermon to reduce a house
to ashes in the case of fire. The country around was wild, rude,
rocky, and sterile, while forests of interminable extent were to be
seen on every side, enclosing a multitude of lakes in their depths, and
affording precarious shelter to the tribe of Micomacs, the aborigines
of the land — an unwarlike, submissive, and inoffensive race, who
gained largely by the chace and sale of furs, to their prejudice ; as
the indulgence of New England rum, thus permitted even in my
time, was wasting rapidly their ranks. Neither in character or
effect was Halifax likely to prove a Capua to Prince William Henry,
yet there existed great and unaffected hospitality, a refinement in
manners among the better classes scarcely to have been expected ;
which, if they might not pass muster with the exclusives and
desirables of Almacks at this day, might be preferred to them —
warm-hearted and singularly loyal men, and women whose beauty
may yet be pleasantly remembered within the walls of St. James's.
Such was Halifax, with its unrivalled harbour and magnificent
dock-yard ; and there was enough to content an honest, intelligent,
and light hearted youth, who, it he found not merriment and sport
made to his hands, why he even (or my Acadian chroniclers closely
resemble a certain voluminous traveller) contrived to concoct them
for himself."

" A little fellow feeling with respect to errant authors, I prithee ;"
quoth he of the 92d, " you have travelled far and wide yourself; —
fill your glass, and forward me the snuff-box. Remember the barber of
Brussels, who recently advertised his invisible perukes for examination."

" Ah ! you are not likely, I see, to compromise yourself so much in
support of my statement, as the polite Frenchman, who being
reproached by a scribbling traveller with not justifying the reference
made to him in support of the truth of his account so fully as he
might have done, indignantly replied, " I absolutely swore to their
accuracy ; could I do more than commit perjury for a friend ?
However, my Halifax reminiscences may hardly be deemed shaken
by the " Go it, Ned," of the maturer years of our illustrious subject.
But to my say : — Faith in the chronicler is necessary ; and if there
be error in my tale, I must place it on the shoulders of old Mat.
Hutchins."

" In the name of all euphony, who was your friend ?" said the
Major.

" Old Mat Hutchins had been a respectable and wealthy merchant,

THE KING ;— GOD BLESS HIM ! 420

who, by the application of new and ingenious rules to commerce,
had contrived to exchange the uncertain glory of a mercantile career,
for the more sure estate of poverty ; and, instead of balancing his
books, had more frequently to balance how to obtain a dinner, until
he attained the elevated post of writing-master in a public school.
In all the chances and changes of his mortal career, Mat could, how-
ever, at all times draw contentment, if not delight, from one pure,
unallowed source, which was his, and his alone. Whenever the
wintry blasts, in numbing my fingers, forced me to describe, instead
of graceful pothooks and hangers, certain fearful hieroglyphics,
worthy of the pens of John Bell, the equity jurist, or the late Sir
William Curtis, and decidedly repugnant to the sophisticated taste of
Mat ; he would, with an air of mixed reproach and dignity, extract
from his well soiled deal desk, with most reverend care, a naval
cocked-hat — certainly a handsome one — and, after eyeing it a few
seconds, as Othello might have looked on Desdemona, after having
burked his spouse, he would, with a solemnity of tone, somewhat
superior in effect to the late John Kemble's celebrated invocation in
Lear, exclaim — "Young gentleman — look at that!" And the hat,
slowly arose aloft, in the style of the annual exhibition of the holy
relics at the Scala Santa of Rome. It was certainly felt — " The
identical hat, young gentleman, of his Royal Highness Prince Wil-
liam Henry, third son of his Most Gracious Majesty, King George
the third, whom /" — and Mat's rubicond visage shone like Baron
Garrow's — " whom / had the inexpressible honour of instructing, or
rather polishing, in the scriptural art, when His Royal Highness lay
at New York, on board his Majesty's ship — Young gentleman ! His
Royal Highness would have blushed, to have detracted from his
rank, station and education, by such anomalous signs and wonders ;
such negro-maid kisses, as you have been ruthlessly executing on

that spotless paper. By the way, I remember me " Enough !

for when Mat got upon the beaver — its noble character and fair pro-
portions—all else was forgotten; and to our infinite digital relief, we
used to crowd round the iron stove, inserting apples into its orifice,
well assured they would be amply cooked, ere Mat reached the loop,
much less the binding, in his amorous description of the Bicknell. —
Poor Mat! when the toil of " scribble — scribble — scribble — still" —
as the great Duke of Cumberland flatteringly observed to Gibbon-
was over, he would hie him down the hill of Halifax to the Long
Wharf; and there, in what was vulgarly termed a grog shop, would
he quaff his oft-replenished glass of rum-and-water ; and, Theriaki-
like, indulge in reminiscences of royalty and its capital adornments ;
embroidering the memory of the past, and aggravating the felicity of
the present ; enjoying a blissful dream of prince and sky-scraper
until one day he dreamed himself beyond this sphere, and all earthly
cares and joys — leaving to his heir and only son, young Mat Hutchins,
the entirety of his worldly possessions, in the shape of the aforesaid
hat. It proved, however, no grateful heritage, for it inspired young
Mat with towering ideas ; and placing the hat on his head (disagree-
ing as it did with his shabby unmilitary dress), he presented himself
to the admiral on the station — I believe the late George Murray, hat

430 THE KING ; — GOD BLESS HIM f

in hand. He told his tale, aided by the mute eloquence of the
castor ; and, in consequence, being then little past the age of thirty,
actually attained the highly important, responsible, and profitable
post of a non-rated midshipman on board a ship of war, whence he
has since, haply, retired to enjoy, otium cum dignitate, on the strength
of his official pension — Nothing-a-day, and find himself!"

<e The bottle stands with you, my friend," observed the soldier ;
ft the night wears ; the lamp is dull as the Royal Society ; the fire
about as sparkling and lively as a fashionable novel ; let us, on the
principle of Dr. Haneurann's homespathic system, avert the blues,
by the blues. In charity proceed"

" There was, as I mentioned, but one stone house in the town of
Halifax ; and it was the pride and wonder of its people, who formed
a faint idea of the tower of London, by comparing it with the superior
structure of Mr. Bulkeley. Its tenant bore the same relation to his
fellow-citizens, as his lapideous mansion to their boarded dwellings.
How he came there I never could divine. He had been an officer in
the Horse Guards, in the reign of George the Second ; was a scholar
and a gentleman, such as were gentlemen in that day, and is the
author of ' Whistlecraft ' in ours ; his manners of the school of Ches-
terfield ; his mind enlarged, and his feelings kindly. With these,
his cast off military accoutrements (and often have I gazed in the
age of pointed toes with awful reverence on the square projection of
his soled boots), and bag, sword, and ruffles, he had sate him down
on the barren and rude shores of Nova Scotia, living on the recollec-
tion of Kensington and Hampton Court, Gunnersbury House and
Leicester-fields, Bubb Doddington, and other things of high and
remote antiquity. But neither boots or ruffles, Kensington or Bubb j
Doddington, could save his windows from the nightly assault. The
unfrequented space between his house and the wooden church of St.
Paul, was admirably adapted for the purpose of vitreous crime — ;
watchmen and lamps were of as much repute there as a theatre or
circulating library — glorious execution was made of his panes, and
his squares were reduced to geometrical forms, which it would have
puzzled Wellington himself to describe; that suspicion fell on the mid-
shipmen it would be wrong to declare, for it was clear as the smashed
panes that it was they and no others; — their full and exclusive title
to running cords across the streets, to reduce mortal bearing from a
perpendicular to a horizontal position — ringing the fire-bell to the
nervous derangement of the town — sleighing it down the steep hill of
Halifax, of a moonlight night, with some unlucky old womanen trapped,
on their wicked knees — and other eccentricities had been long and
decidedly established. Fun over — (for let the grave sneer, and
the moralists denounce'as they will, fun it was, and is, and will be, at a
certain tide of life) — fun over, full and fitting recompence was the
next day tendered, to the old soldier and courtier, by the reefers'
chancellor of the exchequer, in the person of their captain. " I pray,
sir," said Mr. Bulkeley, with tone and gesture, which would have
thrown Sir Robert Chester's for ever in the shade — " you will not
pain me, by mention of the panes. Were it permitted me to hope,
and haply the idea is not extravagant, that the son of my excellent

THE KING ; GOD BLESS HIM ! 431

and beloved sovereign, had been amongst the young gentlemen who
honoured my windows with their notice, I should feel prouder than I
could well express. Nay, sir, I have had the squares replaced, in the
flattering expectation that they be again demolished. Say so, if you
please, to the young gentlemen in general ; and, if I may so presume,
express, sir, I beg of you, my humble duty to His Royal Highness in
particular." Bulkeley had lived in courts, and probably knew some-
thing of royalty ; but, whoever was the mischief-maker, his loyal
feelings were denied further indulgence in so far as his panes were
concerned. It was to be learned, however, "one may go farther and
fare worse," for an ancient beldame, of morose and offensive manners,
living in a cottage, near the road that led from the eastern extremity
of the dock-yard to the Dutch church (I love to be particular), had
taken an unconquerable^ and perhaps unjustifiable, aversion to any
thing in the shape of a middy, until they were real living " blue
devils " in her eyes ; and all and every epithet degrading to white
cord, anchor buttons, and dwarf dirks, was regularly heaped upon
the junior members of his Majesty's navy. The middies, if not men,
were human, and susceptible to human passions and infirmities. The
ancient lady's lights, became residuary legatees of old Bulkeley's
panes ; and her hatred of cockpits frequently was 'scarcely allayed by
the startling suggestions she received of their nightly cruize abroad
amongst the breakers. But with the sang froid and skill of a Wel-
lington, the venerable dame resorted to her tactics ; and taking her
station at the wicket, which it was necessary to enter, to ensure " a
right proper shy/' like another Hecate, armed with a broomstick,
she awaited the appearance of " the spirits of the vasty deep." —
Cautiously and warily, as old Townshend in search of a coiner, the
reefer came, and the first note of bombardment was scarcely given,
when it was responded to, with force and vigour highly creditable
to her years : blow followed blow in a style of " independent firing,"
that at last induced the youngster to roar out for mercy ; alleging,
most profanely, that he was the Prince — true or false, and it was un-
doubtedly the latter. Woman's wit but aided woman's vengeance, as
, she reiterated her ligneous attentions with renewed spirit, in crying,
" You wicked scapegrace, you will break my windows, will you,
and then wrong the son of the king — blue-bottle imp that ye are —
by pretending to be His Highness ? cockroach of the cockpit !"
Luckily, the object of her loyal remonstrances, by a desperate effort,
cleared the gangway of the beldame's premises, right glad to escape
such emphatic exemplification of the doctrine of " preachee and
floggee too."

" There's midnight by the bell of the chateau ; cried a sentimental
sub-lieutenant of Marines ; — the storm is hushed • — the moon is on
the wave ; — the shore of Savoy clear as at noon-day ; — the Col. de
Forclaz and Mont Blanc are

" All glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon ."

" Coleridge be good to us, it is a lovely night ! But hie thee
back to Halifax, good Captain."

" To Halifax be it then. One of the principal streets of the town

432 THE KING ; GOD BLESS HIM !

was extremely rapid of descent, at the foot whereof the crockery
shop of an honest German, named Rudolph, was situated ; and it was
the fashion, when snow was on the ground, to drive a sleigh or
tn'neau, at tandem down it, having especial care nevertheless to ex-
hibit the requisite skill in turning sharply at the bottom, which was,
I assure you, no contemptible operation. A royal midshipman, de-
sirous of exhibiting his phsetonic qualities, must needs follow the
dangerous example, set him ; but, forgetful of the necessity of keep-
ing the horses at their full speed to prevent the sleigh pressing
lovingly on their heels, the tackling became wholly useless, as the
affrighted animals, disdaining control, flew with the swiftness of the
wind until the driver found himself contemplating the various speci-
mens of pottery which, for readier inspection — and that no doubt
might exist as to the composition of the articles — were strewed around,
in all variety of anti-etruscan shapes, having been dislodged by the
abrupt entry of the " rum customers," who at full gallop had insi-
nuated themselves far into the store, to the infinite horror of the
petrified Rudolph, and the high entertainment of the illustrious Jehu.
He had unwittingly effected, vast architectural improvement, on
the front of the German's premises, by imitating him of Gaza, bring-
ing the door-posts and windows with him on his introduction to the
shop. But fill my glass, young shiver the wind; I shall soon have done.
" Somewhat more than half way up the same street was a handsome
house, inhabited by a single gentleman, who had found his way from
the magnificent scenery of his own land, to the dull shores of Halifax.
It was immediately in the rear of the wooden house of assembly for
the province, and had a balcony the whole length of the front.
Threading the dark streets of Halifax on a gloomy night inspirited
by the epilogue of a good dinner, the love of enterprise induced in
a midshipman the idea of escalading the mansion. Animated by
negus, punch, and other humanities, he proceeded to the church,
where the fire-ladders hang listless against its wall, and laden with
the " wooden shrouds," with infinite pain and labour, he adjusted
them to a perpendicular. The difficulty was, however, to depose the
ladder gently on the edge of the lofty ballustrade : but, alas, instead
of conforming to the peaceful intent of its juvenile director, it slipped,
falling with a crash that shook the fine-built mansion to its centre,
deranging the architectural glories of the balcony as if Nash himself
han been at work, and arousing all the dormant faculties of the family
within. The ladder was hastily abandoned to its fate ; and surmise
was sometime left to speculate upon robbery, burglary, and other
horrors little contemplated by the frolic-loving midshipmen. The
free intercourse thus permitted them, with one of their princes, had
tended to arouse, in the minds of the good people of Halifax, an
aggravated sense of their proper dignity — an idea that even now be-
comes unlimited with Englishmen beyond the confines of their own
shores ; and which, without speaking of our continental travellers, is
admirably exemplied in our colonies, where a sometime-treasury
under-strapper becomes lord of the ascendant — a Manchester sales-
man is converted into a royal merchant — a local secretary directs the
interests of thousands — and a knight of the Ionic order is elevated

SCENES OF THE NEVA. 433

far above ordinary humanity. I have heard that,, being addressed in
terms of dignified familiarity by a provincial star, who gracefully de-
nounced all ordinary tastes as unworthy of himself, as he presumed
they would be considered by one of royal blood, had his affectation
xind vulgarity at once as decidedly reproved, by the prince drolly
observing—" Faith, sir ! at home, I clean my own boots and my
father's too."

SCENES ON THE NEVA.

THE Russians of the modern capital are a gay light-hearted race,,
notwithstanding the length and severity of their winters, which might
be supposed to cast that gloomy tinge over their character, so obser-
vable in most of the barbarous nations. The two seasons, however,
bring with them their enjoyments and attractions, and, as if setting
at defiance all the unpleasant feelings and effects of the intense and
prolonged inclemency of the winter, it is the season of gaiety and
high fashion with the barbarians. The chiefs of the country, at this
year, flock to their town palaces, and are plunged into a never-end-
ing round of fetes and parties, given on a scale of splendour and
magnificence hardly to be excelled. The Czar takes up his abode
during this season at his winter palace, the town imperial residence,
and adds to the general gaiety, by a series of balls and masquerades,
given to the court and nobility. In fact, in the midst of the general
stagnation of nature, society in St. Petersburg is all alive. The
severe cold has not certainly so much influence as in England ; their
houses being heated throughout with stoves, the temperature is
capable of being regulated to a nicety, so that in the depth of winter
no extra clothing is required within doors, and on going abroad for a
morning's sledging, great precaution is used to clothe the body in
furs up to the very eyes. The winter seldom breaks up till the
middle of April, and as the short-lived summer rapidly advances, it
'is the signal for the world of fashion toretire to their chateaux and
country estates, for a three months summer heat, as intense as was
the cold of the winter. St. Petersburg now becomes comparatively
deserted, except by the merchants and those whose occupations com-
pel them to remain ; and even at this period the Czar is frequently
found at the winter palace, as the business of the empire requires
his presence, when he is of course attended by the court, and draws
to his train many of the nobility. But even those who are obliged
to remain in the city, contrive to purchase or rent for the season their
chateaux and villas in the environs, where at the distance of a few
miles only, they can pass much of their time with their families. Many
of these villas are delightfully situated on the beautiful islands of the
Neva, and are built in the Italian style, with long porticoes or veran-
das, covered with a profusion of flowers.

The summer has likewise its attractions, notwithstanding the over-
powering heat. The evenings are devoted to lounging in the public
gardens of Krestoffskoi, the grounds of the Yelagin palace, and the
various other beautiful spots about the islands, and in the vicinity of
M.M. No. 94. 3 K

434 SCENES ON THE NEVA.

the city, while the drives in all directions are frequented by the
nobility and gentry in their open carriages and droskies, or on horse-
back. As there is at this period of the year no absolute night, these
amusements are kept up till a late hour, after which the chateaus are
lighted up, and sounds of mirth and music are heard in every quarter.
I cannot easily forget the impression made upon me by my first
walk through the islands on one of those cool and delicious evenings,
so grateful after a sultry day occupied in sight-seeing in the city. I
had dined with a friend at his town residence, and, leaving our
wine early, we embarked on the grand branch of the Neva, a splen-
did stream, as wide as the Thames at Waterloo Bridge ; but unlike
that river, not disfigured by muddy banks, coal- wharfs, and unsightly
buildings. In lieu of which a deep, clear stream, is constantly flowing
at the same level, (there being no tides in the Baltic), flanked by
superb, massy red granite quays or walls, with low parapets, and
and here and there noble landing places. On the quays a broad
carriage way and handsome pavement next the parapet separates
the line of palaces and magnificent edifices which adorn its banks
from the river itself. Leaving the city we glided up a canal con-
necting the grand branch with what is called the Little Neva, and
entered upon a broad expanse of water, enlivened with numerous boats
skimming on its surface, and the banks varied with wood and lawn,
and adorned with elegant villas and chateaux, forming altogether a
delicious scene. Landing on the Island of Krestoflfskoi, we passed
through the grounds, and close to the chateau of the Lord of the
Manor, down a long avenue cut through a wood, in which to the right
and left vistas of some extent exhibited a temple or statue at the extre-
mity, and crossed another branch of the Neva by a wooden bridge,
where we encountered groups of idlers like ourselves enjoying the
shades of the lovely evening, and enduring with good grace the attacks
of swarms of musquitoes. We now entered upon another island, and
our route ran for two miles through public grounds and well gravelled
walks, without a speck of dirt or a weed to be seen, exhibiting a taste
and variety in the laying out equal to that displayed in the grounds of
many of our own nobility. It seemed strange to an English eye, that
the spirit of destruction and wanton mischief was not abroad to anni-
hilate the seats and root up th? flowers and shrubs in these public
footways, open to all, and leading to the various villas and villages
around. What should we expect in England, while sitting over our
wine in our rural retreat in the neighbourhod of London, with all the
windows open, enjoying one of the few summer evenings we are in-
dulged with in our climate, on beholding a party of strangers of a
dubious appearance coming round our shrubbery, through the
flower garden, and across our well shorn lawn immediately before our
very windows ? Yet such is done in this land of semi-barbarism,
and no harm or injury follows. The truth is, the fear of the knout is
before their eyes; the police are on the alert to prevent it, and
knowing this, the people do not dream of devastation. John Bull
would rebel at the knout, the liberty of the subject would not brook
such unconstitutional regimen. Every member of the national family
would assert his independence in a manner more decisive than agree-
able.

SCENES ON THE NEVA. 435

We suddenly emerged from the grounds near a broad branch of
the Neva, on the banks of which, and among the trees, a drive
extended along the boundaries of the grounds we had just quitted,
on which several gay parties were taking their airing ; others were
grouped in elegant little temples, open at all sides, and fitted with
sofas on which they were lounging ; taking their ice, cool beverages,
and refreshments. From this pavilion, shaded by a luxuriant foliage,
and looking upon the river, the scene was strikingly picturesque and
animating. On both sides of the water were scattered numerous gay
looking villas surrounded with their beautiful grounds and gardens.
A handsome bridge here crosses the river, on the opposite side of
which, from out a thickly planted grove of trees, peeps the elegant
portico of the summer theatre, called the Kammenoi Ostrow, not
unlike that of our Haymarket. This theatre is open in summer only,
and is quite the fashionable resort, though distant five versts from
town. A wide open space in front was filled with droskies and
officers' horses in waiting. It is attached to the Yelagin summer
palace, situated on the banks of the river to the left of our position,
and the gardens and grounds only separated from us by the road
leading to the bridge, which we next crossed, and from whence we
had a full view of the palace, an elegant Italian villa, not very large,
with a sloping lawn to the water, and very beautiful and extensive
grounds. We continued our walks along the opposite bank of the
river, under avenues of trees, following an excellent well watered
carriage drive, and passing several villas, built (although of wood)
in the best style of Italian architecture, and almost hidden by a
profusion of flowers. We again crossed the stream by the Vasselei
Ostrow bridge, near which is the summer Imperial Palace, then occu-
pied by the Grand Duke Michael ; a large and apparently handsome
building, facing the river, but nearly imbedded in trees. Near it,
and forming an entrance to the palace, at the foot of the bridge, is
an extremely pretty small old red brick Gothic gateway and belfry
or tower, peeping from a cluster of dark high trees, which forms
its back ground. The view from the Vassilei Ostrow and Kammenoi
Ostrow bridges is, I think, perfect. The river here is very wide,
perfectly clear and glassy, and the banks on both sides present a
series of wood, lawn, gardens, villas, villages, the two palaces, and
the portico of the theatre. Having crossed the bridge we again
entered upon well laid out grounds, and passed close under the
windows of one or two chateaux, occasionally stumbling upon a
statue, temple, or fountain. Issuing from a grotto or subterranean
pathway we found ourselves on the elevated bank of a narrow
thickly wooded stream, on the opposite side of which, from between
the trees and thick underwood of which the high bank was com-
posed, glimpses were caught of a romantic little Russian village of
the better class. We crossed the stream by a flying bridge, or square
floating rafts with seats and railings round it, and entered the village
which consisted chiefly of log houses and wooden cottages or boxes,
highly ornamented, and gaily painted, which are generally let by the
season. In one of these our friend's family was residing, a pretty
low built cottage of rough fir, something in the style of the Swiss

436 SCENES ON THE NEVA.

cottages. We had our refreshments served in a room or large bal-
cony even with the ground, open at all sides, and filled with abun-
dance of flowers, not forgetting gnats and musquitoes. We returned
home by a different route. Avoiding the grounds we had before tra-
versed, we kept along the banks of several branches of the Neva, and
crossed more than one bridge. The scene, ever presenting a pleasing
variety, was occasionally much heightened by a distant chorus of pea-
sants returning from their labour, singing in parts a wild national air
of which they are very fond, and which, in the stillness of a sultry
but lovely evening, broke upon the ear as it swept along the calm
bosom of the river most exquisitely ; although, on a nearer approach,
the charm ceased, and the voices became harsh and discordant.
After enjoying this lovely scene for some distance, we entered upon
the public gardens of Krestoffskoi, which slope down to the river,
and, although not large, are laid out prettily. We here crossed the
river by a ferry, and had a long and disagreeable drag through the
outskirts of the city to our hotel. We found the roads in the envi-
rons occasionally paved (as a native of the Emerald Isle would say),
with deal boards, the footway being of the same material, but raised
considerably above the road. We were not at home till two in the
morning, but as there is no night, or rather darkness, beyond a slight
twilight at this time of year, a foreigner, till he becomes used to it,
is, as was my case, quite out in his reckoning of time : it is midnight
ere he thinks of looking how time goes.

On the following Sunday evening I visited, with a friend, the
Krestoffskoi Gardens, which are then the resort of the citizens, and
are crowded to excess. On arriving at the Little Neva a most
animating scene presented itself, fully proving the correctness of the
observation with which I started, respecting the character of the
Muscovites. From the river, at a little distance, as we approached
the scene of action, the effect was novel and extremely striking. The
broad sheet of water appeared like a still lake, covered with boats
filled with gay and joyous parties — the well-wooded banks and the
elegant villas interspersed about — the groups scattered here and there
along the margin of the river, or in the open glades of the woods, in
parties of six or a dozen, dressed in their gay holiday costume,
around their fires on which their kettle boiled, drinking their favourite
spirit watkey, or tea, and feasting upon the grass. Other parties
were rambling about the woods, and singing, at the top of their lungs,
in chorus and good harmony, the peculiarly wild but riot unpleasing
national music ; and further on, in the gardens themselves, the
crowds and bustle of people, and numbers of boats waiting, formed
a picture such as the vivid fancy of the most enthusiastic painter
would delight in tracing. As we neared the landing-place the music
of the military bands came more distinctly on the ear, accompanied
with the laughs and shouts of the holiday-makers. In the midst of
this din we landed, and promenaded with the company round the
gardens. We found a mixture of all sorts ; some few smart parties
of ladies and officers, followed by servants of a peculiarly savage
appearance, in fierce cocked hats, and with huge canes; while in the
roads skirting the gardens, carriages and droskies were driving about

OJtIGIN OF THE PEOPLE. 43J

or waiting. A large tavern was overflowing, and every window
occupied ; in front of it, and under a large balcony or raised portico,
numerous parties were smoking and enjoying themselves. In one
part a crowd was collected round a military band ; in another spot a
temple was crammed. Some were flying at a fearful rate down what
the Parisians established in their 'capital under the denomination of
" Les Montagues Russes," and which amusement the Russians follow
with equal eagerness. In winter a frozen inclined plane is formed
upon the Neva, and they actually descend in sledges upon the ice.
The river was alive with boats, one of which we engaged, and
crossed over under the gardens belonging to the chateau of the
Master of the Hunt, where a superior military band was performing
some excellent pieces. After enjoying this animated and enlivening
scene till late, we were returning homewards, when our attention was
suddenly arrested by the most delicious, soft, and swelling music,
which came stealing down the river like the notes of an organ. On
making for the spot, we discovered it was the celebrated horn band,
similar to that which has gained such celebrity in England. They
were stationed in a boat, which was just allowed to drop gently down
with the stream. Being under the control of the Master of the
Hunt, their appointments are handsome — the uniform green and
gold. We bent our course homeward by water, quite enraptured
with the novel and beautiful effect produced by this band, as well as
delighted with the whole scene. Our raptures were however effec-
tually cooled before we disembarked, by a tremendous storm of
thunder and lightning, accompanied by a deluge of rain, which sent
us home drenched to the skin.

ORIGIN OF THE « PEOPLE."

Certain great events occurring at different periods of the world,
have produced an important and momentous change in the condition
of society — a change so striking as to have effected a complete revo-
lution in the manners, habits, and feelings of men, and to have
originated, as it were, a new order of beings.

Man — without education — confined to a small spot — condemned to
pass the prime of life, and the fast declining years of age in the same
place where first he drew breath — becomes feeble and circumscribed
in intellect ; his understanding, though acute and vigorous by nature,
becomes utterly incapable of grasping those ideas which require an
enlarged and powerful comprehension. His desires, his wishes —
bounded by the few objects which necessity points out as requisite for
the preservation of existence — wander not beyond these limits. The
world, with him, means the province or district which he inhabits.
In short, his state is but a few degrees removed from that of the
animals who graze on his fields.
. To the effects produced by an enlarged intercourse with the world

438 ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE.

in beings of such a character, may be attributed their gradual pro-
gress to civilization and refinement. The magnificence of nature,
the miraculous productions of art, the collision with superior minds,
enlarge and expand his ideas. He looks around him with surprise
and admiration, and believes himself translated to another world, so
utterly distinct are the things and persons which now meet his view.
And when he again visits his native land — again walks over his
paternal fields, does he relapse into the same dull course which con-
tented him in times of yore ? No ! The stores of knowledge which
he has collected in other climes, are transplanted to his native land,
destined to flourish and shoot forth with a vigour and strength which
in their original soil they were forbidden to attain.

The Crusades, undertaken for the recovery and possession of the
Holy Land, were our first advances from darkness into light. Whe-
ther we consider the state of Europe at the period immediately
preceding them, the expeditions themselves, or the consequences and
effects resulting from them, the illustration they afford to the prece-
ding remarks will be evident.

The monks, secluded from the world in the privacy and solitude of
a cloister, were estranged from all the endearing affections, the tender
charities of domestic life, They had few feelings in common with
the world. They were a distinct order of beings. The stores of
literature and science handed down from the classic ages, and depo-
sited in their custody, were neither made an object of study by
themselves, or communicated to the rest of the world. These trea-
sures of antiquity were left to the desolating hand of time, whose
destructive effects were but too often anticipated by the avarice of
their possessors, which converted them, from the scarcity of materials
for writing in those days, into depositories for the legends of their
patron saints, and the chronicles of their houses. They were effectual
checks to improvement and civilization.

The noble, inhabiting his solitary tower, or castle, resembled in his
state and mode of life a petty, though despotic sovereign, holding a
supreme jurisdiction, extending even to life and death, over his
vassals. The most atrocious acts of violence, the most savage deeds
of cruelty, the most tyrannic efforts of authority were exercised with
impunity, and almost without reproach, on his miserable dependants.
But could a contrary course of conduct be expected from men whose
education was confined to a dexterity in wielding the spear, a skill
and vigour in the management of the war-horse, and an address in
the use of arms ; whose mornings were spent in the pursuit of the
chase, or the prosecution of some unjust and barbarous feud — whose
evenings were devoted to riot and intemperance !

But if such was the noble, what then was the condition of the
vassal ? The miserable serfs, in a state of slavery, bound down like
beasts of burthen to the land which they cultivated, whose produce
was never destined to reward their labour, were entirely subjected to
the caprice and violence of their superiors, and dared not even raise
a murmur against their injustice, as their lives and property were
equally at their disposal.

The ameliorating hand of civilization had not yet impressed its

ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE. 439

softening mark on the features of a rude and barbarous age. Educa-
tion, whose power is sufficient to tame the most savage breast, had
not yet shed her influence over mankind ; and chivalry, the only
barrier able to withstand the incessant and violent approaches of
barbarism, was yet only in its infancy.

Here, then, was a fair field, a wide range for the development of
one of those moral impulses whose province it is to excite the spirit
of the age, to effect a revolution in the condition of man, and rouse
unknown powers into action. The master-spring was soon touched,
which set in motion one of these, and laid the foundation for that
superstructure of society which is at present our blessing and our
boast.

The history of Peter the Hermit is too well known to be dwelt
upon. Obscure and humble as he was^ of confined education, though
of great natural pov/ers, and animated by a fervent and enthusiastic
zeal for the interests of Christianity, he was the lowly instrument of
that great moral change in the condition of man, the effects of which,
though at first of slow growth, will be felt to distant times. Imagin-
ing himself inspired by a call from Heaven, he conceived the project
of preaching throughout Europe a crusade against the infidels, and
having detailed his scheme to the Pope, obtained every facility for
putting it into execution. He travelled on foot through Europe, and
endeavoured, by his bold and energetic harangues, to excite in all
classes that zeal, and that fervour which he himself really felt.

Inspired with a sincere and heart-felt belief in the truths of reli-
gion, and animated with feelings of veneration and respect for that
land, every foot of which was rendered sacred in their eyes, could
they hear unmoved those bursts of untaught and unpremeditated
eloquence which flowed from his lips, or listen without emotion to
his appeals ? In fine, his glowing and highly-painted descriptions
of the glory — the honour, attached to such expeditions, roused the
spirit of enterprise and adventure — the characteristics of the age.

It produced an effect almost miraculous, roused a preternatural
courage, excited an enthusiasm which scorned all difficulties, brooked
no delays. The old and the young, the weak and the strong, men
and even children demanded, with loud and eager cries, to be
invested with the sacred symbol of the cross — to be enrolled as
soldiers of Christ !

The deeds of past ages must not be measured with the cold and
critical spirit too often assumed in the examination of history. We
must divest ourselves of those prejudices which the refinements of
civilization, and the all- prevailing spirit of gain, are too apt to teach ;
we must abtract ourselves from our present philosophy, and imagine
ourselves seven centuries back in the age of the world, ere we can pro-
perly appreciate the motives of the soldiers of the cross. Again,
however mistaken to our minds may appear the motives of the people
of those times, ought we not more especially to regard that epoch as
the ameliorating cause of the present social state of our existence ;
for the effects produced by the crusades on the condition of society in
all its various classes, from the noble who inhabited his castle to the

440 ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE.

serf who tilled the ground, are of a character so striking as to involve
the origin of some of the most important changes which have taken
place in the world.

The class which at first received the greatest amelioration from
these expeditions, was perhaps that of the nobility. Full of savage
ferocity, the noble, unrestrained by any law, either divine or human,
obeyed no master save his own inclination, acknowledged no power
save superior strength. In him a fair subject was displayed for the
operation of one of those energies destined to alter the manners and
feelings of man. Summoned from his castle to undertake a distant
and perilous expedition, the greatness of the end, the high and lofty
character of the object gave existence to sensations never before ex-
perienced. That courage which previously exercised only in the
prosecution of petty feuds, was directed now to an enterprise not
only, he believed, without reproach, but claiming the admiration
and sympathy of Christendom. It roused an exalted enthusiasm.
Distance and danger begat sympathy ; and love, that all-powerful
softener of the human heart, now contributed to work its effect.

The soldier of the cross, separated from the lady of his love in
an absence of years, fondly and faithfully cherished her memory ; in
the solitude of his tent, in the hurry of approaching conflict, in the
heat of action, her image was ever present to his thoughts. The love of
woman — that passion which, pure and undebased, acts as the surest
safeguard of virtue, was carried to an excess bordering almost on
.idolatry. Religion, sharing the mind in conjuction with the tender
affections of nature, acquired a character of touching interest — of
ardent and sincere devotion. Separated from the scenes and objects
of his former tyranny, a lengthened absence rendered him forgetful
of the oppression hitherto deemed necessary to be exercised on his
vassals, and the fellow feeling of danger taught him to consider them
as beings formed with the same feelings, and fashioned in the same
mould as himself; and chivalry, that beautiful tree planted in the
chaos of the middle age, produced glorious fruit. Those who gather-
ed together beneath its branches, in the absence of recognised law,
formed a code for themselves, regulated by a stern and impartial
principle — honour, which surviving to modern times, has ever been,
next to religion, the most effectual barrier against the approaches of
vice.

What, then, were the beneficial effects of this great revolution
upon the poor victims of tyranny and oppression ? The picture
which they exhibit is so sad and revolting, as to excite the warmest
feelings of compassion, and to arouse the most animated indig-
nation.

The troops led forth by the seigneur to join the sacred army of
the cross, were often, from the want of vassals holding their lands by
the tenure of military service, obliged to have their ranks completed
by the admission of serfs. Did these men return to resume their pre-
vious condition ? No. By investing themselves with the holy
cross, they had acquired a character of peculiar sanctity. They who
had fought and bled under the hallowed crimson banner, could

ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE. 441

never again return to the degraded and servile state which marked
them in former days. The serf returned after an absence of years,
but no longer as an inferior being ; he now walked with the firm
and erect step of one who at length knew himself to be a man — who
was conscious that he had acquired rights which were not his before.
He had ascended in the scale of society., and might now look around
without fear of meeting contempt and scorn.

Even the peasants who remained at home, received advantages
from the crusading spirit. The deputy, to whom the seigneur had
delegated his jurisdiction, whilst absent, was unable to exercise the
sway which his master had held. The serfs regarded him not with
those feelings of reverence and respect which the presence of their
superior, however unworthy, had always called forth ; they hesitated
not to resist his mandates. This practice of resistance enduring for
years, at length became a settled habit ; the lord at his return could
no longer pursue his former system; where he expected to find
unhesitating compliance with his orders, he experienced determined
opposition, or what was almost as injurious to his power, a partial
and wavering obedience.

But the beneficial effects perceptible in the condition of the lower
orders, from those sources, were of limited extent, when compared
with those resulting from other causes, springing from an origin
equally curious and singular. The noble stimulated by the united
impulses of religion and a love of glory, to place himself under the
sacred banner, was obliged to have recourse to various methods for
raising the requisite funds. The peasant by dint of hard labour and
the accumulation of years, had acquired a portion of property, which
though small, was yet sufficient to raise in his breast a wish to improve
his condition. He was acquainted with the necessities of his supe-
rior, and was willing to give up a portion of his property to purchase
an exemption from certain exactions and services, and to obtain im-
munities and privileges hitherto unknown to him. A commutation
of the claim of personal service for a sum of money paid at stipulated
periods, and serving as an acknowledgement of feudal superiority,
a permission to associate themselves in towns, accompanied with the
privilege of being governed by a magistrate chosen by themselves, a
right to keep a market, and to hold fairs, were amongst the principal
immunities purchased by the peasants from the necessities of their
superiors. From these causes, insignificant as they may appear,
arose a class destined in after years to produce one of the most
important changes ever effected upon the aspect and features of the
world, and become the pride of the nation which owned it, the surest
bulwark against the attacks of foreign foes, the true foundation of
public wealth, the depository of private virtue, the most resolute
assertor of civil rights, the most intrepid defender of freedom — in a
word, the PEOPLE.

Commerce, originating also in such a source, created as it advanced,
that freedom which was to give it strength and stability. The king-
doms, founded by the crusaders in Palestine, opened anew and untried
path to the commercial adventurer. A secure and commodious
station was afforded for the importation of goods from Europe, and
M. M. No. 94. 3 L

ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE.

for the exportation of the luxurious produce of the East, until then
altogether unknown or of rare occurrence in more northern climes.

The merchant summoned forth all his energies, and ventured all
his wealth in a field of enterprize promising to crown his labours
with go rich a reward. Venice, Pisa and Genoa, started first and
foremost in the golden race. Their numerous fleets, freighted with
the produce of Europe, rode proudly over the waves to the havens of
Syria, to the ports obtained by arms or purchase on the shores of
Greece, and returned laden with a rich and bounteous freight. But
this lasted not with them. The gloomy reign of tyranny, the oppres-
sive sway of cruelty and injustice, the encroaching desire for foreign
dominion, brooked not the existence of that freedom, at once the
parent and child of commerce. With the fall of freedom, commerce
drooped and declined, and at length abandoning the unhealthy soil
of Italy, fled to a northern but more genial clime, where, flourishing
under the auspices of liberty, it has contributed to form those insti-
tutions, to establish that constitution — now the pride and boast of
England. It has made her the arbitress and mistress of nations, an
object of wonder and admiration to the world, the fruitful source
whence the greatest improvements in science, literature, and the arts
have emanated, the bearer of true religion to the unenlightened and
the savage, the protectress of the weak and oppressed, the chosen
soil of liberty.

Long may that freedom, her proudest boast, survive ; may her
gallant navies still ride triumphant over the waves, bearing the labour
of her sons to distant climes ; may she still afford a model to which
the nations of the old and new world may look and strive to imitate.
Thus shall she raise for herself a memorial more durable than monu-
ments of stone — one graven deep on the hearts of men — an impe-
rishable record of her glorious and eternal fame.

ARCHITECTURAL TASTE.

Ned Hudson, of old, was a drawer of teeth,
An extractor — I beg his pardon —
For the mouths of his friends he'd a tender hand,
But their purses, egad ! he laid hard on.

Now this gentle tooth-drawer, by powder and puff,
And such lore, grew wealthy and proud ; —
He resolved on erecting a " Forceps Hall,"
From the spoils of the fangless crowd.

And away to Curran he went, the wag

Who a dentist could never endure,

" Pray what order ?" said he, " ought my hall to be ?"

" Whv, the Tuskzn to be sure !"

REAL DEL MONTE MINES.

THE mines of Real del Monte, so celebrated for their former pro-
digious wealth, are situated in a very mountainous district, and at a
considerable elevation above the table land of Mexico. The town of
Real del Monte, about three miles from Omethan, at which place the
Socabon del Arcadero has its commencement, lies to the west of the
vale, and a little to the north of the celebrated Veta Bescania. Be-
tween the town and the river, and indeed in almost every direction,
the surface is exceedingly irregular, rising into small hills, and it is a
rare circumstance to find a patch of level ground in all the neigh-
bourhood. The whole of this district is porphyry of various shades
and colours; in many places it is decomposed, and it is in those
places that the most productive mines have been found. A company
was formed in England in the year 1825, of speculating mania, to
work these mines — and the extraordinary fluctuations in the shares of
this company is perhaps one of the most marked features in the history
of that singular period — dazzled by the gilded halo that surrounds
South America, and the romantic history of her early discovery, a
large class of our countrymen idly dreamt, through the medium of
British capital and science, of realizing, almost by magic, that Ame-
rican dream, the fabulous El Dorado. When, therefore, their mag-
nificent contemplations ended in disappointment, a baseless panic suc-
ceeded to their former confidence, and produced in the mercantile
world a boulversment, the like of which had not been felt since the
celebrated South Sea scheme.

But amid this general delusion, there were men of science, who
having nearly calculated all the difficulties to be overcome, shared
not in the general feeling of reaction that prevailed as to the mines
of Spanish America. On the contrary, they confidently predicted,
based upon geometric inductions, that, after a certain time, the most
magnificent results would be obtained. By the last accounts it now
appears that a vein of such extraordinary richness and extent has
been discovered, that will lead to an influx of wealth, unparalleled in
the commercial history of this country.

As the district of Real del Monte, in Mexico, is one which has ex-
cited much interest of late years in the public mind, some parti-
culars relative to the people who inhabit the country in which these
celebrated mines are situated may not be uninteresting. During the
period of my residence there, the native population of the town and
its immediate vicinity amounted to between two and three thousand ;
and our countrymen settled among them, as myself, in the employ of
the English Mining Company, varied from one hundred to nearly
double that number. The prevailing characteristic of the Mexicans
in general appeared to me, their extreme fickleness and volatility —
genus hominum mobile, infidum. A man, for instance, who to-day, on
the slightest provocation, has attempted to take your life, will on the
morrow throw his arms around you with the utmost cordiality, or
perhaps come to beg, with modest'assurance, the loan of a few dollars.

444 REAL DEL MONTE MINES.

Thus you may with impunity bestow a box on the ears on one of
your servants, according to his deserts or your own discretion ; whereas
his fellow, whose look would seem to imply an equal degree of hu-
mility, will be ready, like Kenneth of the Mist, to " pay a yard of
leathern scourge with a foot of tempered steel." The district of Real
del Monte is notorious for such catastrophes. One day, very shortly
after my arrival in the place, just as I had sat down at dinner, I heard
a cry of women, proceeding apparently from the next house. I in-
quired the cause from my cook, an old woman, who just then brought
in a dish, and she informed me, scarcely deeming it worth while to
turn her head, as she made the communication, that a murder was
committed in the adjoining house. Such an affair occurring among
one's immediate neighbours being rather more exciting to me than it
appeared to this old lady, I quitted my meal, and hastened to the
spot. There I saw the body of a man, lying quite dead on the
ground, in a pool of its own blood, Several persons standing near
were also besmeared in a hideous manner, and a lean dog, having
tasted the purple flood, began to lap it up eagerly. I looked at the
face of the victim. He was of a very swarthy complexion, and the
brows closely bent, gave him an expression dark as night, such as
might seem rather to suit the author than the victim of the crime by
which he had recently suffered. The act had been committed in the
most deliberate manner. Two carpenters, employed in the repairs of
the dwelling, quarrelled about a dollar, in consequence of which one
of them, grinding his chissel as sharp as possible, watched an oppor-
tunity of striking it up to the hilt in the heart of the other, as he
leaned against a wall. Death followed instantaneously. The size of
the weapon accounted for the great effusion of blood. None of the
spectators seemed much shocked at the circumstances, with the ex-
ception of two poor women, who, as I have before mentioned, were
crying ; not, I dare say, from any particular interest in the sufferer,
further than the abhorrence which deeds of violence and bloodshed
naturally excite in the bosoms of the softer sex. The assassin was
subsequently apprehended and imprisoned at Pachuca, a town at a
league distance. In eight days afterwards he had escaped. It was
unnecessary to inquire into the particulars, as I heard that he was in
some way related to the alcalde of the place.

Jealousy, " the injured lover's hell/' is not very prevalent among
the Mexicans, at least in their intercourse with each other, and we
may exclaim, with the Portuguese poet in a similar case :

" Ditosa condif;ao, ditosa gente,
Que nao sao de ciumes offendidos."

Lusiad, can. vii. st.41.

It is only against foreigners that its flames are excited. I have, on
more than one occasion, remarking an unusual degree of gravity and
reserve in the manner of a young person, elicited, on pressing for a
reason, the discovery that she had recently " confessed" and that the
padre had forbidden her to be on terms of familiarity with heretics.
The effects of such exhortations I have known to last about three
days, but, I believe, seldom longer. The Mexican women, like most

HEAL DKL MONTE MINES. 445

others, generally consult their own fancy in the choice of their lovers.
I cannot but smile when I think how strangely one of them would
look on a suitor who should found his claims to her favour on the
length of his purse or his pedigree. The very humblest orders ma-
nifest a degree of sentiment in affairs of the heart, and, when a cool-
ness arises, preserve a certain form in breaking them off. Amanuenses
drive a regular trade in cartas-de-amor with those who are unable to
write their own, and there is a sentiment conveyed even in the colour
of the wafer used on such occasions. I received once a visit at my
office from an old matron of respectable appearance, who, requesting
to speak with me aside, pulled from under her pano, or shawl, a huge
holly-hock, which she presented to me, she said, on the part of a nina,
or young damsel. There was, no doubt, some meaning in this also,
which I did not precisely comprehend, nor did I think it worth while
minutely to investigate, although the messenger seemed ready to
afford every elucidation in her power. But if the lowest classes in
Mexico do riot exhibit mercenary depravity, there is little increase of
refinement to be found even in the highest. With regard to the per-
sons of the Mexican fair, they may be allowed the credit of small and
pretty hands and feet ; but they are so far from contracting the size
of the latter, as the Chinese, by wearing small shoes, that many, from
the total omission of that article of dress, acquire, after a time, an un-
graceful dumpiness of the lower extremities. The time to view them
to the greatest advantage is certainly on their coming out of the
temascal, a kind of steam-bath, the ruddy glow thereby produced on
their cheeks, set off by their long coal-black streaming hair, tends to
make their appearance rather attractive. They often plait their hair
behind, so as much to resemble a tail, which, though far from orna-
mental, they have a great dislike to being deprived of by force or
fraud. I once heard a woman complaining bitterly of a man who
had cut off her queue. Her grief I at first attributed to the intrinsic
value of the hair, which, as I had been informed, is often sold for the
decoration of images in the churches. I now learnt, however, that
such an act enforced contrary to her inclinations, is considered as' a
brand of infidelity.

Hitherto I have spoken of the Mexican Creoles in general, as
found in the district or vicinity of Real del Monte. In all these the
mixture of Spanish blood with the native Indian was manifest, and
mostly, as might be expected, in those of superior station. But we
often received visits from a purer race, the primitive Indians, whose
peculiarities afforded curious matter of remark. They came, at cer-
tain seasons, bringing for sale birds, inhabitants of the hotter regions
of the plains: cardinals, calandrias, the sinsonti or mocking-bird,
and various other species, which do not breed at so great a height as
Real del Monte. These Indians were a timorous people, and exces-
sively stupid, hardly possessing the few words of Spanish necessary
to carry on their trade. I observed that in the disposal of their
stores, having fixed the separate price of each bird, they would by no
means make the least abatement in consideration of the buyer's taking
their whole *fetock at once. Their dress was usually a plain cotton
frock and trowsers, with an ordinary straw hat. Some brought bows

446 HEAL DEL MONTE MINES.

and arrows, but were unwilling to part with them, and shewed a
strong reluctance to any dealings out of the usual line of their traffic.
I obtained, however, from one of them, whom I tempted by a dis-
play of the money, for one dollar, his bow and arrow, as well as a
purse made of a beautiful squirrel-skin, from which the body had
been extracted through the mouth, so cleverly, that the orifice was
not enlarged by the operation. The bow was about five feet in
length, and the arrow two or three feet. With these the owner gave
me to understand that he had been accustomed to kill rabbits and
the smallest game.

There were within a short distance of Real del Monte several scat-
tered settlements of people, also called by the general name of
Indians, but not without an evident though slight mixture of
Spanish blood. In comparison with the above-mentioned race, they
claim for themselves the appellation of ' gente de razon.' Indeed if
less pure in their origin than the others, it must be allowed that they
are far more entertaining in their characters. I frequently explored
their rural haunts, where the chief place of concourse is always the

aue-shop. One Sunday, as I rested on a bank, near a place of the
, an Indian issued forth, very drunk, but observing me with a
book in my hand, in what perhaps seemed to him a contemplative
mood, he approached and gravely remarked, " mucha presencia de
Dios" — words evincing an intelligence hardly to be expected from
him. I often entered into conversation with these harmless people,
and was much amused at their patronizing manner of assenting to
any proposition of mine which met their approbation. They seemed
to look at each other with pleased surprise, that seemed to say, s well,
these strangers are not such fools after all/ On one occasion I re-
member a man with a great wen growing out of his cheek, which
prevented him from speaking very plainly, but who nevertheless ap-
peared to be the oracle of the party, as turning round from time to
time, in answer to my propositions, he would ' nod the head' to the
rest, with an air that exactly reminded me of my old French master,
who would occasionally condescend to say, " mais il raisonne bien."
As a whet to our discussion, I sometimes treated my friends to their
favourite beverage of pulque, which they would acknowledge if de-
sired by dancing a xarabe or fandango, with all their might, and
singing to it at the same time. In the chorus, they have the art of
introducing the donor's name, which they drawl forth in a most ex-
traordinary manner ; some, to give it a deeper emphasis, lying down
on their backs, their mouths half covered by their cloaks, whence
they produce a very curious deep base tone.

The character of a nation often displays itself greatly in the choice
of their amusements. The anniversary of the surrender of the castle
of San Juan de Ullua* gives rise to great rejoicings and festivities,
which the Mexicans are always glad of an opportunity to indulge in.
It is true, the garrison of the castle had surrendered from mere
famine, and consequently more owing to the remissness of the

* The event look place November 17, 1825.-

A QUESTION FOll ALGEBRAISTS.

Spanish government than to any efforts of the Mexican patriots. This
consideration, however, did not check the exultation of victory, nor
damp the spirit of the balls, or cock, and bull-fights, or lessen the
number of fire- works let off in honour of the event. The author of a
congratulatory address on the occasion calls on his " beloved coun-
trymen to let off millions of crackers in manifestation of their just
joy at so memorable a success." I confess myself no connoisseur in
crackers, but as far as I can judge, the Mexicans seem to excel in
such compositions. They have what they call toros, or bulls, a col-
lection of crackers fixed on the head of a man, with which he runs
into the midst of a crowd, butting after the most approved fashion of
that animal. But their grandest display is in the Castillo, an erection
of various fireworks, like a kind of castle, which, being ignited at the
top, burns gradually to the ground. " No hay de esos en su pai's." —
" There are none of those in your country," said a quarrelsome old
fellow to me, on one of these nights of festivity. " No hay, no hay,"
he repeated, shaking his fore-finger at me in drunken defiance, and
it would not have been quite safe to have risked a contradiction of his
assertion.

The Mexican bull-fights scarcely merit a description, — a mere
caricature of the chivalrous and romantic spirit which animated
Spanish exhibitions of the kind. The combatants prance about a
great deal, and afford tolerable displays of horsemanship, but with
little real exposure, the horns of the bull being usually cut to pre-
vent mischief. The female part of the spectators seem not the least
interested in the amusement, because there is no danger. Both sexes,
however, little to their credit, take still more delight in the cock-
fights, where the poor birds are armed with slashers, longer and
broader than a common penknife, and kept in the sharpest state pos-
sible, so that the first blow in most cases decides the battle.

A QUESTION FOR ALGEBRAISTS.

Two Arabs had sat down to dinner, and were accosted by a
stranger, who requested to join their party, saying, " that as he could
lot get provisions to buy in that part of the country, if they would
admit him to eat only an equal share with themselves, he would
willingly pay to them for the whole." The frugal meal consisted of
eight small loaves of bread, five of which belonged to one of the
Arabs, and three to the other. The stranger having eaten a third
part, and each of the two Arabs a third part of the tight loaves, arose
and laid before them eight pieces of money, saying, " my friends,
there is that which I promised to you, divide it between you accord-
ing to your just rights," A dispute, of course, arose respecting the
division of the money; but a reference being made to the Cadi, he
adjudged seven pieces of money to the owner of the five loves, and
only one piece to him who had owned the three loaves. Yet the
Cadi decided justly.

THE TRIUMPH OF TASTE.

THAT man is a most dignified animal, capable of endless refinement
arid elevation, and that he is not allied by continuous degrees, or
lineal descent, to monkeys, oysters, or potatoes, is no longer a position
of contested validity ; but is now received as a truth which demon-
stration has removed beyond the bound of rational suspicion. Univer-
sal, however, as may be the approval of this splendid fact, it is
possible that general esteem may sink into particular indifference,—
that while admiring the vast edifice of human grandeur, we may
overlook or neglect the more minute excellence of its component
parts. It is, therefore, to countervail the effects of such a contin-
gency, that attention is directed to those miracles of mind and
triumphs of taste, which slight observation will enable us to discover
in the present enlightened generation of mankind.

As parsons adduce their text at the commencement of a sermon, so
may we be allowed to state the " first principles" of our projected dis-
course, namely, that all the improvements — all the elegant moves —
whether visible or invisible — of these our modern times, do all arise
from that grand primum mobile, Taste. To wit —

Sight is the great inlet to the mind, and is the " remote" or " prox-
imate" cause of the most of the phenomena to which our subject
alludes. Most especially does it seem to influence the fair descen-
dants of Eve, to whom — as in duty bound by politeness — we first
address ourselves. Who hath not thought that these sweet inhabitants
of a corrupt and unruly world, must possess great sensibility of taste,
or, to speak phrenologically, must have size and colour well developed
in their metaphysical containers ? No one can deny that the faculty .
of size manifests itself in the magnitude of a certain concomitant of
the head, called a bonnet, which seldom fails to exhibit a variety of
colours which would make Harlequin blush at his paucity of hues.
Other parts in the dress of these " angels of light," display due pro-
priety of decoration. The arms, for instance, #re regarded as espe-
cially deserving of notice and distinction, and are therefore furnished
with a splendid establishment of sleeve. The old ideas of proportion
are grown quite obsolete, and receive the just contempt of antiquated
absurdity. It is evident, that the arms ought to be as broad in
appearance as the shoulders or waist ; in this respect Nature com-
mitted a sad mistake. Another member of the corporation, which
ironically takes the chair, is rendered by art of great importance and
bustle. Now these, with other astonishing things that might be
mentioned, do surely demonstrate, that, as Blair says, in speaking of
Taste, " throughout the circle of human nature, nothing is more
universal than the relish of beauty of one kind or other."

In another department of modern fashion, is taste obtaining a
miraculous triumph. For ages previous to the period when Brougham
gave marching orders to universal intellect, it was the opinion of our
unenlightened ancestors, that English songs were suitable to English
people. What a delusion ! What a degrading absurdity ! How

THE TRIUMPH OF TASTE. 449

infatuated was Beattie, when his otherwise powerful pen defended
native melodies ! That period of darkness hath vanished ; and now,
such are the miracles of modern mind, that the accomplished tallow-
chandler's wife, instead of weighing soap or retailing dips, reads " La
Belle," and maintains that no person of taste can tolerate English
after Italian songs, except such as the delightful " Cherry Ripe" —
especially at that classic part of it,

K< If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer there f(^
Where my Julia's lips do smile,
That's the land of Cherry Isle ! "

This has acquired universal popularity by its intrinsic merit, as is
evinced by the countless multitude who warble it to their rapt and
admiring friends.* But even " the like of this," must give way to
such as " Di TantL" The ignorance of the language is thought to
give great effect to the Italian songs. The harmonious combinations
of the poetical language of modern Rome, instil sweets to every ear
recipient of genuine harmony, without the aid of that obsolete and
detested thing called the understanding. There is always a reaction
from public opinion ; and hence the Royal Academy of Music have
adopted measures consonant with the popular taste and sentiments.
The pupils whom that august institution hath sent forth, have echoed
none but the enchanting strains of Italy, and left those of Gothic
Scotland, England, and Ireland to be warbled by dustmen for the
edification of tap-rooms. How triumphant is taste, in thus causing a
relish for foreign beauties, and a dislike for the coarseness of native
productions ! Cannot the few remaining particles of the original
British character be destroyed ?

From the mere dulce of that advancing principle of mind, whose
progress and operations we have attempted to illustrate, let us read
to the utile, as manifested in some modern demonstrations of phi-
losophy.

First, then, we mention the celebrated Hume, (not the financier,
but the philosopher), (not the M.P. but the historian.) His taste
was sublimated to that degree of celestial purity, that he could not
tolerate any thing so gross as matter. He was, emphatically, " all
mind." His system excluded the vulgar necessity of arms, legs, and
body — the culinary osseous, muscular and integumental parts, and
which were not bona .fide, solid and substantial — regular flesh and so
forth — but immaterial and notional, mere refined concretions of ab-
stract ideas. He had, in short, by his own account, the essential
attributes of a ghost, though there is no authenticated record that
they ever evaporated up a chimney, vanished through a key-hole, or

* Perhaps there is scarcely one of the thousand and one " first-rate singers,"
to say nothing of the multiplied myriads of amateurs, that have perpetrated this
ditty upon their friends and the public, who has the least notion that it was
written by Herrick, one of the truest and most original of poets. We feel it
due to the spirit of Herrick to say, that no man has written more brilliant things ;
and it is indeed hard, when an author's faults are remembered, that his beauties
should be forgotten.

M . M. No. 94. 2 M

450 THE TRIUMPH OF TASTE.

precipitated his volatile body through the idea of a window, upon the
idea of the pavement beneath — till this arose from a miracle of mind,
which was quite harmless — though the fear that a philosopher, who
had put an end to his own existence, should destroy that of his fellow-
creatures, caused, at the time, some laudable preparations for general
safety.

From a similar principle of enlightened intellect, it has been
affirmed, with an awful gravity suited to the practical importance of
the subject, that the sun is a body of ice, and not a vulgar lump of
material fire. This deduction is philosophically drawn from the ac-
knowledged ordinary fact, that hot bodies chill the surrounding
atmosphere, and that cold ones heat it ; or to render the doctrine
more lucid and intelligible, that a burnt finger is in reality only frost-
nipped. The discovery of this truth is likely to be of immense ad-
vantage to science and mankind. By a process still more severe,
have the inquiring energies of a modern philosopher discovered an
error in the hypothesis or demonstration concerning gavitation and
the system of the universe. He has, therefore, just upset the whole
Newtonian theory, and shewn up Sir Isaac as a mere old woman. He
is also a sublime instance of the peripetetic philosophy, walking him-
self into wisdom, political, abstract, and sympathetic. What but the
operation of taste — a " relish of beauty of one kind or other," could
have converted a great general into an eminent statesman ? Previous
to this miraculous transformation, he did assure his countrymen that
the disposition to such a change would indicate absolute insanity on
the part of him, the deponent. The conversion has been made, and

his Grace is a man of strict veracity ! Or what but a

similar principle could alter the professed adamantine sentiments of
one who frequently did avow that the country would never witness
in him a Peal of changes !

Whence the brilliant multitude of gentleman novelists, who have
been excited, from the downy ease of affluence, to describe the instruc-
tive scenes of high life ; and by whose emanations of genius are the
more plebean orders informed of the great wisdom and virtue of their
superiors ? Or whence the noble philanthropists who refine the na-
tional manners by examples of duelling, gambling, boxing, and cock-
fighting ? Whence all modern talent ?

In modern philosophy, in music, in poetry, in religion, in wicked-
ness, in every conceivable mode of life, Taste is the primum mobile,
the solvent of all mystery ; for " throughout the circle of human
nature, nothing is more universal than the relish of beauty of one kind
or other." The desire of being admired includes the essence and
endless modes of taste. Let, therefore, moral philosophers mitigate
their sufferings on account of the folly, the blindness, and misery of
mankind — as they are termed by people who have no relish for
things so designated. Let critics suspend their severity ; let Owen
cease to agitate that part where brains should have been, assured that
every state is created by unerring necessity, and that to quarrel with
circumstances, as they are, insults his own doctrine, and degrades
4<r the rule of right, and the eternal fitness of things." Let Brougham
contort his pubislic visage without ridicule, till place shall allay his

TO A MAGDALEN. 451

righteous zeal for a misgoverned people. Let the prospective aboli-
tion of the corn-laws [console the hungry, while the new beer bill
inspires delight among the amateurs of heavy wet.

Spirit of the gentle Thikes ! thou that didst account for every phe-
nomenon, visible and invisible, mental and physical, by thy sovereign
principle of associated ideas, how wouldst thou exult at the present
advancing prospects of society, if thou couldst peep through the win-
dows of the other world, and see into this nether sphere, how wouldst
thou glory in the great and essential changes of thy beloved country,
and reiterate, if the disembodied have the gift of speech, " That taste
which is the association of ideas, will prove the salvation of universal
man, and infinite perfection close the scene."

TO A MAGDALEN.

I saw thee, and I knew thee

In thy girlhood's golden days —
When the coldest came to sue thee,
And in wild devotion woo thee

With love's own faltering praise ; —
Wrung from their rugged nature

By thy beauty's forceful powers :
For thou seem'd'st in mind and feature
Some fair and faultless creature,
Of a better world than ours. —
O ! that so pure and peerless,

So sinless and unstained,
So cloudless and so tearless —
Thou ever had'st remained !

I see thee, and I know thee

With a beating, burning heart : —
How could guilt o'erthrow thee
In heart and soul — yet shew thee

So bright as still thou art ! —
So lovely — so alluring —

As some fair temple shines !
Tempest and time enduring,
But mournfully immuring

Its stained and shiver'd shrines. —
'Tis all delusive seeming,

I've seen thy fearful start,
When youth burst thro' thy dreaming ; —
God help thy broken heart !

W. G. A.

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II.

FOR the following paper we are to some extent indebted to an
article in the first part of the Revue des Deux Mondes for September,
which we received late in the month. We had translated a great
portion of the article, when, feeling some doubt as to the sense of a pas-
sage, we referred to the original Latin in the British Museum, and there
discovered the French version of the letters in many places so very
inaccurate, that we hastily determined upon a new translation of those
extracts we had already made. The reader's indulgence, is solicited
for this explanation, because the necessity of getting to press within a
fixed time, allowed no leisure for correction. We ran the risk of
committing errors ourselves, rather than offend the reader by printing
the errors of others with our eyes open, and apologise accordingly.
There are two men of the same name mentioned by Bayle, and both
of them ecclesiastics and eminent authors, but they are not to be con-
founded with the subject of this article, to whom, however, it has
been asserted, that they were both related, although, as far as one of
them is concerned, on no better grounds, we apprehend, than that he
was particularly favoured and promoted by his namesake.

With every people there are epochs so rich in events, in incidents,
and recollections, that history can neither exhaust, or indeed ever
wholly comprise them. In Italy, the fifteenth century is one of these
epochs : a host of original talents, adventurous spirits, and rare and
lively destinies, belong to that age from which we revive at random
the name of ^Eneas Sylvius Piccolomini, poet, traveller, ambassador,
and pope, who, notwithstanding these four materials for fame, has
been unable to save himself from being forgotten.

Piccolomini was born in 1405, at Corsiguano, a small Tuscan town,
which he afterwards raised to a bishopric. Descended from an
illustrious family, he was reared with care : his success in study was
so great, that while yet young he was distinguished for the ease with
which he wrote amatory poetry in Latin and Tuscan. But he soon
gave a different direction to his talents : he became secretary to Car-
dinal Caprani, and in that capacity attended the Council of Basle.
Returning to Italy, he attached himself to Cardinal de St. Croix,
and with this new patron travelled over France, all Italy, and
Germany. Soon after he returned to Basle, where the council was
still sitting, and becoming intimate with Pope Martin the Fifth,
wrote several pieces in behalf of the council against the rival Pope
Eugenius the Fourth. At this period Piccolomini was in his twenty-
fifth year : afterwards, the Emperor Albert the Second, made him his
poet-laureate and secretary ; he was subsequently engaged in diplo-
matic affairs, and was charged with a delicate mission to the same
Pope Eugenius, against whom he had so repeatedly written, and by
whom he was, notwithstanding, ere long, made private secretary, and
soon after was ordained archdeacon in his twenty-ninth year. It was
in the same pontificate he was successively elected bishop of Trieste

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS IT. 453

and of Sienna ; Calixtus III. gave him a cardinal's hat ; and at the
death of that pope, ^Eneas Sylvius succeeded to the keys of St. Peter,
August 27, 1458, by the name and style of Pius II.

Such in brief was the career of Piccolomini : as a man of letters he
must be considered a fertile writer — for he is the author of an Ac-
count of the Council of Base, a History of Bohemia, a Cosmography,
Treatises on Rhetoric and Education,*&c. &c. which together with his
letters, form a large folio of more than a thousand pages. These
letters he arranged and published himself. They are characterised
by an extreme good-nature, and, but for a certain aim at effect, inse-
parable perhaps from all studied compositions,are marked by an almost
religious simplicity, which half induces one to look at them more in
the light of confessions than any thing else. The collection is cer-
tainly a very curious one : it presents a true portrait of one of the
first men of his time, painted by himcelf with great freedom and but
little artifice. We have purposely extracted from those letters, which
show the man, and not the bishop or the pope. The private life of a
scholar and a clergyman, at a remote date, is more instructive, or at
least more entertaining, than the history of a public character. If the
example be not always the most edifying, let it be remembered that
the true picture of deserving humanity in all ages, consists not in the
entire absence of misconduct and sin, but rather in a decent sorrow
and becoming atonement for the errors, without which we can none
of us hope to live.

The first letter we shall abridge is one to his father, on which we
shall only premise that it was written when our author was thirty,
but before he became a bishop ; he printed it, however, when he was
pope.

" ^Eneas Sylvius, Imperial Poet, to his Father Sylvius,
" Greeting. — You write me word, father, that you are in doubts as to
whether you should rejoice or be sorry that God has given me a child. But
I regard it as a subject of joy and not of sorrow. For what is sweeter in
nature than to beget a likeness to one's-self, to extend, as it were, the currept
of one's blood, and have something to leave after one. What on earth is more
blissful than to behold the children of our children. To me, in truth, it is a
mighty pleasure that my seed has been fruitful, and that before you die,
something from me shall survive, and I thank the Lord for having made this
woman's offspring a boy, that another little ^Eneas shall play around you,
father, and my mother, and afford you that consolation which his father ought
to have rendered. If my birth was a subject of rejoicing to you, why should
not my son's please you ? And will not the boy's face rejoice you, when you
see in it the image of mine ? Will it not delight you, when the little one
hangs from your neck and indulges in his infantine gambols ? But, perhaps,
you grieve for my crime, my son having been begot in sin. — I know not what
opinion you may entertain of me, but flesh and blood yourself, you gave life

* In the British Museum we find, besides two folio editions of his works, the
following, in separate volumes : — Historia Bohemica ; Epistolse, Cosmographia,
Asise Europeeque Elegantissima Descriptio ; Fasciculus rerum Expetendarum
ac Figuendarum, Parrallela,A. Gousina ; Commentarii ;De ortu et Authoritate
Sacri Roman! Imperil ; Historia Gothica ; Epistola de Fortuna ; De llemedio
Amoris Epistola ad Mahometan! Principem Turcorum ; Historia de Duobus
Amantibus.

454 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II.

to no son of iron or of stone in me. I am not of the number of the frigid
I am no hypocrite, anxious to appear better than I really am. I confess my
error ingenuously, because I am neither a greater saint than David, nor wiser
than Solomon. The offence is an old one, and I know not who has escaped
it. Remember how gay a bird you have been yourself. But you will
tell me, I suppose, that there are certain bounds to be set to this ap-
petite; 'tis most true, and yet the crime often breaks through the
bars of matrimony. There are too, certain bounds to drinking and eating,
and talking ; but who keeps within them ? The hypocrite asks, who is so
just as not to fall seven times a day, and boasts that he is himself conscious
of no fault ; but I am sensible of no merit in myself; piety alone gives me
hopes of mercy, for I know that all are weak and prone to fall.

As you are, however, so anxious to be assured that you are not bringing
up the child of another person as mine, I will briefly relate to you how this
came to pass. Two years have hardly passed since I discharged the office of
orator at Strasburg, where, idling for some days, a woman arrived from
Britain, and put up at my hotel. She was neither unhandsome nor over
old. Being excellently versed in Italian, she addressed me in the Tuscan
dialect, which was the more grateful, as in that country it is not commonly
spoken. I was delighted with the conversation of this woman, from whose
lips fell the greatest grace and wit. Presently I began to think of the elo-
quence of Cleopatra, who ensnared not only Anthony, but the great Julius
Caesar ; and who, I asked myself, shall condemn an humble individual like
me, should I act as other great men have not disdained to do ? I adverted
sometimes to the example of Moses ; sometimes of Aristotle, and referred to
us Christians. But what need of more ! desire triumphed. I burned with love
of this woman, and appealed to her with every blandishment. But she
despised my addresses, as the rocks repel the waves, and for three days
would not see me. Knowing that she was to go away in the morning/ I
could not make up my mind to let the game escape. I spoke to her again ;
I entreated her not to fasten the bolt of her chamber ; I assured her I would
come at the very stillest hour of the night. Still she denied me, and gave no
hopes of success. Every one went to bed. For my part, I sat down and
began to think whether she would leave the door open, as I insisted, or not.
At last, having turned over in my mind all sorts of adventures of the same
sort, I said to myself, I must make the attempt, and finding every thing quiet
in the house, I drew near the chamber; the door was shut, but not
bolted, I entered. — and thus it was I became a father. I did not know of her
being in the family way, until, being at Base, I met with her again. For
some time I thought that her object was money. But now that I can
really certify that she looks for nothing from me, and the name and time
correspond, I think the child belongs to me. I therefore beg of you, father,
to adopt him, and to rear him up until he grows big enough to return to me,
and I can attend to his education. Above all, rest assured, that his mother
has founded no hopes of fortune upon the birth of this child."

Our next extracts we shall choose for the sake of contrast. At this
time of his life, it is evident that piety did not sit with half the natural
grace that gaiety did upon our future Pope.

" ^Eneas Sylvius, Imperial Poet, to the Reverend Father in Christ, Bartho-
meus, Bishop of Navara,

" Greeting. — Many and countless are the benefits I have received from
you ; nor could I make a condign return for them, even though a thousand
years of life were granted me : all, however, that is in my power, I shall not
fail to perform. Nothing is more precious than the soul. We should care
for it and cultivate it beyond all things ; aught else is deciduous, transitory,
mortal — but that lives for ever. If we have good care of it, we shall taste
through it of eternal joys j if we neglect it, of pains. Lead by these

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II. 455

considerations, I have decided upon offering to you many letters which
have been sent to the court here from the East. They are full of such
excellent counsel, that the soul naturally inclines to the admonitions they
contain, and by observing their contents, cannot fail to attain the bliss of
eternal life. Adieu."

Sylvius, Imperial Poet, to Berthold de Lunebourg, a liberal and

half-prodigal Writer to the Imperial Chancellary,
" Greeting. — We have received the letter in which you invite us to sup.
We accept the burthen you would impose ; and are preparing our stomachs
accordingly : do you see that they do not return empty. It matters little
that the host be at home, if the partridges' and capons represent him at the
table. As to mine hostess, we will meet her with pleasure — we will embrace
her, and should it so please her — not be slack in doing more for her. If you
hold to any rights, have a care how you share them ; what is for the general
good ceases to be private. You know how dexterous Michael's hands are —
you know the eloquence of Wolfgang, and how easily he persuades. As to
Winceslaus, he is luxury personified, and however Jacob pretends to be only
a boy, you are not to let him see you bait the mousetrap with bacon, even
though it be Lent ; Lewis says nothing, but pries into every corner like a
mouse. If then you desireto have us, all must be shared in common, or no-
thing. There is however one cure, you may give us so much to drink,
that sleep shall prove stronger than love. We will come, however, although
aught else being wanting, we shall have got you left in person."

To show that scarce a subject has been left unembellished by our
imperial Poet and embryo Pope, we shall next translate the 45th
letter, addressed to one of his friends, named Peter, in which he dis-
courses notably of marriage and women, and says a few words of
himself, which go some way to indicate the natural genius of the
individual. The description given of rich wives, will operate, we
trust, as a warning to fortune-hunters.

" Methiriks it has fallen out fortunately with you, since you have
made choice of a well-favoured virgin who suits your way of life, and
will live not after her own, but after your habits. You do not
tell me of her poverty : he who takes a wife marries not gold but a
woman. What I should like myself in marriage would be, a wife
chaste, handsome, and fruitful. If these conditions were fulfilled,
I should exact nothing more. Oh ! beleive me, my dear Peter, it
seldom happens that rich wives do not betray great defects. One
often finds in them, drunkenness, pride, anger, falsehood, and
adultery. In general, they are ugly, barren, and ill-tongued, never
giving their husbands peace. It seems your little one has none of
these defects — but that she is not rich. So be it. Return thanks to
heaven, that you have enough, and fill a lucrative situation. You
know the story of the Marquis of Saluces, who, wearied of
Court vices and excesses, took to wife a certain girl named
Griselda, who tended cattle in the forests. You know that the orderly
and modest life of this wife has served, and still serves, as a model
to all women, making those who rank above her, her inferiors. Who
shall stop you in your object, when princes themselves have not been
afraid of marrying poor girls ? As for me, my dear Peter, I advise
you not to be in a hurry to marry, if, as you say, the girl is gentle, and
agrees well with you. You have an advantage which others do not

456 THE LIFE ASD LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II.

often find : you have put her to the proof before marriage. Do not be in
a hurry then — so many men have been deceived in marrying without
sufficient knowledge. What hidden faults are not discovered a few
days after the wedding — source inexhaustible of chagrin and sorrow
to husbands. I judge by what has happened to myself: I have
loved and known many women, who, a few days after, have become
odious to me. So that, I tell you, were I a marrying man, I would
make choice of none but a person whose habits and manners I was
thoroughly acquainted with. I speak plainly to you on this subject,
for I know your thoughts, and remember hearing you say that you
would take no woman to wife, but one who should feel and acknow-
ledge that she owed every thing to you. It seems to be that you have
it in your power to do as you please, if you will only be true to your-
self. Marry then, and when I return to Italy, if I am to return to
it, I will go and see you with your wife, your children, in the midst
of your hounsehold; you will give me a seat at your board,
and I shall eat of your bread. Let it not alarm you that I am
in the habit of seeing the great, and living in the midst of their
luxury : all that has few charms for me ; and I would quit them
willingly to return to my country, provided I could do so without
being a beggar for life. You know the prince I serve is of no party,
all his care is to preserve union in Europe. A faithful servant cannot
wish for any thing but what his master desires ; therefore, I offer my
my vows to heaven for the success of his designs, which appear to
me to be good One thing is certain, and that is that the royal favour
has fallen on you, and on me also ; and as the Count is about to grow
richer, with the blessing of God, we shall be able to feel the benefit
of it. When will that happen ? I know not. I insinuate myself with
the King : I will obey him in all things ; I will follow in his footsteps ;
I will wish as he wishes ; I will never contradict him ; I will never
attempt any thing that does not immediately concern myself — for
nothing is more dangerous than to desire to meddle with the
affairs of a country one does not belong to. I am a stranger here ;
and I play the part of the Parasite, Guaton. They say yes, I say
yes ; they would have no, I say no. Do they do good, I praise them ;
are they fools, so much the worse for themselves. In short, I
neither envy the greatness, nor bewail the disgrace of one of them !
Whatever I learn, I shall transmit to you without reflections. I
shall know how to hold my tongue, and obey when necessary. I
shall say no more to you to-day, but bid you not to forget to give me
news of Mr. Thomas, and write how your marriage project gets on.
Adieu !"

This marriage project seems to have occupied our friend Eneas'
mind somewhat deeply ; for we have another epistle on the subject
immediately after. But we must pass it over. It must not be
imagined, however, that the correspondence of the future Pontiff
turns exclusively on light and familiar topics. He treats of the
questions agitated in the Council of Basle — combats the arguments
furnished by Pope Euginius IV. ; speaks of the King of Arragon
who presumed to fight the Turks near Rhodes, and generally enter-
tains the various political and religious events which engaged

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II.

the spirit of the time. As we have heard him on love, gallantry.,
marriage, and courtiership, let us spare a line or two for friendship ;
on which, addressing himself to his friend, John Campisio, a great
philosopher, he writes —

" That you should commend my friendship, and hold it steadfast, I
cannot read without pleasure ; for if, generally speaking, I would not
take praise to myself, knowing how seldom I deserve it, I can declare,
without needing to blush for it, that once I do love, I love on most obsti-
nately. I am not easily led into friendship ; and I am very far from looking
upon all men as being worthy of becoming my friends. To my superiors, I
am fastidious, and must consider a man better than I am myself before I
make any friendship with him. Thus, if I am slow in entering upon a friend-
ship, I am tardy in withdrawing from it. In a word, I am a fast friend.
Of the many I have loved, there has not, as yet, been one whom I hate
at this moment.

It is pleasant to remark, that as we get farther into the correspon-
dence, we find the wisdom of ripe years in the writer, succeeding to
the wildness of youth. Letters now present themselves in which the
vicissitudes of life, and the time to come, are spoken of with
becoming gravity and correctness — as in the eleventh letter to Con-
stant Frederic, Chancellor of Trieste, from which, we have only
room for a single observation : —

" The last action a man has to perform is to die ; and although everything
be well done up to that, yet if he misses his object there, all the rest goes for
nothing. It is then as with a poet who breaks down in the fifth act."

But, perhaps, a better idea of his sincerity,and the really good work
of reformation which time was now gradually producing with JEneas,
may be gathered from an extract on that subject, on which we have
already seen that his wit was so quaint, so lively, and discursive —
we mean gallantry. Touching an affair of this kind, he thus addresses
John Friend, prothonotary of Cologne :

" A few days ago, I received two letters from you, excellently written arid
full of interest. I hardly know where to begin, but will follow the order
you have yourself adopted. I shall first speak of the young girl you have
given up to her suitor. I praise you for that action : for what is there more
praiseworthy than to join those in marriage who are about to bring forth
children, and fill the state with sons. But that after having done this, you
should grieve is unnatural ; it is not the province of virtue to breed sorrow.
He who acts virtuously is happy : he grieves who sins. How comes it then that
you are full of grief after having done an act of virtue. I think you have done
good and not acted well. It is not what we do, but how we do it, that should
be considered. The end in all things is chiefly to be regarded. If you took this
girl under your protection to save her from harm you did well. But if you
were driven to that action by the fear of God's punishment, or only out of
fear of the sentence the world would have passed upon you, that suffices not.
You ask me next for a cure, and you will have no antedote furnished by the
poets : take the Evangelist ; you will find in him that fornication is death.
If you know yourself you are happy in having cut off the means of offending.
But how strict JEneas' is become, you will say, he now preaches up conti-
nence, ; at Vienna he held quite another sort of language. I do not deny it,
my dear John. I did so talk to you formerly, but many years have gone over
our heads since. Then we are growing old ; the day of death is drawing
nearer, we have now to think not how we may live, but how we are to die.

M.M. No. 94. 3 N

468 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II.

That man, indeed, is strictly unhappy who, nevef having experienced the
grace of God, never questions his heart, enters within himself, amends his
life, in short, who does not reflect after this life what may befal him in ano-
ther. As for me, my dear John, I have erred enough, and far more than
enough. At present I know myself, and would to God that this had not
come to pass so late. Now is my time for fasting, salvation, and mercy,
Put this girl out of your head. Imagine her dead. — You would still live, I
presume. What enjoyment is there you could have had with her that is not
fleeting. What pleasure is there that man can taste with woman that is not
fugitive and momentary! And is he not [a fool who forgets what is eternal
for what is but temporary, nay, but momentary. I borrow the language
of the theologians, because you will not listen to what the poets say, &c."

" Tell us not of a successor: after having abandoned one woman to fall
in love with another, what is that but leaping out of one fire into another.
Fly, I beseech you, the whole race of womankind; give that plague up alto-
gether, and when you meet a woman, believe that it is the devil that faces
you. But why do I hold this language to you, when I know I am speaking
to no purpose, and that you put no faith in what I say. For you will tell us
that I am preaching up fasting with my own belly full. I confess, my dear
brother, that I am full fed, nay, surfeited with love. It is also true that my
strength languishes ; my head is sprinkled with grey hairs, my nerves are
drying up, my bones grow carious, and my body is ploughed with wrinkles.
To no woman can I offer charms, and no woman offers charms to me. I much
rather yield to wine than to love. Wine nourishes me, strengthens me,
delights me, blesses me : that draught will be sweet to my lips until death.
But even in wine there is sin when we drink for pleasure more than for health.
As for you, my dear John, strong as you are, and full of blood aad juice, I am
not surprised that you should love. Still it will become you to reject the
tempter before he flies you. For my own part, I claim little or no merit for
being chaste. To tell the truth, Venus shuns me even more than I dislike her.
Thanks be to God the appetite is not stronger than the ability. But you
will tell me that no one would think of leaving the battle-field before the
enemy had won the victory. But will this hold good in those engagements
in which the victor is really the beaten party. He who wages most war
with Venus is sure to come off with the greatest slaughter. But why am I
thus hard with you. We, all of us, when we happen to be in good "health,
give the best advice to the sick, and you may tell me with Terence, if you
were in my place you would think differently. But 1 have felt as you feel
now, and sooner or later you too will think as I do now. If you take my
advice at present, the praise you will deserve will be in proportion to the
labour of the undertaking : your motto should be from Cicero — " the
greater the difficulty, the brighter the renown, &c."

As a farther proof that JEneas could practice in these matters as he
preached, \ve had marked for insertion an extract form another letter,
in which he gives an account of how he himself broke off an attach-
ment of the same kind. The reasons, by which he vindicates the
coldness of his heart, are not without interest ; but it is time to put
an end to our extracts which have already extended this article to a
greater length than was originally allotted to it.

Of all our author's works, two in particular deserve notice, on
account of the popularity they attained. These, it must be admitted,
are somewhat unpapal, as their titles will pointedly indicate, for the
first is called, " Amoris Illiciti Medela," and the other the Novel,
known by the name of " The Loves of Euryalus and Lucretia."

Both have been frequently translated from the Latin in which they

.THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF POPE PIUS II. 459

were originally written, and have appeared in separate forms.
Indeed, the story of Euryalus and Lucretia* may be said to have for
two centuries enjoyed a distinguished European reputation. Nor,
considering the age to which it belongs, can it be denied the praise of
merit. It describes the intrigues of women, and the misfortunes of
husbands with minuteness and no small portion of truth ; and ends
as all genuine romance should end, with melancholy and death. Of
the Amoris Illiciti Medela, however, we cannot speak with equal com-
mendation. Its purport is to cure and subdue the passion which has
not matrimony for its means and end, and consists of little more than
a string of commonplaces, very wise, perhaps, but very dull also,
and certainly most inefficacious, as all experience testifies, for the
object in the author's view.

We have said that upon the death of Calixtus, ^Eneas succeeded
to the Keys of St. Peter. At the moment his predecessor breathed
his last, he was himself at the baths of Viterbo for the benefit of his
health, and busily engaged upon this history of Bohemia. But re-
turning to Rome without delay, he was met by the inhabitants who
came out on the road in a large body, and saluted him as Pope
before the election. What effect this demonstration of popular feeling
had upon the Cardinals, we know not : it is only recorded that he
was unanimously chosen by the conclave. He no sooner found him-
self at the head of the Christian Church than he exerted all his
powers to effect a crusade against the Turks. He dispatched nuncios
and apostolic letters to the different Christian princes and nations,
exhorting them to this war. For this purpose he called a great con-
gress at Mantua, which was numerously attended. Great prepara-
ftions were made to strike an effective blow, which he meant to direct
in person ; but before they could be completed, death seized on Pope
Pius while staying at Ancona, where a large naval and military force
had been gathered together for the expedition. Pius testified his
desires for its success by bequeathing a large sum of gold towards
defraying the expenses of the war. When he died, he was in his
fifty-seventh year, and had scarcely completed the sixth of nis
Pontificate.

Of Pius the II. as Pope, there is but one circumstance to chal-
lenge notice ; and that is the reverse of being creditable to his con-
sistency. When writing in favour of the Council of Basle, he had
maintained opinions which, when he became successor to St. Peter,
he found it impossible to reconcile with the dogmas peculiar to the
papal throne. When a layman, he held the councils of the church
superior to the judgment of the Pope; but when Pope himself, he
stood out for the supremacy of his office. For this purpose he pub-
lished a bull, and concluded his recantations of his old opinions after
the system of St. Paul and St. Augustin, with these words : " Rather
believe me now that I am an old man, than when I wrote as a young
one : think more of a sovereign Pontiff than of a private individual ;
reject ^Eneas Sylvius, but accept Pope Pius II.

NOTES OF THE MONTH,

PRODIGIOUS SHOT. — Archery is all the rage — the kingdom is ring-
ing with the twang of the bow-string from one end to the other.

" Friday week a meeting of the Royal British Bowmen took place at Con-
dover Park, Shrewsbury, the mansion of E. W. Smythe Owen, Esq. In
addition to the members of the society, all of rank, about 200 of the nobility
and gentry of Salop and the principality, were present to witness the skill of
the ARCHERS."

What a goodly sight of the ap- Joneses, the ap-Shenkinses, and the
ap- Jenkinses must have been here congregated, and being all of rank,
what a hubbub and spluttering must have ensued about precedence.
Each archer should have claimed from his length of leek. The
country was cleared for ten miles round, for fear of accidents from
stray shafts — such was the prodigious vigour of the archers.

Here are a couple of candidates for honours — one is recorded by
the Sherbourn Journal: —

" EXTRAORDINARY SHOOTING. — Mr. W. Noble, of Cleadon, shot on
Tuesday last, in the moors near Elsdon, six brace and a half of grouse at
two successive shots !"

Again ; —

" W. Tingecombe, Esq. killed at one discharge one hundred and eleven
sanderlings \"

Prodigious ! we only know of our friend Major Longbow who
can rival these gentlemen ; and he being short of shot, once spitted
three brace of birds with his ramrod ! At all events, men of such
prowess would be worthy members of the Society of Royal British
Bowmen ; the only difficulty will be to find a bow long enough for
them to shoot with.

THE " TENTH " ON ACTIVE SERVICE. — We are glad to bear testi-
mony to the deserved reputation of this truly distinguished regiment.
The following are quotations from a respectable Dublin journal : —

" We understand that proceedings are about to be actively instituted
against an officer of the TENTH, for the seduction of a clergyman's wife."

In another column we find the next : —

"NicE EMPLOYMENT FOR THE MILITARY.— 'The Tenth,' it is said, 'don't
dance ;' but they drive tithe geese ! The Kilkenny Journal gives the follow-
ing extract from the letter of a Longford correspondent :— I saw yesterday a
troop of the 10th Hussars driving in 12 geese, the property of Mr. Richard
Levinge, a Protestant, for tithes due to Dean Maxwell, brother to Lord
Farnham."

We remember when a silly fuss was made some time ago about
the absurdity and puppyism of these warriors, an old officer remarked
to another, " These TENTH people are making great fools of them-
selves." " That would puzzle them," said the other, " they are fools
ready made !" We suspect that they are tired of the long enjoyment
of such a reputation, and are desirous of changing it.

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 461

THE MAN OF PROPERTY.— There is no need of the King's College
to the London University, while there exists such a school for public
instruction as the Mansion House, and such professors as the Lord
Mayor and his constables.

LORD MAYOR — " You mean, I suppose, that you are a gentleman ; that is,
that you are a man of property, without toiling for it."

OFFICER. — " Yes, my Lord, that's true ; he is a man of property, for I
found a watch and some silver in his pocket \"

Now here is an important question set at rest, we hope for ever,
about which so many learned authorities have differed ; that is, what
the precise definition of a gentleman may be. The learned magistrate
has settled that dispute : " a gentleman is a man of property without
toiling for it." In agreeing to the soundness of this decision, the
learned magistrate will not take it amiss if we consider that he can be
no gentleman. This by the way. But his learned coadjutor, the
OFFICER, fearing that some quibble might arise as to the extent of
property which might qualify a man for the rank of gentleman under
the act of his learned friend, distinctly fixes it at the possession of a
ivatcli and some silver. Thus two important facts have been brought
to light in this exclusive and aristocratic country, and by means of
those public blessings, Bow-street and the Mansion-house — the exact
limits of the two most important ranks in society. We learn that a
respectable man is he who keeps a horse and gig ; but a gentleman,
and a man of property, can only be distinguished by his having a
watch and some silver in his pocket !

EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY. — We beg to congratulate the country
upon an ingenious invention lately introduced at Darlington, which
cannot be better described than in the words of Sam. Thompson
himself: —

" Sam. Thompson,

SOLE INVENTOR OF THE WATCHMAN'S CLOCK.
Messrs. Pease, of this town, and Messrs. Parkes, Haughton Mills, use them.
They effectually oblige men to be on duty (or a tale is told in the morning),
and also frequently keep them from intoxication, which is of no small im-
portance.— Darlington, September 3d, 1833."

Why no ; a clock that can keep men from intoxication is certainly
of no small importance ; and when its merits are more generally
".known, its illustrious inventor will be of no small importance either.
We sincerely hope that Messrs. Pease, and Messrs. Parkes, of Haugh-
ton Mills, have experienced its beneficial effect — that small beer will
be more in vogue with them than heretofore. The distinguished
wag had doubtless an eye upon his customers when he penned this
paragraph, although it was hardly fair. And then, an instrument
that will effectually oblige men to work, or in default, tell a tale !
We suspect it must be some improvement upon the merits of the old
Fleet-street clock of St. Dunstan's : that the men use their clubs
more effectually than did they of Fleet-street, and thus a tale is told
by the skulker, in the form of a broken head. We hear Mr. Thompson
is the chairman of a branch temperance society, and that since the in-
vention the whole population of Darlington have enrolled themselves.

462 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

COMPETITION IN COMMERCE. — Nothing argues an illiberal ten-
dency on the part of a government so much as restricting commerce
by means of heavy duties, particularly export duties on goods of home
manufacture ; we perceive by the published tariff, that this unwise
system has been adopted by the State of Venezuela ; and it is the
more injudicious with them as the article so marked is not an exclu-
sively Venezuelian production, we have seen as good samples in
England as in any part of the world.

EXPORT DUTIES IN VENEZUELA.

COLUMBIA OFFICIAL.— After the first of July next, the following export
duties will be exacted in all the ports of Venzuela. Indigo one cent, per Ib. ;
Asses 150 cents each.

The article is not so scarce as the Venezuelians imagine; for
were it known to be at all in demand, most governments would
have offered a bounty as an inducement to exporters, rather than
have checked such a useful speculation. For instance, there is not
a public establishment in England, but could furnish many of the
choicest specimens, and the nation at large would be too happy to
present gratis, to any spirited dealer in such ware, a whole ship load
of undeniable power, and of the right genuine stamp, from their two
estates, and without so much as missing a single legislative bray.

A CERTAIN GAME. — Mr. NORTON (to the prisoners.) What game was it
you were playing at when the policeman caught you ? One of the prisoners.
Beggar my neighbour, your Worship ! (great laughter.)

This may be very good fun for the Hon. Mr. Norton's audience in
Lambeth Street ; but we fear the game is played with much more
injurious effects by others than the boys of Bromley, and is little
cause' for merriment with those who pay the stakes. The whole
kingdom is alive to the game. The clergyman by his processes is
beggaring his flock ; the landlord by his corn laws, is beggaring the
population. The lawyer, with his hand in his neighbours pocket, is
sure to beggar him, while the great protecting state, by its unjust ex-
penditure, and monopolies, upholding corn laws, obsolete tithe, and
legal rapacity, together with its long train of civil list, sinecures,
places and pensions, is playing with false cards, and rapidly beggar-
ing the nation.

Our country friends are continually assailing us with wonders. We
have repeatedly opened our eyes so wide, that it has become a dan-
gerous habit, and our too partial friends must entertain no mean idea
of the capacity of our swallow, when they send us such food as the
following. Speaking of Carlisle races.

Eccleefcham bolted off the course, carrying with him Laurel Leaf: Sir
James's colt next followed, with Dodgson on him, and he was so frightened,
it being his first appearance in public, that he gave three extraordinary leaps.
His first bound was considerably upwards of ten yards ! his second eight !
and his third seven and three quarters !

Had the distances been but a leetle greater, Cumberland might
have claimed a distinction which Leicestershire enjoys to this day ;

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 463

for the names of four villages in that county, attest the performance
of a similar, and one may say, perhaps, an equally extraordinary feat.
Tradition informs us that a stranger, some years ago, to escape
punishment from some one, his name did not transpire, sprung upon
a sorrel mare, who made three wonderful bounds, and having saved
her rider, expired ! The place of mounting is called to this day
Mountsorrel. The extent of her first leap, which is about ten miles,
is called WANLIP ! the second is about eight; the creature suffered
from this exertion an inward eruption, and here is situate the
village of BURSTGALL ! she made one more bound, however, of seven
miles and three quarters, and reached the spot where now stands the
town of BEL-GRAVE ! the name of the courser was Bell. To be sure
the rider was no other than Behebub I

CATS AND CATAMARANS. — We lately quoted a Treasury order
for the discontinuance of a reckless allowance of threepence per
week to the cats of the storehouses at Woolwich. We then re-
marked the feline distress occasioned by this abrupt but patriotic
reproof of Tory extravagance, by their liberal successors in office.
We now beg to introduce another instance of the unflinching dispo-
sition of Ministers to economy, by displacing an equally meritorious
class of public servants without notice or compensation ; but what
renders the matter really reprehensible, is the gross partiality exhi-
bited in the reduction. —

ECONOMY. — It has been the custom for years back to employ in his
Dock-yards from forty to fifty old women, generally taken from the parish
workhouse, to repair and mend the colours and flags belonging to his
Majesty Navy. The earnings of these poor women used to amount from
sixpence to eight pence per day. Within the last few days orders have been
sent down to Chatham, Woolwich, Debtford, and all the dock-yards in the
kingdom, to discharge all the old women so employed, and that for the
future such work is to be done by contract ! This reduction it has been cal-
culated will effect a saving to the country of from thirty to forty shillings per
annum !

Here is a triumph for the people ! They have clamoured long
enough for a proof of economy, and they have got it. But we would
humbly suggest that it is hardly of a sufficient comprehensiveness —
that if the order had been more general, it would have been more
satisfactory. If his Majesty's Government had determined that all
state business at present so monopolized by old women and paupers,
should in future be done by contract, what a much more considerable
saving might be effected — what an unjust partiality would be
avoided ? But no ; their selfishness in this particular cannot be
disguised — it is obvious and disgusting. The humbler and more
intellectual grade of this venerable class, must be deprived of meal,
that their more crafty superiors may luxuriate in malt. The eyes of
John Bull are to be dazzled by the sacrifice of a few antiquated
paupers, that the adroiter beldames may securely pick his pockets.
Seriously — there must be some bitter wag in the camp — some Tory
in the cabinet, to suggest such absurdities. If economy could be
practised where there is scope, we might reap both credit and advan-

464 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

tage ; but we hardly know whether such economical efforts of the
" glorious Reform Ministry/' setting aside the legitimate objects for
retrenchment, and caricaturing themselves by running a-muck at
old women and cats, ought to be treated as most insulting or absurd.

MANIFESTATIONS AT BILLINGSGATE — A reverend gentleman named
Smith, but who is more generally known, without the fold of which
he is the faithful shepherd, by the more undignified cognomen of
Bo'sen Smith, was brought to the Mansion House charged with cre-
ating a disturbance in the fish market by the too energetic exercise of
his calling, or, as the complainant more pithily observed, " kicking
up a row !" The reverend defendant however, had a seasonable ally
in the person of Mr. Goldham, clerk to Billingsgate, who stated, that
(( the manners of the market had greatly altered since Mr. Smith was
in the habit of addressing them." Let no one henceforth say that
miracles have ceased in the days of Prince Hohenlohe and Bo'sen
Smith — one causes the lame to walk, and the other has set the fish
fags studying Chesterfield. Irving has only to give them his un-
known tongue in exchange for theirs, too well-known — and the mani-
festation will be complete. These are three congenial spirits that
may set the deuce at defiance.

There is another public place however, which is well worthy their
united labours, and the conversion of its members is even more de-
sired by the people than was the emancipation of the blacks, by the
ladies of Clapham Common. If the reverend boatswain would but
alter their manners, and bring them upon a par with his female friends
at Billingsgate, he need not fear being brought up at the Mansion
House for his pains.

DIGNIFIED CONDESCENSION. — " As an instance/' says a morning
paper, <f of the Duchess of Kent's extreme consideration for the infe-
rior members of her household establishment, she gave directions for
a very agreeable fete to be prepared for them on board the Messenger,
steamer," We could relate many instances of her Royal Highness's
extreme consideration. It appears that when a fete is given at Ken-
sington Palace, H. R. H. condescends to ask the aid of one of the
bands of Foot Guards. Now these individuals, being talented per-
sons, are not only paid out of the private purses of the officers, but
are allowed to take engagements in theatrical orchestras, which pri-
vileges indeed are requisite to insure effective bands. Each of these
Kensington festivals therefore, costs each performer a night's salary,
with the expense of carriage to the Palace, and after exerting them-
selves all night for the gratification of the dignified revellers, they are
dismissed, and by the extreme consideration of H. R. H., each indivi-
dual is graciously presented with a ticket, value eighteen pence, to be
exchanged for bread and cheese at a neighbouring canteen !

We have often had occasion to remark the peculiarities of that
extraordinary variation of the human family, known to us as Police
Magistrates, — their intellectuality, their humanity, and above all —
notwithstanding their irresponsible and absolute power — their stern

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 465

sense of justice, " according to law," that is, " according to a law of
their own/' police law. That magistrates should have the power to
condemn the unfortunate to share a jail with felons and malefactors, is
a monstrous dereliction from a sense of right on the part of those who
have delegated such power. That they have the will to place mis-
fortune upon a par with crime, but too many cases before us attest.
Such an abandonment of high and generous feelings can only be
accounted for upon the principle that a continual contact with misery
produces an extreme callousness of heart. This is a depravity of
feeling peculiar to bailiffs, hangmen, and magistrates. They are cha-
racterised by a want of sympathy with the wretched and broken-
hearted, a disbelief in honesty, an indecorous levity with misfortune ;
which hateful deviations can only be acquired by their constant
communion with the debased of our species in the exercise of their
several disgusting and disgraceful callings. That such repulsive
manifestations are quite wilful, and not allowed by law, we learn
from a case at Marlborough-street, when an unfortunate and talented
gentleman, Mr. Somerset, was charged with " singing his own verses
in a low tone of voice" for bread. Mr. Dyer was rather puzzled.
The straightforward way would be to have sent him to jail ; but
perhaps the press might have been impertinent ; he was therefore
allowed to depart. The awful announcement of Mr. Dyer, " You
have committed an offence for which you ought to be sent to jail ! "
has raised emotions within us of rather a personal nature. Many a
time have we sung under a lady's window, nor dreamt that our amo-
rous fervour risked the climax of fourteen days cooling in the tread-
mill ! Why was not the mercy shewn to Mr. Somerset, likewise
extended to the poor Irish girl, who endeavoured to support her
destitute brothers and sisters by selling trinkets ? The following is
the result of that disgraceful report ; —

Mr. GREGORIE. (To the Policeman,) "Did you hear her beg?" — POLICE-
MAN. " No sir." — Mr. GREGORIE. Has she ever been in custody before?" —
Kaing the jailer said he did not remember her. — Mr. GREGORIE. " Then I
shall commit you for fourteen days." — YOUNG WOMAN. (Bursting into tear's,)
. " Pray .do not send me to prison! Oh! my poor mother !" — She was then
locked up.

We make no comment on this case. The magistrate found by
inquiring, that the poor girl was worthy and industrious— that she
had offended against no law ; therefore she was a very proper person
for prison.

THE BLACK BATTALION. — The United Service Gazette has hu-
humanely suggested a most affecting method of providing for a large
body of men who are likely soon to be thrown out of employ, and
from their habits riot capable of any honest exertion.

"An old officer has proposed that, as at the present time there are thou-
sands of blackguard lawyers and other reptiles creating distress, and plunder-
ing the unhappy victims, that two or more battalions should be formed en-
tirely of this class, to be entitled the " Devil's own," and that they be im-
mediately shipped off for Sierra Leone, there to remain under orders for
active service against the Ashantees."

M. M. No. 94. 3 O

466 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

It would be indeed a blessing to this industrious race, if such a
plan could be acted upon, particularly as during the next session the
alteration which will doubtless take place in the laws of arrest, will
throw so many of the vermin out of bread, that an immense increase
to the already numerous class of swindlers, smashers, and pickpockets,
may be expected. The plan is most humane and merciful, and would
save numbers from the gallows. We recommend, as an amendment,
if the plan should receive the sanction of a high quarter, that a corps
des guides be formed as an auxiliary to the black battalions, to be se-
lected from the most active of the bum-bailiffs, a class of men whose
pursuits would render them highly available against the savages. It
would be the height of ingratitude not to provide for this interesting
race, after their fellow-labourers had departed, and their " occupation
gone."

THE METEOR OP THE MANSION-HOUSE.— There is another star in
the East, which the wise men of Portsoken and Farringdon Within
hail as a sign of great promise. Never since the days of the illus-
trious Gog — who has long been a silent observer of public affairs
from his retirement at Guildhall — has the tutelar deity of the Man-
sion-house opened its oracular jaws with such effect. The neigh-
bourhood of the Poultry, and eke St. Mary Axe, has been, as it were,
thunderstruck with its awful responses ; it is acknowledged that the
civic chair is now really graced by " absolute wisdom !" However,
Gog is to our unsophisticated mind much the more sensible gentle-
man, for he conceals his lack of brains — he never opens his mouth to
make a fool of himself. Not so with the oracle ; who moreover ex-
hibits a strange arrogance, and worse than all, an aptitude to prejudge
cases requiring the most careful impartiality — a sure indication of
ignorance and self-sufficiency. During the investigation of Mr. Sa-
vory's case the following conversation took place. Mr. Savory was
examined on the marks of spoons which he was accused of having
forged : —

LORD MAYOR. — " Mr. Savory is doing himself no good by examining those
marks. It shews that he is well acquainted with the difference between them
and those of Goldsmith's Hall." — Mr. Adolphus did not think it fair to draw
such injurious inferences from the act of his client. " If," observed the
learned counsel, " if I committed a forgery upon your lordship, would you
not naturally inspect the fabrication?" — LORD MAYOR, (significantly) "Yes,
and I should know, as Mr. Savory, does no doubt, the difference !"

The Lord Mayor piques himself on his acute perception of crime,
and forgetting the great leading principle that every man is consi-
dered honest until proved a rogue, he treats every man as a rogue
until proved to be honest — an excellent Dogberry maxim, and stands
in full force against his worship. The fabrication of saddlery is not
the most efficient course of study for a professor of jurisprudence ;
neither is a parer of pig-skins the best qualified for a judge. The
following is a specimen of an acute magistrate of former days, dis-
posing of a charge of piracy. He must surely have been a " citizen
and saddler/' or a Queen's-square stipendiary : —

THINGS MUSICAL AND THEATRICAL. 467

Magistrate. — " Harkee, sirrah ; you pitiful ill- looking wretch ; what have
you to say why you should not be tucked up immediately, and sent a sun-
drying like a scarecrow ? Are you guilty or not guilty ?"

Prisoner. — " Not guilty, an't please your worship."

Magistrate. — " Not guilty ! say so again, and I'll have you h angedwith-
out any trial. Answer me, sirrah, how will you be tried ?"

Prisoner. — " By God and my country/'

Magistrate. — " The devil you will ! Why then I have nothing to do but
to proceed to judgment."

Officer of the Court. — ' ' Right, your worship, for if the fellow should be
suffered to speak he may clear himself, and that's an affront to your worship."

Prisoner. — " I hope your worship will consider "

Magistrate. — " Consider ! How dare you talk of considering, sirrah."

Prisoner. — " But I hope your worship will hear some reason."

Magistrate. — " I'd have you to know, rascal, I don't sit here to reason, I go
according to law. Is my dinner ready ?"

Officer of the Court. — " Yes, your worship."

Magistrate. — ' Then, harkee, you rascal at the bar, you must be hanged
because you have a hanging look; you must be hanged of course. That's the
law. Take him away, gaoler."

THINGS MUSICAL AND THEATRICAL.

The winter campaign is about to commence, it is said, with extra-
ordinary activity on the part of the belligerents. We hope the public
may not suffer in proportion. Mr. Bunn has threatened to take our
city by storm, by means of foreign auxiliaries and a judiciously
combined plan of attack : we wait the bombardment with impatience.

Madame Vestris has issued her cards of invitation in the guise of
scarlet and green, whereon we recognise the names of many of our
favourites of last season. Among the stars of inferior magnitude are
names which have escaped our astronomical researches. We do not
doubt that they have twinkled very agreeably in their own spheres,
though it would have required the aid of a very powerful instrument
to discover them. ,

The proceedings of the summer theatres have hardly been worth
noticing. With the exception of a clever piece by Mr. Jerrold, "The
Housekeeper," and one by Mr. Searle, " the Yeoman's Daughter,"
scarcely any thing beyond the rank of a farce has appeared. A
debutante has appeared, however, that claims our especial notice.

Miss Eliza Paton is more deserving of encouragement than any
candidate for public favour that we have of late noticed. If she have
good sense, and is prepared to study hard, she will become eminent.
The curse of all our English singers is their self-conceit. The mo-
ment they make a successful appearance, they fancy themselves at the
summit of their art. They forget that nothing but the most intense
application can make such singers as Pasta and Malibran.

Miss E. Paton's voice it a very rich and extensive soprano : but she
is evidently unable to manage it. When she endeavours to produce
effect, either on the lower notes, or on the higher, she is sure to fail,
— merely from injudicious management. Singers who have not been
well instructed, fancy that the greater exertion they make on parti-
ticular points, the greater effect will be produced ; whereas, the very

468 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

reverse is the case. Straining the voice is sure to produce a cloudy and
indistinct tone ; and worse than that, the voice will rarely be in tune.
Some notes of Miss Paton's voice possess the most beautiful quality
of tone — the inequality she displays is evidently the result of bad in-
struction. It is not enough to possess a fine voice and flexibility ;
judicious study is requisite to make a fine singer. As Miss E. Paton
is a young lady of no ordinaey power, we would advise her to pay
particular attention to the management of her breath, aud the equali-
zation of tone. If she does that, and has the good luck not to
become conceited with success, she will make an accomplished artist.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

PINDAR IN ENGLISH VERSE. BY THE REV. HENRY F. GARY, A.M.

MOXON.

The translation of Pindar into English verse is indeed one of the quick-
sands of literature. It is difficult and dangerous to cross unscathed. Few
have attempted, and those few have failed. The English reader has never
yet had an idea of the original. The metres of the original have not yet
been sufficiently explained by scholars, for while Person and Hermann have
unravelled all the intricacies of the metres of the Greek tragedians, those of
Pindar have not met with that attention which the merit of his odes de-
mands. And we hold it to be a sound principle that it is almost impossible
to give a proper idea of the original in a translation, unless something of the
the peculiar metre for which Pindar is so distinguished is retained in the
version.

Mr. Gary, whose poetical powers are known, from his admirable transla-
tion of the Italian poet, has attempted to give the English reader some con-
ception of the peculiar metres of the original. This cannot be properly
done, since, as we said before, the learned are not yet acquainted with the
metres of the Greek. But in other respects the translator bas not been un-
successful. The version is also accurate and clear, and any scholar will
directly perceive its superiority over West by comparing any one passage
with the Greek. We would more particularly refer him to the Fourth Py-
thian Ode, where he will recognize both the meaning and the poetry of the
original. The Tuscan bard, however, in our opinion, suits the genius of
Mr. Gary better than he of Greece.

FAMIY CLASSICAL LIBRARY. No. XLV.
The spirited translation of Potter has been reprinted by Mr. Valpy, in his
useful work. The merits and the faults of the version have been so long
known, and so often pointed out, that it would be needless to reiterate the
criticisms of preceding writers. The translation, however, of uiEschylus by
Potter, is far superior to his translations of Sophocles and Euripides ; in that
work he has happily seized the fire and spirit of the original. Those who
are so unfortunate as to be unable to peruse the father of tragedy in the
Greek, will, nevertheless, catch many glimpses of his splendour and sub-
limity in the glowing pages of the English, and will see the truth of the
eloquent description of Sir Walter Scott, " That at the summons of Ms-
chylus, the mysterious and tremendous volume of destiny, in which are
inscribed the doom of Gods and men, seemed to display its leaves of iron
before the appalled spectators ; the more than mortal voices of deities, Titans,
and departed heroes were heard in awful conference ; Olympus bowed, and

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

its deities descended ; earth yawned, and gave up the pale spectres of the
dead, and the yet more undefined and grisly forms of those infernal deities,
who struck horror into the gods themselves." There is prefixed to this
volume a dissertation on the Grecian drama, of considerable length, written
very elegantly, and containing all the information which is necessary to
enable a reader properly to understand the tragedies of the Greeks.

SCHOOL AND COLLEGE GREEK CLASSICS. THE PHILOCTETES OF SOPHOCLES,
WITH ENGLISH NOTES, BY G. BURGESS, A.M., TRIN. COLL. CAM.

This edition of the Philoctetes will be found very useful by the student
whose knowledge of the language is not very extended. The notes contain
translations of the most difficult passages, and references to Matthias's
Greek Grammar, Vigor's Idioms, and many other works of the same descrip-
tion, in order to explain the construction of the original. The parallel
passages from Sophocles are frequently inserted in the notes, and where
there is a difficulty Mr. Burgess always endeavours, if not to remove it, at
least to explain the meaning, which is more than can be said of many anno-
tators, who, as Lord Bacon observes, are tedious and prolix where the
meaning is clear, but always pass over what is obscure.

The editor appears to have taken great trouble in presenting a good text,
but we cannot approve of many of the alterations he has made. If he had
followed the text of the Oxford Edition of 1826, we should have been able to
give almost unqualified praise to the work.

EDINBURGH ACADEMY. PRIZE LIST. EDINBURGH, ADAM BLACK.

This is a pamphlet containing the prize essays in Latin, Greek, English,
and French, written by the young gentlemen of the Edinburgh Academy.
The Greek compositions are admirable. Never again can our learned bigots
boast the pre-eminent superiority of our own schools in classical learning to
those of the North. All persons who take an interest in the progress of
education would do well to procure this pamphlet. They will not fail to be
astonished and delighted, as we have been, with the elegance of the English
composition, and the classical correctness of the Greek and Latin essays.

LYRIC LEAVES. BY CORNELIUS WEBBE. GRIFFITHS.
We were touched by " compunctious visitings" as we took up our pen to
indulge in some few remarks on this beautiful volume, that it should so long
have lain unnoticed by us. The truth is, it was hidden under books of
burlier dimensions, though of less worth ; a fate too often illustrated by the
" man of substance," and the lean, ideal poet. Mr. Webbe's muse is a
natural, a delightful one ; it sings of fields and flowers, and the sky in all
its changes — of homely scenes, and of the affections born of home. Some of
the rustic sketches are exquisitely true to nature. We cannot, even in our
ample and numerous columns, give the rein to our wishes of extract ; there-
fore must content ourselves with recommending all true lovers of poetry, and
poetry in its truest, sweetest guise, speedily to possess themselves of Mr.
Webbe's little volume ; it will be found an admirable companion either to the
hearth or the greenwood-side.

THE ARCHER'S GUIDE. HURST. LONDON.

This is the most complete work of the kind we have seen. It abounds
with useful information to the professors of that " weapon of renown," the
long-bow. As a work for the general reader it is highly interesting, being
carefully compiled from a variety of authors, embracing its ancient and
modern history.

470 MONTHLY 11EVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF1 POLITICAL ECONOMY. No. XX. CINNAMON AND

PEARLS ; A TALE. BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. LONDON : CHARLES Fox,

1833.

WHENEVER it has been our duty to speak of Miss Martineau, and upon
any occasion when her monthly increasing works have been laid before us for
review, we think we have not been slow to award the degree of praise to her
miraculously prolific pen, which both the graphic skill with which it is em-
ployed, and the important subjects to which it has devoted its powers,
undoubtedly demanded from us.

It were, perhaps, neither gallant, just, nor to the purpose, to inquire
whether an originally disinterested and philosophical aim have not been
gradually diverted from its object, and converted, by other influences, into a
mere book-making speculation, — whether what was, in the first instance, a
spirit of instruction, be not now a matter of trade, — and lastly, whether
Miss Martineau's " Illustrations of Political Economy" have not placed more
available assets into her own pocket, than available ideas into the heads of
her readers.

We take it for granted that Miss Martineau, actuated by a very proper
regard for her own worldly welfare (a consciousness of which might, we
think, occasionally modify her strictures upon others, who justify the con-
tinuance of monopolies in which they are implicated on the same ground),
is, nevertheless, zealous to remedy the defects of former legislators, and to
amend the fiscal and philosophical errors of her predecessors.

It might, then, be worth her while to lend an ear to parties* fully alive to
her merits, generally favourable to her views, and especially anxious for her
success. It may be, also, not open to invidious misconstruction, if we, too,
take the liberty of suggesting that more time, more thought, and, above all,
more diffidence should be bestowed and displayed than Miss Martineau has
heretofore chosen to devote to the discussion of questions which fully demand
the most unreserved sacrifice of the former two, arid a very sincere exhibition
of the last.

For we hold it to be quite a plausible conjecture, that Miss Martineau is
not, as yet, fully mistress of the principles which she so perseveringly and
periodically seeks to illustrate ; that even if she be, principles which others,
no less competent than herself, have been so long endeavouring to establish,
are not likely to be summarily disposed of by her ; and the object which they
have failed to reach by a straight course, it is hardly possible for her to anti-
cipate by a crooked one.

It may be all very well, as a matter of speculation, to insinuate principles
of political economy into a tale which shall have popular requisites to recom-
mend it ; by these means, at all events, the philosophical authoress may
contrive (not to kill, we trust, but) to bring down " two birds with one
stone ; and, while she secures the political economist, to bag at the same
time the novel-reading spinster ; but the effect of her labours is another
question.

The allegory of the " Fairy Queen" was never yet satisfactorily explained,
and its exposition has been long ago relinquished in despair ; and we con-
fess that the illustrations of Miss Martineau are, for the most part, quite as
unintelligible.

We can, indeed, often apprehend the companion, when we are quite at a
loss to discern the analogy ; and, sometimes, when an external analogy of
position has been attained, the essential disparity of circumstances is left out
of the account altogether.

Could the affairs of the world be regulated by general principles, it would
hardly require a superior intelligence to expound, or a more than ordinary

* The Edinburgh Review.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 471

capacity to understand them ; but where circumstances have created a con-
flict of opinion, or a collision of interest, out of which antagonist influences
the remedy for the grievance, whatever it be, is to be supplied, the only
advantage of overring to principles is, that they may be constantly and bene-
ficially borne in mind. And then it is not only well, but indispensable, that
they be put forth in a plain, intelligible, and direct form.

In a word, this " putting a case" is, in nine instances out of ten, merely
putting a difficulty. A storm in the tropics is not very strikingly illustrated
by a convulsed puddle in the precincts ; and a bee very busy in a sun-flower
is but a sorry representation of a bull very boisterous in a china-shop. Sup-
pose this piece of white chalk to be a piece of green cheese, that will not con-
vince us that Dover Cliff bears any resemblance to the hills of Cheddar.

Again, the politico-philosophical tyro who may happen to be very obtuse
on a question of sugar and coffee, is not likely to be remarkably acute in
details of a chank or a pearl ; and the fanciful machinery chosen by Miss
Martineau for the exhibition of her principles is far more calculated to divert
him from the pursuit than to encourage him in the study of theories, in
whose company fancy, at least, seems to be somewhat out of her element.

Miss Martineau, in the work before us, " Cinnamon and Pearls," has
attempted to show that the restrictive principle, as applied by England to her
colonies, is neither to the advantage of the colonies themselves, nor for the
interest of the Mother Country ; and that " in proportion, therefore, as trade
with colonies is distinguished from trade with other places, by restriction on
buyers at home, or on sellers in the colonies, that trade (involving the appa-
ratus of restriction), becomes an occasion of loss instead of gain to the
empire."

We have not much to urge against the arguments employed by Miss Mar-
tineau, that we cannot set forth in a very few words. We perfectly agree
with our authoress, that the restriction of trade, as between us and the colo-
nies, is vastly prejudicial to this country ; but we are inclined to believe that
the boon of free trade granted to our merchants, and extended to the colo-
nies, would be any thing but a desirable circumstance to the latter. We are
disposed to believe that all the increase of trade of which the colonies may be
susceptible, and which the removal of restrictive enactments would enable
them to turn to the best advantage, would not in any desirable degree com-
pensate for the loss of ultra-profitable commerce in which they have been
engaged with us. We conceive that we have been paying a ruinous premium
to the colonies for their goods, which, without restriction, we should have
got much cheaper, or have procured elsewhere ; and we contend that the
restrictive system was invented for the cure, and has quite answered its pur-
pose of enriching the colonies at the expense of the Mother Country. And
it can be shown that the colonies do not at this moment exhibit a satisfactory
illustration of our argument, it is, we think, quite as clear that their present
state is no consequence of restriction, but is attributable to very different
causes.

We cannot sufficiently praise the perspicuous and elegant style of Miss
Martineau, which is one of this lady's chief commendations, and has, we
doubt not, contributed in a great measure to the popularity of her writings.
What, for instance, can be more exquisite than the following description. It
is the first day of the pearl fishery in Ceylon : —

" All were confident ; and the crowds on the beach looked as joyous for
the night as if the work was going on for their sakes. A city of bowers
seemed to have sprung up like Jonah's gourd, or like the tabernacles which,
in old times of Jewish festivals, made Jerusalem a leafy paradise for a short
season of every year. Talipot tents, and bamboo huts dressed with greens
and flowers, were clustered around the sordid dwellings on the sands.
Throngs of merchants and craftsmen, black, tawny, and white, with their

4J2 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

variety of costumes, mingled in this great fair. The polisher of jewels was
there with his glittering treasure. The pearl- driller looked to his needles
and pearl dust, while awaiting on his low seat the materials on which he
was to employ his skill. The bald, yellow-mantled priest of Budhoo passed
on amidst obeisances in one place, as did the Catholic pastor in another.
The white vested Mahomedan, the turbaned Hindoo, the swathed Malay
merchants exhibited their stores, or looked passively on the gay scene. The
quiet Dutchman from the south sent a keen glance through the market in
quest of precious stones in the hands of an ignorant or indolent vender- The
haughty Candian abated his fierceness, and stepped out of the path of the
European ; while the stealthy Cingalese was in no one's path, but won his
way like a snake in the tall grass of the jungle. The restless lessees of the
bank, meanwhile, were flitting near the boats, now ranged in a long row,
each with its platform, ropes, and pullies ; each with its shark-binder, its
pilot, its commander, its crew of ten, and its company of ten divers. The
boat-lights were being kindled, one by one, and scattering a thousand
sparkles over the rippling tide. It was just on the stroke of ten, and the
signal gun was all that was waited for. The buzz of voices fell into a deep
silence as the expectation became more intense. Those who were wont to
make the heavens their clock and the stars its hour-hand, looked up to mark
the precise inclination of the Southern Cross ; while those who found an
index in the flow of the tide, paced the sands from watermark to watermark.
Yet more turned their faces southward towards the dark outline of hill and
forest that rose on the horizon, and watched for the land breeze. It came —
at first in light puffs which scarcely bowed the rushes around the lagoons, or
made a stir among the stalks in the rice-ground. Moment by moment it
strengthened, till the sails of the boats began to bulge, and every torch
and faggot of cocoa-nut leaves on the beach slanted its forks of flame
towards the sea, as if to indicate to the voyagers their way. Then the
signal-gun boomed its wreath of smoke curled lazily upward and dispersed
itself in the clear air, while a shout, in which every variety of voice was
mingled, seemed to chase the little fleet into the distance. The shouting
ceased amidst the anxiety of watching the clusters of receding lights, which
presently looked as if they had parted company with those in the sky, and
had become a degree less pure by their descent. Then rose the song of the
dancing-girls, as they stood grouped, each with a jewelled arm withdrawn
from beneath her mantle, and her jet-black hair bound with strings of pearl.
Mixed with their chaunt, came the mutterings and gabblings of the charmers
who remained on shore, contorting their bodies more vehemently than would
have been safe on any footing less stable than terra firma."

BENSON POWLET. 2 VOLS, 8vo. LONDON : A. K. NEWMAN & Co. 1833.

WE think it possible that, by exerting himself again, again and again, the
author of this hint might succeed in writing something which it would be
worth the while of a sedentary lady or gentleman at a watering-place to try,
by way of experiment.

We are sorry we cannot say much of our author's present, and, we should
judge, his first production ; the tale flags most wretchedly during the first
volume ; and the incidents occupying the second are chiefly miserable details
of sticking in the mud, of creeping through dry ditches, and traversing
uncomfortable coasts ; circumstances which, in spite of their being very
unpleasant to the parties themselves, and notwithstanding that, failing in our
notions, which causes us to look upon such mishaps as vastly pleasant to
read of, are not set off by such graphic powers as recommend them to our
interest, or excite our curiosity.

In spite, however, of this first failure, let our author hazard another trial.
We think there is something in him that may ripen into mediocrity ; the best

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 473

result which, in our modern literary atmosphere, he should, as a prudent
man, aspire to effect.

LlVES OF THE MOST EMINENT FOREIGN STATESMEN. BY EYRE EVANS

CROWE.

THIS volume, comprising the lives of Cardinal Amboise, Ximenes, Leo
the Tenth, Cardinal Granville, and Maurice of Saxony, Barnevelt, Sully,
Duke of Leima, Duke of Ossuna, and the far-famed Lorenzo de Medici,
fully supports that character of excellence which every preceding number of
the Cabinet Cyclopaedia has so justly merited. At such a time as the present,
the publication of such a work as the Lives of Foreign Statesmen is pecu-
liarly opportune. The charge, the size, and the succinct sufficiency of each
biography, render it a cheap, conveniently compact, and highly valuable
addition to the political library of every one, who desires to examine and
understand the character and principles of those great main springs in the
government of the world — the statesmen of other countries. Without such
knowledge and reading, however great our acquaintance with the history of
our own country, it must suffer the imputation of being still very imperfect,
if the motives, schemes, and objects of those whose power or whose subtlety
abroad have influenced our policy at home, either in our own defence, or
with reference to our relationship with others, be only conjectural or indis-
tinctly known. A work of this nature will make up, and fit in, those odd
pieces in the puzzle of political history ; which without, we have in vain, per-
haps, been attempting to reconcile.

Mr. Crowe, the compiler, has executed his task with great care and com-
pleteness ; so far as we can judge, at least, from the first volume. His style
is simple and chaste, and the chief incidents in the lives of these great men,
with also the intrigues and duplicity characteristic of the times in which
some of them flourished, are given with remarkable fidelity.

EUROPE, A POLITICAL SKETCH ; AND OTHER POEMS. BY CHARLES OWEN

APPERLEY.

THE modern receipt for poem-making, though open certainly to the charge
of being neither majestic nor honest, is undoubtedly distinguished for a cer-
tain curious ingenuity and predatory blushlessness. A young gentleman
conceives the idea of writing a poem, or a series of idyls, and forthwith fur-
nishing himself with a congenial goose quill, and a smooth sheet of Bath, h,e
draws his chair to the window, in order to command the "full presence of
nature (a few pigs fattening for Christmas, and an unfortunate donkey out of
work), and seizing a pen in one hand, and with the other dashing his undis-
ciplined tresses back into something like poetic fury, he commences. What
shall it be ? Evening ? there I shall jostle with Gray. Poland ? there I shall
elbow Campbell. Never mind, something must be done, so here are a few
stanzas on a " nice evening, sir."

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

" The lowing herd winds slowly up the lea ;"
So sings the soft, the ever-classic Gray,
' And oh ! how sweet this sweetest eve to me.

" The drowsy tinklings lull the distant fold ;"
Just as he wrote in nature's truth appears,

O that so young I ever should be old,

" And all the earth a solemn stillness" wears.

Hark ! in my ear the homeward beetle hums,
The owl with hollow hootings fills the vale ;

Night from the west in ebon chariot comes,

And chaste the moon looks forth with visage pale.
M.M. No. 94. 3 P

474 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

Now day is to his dreary pillow borne,

The sun hath sought his occidental bed ;
" What time the grey-fly winds his sultry horn,

And o'er the one half world seems nature dead/' &c.

With such like maudling dilutions* of the works of the immortal great, do
these redoubted personages mess up what they choose to call poetry —
original poetry ! One of them may, perhaps, bursting with the inward
spirit of an uncontrollable genius, rush for once from the trodden path with
frantic inspiration, and essay to paint, by way of novelty, a maniac in a fit :
here it is, —

Look at him now, in bitter madness grinning,

A poor old wretch " more sinned against than sinning ;"

Yet as he shrieks with that appalling cry —

Observe " the laughing devil in his eye," &c.

We have attempted thus to show the modern mode of tacking together
verse, and thus is half the metrical issue of the press a mere hodge-podge of
other men's thoughts and imaginings, cooked up, after all, by very indifferent
artistes ; a satchel provided with other men's viands, a shabby-genteel toad
eating at the muse's table. And, moreover, these lacqueys at the great man's
heel, these paraders about in their masters' habiliments, appear to glory in
their shame most marvellously, for frequently they are to be seen strutting
and promenading abroad after a singularly ridiculous fashion, the appro-
priated garment drawn on their servile backs the inside outward, and the
ticket bearing their master's name stitched upon the collar, and staring in
the face of every passenger. Inverted commas, the shoulder-knots of literary
obligation, you shall encounter, thick as rogues in every page, with the same
consistency as should be manifested in the common thief who, vending his
pilfered prize, should take upon himself to recommend it, with the positive
assurance that he had just abstracted it from the pocket of a cathedral
doctor, or eloquent M.P.

With some people these gentlemen pass as high and important characters,
on the same ground, we suppose, as black-legs and swindlers obtain a bow
from a simple country yeoman — " they looks like friends of the great lord as
it were." Their book is usually got up well, the print is neat, and it is pret-
tily boarded perhaps ; furthermore, the chap has a certain suavity ; he doffs
his hat with a deferential smirk in the introduction — protests he has been
involuntarily pushed forward by his friends, too partial friends — implores
lenity, and so on, and the indubitable dolt who has allowed himself to be
taken in, partly because he reposes unlimited confidence in his own dullness,
and thinks it a merit to differ where all the rest of the world agree, and
partly for the reason that he knows no more of English literature, its stores,
and resources, than a pig of pathology, or an owl of optics, the poor wretch
consents to suppose the impostor a great genius, and buttons up his pockets
with all the dignity of one conscious of having done his best to revive the
poetic taste, and the falling literature of our country.

One of these numerous troops of bardlings is Mr. Charles Owen Apperly.
There is neither vigour nor fancy, in the proper sense of the word in him.
His vigour is the effort of a clod-pole tumbling a reel, and as for fancy, he
capers about amid the sweet dainties of conceit like a distraught creature in
a bed of violets, or a porpoise in rose-water. He may, however, be consi-
dered in his own circle, perhaps, a clever and very estimable man, and scrib-
ble in alburns to the infinite delight of the little misses in his immediate
neighbourhood ; and now and then he may, we think, contend for, and
achieve the dignity of an odd corner in a magazine, or an obscure nook in a
newspaper. Further than this we admonish him not to attempt, or if he
will, we add this still further advice, that in order to save time and trouble,

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

however the laudable disinterestedness of Messrs. Smith and Elder shall
tempt him to accede to these generous, and oft-repeated proposals, them-
selves to run every hazard, still we advise him to publish it in parts, at once
and cotemporaneously at all the dealers, rather in a useful article of domestic
economy, which is produced of milk, and usually sold at cheesemongers,
or, whichever he pleases, at the several trunkmakers in the kingdom ; then
we warrant him as wide a circulation, and as complete, as the most ambitious
bard could desire.

ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITTANNICA, No. XLII.

" L'art defaire un livre est un metier comme defaire une pendule," says La
Bruyere, and verily the experience of the present age justifies the observation
of the French Moralist. We have the XLII. Number of the Encyclopedia
Britannica before us, a work which, as a whole, we hope will do honour to the
present age, is in portions rather faulty. ThepresentNumber has evidentmarks
of hasty compilation. Thus in speaking of the diamond, the writer of that
article says, that in Brazils, it is confined to the district of Serra do Frio
which is a palpable error ; diamond districts exist in almost every province
of the empire ; but which are not allowed to be worked, lest the exuberant
produce should cause a diminution in the value of the precious gems. The
article is written by some person who has not taken sufficient pains t® master
his subject.

ENGLAND IN 1833. BY BARON D'HAUSSEZ, EX-MINISTER OF MARINE

UNDER CHARLES X. BENTLEY. LONDON.

This is a work a la Trollope ; consequently destitute of truth, sense, or
decency. The author is a twaddling old coxcomb.

THE INCARNATION, AND OTHER POEMS. BY THOMAS RAGG.

" This little Poem on the Incarnation," says the Author, in his preface,
" though in itself perfectly entire, is but in reality the tenth book of a Poem
in twelve books, on the Deity. We have read with deep attention and great
satisfaction Mr. Ragg's Poem, particularly as we understand his situation in
life to be simply that of a mechanic. Mr. Ragg did well to apprise us of the
nature of his calling, for although, undoubtedly, there are passages on which
the eye of criticism may rest, and many, such a work we never should have
imagined even most distantly to have been the production of a man in the
honourable but humble capacity of a working subordinate.

The garden of poesy has become, unhappily, of late, little more than a blank
sterile wild ; produced as much we believe by the sharp hands of disfavour,
as by any radical poverty and meanness in the soil, which it may inherently
possess. Mr. Ragg will pardon us if, more experienced in the craggy ways
and walks of literature, we presume to be his monitor, and to caution him
most earnestly against raising up prospective shadows of future comfort or
benefit from the cultivation of the centennial flower of verse. Is he discon-
tent with the situation in which fortune has placed him ? Let him apply
sedulously and cheerfully that excellent sense, dignified by religious feeling
which is manifested throughout his work, to the promotion of any scheme in
the active world, for his own advancement, which his own intelligence can
suggest to him. We will not, even though it should excite a momentary
thrill of satisfaction in the heart of the object of such ungenerous duplicity
too surely to be succeeded by the sickening reaction of disappointment and
bitterness of soul — we will not flatter him into hopes that he can ever gain
public advantage from the prosecution of his present undertaking. At the
same time that we wish most heartily that his present little work, written
with a correctness that might do honour to many with far superior advan-
tages, and in a spirit of piety and devotion honourable to all, may not escape

476 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

observation in a quarter where its excellences may meet a just appreciation
and reward.

Mr. Ragg, however, will be able better to judge how far it will be expe-
dient to publish the remaining books of this poem, when he has determined
the sale of the present. On taking leave of him, we conjure him, by all
means, to " stick to his trade." It is impossible his qualifications and talents
can be overlooked there ; but in the literary world there are such men labour-
ing for a precarious subsistence — struggling just beyond the waves of abso-
lute want, that he could not be surprised if his fate should be something
worse than throwing the shuttle and weaving goodly silks.

We are sorry we are only enabled to extract, for want of space, one sonnet
from Mr. Ragg's minor poems : —

TO THE EVENING STAR.
Bright star of even, thy delightful ray

Is lovely to my sight ; I love thy hour,
1 love the dusky twilight's silken grey,

And own the strength of its enchanting power ;
For peace to me seems whispering in each breeze

That bears thy influence, as the worn out day,
Sinks on his cradle bed ; and brooks and trees

And waving corn-fields their soft music play,
To lull it to repose ; peace seems to dwell

On every tongue, the grassy mountain high,
The dark'ning valley, and the rocky dell,

All speak the self-same note ; while the bright sky,
Enlivened by thy beams, looks so serene,
The ravish'd soul might think strife ne'er had been.

LITERARY NOTICES.

Works in the press, and those just published : —

Waldermar; an Historical Romance, SthVol. of the Library of Romance,
edited by Leitch Ritchie, just published.

Zara, a Poem of the Sea, by the Author of " Naufragus."

Lieut. Breton's Nine Years in Australia. In one handsome Volume.

The Life of the late Rev. Rowland Hill, by the Rev. Edwin Sidney, A.M.,
will shortly appear.

The Lives of British Actresses who have Intermarried with Noble Fa-
milies. 4 Vols. By Walter Stubbs, A.M.

On the 1st of October, Ormond, being the Eighteenth and Concluding
Volume of Maria Edgeworth's Tales and Novels. 6s.

Mutual Culture. By J. L. Levison. 12mo. 6s.

Letters on Christian Ethics. By the Rev. R. Wardlaw, D.D.

A New Work. By the Author of " Lights arid Shadows of German Life."

Twenty Minutes Advice on the Eyes. By a Retired Oculist.

Compendium of Osteology. By George Witt, D.D.

Dransfield's Sermons on Various Subjects. 3 Vols.

Drans field's Morning and Evening Prayers. 12mo.

DOMESTIC SUMMARY.

During the absence of Parliament our domestic affairs present but little
variety. The study of our legislators is now principally directed to the
consolidation of wavering interests, within their respective provinces and
townships ; likewise " about this time," as Francis Moore would say, our
tatesmen are busier with birds than with ambassadors. Popping will be

DOMESTIC SUMMAHY. 477

more in vogue than protocolling, and battues than birth-days ; not an under-
strapper in Downing Street but will leave penning dispatches, and hasten to
send his " circulars."

The interest of politicians has been monopolized by affairs on the continent,
of which we treat elsewhere ; but in the absence of more stirring excitement,
at home, we find the subject of Tithes of the greatest interest in the public
mind. The demon of selfishness seems to have fixed in the hearts of a number
of the Clergy, for they have revived claims which appear to have grown obso-
lete from their injustice. Poor labouring men have been imprisoned from
inability to pay an arrear of tithe upon their scanty wages, and war has been
declared upon the farmers by demanding tithe upon agistment, that is, the
produce consumed by stock upon the farm ; whereas the tithe is considered
to be fully paid by the fleece and lambs of the sheep, and milk of the cows so
depastured. The double claim is manifestly unjust.

The commission upon corporation abuses appears to be industriously seeking
out matter for their report ; for which, from the acknowledged impurity of
these sinks of peculation, they appear to meet with a most abundant material.
Some curious particulars have been already elicited. The town-clerk at
Huntingdon serely puzzled their worships, by rather a naive reply. It
appeared that all the places in the corporation were monopolized by the
House of Sandwich, and on finding the name of the Earl of Ancram down as
Recorder of that " ancient and loyal town," one of the commission inquired
what excuse could be made for such an appointment, seeing that the office
ought only to be filled by one " learned in the law." Oh ! quoth the func-
tionary, " the Earl cannot be better qualified, being an hereditary legislator!"
The Report of the Poor Law Commission contain a mass of highly valuable
information ; we shall have an article before long upon this subject. The
dislike which has been manifested to the Assessed Taxes appears to be daily
encreasing. Many seizures have been made on the goods of individuals in
default of payment, but great difficulty has been experienced in realizing the
sale from the absence of a principal agent in such transactions — buyers.
Auctioneers have even been found sufficiently patriotic to resist the tempta-
tion of a per centage, and refuse to become the government medium.

The visit of the Queen of Portugal has been a great source of interest
with the idlers who have been fortunate enough to occupy the line of her
majesty's progress. More powder has been expended than would bombard
her Imperial parent. Portsmouth has gone out of its wits with pure monar-
chical joy ; even Bagshot has partaken of the popular enthusiasm, and Mr.
Briscoe, the member, has been seized with a spirit of philanthropism, and has
presented her majesty with " De Lolme upon the Constitution," enjoin-
ing a careful study. Had he presented her with a bottle of Rowland's Kaly-
dor, she would be more likely to dip into its contents. However, the old
Castle of Windsor stands where it did, and the little Queen is gone to see
whither Lisbon and its towers are equally fortunate. Very agreable intel-
ligence has been received from the West Indies, that the colonial legislators
are desirous of co-operating with the measures of government to the utmost
of their power. The Irish Protestants appear to be excessively amazed at the
appointment of the Marquess Wellesley. He is known to be favourable to that
long oppressed and injured class of people, the Catholics of Ireland. Tithes
still continue there to be the bitter feud, notwithstanding the grant of Parlia-
ment to the Protestant clergy, as an indemnification. So unchristianlike is
the spirit, that some have preferred their chance of law to the proposed pay-
ment. As church matters are uppermost with the public, we subjoin the
following account of improvements in the Liturgy of the Church of England,
which have been submitted to the consideration of the more influential and
dignified of its members : —

478 DOMETIC SUMMARY.

1. That the morning service be compressed into less compass.

2. That but one creed be recited during one service.

3. That the article "he descended into hell" be omitted, because it was in
none of the ancient creeds, as is confirmed by the authorities of Bishops Bur-
net and Pearson, and Dr. Barrow ; and because it contradicts, in plain terms,
that declaration of our Lord, " this day shalt thou be with me in paradise."

4. That a more judicious, decent, and edifying selection, be made of the
lessons from the Old Testament.

5. That the Lord's Prayer be used but once in the morning and once in the
evening service.

6. That the prayer for all conditions of men and the general thanksgiving,
be inserted in their proper places.

7. That such Psalms be read as were designed for, and are adapted to public
worship ; and that those which consist of maledictions and imprecations, be
omitted, as totally unfit for a Christian congregation.

8. That the prayer for the King be less in the state style — thus, " With thy
favour to behold thy servant our sovereign," and that the words, " most re-
ligious and gracious," (which were first applied by our church to Charles II.
be left out.

9. That a proper form be provided for a time of general sickness. The
necessity of this was evinced during the prevalence of the cholera. Certain
forms were sent for the minister and clerk of each parish, in which the con-
gregation were to join as they could, for they had nothing to go by but what
they had heard read from the desk, so that to them, at least, it was no com-
mon prayer.

10. That in the Gospels be inserted the parable of the Prodigal Son, the
narrative of the Widow's Mite, Martha and Mary, Zaccheus, and such other
portions of the history and sayings of our Saviour as are omitted, so that the
Gospel may contain the substance of the whole four Gospels, instead of a
bit here and a bit there, without any method or intelligible arrangement, and
that some of the Epistles be changed.

11. Lastly, that the services for the 30th of January and the 5th of No-
vember be left out, as serving no other purpose than to revive political
enmity, and perpetuate religious discord ; and that, whenever a word becomes
decidedly obsolete and unintelligible, (such as " prevent" for " go before,'*
" let" for " hinder," " after" for " according to,") its place be supplied by
one which is easily understood.

FOREIGN SUMMARY.

We hoped to have had to announce, by this time, the emancipation of
Portugal, and the inauguration of another constitutional monarchy in the
South of Europe, an immense event in the present tessolated portion of our
Continent, upon which two mighty principles are struggling for mastery.
But the clouds of war still darken the Lusitanean horizon ; and though for
the moment the star of the Joven Maria da Gloria, appears in the ascendency,
the unequivocal support the rural population of the country, the church,
and the noblesse have given to her uncle, inspires us with some misgivings
as to this pretended contest, while the conduct of the Portuguese people
mnst, by this time, have convinced Europe what Mr. Canning is said to have
discerned long ago, that they are morally and intellectually unfitted for the
blessings of freedom. A conviction that we hope will teach our Government
the wisdom of observing the strictest neutrality. While the star of freedom
grows pale and flickers with uncertain light in the west, the Military
Sovereigns of the North have been assembled in unholy Congress with the
benevolent object of abridging the liberties of mankind. Germany has once
more seen all the machinery of the Congress of Vienna, and Laybach so fatal

FOREIGN SUMMARY. 479

to her happiness. But in spite of the rumours afloat, the meeting of the
northern despots is one rather offensive than defensive. They have enough
to do at this momentto resist the torrent of the propogande that is sweeping
with head-long fury towards their frontiers. Hungary is a smothered volcano
which causes the liveliest apprehension to the Emperor Francis, and his arch-
minister. Prussia, with her population worn out with military services,
with her liberal employes, with a botirgeoisee exasperated against a haughty
noblesse, without fundamental laws, and without intermediate powers,
present a soil on which would rapidly germinate the seeds of liberalism,
while the Russian autocrat in casting his eyes over the surface of his colonial
empire must see on every side that, even in Russia, a security for change is
imperiously called for. Discontent is fast spreading through the ranks of
the army, owing to a reduction lately made in their slender pay. They are
clamourous for war while the noblesse are dissatisfied at seeing the emperor
occupy himself so exclusively with the concerns of Western Europe, when the
true interests of Russia, are in the East ; and look with hatred on the
Germans by whom he is surrounded. On the other hand, Poland, though
beaten in the field, still opposes her barbarian conqueror — a stern moral
resistance that must convince Nicholas and his Russian Counsellors that she
will seize every opportunity of re-asserting her former independence. The
meeting therefore of the sovereigns is purely defensive on their part. Of
course their object is to preserve the statu quo, but there will be no appeal
to arms. They may intrigue and secretly undermine the constitutional
systems in the minor states of Germany : but they will know that were they
to let slip the dogs of war in an unlucky crusade against liberty, they will
conjure up a storm that will leave not a vestage of their thrones behind ; but
a distrust of the gigantic power of Russia has crept into the Austrian and
Prussian Cabinets. The cessation of Wallachia and Moldavia, by the late
secret treaty with the Porte, and the conveyance of her Suzeraente over Servia
to the Autocrat, has at last opened the eyes of the Emperor Frances. Whilst
the extensive fortifications which the Prussian Government are making at
Posen, now one of the strongest places in Europe, clearly shows that Fre-
derick William is erecting a dyke against the Russian Colossus. The Holy
Alliance, therefore, holds by a thread. The policy of interests is beginning to
prevail over the policy of principles. There is a wide field open to our diplo-
macy. One, that if skilfully marked, may yet prove the way to the re-estab-
lishment of a kingdom of Poland ; for both Austria and Prussia now begin to
see the necessity of arresting the encroachments of Russia, and what better
barrier need they than the gallantry of a kingdom of five millions of Poles.

Turkey, that monument of British imbecility, is now, in all but the name,
^ , a province of Russia. Some attempts have been made to renew our former
friendly intercourse with the Porte, but it is come too late. Having once
allowed the Cossack to encamp in the very streets of Constantinople, the
Dardanelles have been closed against a British fleet, at the haughty mandate
of a Russian admiral, and we must now resign ourselves to see in a few
years, Russia the absolute mistress of the commerce of the Levant and Asia
Minor.

In Greece, the executive government are actively bestirring themselves,
and the army is rapidly organizing, but Russian intrigue will continue to
distract that unhappy country until it shall suit the political convenience of
the Russian eagle to pounce upon Greece, and annex it to its already unwieldy
empire.

The present state of Italy may be defined by a single line of Tacitus : —

" Ubi solitudinem faciunt ad pacem appellunt."

In Switzerland, the energetic measures have restored tranquillity, while
her frontiers are lined on one side by an Austrian, and on the other by a
French army.

480 FOREIGN SUMMARY.

There is in France still some talk of a dissolution of the present chamber;
but it is gratifying to observe, amid the strife of contending factions, that the
internal improvement of that beautiful country is making rapid strides.
Projects for making rail-roads and other great public Tvorks, are in agitation,
which cannot fail to give a prodigious development to the resources of those
of her provinces hitherto held in check by the want of adequate lines of
communication.

The wily Ferdinand still drags on a miserable existence, and his death we
fear will reproduce in that part of the Iberian peninsular, the same scenes of
domestic strife as are at present devastating the sister kingdom of Portugal.

Our Eastern Empire, we regret to say, is at present the scene of commer-
cial distress that is felt through every link of the chain that connects Great
Britain with Hindostan. The attention of Government is imperatively called
for to that quarter, or that immense empire may be driven to follow the
example of America.

In the Western World, Mexico has been again torn by the rival political
brigands, who almost monthly struggle for the helm of government ; but
in that country, and in the other ci devant Spanish colonies, revolutions are
effected with less loss of life, than is oftentimes the result of an Irish row at
Donnybrook Fair.

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

OUR regular report has by some accident been delayed, and has not reached
us in time for publication. We can therefore only afford space for an abstract
of its contents, and quote the prices. It appears that the late gales have
had injurious effects upon the crops in many parts of the country. Letters
from the north state that the markets have been moderately supplied with
new wheat, by the farmers ; but the condition so various, that the prices
varied from 40s. to 60s. per quarter. Many of the samples were soft and
rough in condition. Old wheats have been selling briskly, without any
change in price: There has been a good supply of oats at improving prices.
Nothing yet doing in malting barley, for grinding parcels there is a gdod de-
mand. The picking of hops has been general ; but they sadly fail in quan-
tity, the disappointment has been great, the estimated duty is 155,000/.

The supply of beasts in Smithfield has been more abundant than any since
the coming into season of the present year's grass fed beef; but in general of
indifferent quality ; calves were likewise plentiful, but some scarcity of sheep
and lambs were felt. Trade has been generally dull, and prices with diffi-
culty obtained.

The Dead Markets, by the carcase, per stone of 8lbs. — Beef, 2s. to 3s. Wd.
Mutton, Is. 6d. to 4s. 6d,— Lamb, 4s. to 5s.— Veal, 3s. to 4s. 6d.— Small
neat Porkers 4s. to 4s. Qd.

Com Exchange. — Essex White Wheat, 40s. to 63s. — Ditto Red 44s. to 58s.
— Barley Malting, 32s. to 38s.— Ditto Grinding, 26s. to 28s. — Oats, 16s. to
25s. — Flour per Sack of 280lbs. 40s. to 52s.— Hay, 65s. to 68s. — Clover 72s.
to 105s. — Straw, 24s. to 32s. The highest price for bread in London is Qhd.
the loaf of 4lbs.

Coal Exchange. — Coals in the Pool, from 16s. to 18s. Qd. per ton.

Game at Leadenhall Market, — The Stock of Grouse and Black Game seems
nearly exhausted, the few at Market will fetch any price. Partridges very fine,
plentiful and cheap, from 2s. 6d. to 3s. 6d. a brace. — Hares in plenty, 3s. to
4s. each. Season commenced for Wild Fowl. Wild Ducks, Widgeons, or
Easterlings, in fine condition, and the Teal very fine. A few Snipes from
the Fens.

Middlesex, September 23.

Baylis and Leighton, Johnson's-court, Fleet-street.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XVI.] NOVEMBER, 1833. [No. 95.

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

SANCHO, — that fine embodiment of all that is round, rosy, fat,
witty, simple and wise, — in one of his moments of gratitude for the
good things of this life, affectionately blessed ee the man who invented
SLEEP :" we, who are not so popular as that best of philosophers, can
yet, when in the vein, be as grateful as " any he in Illyria ;" and are
therefore tempted to exclaim, Blessed be he who invented Annuals !
And we say this, not so much for our own sake, and because we are
yet young enough at heart, and wise enough in mind to take pleasure
in whatever is good and beautiful, as for the sake of the hundreds of
thousands of the lovely and the manly which these splendid creations
of pen and pencil delight ; — the lovely, because all that is beautiful in
Nature and Artis theirs by prescription and right of beauty j the manly,
because these objects find the more favour in their eyes the more
they are admired by those whom it is their fc being's end and aim " to
adore, adorn and cherish. Once more, therefore, would we express
our gratitude with the fervour of the immortal Sancho, and with
Wordsworth exclaim,

" Blessings be with them and eternal praise !"

At this season of the year, when our English sky puts on its ac-
customed gloom — when the greater portion of our day out-of-doors
would be an intolerable night to the inhabitants of sunnier climes —
when November, muffled in mists and fogs, steals on us with solemn
steps, wrapt in more solemn gloom, unseen, but not unheard, as his
frosty feet rustle among the fallen leaves — now, when warm rooms
and cheerful hearths, and taper-lighted tables, covered with book
and print, are as pleasant to the eye as to the mind, what more
delightful companions can we have, if alone, or if socially clustering
round a bright fire-side with congenial men and maids, than books
like these ?

Look at this volume ! Its subject is the East, that wondrous
region of the world — where imagination, poetry, science, and the
arts had birth — where all is beautiful, gigantic, and magnificent, from
the palm, whose height is two hundred feet, and the banyan-tree,
with its inexplicable and inextricable roots, to the gorgeous temples,
dedicated to the unknown gods, and mausoleums, more magnificent

M.M. No. 95.. 3 Q

482 A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

than the palaces of our kings. How poor and mean, and low and
dwarfish, are the boasted marvels of European tower and dome, and
tomb and temple, when measured by the Babel-like piles of Asia !
How stunted even is our vegetation ; what mere shrubberies are our
" primeval forests old," when compared with the cedar and the pine-
woods of that prolific region ! The more we read, and the more we
hear of the wonders of that world, the less we think of our own cold,
sterile clime. But our lot is cast here, and we must be content. We
may, however, look around us for more glorious scenes, and here we
find them in

THE ORIENTAL, ANNUAL.

One word composes all we can say, in criticism, of its numberless
beauties — beauties which, if we were to particularize them point by
point, and print by print, would take up half our Magazine. The
work reviews itself, and says more in self-commendation than we
could in its favour, if every word were a page. It is magnificent !

So much can we honestly assert of its pictorial excellencies, it
would be difficult for any pen, however gifted, to embody a narration
of equal interest Mr. Gaunter has, nevertheless, succeeded in pro-
ducing a work highly amusing, descriptive, and instructive. Having
had the advantage of a residence in India, he has been enabled to go
hand-in-hand with the artist, and describe those gorgeous scenes
which the pencil has so faithfully placed before us. From the nar-
rative style of the work, it is difficult to give a spice of its quality ;
but here is a short tale which exactly squares with our space, and by
which our readers will form an opinion of its merits.
A MAHOMEDAN'S STORY.

Before we reached Ghazipoor, as we were taking our tiffin* in the budge-
row, the conversation happened to turn upon the superstitious veneration in
which the Hindoos hold the sanctity of their respective castes. This, indeed,
is so great as to baffle, except in a few instances, the efforts of the mission-
aries to turn them from their idolatries to the light of Christianity ; and at all
times their conversion, when it does take place, is extremely equivocal. la
the course of our conversation I remarked, that the occasions were rare
where Hindoo women had attached themselves to persons of a different
caste, except the most abandoned among them, who lived by prostitution ;
and that their detestation of Mahomedans especially, was so nationally
rooted, as to render it doubtful whether a single instance could be cited, in ^
which a Hindoo woman had allied herself to a worshipper of the Arabian
impostor.

" Pardon your slave, sahib/' said a Mahomedan servant whom I hap-
pened to have at this moment behind me, " but I can prove in my own
person that such a circumstance has occurred, as my wife was a Hindoo,
who has both relinquished her caste and her religion, and we have lived in
the greatest harmony for the last twelve years. She has abjured the creed
of Brama, and now cleaves to that of Mahomet with the devotion of the
most zealous among the faithful ; she will yet be a houri in Paradise."

" How," said I, " did you manage to overcome the prejudices and win the
affections of this gentle Hindoo ?"

" Master shall hear," replied the man ; and he immediately related the
following story, which I shall beg leave to present to the reader in my own

* An Indian luncheon.

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 483

words, as it was delivered in very imperfect English, which, though suffi-
ciently interesting to her, would not probably be so to read.

" About fourteen years ago," began the Mussulman, as, soon as he had
obtained my permission to tell his story, " I was a resident in the town
which we are now approaching, and which was at that time (or rather the
neighbourhood) infested with those sanctified vagabonds who, under the
general name of fakeers, levy contributions upon the charitable, and, by
assuming an air of austere devotion, often contrive to render themselves the
stipendiaries of some of the most powerful princes in Hindostan. They
practise their duplicity upon the ignorance and superstition of their idolatrous
brethren with such ingenuity and success, that in numerous instances they
acquire an absolute spiritual dominion over them. They are at once the
greatest impostors and the most profligate scoundrels upon earth, being fre-
quently guilty of frightful enormities to obtain their ends, and some of them
are the most sensual wretches alive. '1 hey occasionally undergo the severest
penances, which they consider a complete expiation for the blackest crimes ;
and, finding absolution at all times within their reach, they hesitate not to
indulge in the grossest debaucheries, and when their souls are, as it were,
ulcerated with guilt, to avail themselves of the spiritual remedy. A certain
course of physical suffering wipes out all the record of past delinquency, and
they become, according to their barbarous creed, purified from its deepest
pollutions.

" At the back of the town there was, at that time, a very old ruin, in
which was a small dark chamber hollowed out of the earth at the end of a
long narrow passage, and lighted only by an aperture in the corner of the
roof. The 'dim religious light/ thus admitted, like that of a solitary lamp
within a sepulchre, only partially illumined the vault, being just strong
enough to show the repulsive dreariness of this loathsome habitation, and its
lack of every thing calculated to administer to domestic comfort. This
gloomy recess was the abode of an Ab'dhoot,* who was reported to be a
person of such extraordinary sanctity, that he could cure the most inveterate
bodily diseases, and remove the most stubborn moral disorders, by only
breathing upon the patient, who was sure instantly to be restored to a sound
temperament, whether physical or spiritual, by the mere expirations of his
sacred breath. This disgusting piece of abortive humanity was of dwarfish
stature, and, although not old, shrivelled to a mere skeleton ; his bones pro-
truded so disagreeably, and the whole development of his meagre frame was
so distinct, that he might have been a perfect study for an anatomist. ( In
spite, however, of his stunted figure, nothing could exceed the sinister
expression of his countenance : it was perfectly demoniacal. At times his
eyes sparkled with all the ferocity of one of his own kindred asuras ; f at
others it mildly radiated with that expression of sardonic humility which
makes you fear while you detect the hypocrite.

" This semi-monster bore the character of a person pre-eminently holy ;
and, to say the truth, he performed the severest penances, nor shrank from
the most excruciating self-inflictions, on which account he was so venerated
by the inhabitants of the town, that they visited him daily in crowds to
receive his benedictions, looking upon him to be little short of a divinity. It
was known that he had with him a beautiful Hindoo, who was the constant
partner of his cell, though seldom permitted to be seen ; indeed, she never
left her dreary abode but for water or some other domestic purpose. I had
seen her as she occasionally repaired to the river to replenish her gumlahs ; J
yet, whenever any one addressed her, she invariably maintained a stubborn

* A sect of fakeers who go entirely naked.

•f Asuras are the evil spirits of Hindoo mythology.

£ Water-pots carried on the head by the Hindoo women.

484 A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

silence, at the same time evincing, by her nervous timidity of manner, that
she was held in terror by some powerful but mysterious influence. I confess
I was always much struck with her beauty whenever I saw her, and the
strict requisitions of the religion of which I had hitherto been a zealous
advocate, began to give way before my desire to become possessed of this
lovely idolatress. She was known to have had two or three children; but,
as they invariably disappeared as soon as they were born, it was reported
that they had been received into the bosom of Siva, among the suras* of the
supreme paradise, as the offspring of his vicegerent upon earth ; for so great
was the reputed sanctity of this wily devotee, that he was looked upon as the
accredited minister of the Godhead himself.

" I had heard much of this extraordinary man, but held in supreme con-
tempt the marvels that were related of him, as the mere fabrications of
superstition ; when, however, I saw the subject of these marvels, I felt satis-
fied that, instead of being accredited in this world by the source of all good,
as he would fain represent he was, on the contrary, a most consummate
agent of the source of all evil. His countenance was an index of every thing
that was vicious and repulsive, and I could not help pitying the unhappy
creature who was doomed to share the dreary home of a being so externally
hideous, and whom I suspected to be no less deformed in mind than in body.
Having one day caught a sight of the lovely victim of superstition, for such
she indeed proved to be, I determined to try if I could not ascertain from her
something concerning the supernatural communications of the Ab'dhoot to
whom she appeared to have so unaccountably devoted herself. I accordingly
one morning watched him from his lair into the town, whither he frequently
resorted, and immediately repaired to the prison of his beautiful companion.
After some difficulty, I made my way into the cavernous asylum of this
young and lovely woman, which was considered sufficiently secure from
desecration by any profane foot from the reputed holiness of the male occu-
pant, and the superstitious reverence in which he was held by the infatuated
Hindoos. Upon seeing a stranger enter the dismal abode, which had never,
at least within her experience, been cheered by the presence of any but that
of the fiend-like being whose revolting rugosity of aspect, though so long
accustomed to it, she still could not behold without an involuntary alarm,
she started, and, uttering a faint shriek, threw herself upon the ground in an
agony of terror. She entreated that I would depart, assuring me that if her
lord and tyrant found me there, she should become the victim of his ferocious
vengeance. The appeal was eloquent and irresistible ; but I can scarcely
describe what my feelings were at the sight of so beautiful a creature con-
fined to such a loathsome dungeon, with a companion who would have been
honoured by the designation of a brute, for he was a demon in human shape.
The chamber steamed with the unwholesome vapour so long pent up within
its close and slimy recess. Its lovely inmate stood just under the aperture in
the roof through which light was admitted, and the vivid beam fell full upon
her expressive countenance, which was working with all the intense emotions
of anxiety excited by the most fearful apprehensions. She pointed to the
passage with a look of passionate supplication, but did not speak, as if she
apprehended the possibility of her voice reaching the ear of him whom she
dreaded more than the presiding Asura of Lohangaraka.f

" I once more tried to induce her to communicate with me whether her
captivity, for such in fact it might be called, was voluntary or constrained.
A tear stole into her eye and trickled silently down her cheek. I approached
her, but she shrank from me as if I had been the herald of the pestilence. I

* Suras are good angels.

•f Hot iron coals. This is one of the twenty -one Hindoo hells mentioned in
the Institutes of Menu, chap. iv. verses 88, 89, and 90.

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 485

was a Mahomedan, and she had been taught to look upon the followers of
Mahomet as the most odious among mankind. She seemed almost horror-
stricken at my vicinity, and her distress momentarily increased. I could not
pacify her. She became at length so frightfully agitated, that I conceived it
prudent to comply with her wishes, and leave the den to which she appeared
to be consigned a hopeless and miserable victim. I groped my way through
the long passage and got into the broad sunlight, with a gloomy impression
upon my mind, which I in vain endeavoured to shake off.

" Shortly after I had quitted the precincts of this horrible retreat, what
was my consternation at beholding the fakeer almost at my side ! He had
evidently returned upon my steps, and had seen me issue from his infernal
cell. He passed me without a word, but his large rolling eyes glared upon
me with an expression of speechless, yet intense malignity, threatening
destruction at every glance, as if the wretch, who had been so miserably
' robbed of nature's fair proportions/ would, through their fiery orbits, have
withered me into a thing as odious and marrowless as himself. I passed
him hastily, but as soon as I was satisfied that he had entered his abode, and
my actions were no longer exposed to his jealous scrutiny, I returned without
a moment's delay, and entering the dark passage, placed myself in such a
position that I could hear, though I could not see, all that passed. He evi-
dently did not expect that any one would dare to violate the sanctity of his
dwelling while he was present, and had therefore taken no precautions to
exclude me ; so that my proximity was entirely unsuspected. In fact he was
too much engrossed by his ferocious purpose to have a thought for any minor
object. His whole soul seemed to be merged in one absorbing sentiment of
revenge.

" I had scarcely taken my position, near the entrance of the chamber,
when I heard this almost sesquipedal deformity, with a sort of suppressed
scream as indicative of fatal fury as the serpent's hiss, upbraiding his victim
in terms of the bitterest reproach, with having allowed his sanctuary to be
defiled by the polluting foot of a stranger, and that stranger a Mahomedan.
She appeared to be mute with terror, as not a single word escaped her lips,
though I could hear the deep sob which seemed to be heaved from the very
bottom of her heart. He accused her of having appointed an intercourse
with an alien, an outcast from the abodes of the blessed, and one doomed to
the penalties of everlasting excision. He charged her with having dis-
honoured herself and him by an attachment, for which he declared, with the
-most frantic asseverations, that she should suffer death. I heard her fall(on
her knees — I heard her deep sobs — her pathetic appeal — her entreaties for
mercy — pleading with all the eloquence of innocence, but she pleaded in vain.
The devil to whom she appealed was not to be softened by entreaty, he
gnashed his teeth like a creature maddened ; he raised his arm — I no longer
hesitated, but rushed from my hiding-place, and reached the side of the
monster just as he was about to plunge a large knife into the heart of his
victim. At this time I was a soldier, and wore arms. My sword was
already in my grasp ; I seized the arm of the ruffian, and at one stroke clove
him to the jaws. The skull gaped hideously as he fell, his limbs shrank for
a moment, as if lessening their naturally dwarfish proportions ; he then
stretched them out to their full extension in the agonies of death, and almost
instantly ceased to breathe. He lay upon the earthy floor of the cavern
which reeked with his polluted blood, like a reptile, loathsome to the sight,
and even in death an object of disgust. I looked on him not only without
pity, but with that sort of exultation which I should have felt at having mas-
tered a tiger. I now approached the object of my timely interference, who
stood trembling before me, as if the knife of her tyrant was still raised to
destroy her. She gazed upon me with a mixed expression between uncon-
sciousness and terror, which made me at first apprehend that the shock had

486 A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

overpowered her reason. I soothed her with expressions of the tenderest
endearment, when, shortly recovering her self-possession, and looking upon
her prostrate enemy, she gave a glance which spoke her gratitude far more
eloquently than words, and burst into a violent flood of tears.

"There was now neither time for delay nor meditation. I resolved to
quit the place immediately, knowing that here I could no longer be safe, as
the destroyer of one so highly venerated by the superstitious inhabitants of
the neighbourhood. I was conscious that my life would be sought with the
most ferocious hostility, as soon as the manner of the fakeer's death should
transpire. As the interior of his cell was never visited, I knew that I was
secure from detection for the moment. I, however, prepared for my instant
departure, and the gentle creature whom I had so opportunely rescued, grate-
ful past expression for her release from the hateful tyranny to which she had
been so long subjected, gladly consented to become my companion. I took my
my way across the country, accompanied by my lovely Hindoo disguised in a
Mahomedan costume, to a convenient place of embarkation down the river,
where I hired a small boat, and we proceeded with all despatch to Calcutta.
During our passage, which was rapid, as the rains had only just ceased, and
the current was therefore strong, my companion related to me how she came
under the protection of the monster from whom I had so fortunately
rescued her.

" She told me she was the daughter of a wealthy Cshatrya,* in the neigh-
bourhood of Delhi, and near her father's dwelling this hated Ab'dhoot
resided in a den very similar to that from which I had so lately released her.
So complete an influence did he obtain over her parent's mind, who, as she
fondly observed, was a very devout man, that he believed the hypocritical
devotee to be endued with a power only second to omnipotence. In fact he
both reverenced and dreaded him, even more than he did the severe Siva, or
the still more terrible Parvati.f He was continually endeavouring to im-
press upon his daughter's mind the extreme sanctity of this holy man, whom
he represented to be as gigantic in spiritual might as he was dwarfish in
stature, until at length she looked upon him with a degree of superstitious
awe which she could neither resist nor control.

" The wily villain induced her one day to visit his lair, under pretence of
making her the vehicle of a divine communication. Having been taught to
consider any opposition to a request of his an absolute impiety, she did not
hesitate to comply. The moment she was alone with him he took advantage
of her defenceless condition and of her terrors to accomplish his iniquitous
purpose ; and when she communicated to her fanatic father the baseness of
the holy man, he blessed her good fortune and his own that she had been
deemed worthy the predilection of so sacred a character. She was so awed
by the impression of his being endued with supernatural power, that she
feared to withhold her consent to continue with him. She had brought
three children into the world, which he invariably destroyed as soon as they
were born, and gave out that they were absorbed into the essence of the
sempiternal Brama, as the offspring of the holiest of men. Her life she
declared to have been one of most unmitigated misery until she was released,
from it by the death of her odious persecutor.

" We have now," concluded the gallant Mussulman, " been united for

* The Hindoos are divided into four castes : the Bramins, the Cshatryas, the
Vaisyas, and the Sudras. The first are said, in their sacred book, to have
issued at the creation from Brama's mouth, the second from his arms, the third
from his thigh, and the last from his foot. The Sudras are therefore looked
upon as altogether ignoble and degraded.

f Parvati is a female deity consort of Siva, the destroying power of the
Hindoo triad.

A CHAPTER ON ANN'UALS.

twelve years, and she has never once regretted her change of condition, nor
have 1 the increased responsibilities of mine ; we are still fondly attached to
each other, and shall continue to be so until the angel of death shall disunite
us only to perpetuate the tie in a world eternal. I have left her for the
present in a comfortable dwelling a short distance from Calcutta, where I
hope to rejoin her when Sahib* shall no longer have occasion for my
services.

THE COMIC OFFERING.

Miss SHERIDAN has done her utmost to render her " Comic
Offering" worthy the favour of the side-shakers ; and if we may judge
by the sundry cachinatory movements obligate produced by perusal,
we should say with complete success. Miss Sheridan has been re-
presented to us as a young lady extremely talented, and of a very
amiable demeanour ; yet granting the former, we are by no means
so sure of her amiability, seeing it to be her chief endeavour to make
people "die o' laughing." As a choice specimen of comicality we
shall quote a

CONEVRSATION BETWEEN A WEATHER-GLASS AND A
WEATHER-COCK.

We will speak Whether or JVb.

Old Play.

" GOOD morning," said the Weather-glass to the Weather-cock, " you
don't look well this morning."

" No wonder," said the Weather-cock, " for I've had nothing but wind
in my teeth all night, and I don't see, Mr. Weather-glass, that you have
much reason to boast, for you look rather down this morning."

" Do I ?" said the Weather-glass. " At all events I'm up to you ; — up to
to you indeed ! now I look at myself, I'm up to sixty. You give yourself too
many airs, Mr. Weathercock. 'Tis true you are at the top of this establish-
ment, of which you are not a little vain."

" Little vane!" said the Weather-cock, " no, indeed, I don't see a larger or
handsomer one than myself for miles round, except the church, and there we
generally find more vane than useful: and as to my being the top of this esta-
blishment, you've always had the reins of the family in your hands, and I
should have very little objection to change places with you."

•" Change places !" said the Weather-glass, " I never knew you keep one
a minute together !"

" That's my misfortune," says the Weather-cock ; but yesterday evening
I engaged myself to sweet Miss Zephyr, and went south-about to meet her.
I had not been with her more than five minutes, when old Boreas made me
rudely turn my back towards her, and look at him all night, while he amused
himself with spitting hail and sleet in my face. If I am thus to be disturbed
in my pleasure, I'll turn rusty about it, and then I'll stick where I please."

" Ah !" said the Weather-glass, " we all have our complaints : you know
my existence depends on my telling the truth : — now I marked ' much ruin' yes-
terday as plain as could be, but my young mistress being promised a holiday
if it were fine, screw'd me up to "set fair," so they set out and the wet set in,
and I had nearly been discharged for this ; but on my master carefully exa-
mining me he found out the trick, which put him in a thundering passion,
and I fell down to ' stormy.' "

* Master.

488

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

" Ah ! well," said the Weathercock, " I was a little alarmed when I was
first put up here, for when I was fixed and duly regulated by the compass
(which, by the bye, I consider, must be rather a SHARP instrument, for
I heard it had a needle and thirty-two points /) I was declared by all pre-
sent ' to stand completely square,' when, to my dismay, in two minutes after-
wards, the wind blew me completely round; but since we've been talking,
Mr. Weather-glass, I perceive, by your face, you're not many degrees from
being very dry ; what say you to a glass of something ?"

" With all my heart," says the Weather-glass, "if you'll stand it."

" I stand it ?" said the weather-cock, " did you ever know me stand to
any thing ?" — here he turn'd half round, and look'd the other way.

"Just like you, you shabby rascal," says the Weather-glass, "there's no
trusting you."

" Save your abuse, save your abuse !" said the Weather-cock, speaking
with his head turn'd away ! " tho' I'm used to blows, they must be given in
a round-about manner ; and of all blows, the least I care about is a BLOW

UP!'.

The cuts we are enabled to give are by no means the best ; yet

MUSQUETOES

r

possess point, as any who have had the ill luck to feel them can
surely testify. The next we quote is a clever punning poem, under
the head of

CLASSIC CAROLS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " ABSURDITIES.
No. 1. PYGMALION.

Pygmalion was a sculptor rare,

Who dwelt in Cyprus' Isle ;
He had the skill to please the wise,

And make e'en block-heads smile.
He ' made a figure' oft, 'tis said,

' Cut out' his friends, — how rude !
At marbles played when in the vein,

And hueless blocks he hewed !

He chisell'd out a lovely nymph —

You'll own she was his own ;
Which, tho' but common marble, — seem'd

To him — & precious stone !

A CHAPTEE ON ANNUALS.

What quarry rare produced the block ? . .

A magic round it plays ! —
He gazed — as sharp-eyed falcons

Upon their quarry gaze !

He loved the nymph — such solid love !

Yet hardly loved, you'll own :
His moving her ne'er soften'd rocks,

Nor touched her heart of stone. —

A plain gold ring the fair to wed

He on her finger hung :
What folly 'twas to think — to ring

A Belle without a tongue !

Moved by his tears, fair Venus cried,

" No fate from you shall tear her ;
" Your chosen fair — I'll animate

" Not any mate is fairer !"

The statue breathed — his friends all came,

And viewing, cried with vigour,
(Both those who praised and those who blamed)-

" You've cut a pretty figure !"

Sweet pledges of connubial love,

He soon could boast a stock —
And all the little family —

Were " chips of the old block."

489

M.M. No. 95.

BILL 'S-TICKE R !

3R

490 A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

Miss Sheridan, in one of her own papers, has out-hooded Hood,
though the merit of originality remains with the poet and the wit.
We have only space for the conclusion of the lines —

TO A SUBALTERN, ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR INDIA.

[It may befall, at chance's call, a ball may gall : —

all past recall, he'd o'er the tall wall fall !
Life's fled ! tears shed, prayers read, earth spread

o'er dead who've bled (fame wed!) on dread

red bed !
Nor wait such fate ; at early date vacate ; and to

school-mate relate thy late great state ;
O'er ocean ride, let not pride hide or guide, or the

wide tide divide from thy allied bride's side : —
Or hold ! should death enfold her mould : be sold

for gold, to some old cold bold scold!

L. H. S.}

MAN WITH THE MANGLING THINGS!

/<

IMPROMPTU REPLY.

" How cruel," said I.. " to keep convicts close iron'd
Throughout their long voyage, tho' by perils environ'd" —
"Why, the chief part being wretches who ought to have ' dangled,'
If they were not iron'd — the crew would be MANGLED !"

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 491

We now come to the FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING, one of the
oldest of its brethren, and find that " age has not staled its infinite
variety." The frontispiece, " The Devotee," by Moore (a name new
to our eyes, as an artist) , is a very graceful work. " My First Love," *
the next print, is pretty, the mouth excepted, which shews the " fair
pearls within" a little too much. " Innocence," by Parris, is the en-
graving among the others which gratifies us most for its softness, de-
licacy, and female loveliness. There is, nevertheless, something of
the eternal " Bridesmaid " about it. " Venus and .ZEneas," from the
abundant hand of John Martin, presents his usual amphitheatrical
pomp of city, and grove, and mountain. " The Albanian," by
Purser, reminds us, in the face of his Goatherd, a thought too much
of our old favourite Stothard, the position is likewise laboured ; but
the picture, with its profusion of herbage, its goats in the fore-ground,
and others clambering up the hills in the distance, is not without
merits of its own. " The Bali-Room," by Stephanoff, is very com-
mon-place in all respects, — subject, figures, and execution. " The
Gondola," by Richter, introduces a novel effect — the face of one fair
Signora seen through the transparent, flowing veil of another, This
is at least ingenious. But the principal face " likes us not:" it is
not Venitian, and, worse still, it is not very expressive of what it is
intended to express. The other parts of this print, however, are
touched with skill, and produce a pleasing effect. " The Absent,"
by Parris again (who seems the pet artist of the volume), is a very
luxurious head of one of Love's Magdalens, with the usual acces-
sories— a portrait and a tear. The remaining subjects are of the
usual run — not very good, but by no means bad.

The literary department is rich, Here we find good names and
true, — Barry Cornwall, Charles Whitehead, Mrs. Norton, Miss Mit-
ford, Pringle, and last, but not least, S. T. Coleridge. The latter
gentleman, however, seems to us to be rinsing out his Heliconian
flask ; for, with the exception of a poem which we shall quote below,
his contribution to the inundation of verse which, like the Nile,
drowns us once a-year, is of the very dregs and washings of his
memory. His " light-heartedness in rhyme," is not at all lightness,
unless it be what Shakspeare calls " heavy-lightness — feather of
lead;" and the sub-title to one series of his verses, <e Expectoration
First," and " Expectoration Second," affected, and not over-delicate.
In the lines we shall quote he is more like himself:

LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT.

AN ALLEGORIC ROMANCE.

Like a lone Arab, old and blind,

Some Caravan had left behind ;

Who sits beside a ruin'd Well,

Where basking Dipsads f hiss and swell :
And now he hangs his aged head aslant,
And listens for a human sound — in vain !

* We have since understood that this very pretty face is a likeness of the
Miss Perfect, of Hammersmith, lately immortalized by the " fetch" of the
Duke of Cumberland.

•f* The asps of the sand-deserts, anciently named Dipsads.

492

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

Anon the aid, which Heaven alone can grant,

Upturns his eyeless face from Heaven to gain —

Even thus, in vacant mood, one sultry hour,

Resting my eye upon a drooping plant,

With brow low-bent within my Garden bower,

I sate upon the Couch of Camomile.

And — whether 'twas a transient sleep, perchance

Flitting across the idle sense, the while

I watch'd the sickly Calm with aimless scope

In my own heart, or that indeed a Trance

Turn'd my eye inward — thee, O genial Hope,

Love's elder sister ! thee did I behold,

Brest as a bridesmaid, but all pale and cold,

With roseless cheek, all pale and cold and dim,

Lie lifeless at my feet !
And then came Love, a Sylph in bridal trim

And stood beside my seat.
She bent, and kissed her Sister's lips,

As she was wont to do :
, Alas ! 'twas but a chilling breath.

That woke enough of life in death

To make Hope die anew.

The most striking poem in the volume, and indeed in the whole
series of the Annuals, is one for which, though long, we cannot do
otherwise than find room. It is by Charles Whitehead, author of
the " Solitary," a poem which has been unaccountably shuffled over
by those whose duty it was to have brought it forward as an orna-
ment to the literature of our country. Mr. Whitehead is as yet but
little known : if he stood where he ought he would be at an immea-
surable distance beyond the wishy-washy doggrel-mongers of the
present day, some of whom have been puffed into a strange though
ephemeral popularity.

IPPOLITO : A CHIMERA IN RHYME.

BY CHARLES WHITEHEAD.

" This is the night — this very night —
Have I not read the stars aright ? "
With an eye of fear and a brow of pain —
Ippolito gaz'd on his books again,
And clos'd them— 'twas in vain !

Two vessels stood on the table : —
Ippolito to him the vessels drew,
One was fill'd with honey dew,
One with hemlock sable.
Steadily as he was able,
Of poison he pour'd a single drop,
On the honey-dew it fell,
Still as water in a well,
And it rested on the top.

" Hast thou not bitten the moongrown

plant?"

Ippolito lifted the cover of lead—
The toad was shrunk with eager want,
For it never would be fed,
Jt lifted its eyes like a human thing,—
"Poor wretch!" he mutter'd, " it pines and

pines,
And cries to my soul with its piteous signs —

Eftsoons" — and with a hasty fling
Down he shut the box of lead,—
" To-night it will be dead !

" Every token tells me true —

The poison rests on the honey-dew,

And the toad is dying too.

I took it as it sat alone,

Drawing the coldness out of a stone,

And I pluck'd the shrieking mandrake root,

And the plant beneath its slimy foot.

Of all the stars that in heaven are,

Was it not under the very star ?

And know I not by that star in the sky,

When it dies that she must die ? "

He lean'd his brow upon his hand;

The youth was weary with his woe,

And his brain was dry as sand ;

For never a loosen'd tear would flow,

Since he had sought to understand

What mortals may not know.

But the air was through thecasementfann'd,

And with it wafted a melody,

A passing strain — a niurmur'd song,

A CHAPTEH OF ANNUALS.

493

Which a voice from a Gondola gliding along
Breath'd, as it floated by.

" My Isabella,— I dream of thee !
My sweet one sang that song to me
When, by these sheltering hands carest,
Her dear head nestled on my breast:
O dove within a vulture's nest!"

With heavy heart the youth arose,
And from the casement pour'd his gaze,
Where, stretch' d beneath, the city glows
In the sur.'s declining rays ;
And a thought of happier days,
Soothing his spirit to repose,
Like a saint within him prays;
And his lips are softly mov'd,
As he speaks of his belov'd.

" Venice, since first thy glory rose,
•The sport and terror of thy foes ;
Since first thy youthful arm began,
To scourge the insulting Ottoman ;
Encircled in thine azure zone,
Like Venus risen from the sea,
Thy daughters, Venice, fair as she
Where ever beauteous known.
Yet, ne'er within those marble halls,
Whose richly-variegated walls
Display in oriental work
Thy trophies wrested from the Turk, —
When the fierce thundeJs of thine ire
Roused the reclining Musselman,
And with a bolt of vengeance dire,
Flung 'mid the panic-struck divan,
Obscured the Crescent's horns of fire; —
Ne'er in those halls has beauty shone,
Which Venice might be proud to own,
Nor where her daughters most resort,
Or gallants, waiting, pay their court,
In gondola soft-gliding, or
In the bright-burnish'd Bucentaur,
With Isabella can compare,
Or e'er beside on earth was seen ;
So like an angel's is her air,
So heavenly her mien.

" A fairy creature, young and good,
Her pure heart beating at her side,
With feelings yet scarce understood,
She seems too lovely to be woo'd,
Yet soft and gentle as a bride ;
Enough of heaven for heaven above,
Enough of earth on earth to love.
A vase wherein the amaranth grows,
The virgin lily, and the rose,
Entwined in such implicit ties,
They seem from the same stem to rise ;
So, in my love appear alone,
Virtue and sweetness perfect grown,
With white-leav'd innocence, in one.

" Oh bitter grief! — and must it be ?

The ripe fruit falleth from the tree, —

And the river runs to the sea ; —

But the river bides the tide,

And summer is not to the fruit denied, —

And the spindle of the Sisters Three

Is of an hour-glass made ; —

And spin as fast as spin they may,
The thread endures to the very day ;
Its time is never stay'd."

Ippolito gnash'd his teeth with rage ; —
" Well — there is neither youth nor age,
Which child or grandame ever wore,
That human power may not restore ! "
And he smil'd, and the pale fire burnt in his

eye,
" What is life but a mockery ? "

" Paint me a picture — happiness
Shall be the unexhausted theme, —
Nor be the shadows more or less,
Nor the tints brighter than they seem ;
Is it not a sorry dream ?
A vision fancy hath endow'd,
A day-dream painted on a cloud ?
Drew ye these colours from the sky,
From fountains of the orient day ?
Behold ! the very flood is dry,
Not faster, but as soon as they.
To-morrow shall those tints renew,
Will it retouch these colours too !

" Paint me a torrent in its pride,
Seething in its tempestuous siress,
And call it life ; — and paint beside
A feather borne upon the tide,
And call that feather — happiness ! "

He turn'd away — the day was gone —
Sounds sank to silence one by one — -
Till the prison 'd toad alone,
Plied its piteous moan.

The footstep of the youth was heard
As he to the table drew, —
And the drop on the honey-dew,
Was for a moment stirr'd —
But straight again the sable drop,
Rested on the top.

Softly the gondola glides along,

Softly the gondolier his song

Murmurs at intervals ;

And the oar's soft splash, as it falls,

Makes the dying strain

Like whispering winds in rain.

Beauteous is the night ; —

The stars are watching, and the moon,

Pois'd in her transcendent noon,

An orb of yellow light,

Sees her face in the Lagoon,

Like a spirit, still and white.

But Ippolito is cold,
As one who hath given his blood away
To nourish the veins of a pilgrim old,
And sees him sitting by mountain grey,
Weaving his spells in the moonlight ray,
A wizard — to darkness sold !

Gently Ippolito glides along ; —
But splash of oar, nor n>urmur'd song,
Nor the sound of the tinkling guitar,
O'er the waters heard afar —
Silver, fancy might believe,

494

Shaken through a silver sieve —

Reach his torpid ear,

Or move his fixed eye —

But he sits like friendless apathy,

That never sqed a tear.

He stands upon the marble stair,

The very silence is at prayer,

A sacred stillness every where.

" Holy Virgin ! is it now

Her blessed spirit seeks the skies."

And he pressed his aching brow

O'er his aching eyes,

" O Heaven ! will no atoning vow

Avert this dreadful sacrifice ? "

Up the steps he goes like one
Whose heart is drawn by fear alone,
As s'eel by the magnetic stone.
One lamp is burning drowsily,
The oil within is" nearly dry,
A crucifix is standing by. —
Jppolito a moment knelt,
And cross'd his hands upon his breast,
And strove to feel — perchance, he felt,
The cup of bitterness is best.
But soon he started to his feet,
And mutter'd words it were not meet
Unshriven to repeat.

Gently, gently, ye that spread
Ashes on a youthful head,
Powers, that do His bidding just,
Raise his spirits from the dust,
Leave him not in hell, but lift
His soul by the Almighty's gift
Of grace and voluntary shrift;
For oh ! how shall he bear the sight
That grows and grows before his eyes,
His dream interpreted aright? —
On a couch in purest white,
His Isabella lies.

The sweetness of that angel face

Even to Death might ne'er give place,

Who plied his work without delay ;

For, well I ween, by that pale skin,

Death is without and Death within,

Toiling for his prey.

And, certes, he is sure to win,

Who labours every day.

Ippolito knelt beside the girl !

Oh! how beautiful she was! —

Though her eye was the blue of glass,

Though her brow was the white of pearl ;

On her shoulders her golden hair,

Had fallen in many a waving curl ;

And her small cold hands so fair,

Were palm to palm on her breast in prayer.

" Wilt thou not be mine, my bride,
Though death our bosoms may divide,
Or whatever else betide !
Wheresoe'er our souls repair,
Wheresoe'er our bodies are,
Soul to soul, and heart to heart,
Dearest, we must never part."
Gently he pressed his lips to hers,
The breath beneath them scarcely stirs ;

A CHAPTER OF ANNUALS.

Softly and gently his hand he press'd
On her soft and gentle breast,
And every throb in strength decreas'd,
Gracious Heaven ! has it ceas'd ?
Perchance, before her inward eye,
Her happy youth was passing by,
Or whence that short but heavy sigh ?
'Twas but a momentary check
To hopes that other mansions seek,
'Twas the last billow o'er the wreck
Ere the horizon's gilded sttak.
She felt her arms around his neck,
And drew his lips unto her cheek,
And in his bosom, like a bride,
Laid her head at peace, and died.

As some sweet flower that doth confer

(Growing by the hallow jd tomb

Of the holy sepulchre)

Its precious odour and its bloom

On every air that doth presume

To wander by the sacred place ;

Though born beside that awful spot,

Yet is it absolved not

From the fate of nature's race,

But in due time shall rot.

So Isabella grew beside

The sepulchre of Him who died

For all who in that faith abide ;

And look'd to Heaven w th earnest eye,

From the mount of Calvary ;

Yet well it was that she must die.

Fair virgin ! it is well to die —

The grave hath daim'd thee for the sky ;

The weary grief that time affords,

The woe thut life, the miser, hoards,

Shall prey on that dear flesh no more,

Thy day of pain is o'er !

To flow thy circling blood shall cease,

Thy dust shall tend to earth's increase,

But thou shalt sleep in peace !

Ippolito wak'd from out his swoon,
His face look'd ghastly in the moon;
And his brain began to whirl, —
Madness, I deem, had been a boon
When he saw that lovely girl
Resting cold and calmly dead,
His sheltering arm beneath her head ;
And his lips were parch'd and dry
As earth beneath a summer sky.
And with hollow moan he said, —
" Ere twice the sun with cleaving edge
Sink below the ocean sedge,
I will claim thee for mine own ;
Ha ! ha ! the reaper comes at last,
To gather in what he has sown ;
Time's precious till 'tis past."

He gaz'd beside him and around —
The very silence seemed a sound,
Speaking with a voice profound ;
" Look not on the newly dead
The panting soul hath scarcely fled ;
Let the mortal flesh subside — "
From his arm the drooping head
Of his death-betrothed bride,
Cold and still and deaf as stone,

A CHAPTER OF ANNUALS.

495

Sank down — Ippolito is gone —
Silence and death are left alone.
Once the sun with cleaving edge
Hath sunk below the ocean sedge,
And again with disk supine
Descends into the hoary brine.
Ippolito sits in the ancient chair,
Before him many a mystic sign
Of earth, of water, of fire, of air,—
Each hath of potency a share:
Well he portion'd by his art,
To each element a part.

Ippolito lifted the cover of lead —
Forty hours the toad had been dead ;
The withered mandrake was its bed.
" Thou hast serv'd thy turn full well,
Thou told'st me what the stars could tell.
From the casement he let it (all,
Far below in the canal, —
He listen'd as it fell.
Next with anxious care he drew,
The vessel fill'd with honey-dew,
The poison-drop had fallen through
Down the crystal clear, and lay
Like earth beneath the liquid day.

" This is well — I see at last
The bitterness of death is past.
Two-score hours, three, and seven,
Ere mortal flesh be mortal leaven ;
Three nights the pining soul doth come,
To watch beside its recent home,
Ere it rise to Heaven.
The blood shall trickle in the vein,
'1 he mind shall reassume the brain,
The soul shall move the heart again."

Ippolito a powder threw —
Swiftly into the honey-dew :
It creams— it scintillates — it glows —
Crimson, orange, amber, blue,
Pure vivid sparkles rose.

Ippolito smote his hands with glee, —

" Auspicious sign ! my thanks to thee,

That bring'st such tidings unto me.

My Isabella, rest awhile,

No taint of death shall thee defile;

Like a pestilential air

Traversing a plain of snow,

Gathering pureness it shall go

O'er thy bosom fair.

Soon, oh Nature ! in thy name,

Death's gross earthly pow'r to tame,

My Isabella will I claim."

By this, the day was sunk in gloom,
Utter darkness filled the room,
Woven from the Stygian loom.
For, well I wis, so black a night
Earth's inmost centre could not hold,
Shutting out the lingering light
With such a triple fold.
Ippolito on his couch was lying,
But he could not sleep a wink,
Thought indistinct to thought replying ;
As two upon the opposing brink
Of a headling waterfall,

Who to each other vainly call : —

So, turbid phrenzy rolled between,

And would not let him think.

Oh ! it were pitiful, I ween,

The youth that moment to have seen.

Hark ! what present form is near ?

Is it fancy ? or is it fear ?

The air is still and thick as slime,

And a voice is in his ear,

Unbreath'd, untongued, but close and clear,

" List, Ippolito, 'tis time!"

He sprang from his couch like a deer from

its lair,
He felt with his hands, but nought was

nigh ;—

Darkness, darkness, every where —
Mark ; hark !— 'tis but his bristling hair,
And his tongue that crackled dry.
His very self was dread to him, —
Silence before, beside, behind,
Molten lead in every limb,
Hideous silence in his mind !

Down he sank upon his chair,

His body with ghastly dew o'erspread,

From the sole of his foot to the crown of his

hair,

Such as bathes the dead ;
Nature's reply that none remain
Of tears, — which ne'er shall flow again :
" I was a fool," at length he said,
" 'Twas but a voice by fancy made,
To the outward ear convey 'd.
'Tis time my work should be begun —
Midway betwixt sun and sun."

He struck the flint — and in its flashes

His face gleam'd whiter far than ashes ;

Welcome was the taper's ray,

He would have pray'd, but could not pray.

Black and frowning as a pall,

His giant shadow on the wall,

Did the light pourtray ; ,

Arid every mystic form around,

Skeleton or reptile strange,

A huge and darken'd likeness found,

With fantastic change.

Closely wrapt, like guilt, he went,

His step was heard in his descent ;

And again with thickest gloom,

Darkness fill'd the room. —

Ippolito stood at the mouth of the vault,
The rust-grown key is in the door;
What is it that makes him halt?
The very mother that him bore
Shakes her loose ashes in her shroud,
Her memory is in his breast full sore,
And her voice is crying loud ; —
" Touch not the dead!" — He takes no

heed—
'T were well his work were done with speed.

Darkness fled from his garish lamp,
In the corner of the vault it lay,
Licking the fermented damp
From the forehead of decay.

496*

A CHAPTKR OF ANNUALS.

The coffin was lying upo.i the ground,

Four planks together loosely bound.

Speedily a knife undid

The slender fastenings of the lid ;

And in her death-clothes closely wound,

Sleeping till the judgment day,

An inert weight of passive clay,

Dissolving silently away,

Down into her parent earth,

Into dust from whence her birth,

Young Isabella lay.

The tender rose was on her cheek,
Ruddy as Aurora's streak :
And in her pure and lovely eyes,
Under their curtain'd canopies,
A light still linger'd, mild and weak,
Ippolito kiss'd her forehead pale,
And murmur'd soft in her listless ear
Vain words, as a summer's softest gale
When the autumn leaf is sere.

What is it lieth at her head ?

Is it a yellow and mottled stone,

Brought hither from its mossy bed ?

No, no ; — he knew it by its moan,

And its golden eye that sparkling glow'd ;

It was the same— the speckled toad,

Which from his casement he had thrown,

Full of life as it could hold ;—

He shriek'd, as he met its eye of gold !

Holy Virgin ! that shriek allay ; —

Ave Maria ! his spirit shrive !

Oh ! it is too late to pray,

Kach hair is quick horrcr alive,

That scarce upon his flesh will stay.

Central thunder wrapt in cloud,

lloll'd about him round and round

Jn rapid circles, booming loud ;

And yet, I wis, no mortal sound

Did the ear of silence wound.

A light is from the coffin beaming,

And a white vapour slowly rose,

Like an exhalation steaming,

From dissolving snows.

Faintly on the air imprest,

A figure, clad in white, is seen :

The hands are crossed upon the breast

A crucifix between.

Gathering substance as it stood ;

Sure 'tis flesh — and in a gush,

Mantling with a sudden flush,

Through the veins is throbbing blood.

Ippolito leapt with a cry of joy ; —
"|My Isabella, I know thee now, —
I knew my art would save my vow,
Never shall death that form destroy !
Come, let us from this dreadful spot" —
He snatch'd her to his breast, and fled
From the long and newly dead —
The past— the passing— the forgot —
And Echo, as he closed the door,
In the side of the altar spoke once more :

" Thou art mine own, — my dearest one,
For whom I make this sacrifice, —
Open thy lips and speak to me ! "

Cold she was as the cold grave-stone,
When the swift river is lock'd in ice,
And the rime is on the tree ,
The livid lips are swiftly stirr'd,
Yet not a voice or a sound is heard.

He laid the head upon his breast,

It oft had been her place of rest,

When both were innocent and blest.

He chafed the hands, but they are grown

Colder and colder in his own ;

And the heat that was wont his breast to

warm
Is drawn away by that icy form.

Soft — it speaks — nay, doth it speak ?
A gibbering sound from the throat arose,
And a smile is growing on the cheek,
And the rigid eyes unclose.
Oh Heavens ! no soul in human guise
Is looking through those stony eyes !

" Wilt thou not be mine, my love !
I have rais'd thee from the tomb,
Against the will of Heaven abdve,
Against the cry of doom.
Here unknown, unsought, we'll live
Life hath yet her joys to give ! "
Ippolito shrank, he knew riot why,
From the ghastly, glassy eye.

Its fingers play with his flowing hair,
And its lips ars drawn to his ;
Sure, never yet so cold a pair
Exchanged the plighting kiss ; —
There was mortality, I wis,
And hell in that hideous stare !

" Ippolito, dearest, I am thine,

And our fates, like blood with blood shall

mix ! "

It sign'd his forehead with a sign,
And it rais'd the crucifix ;
" Here, break thy half, and let us both
Together plight eternal troth ! "

The crucifix is rent asunder,

But Ippolito brake net half.

The creature look'd with a gaze of wonder,

And laugh'd with a quiet laugh ;

" Can'st thou divert the bolt of thunder

With a beldame's staff ! "

He leapt from the chair with a cry of fear, •

His very soul was like to freeze,

" Holy One ! thy servant hear ! " —

And he sank upon his knees ;

" Oh ! let the ransom that thou hold'st

dear,
Thy vengeance, just, appease ! "

The fiend hath heard the holy word —

The fiend hath heard the name abhorr'd —

Faint and fading more and more,

Without a look, without a sound,

It passed away from the stedfast floor,

And silence clos'd around —

The sun hath risen from his bed —

Ippolito is cold and dead.

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 497

Look ye to that vault of death ? Nor is Ippolito denied,

No mystic power of mortal breath, To lie close resting by his bride.

That virgin hath disquieted, Peace be with the hapless pair,,

Since with holy chaunt and prayer, And the joys of heaven beside !
Her earthly part hath rested there.

MR. WATTS is a man of such well-known taste and industry, that
we take up the LITERARY SOUVENIR with a full assuranc of being
treated to an intellectual feast.

" The Contrast," the frontispiece, is not the best print in the book,
but it is beautiful for the well contrasted girl-like gaiety and the
womanly gravity of the two females, the subjects of contrast. The
natural manner in which they are clustered, if we may use the word,
exhibits no mean skill in the artist. " Hawking," by Cattermole, is
designed with a certain air of the dashing ; the principal male figure
is bold, but the attitudes of the individuals appear constrained, as
though they were standing for their portraits rather than enjoying
their sport ;— effect appears to be the object studied ; nature, it would
seem, the artist thought contemptuously of; the other parts of the
picture are well filled up. " Austrian Pilgrims" is an agreeable
novelty, well handled and effective. " St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall,"
by C. Bentley, looks as it had been touched by the scenic hand of
Stanfield, and is a very spirited view, well engraved. " The Fisher's
Wife" is apocryphal ; we do not believe in such ladies-maid-like
fisherwomen : the realities of the picture, rock, shore, and sea, are
more true. (e Fisher Children," by Collins, exquisitely engraved by
Outrim, is the gem of the book, and worth twenty fisher-wives.
Here we have unadulterated, unaffected nature, and. seeing it, can
believe in it. We can almost hear the paddling and dabbling of the
boy's hands in the tub out of which he is pulling flounder, dab, dace,
and other marine dainties ; and see the springs and flings of its finny
tenants, as they strive to avoid his grasp ! The whole picture is true
as Truth herself. " The Departure for Waterloo" is very well for
•v its subject; but we are weary of military sentimentalities — weeping
wives, who cannot be consoled with the hopes of a widow's pension,
and clinging " don't-go-daddy" children, and all that sort of thing :
our sympathy with these dragooning Hectors and Andromaches is
worn out; the hero ought by this time to be admitted an in-pensioner
at Chelsea Hospital, with the other broken-down veterans. There
are, however, some agreeable points about this print, which deserve
praise — that fine, old, large-armed and thick-truuked ancestral tree in
the side-ground especially, and the buildings which back it : — these
we can admire and approve. " Innocence," by Greuze, is beautifully
infantine, and, for a foreign artist, wonderfully natural. " A Portrait"
is a very lovely female head. " The Oriental Love-letter," by
Destouches, is the concluding plate, and the second gem of the series.

The best tales are too long for our limits : we are consequently
confined to a short one.

" ALLAN M'TAVISH'S FISHING.

" In a secluded nook of one .of the wildest and most solitary parts of the
Argyllshire coast, where it is washed by the Atlantic waters, there stood,
some thirty years ago, the cottage of a Highland fisherman. The traveller
who should now look for its site would probably be unrewarded for his

M. M. No. 95. 3 S

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

pains ; — it has long since mouldered from the face of the earth. A few stones,
half-buried among sand, are all that remain to indicate where the humble
dwelling of human hearts once sanctified the bosom of solitude ; — yet were
its walls the mute witnesses of love as deep — of agony as intense — as ever
lived and burned within the soul beneath the roof of palaces. Nature is no
respecter of places. The passions, which obey her call, belong alike to all
her children ; the decay which follows her footsteps is the appointed lot of
all things wherein these children have a part here below.

" At the period of which I spoke, the cottage stood at the very base of a
range of lofty and precipitous cliffs, which, retiring in a semicircle from the
shore at that particular spot, left a recess at their feet, whose only opening
was to the sea. This little nook, not more than half an acre in extent, was
during high water entirely separated from communication with the world
beyond it, as the sea flowed up to the base of the rocky walls which, girdling
it on either side, extended themselves along the coast. The only mode by
which it was as such times possible to obtain egress from it, was one acces-
sible only to the foot of a daring and fearless craigsman, that of scrambling
on hands and knees across the face of rocks, which, beetling over a sea so
high and tempestuous, looked as though they defied the pigmy efforts of man
to surmount their mighty rampart. Yet this feat, frightful as it would have
appeared to one unaccustomed to it, had more than once been accomplished
by the bold and sure-footed inhabitants of the coast, by means of strong
wooden poles, ropes to aid their descent, and a judicious method of availing
themselves of every projecting bush, or tuft of heather, to assist their toilsome
progress. At ebb-tide, a narrow strip of sand, turning the projecting head-
lands, afforded a path whereby to gain the wider extent of shore beyond them,
some three-quarters of a mile along which was situated a row of fishermen's
cottages, lying on the right hand, after leaving the solitary cabin above men-
tioned ; which stood aloof and secluded from all, yet wearing a character
very superior to that of the others. Its appearance, in fact, was nearer that
of the neat and carefully-kept abodes of the peasantry on a Lowland gentle-
man's estate, than the slovenly hut of a northern fisherman. Some pains
had been taken to form a little garden beside it, at the sheltering foot of the
cliff ; and these pains — screened as it was from all high winds, even from
those blowing off the sea, at least in ordinary weather — had been attended
with considerable success. . Every thing around the door was kept in extreme
order ; and the narrow strip of grass on which the sand had not encroached,
served as a little bleaching-green to the fisherman's young and lovely Lowland
wife, on which she was often to be seen spreading out her clothes, with her
baby laid upon the grass beside her, while awaiting the return of her husband
from his fishing ; at which time it was her usual custom to repair to the
beach, in order to assist him in carrying up his nets to the house.

" Allan Mac Tavish, her husband, was a tall and handsome young High-
lander, who had, about two years previous to the time of which I write,
arrived in that part of the country to settle, with his newly-married wife.
He was a native of the coast, and had been bred a fisherman from childhood ;
but some time before his marriage he had left the country, to accompany his
foster-brother, a young Highland gentleman, to the bridge of Allan, a watering-
place in Stirlingshire, whither he had been ordered for his health. The young
laird's affection for his foster-brother was such that he could not endure to
be separated from him, and Allan left his fishing to go with him. The laird
returned no more ; he died in the Lowlands : but Allan Mac Tavish came
back, enriched by a small legacy from him, and accompanied by one of the
prettiest girls in all Stirlingshire as his wife. From that time they had con-
tinued to reside in the Cove of Craignavarroch, as the spot where their cottage
stood was named, to all appearance the happiest o&couples. They were
doatingly attached to each other ; and when, on returning from his fishing,
Allan Mac Tavish sat down beside his clean and cheerful hearth, with his

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 499

infant on his knee, while his wife spun, or mended his nets beside him, he at
least felt that the world did not contain for him a spot so blessed as his own
little home.

" But there was one heart in the group that felt as though it dared not be
happy. Margaret Weir, the young wife of Allan, loved her husband with a
depth and intensity of affection which had led her to do as she had done— to
violate filial duty for his sake ; but which could not teach her to forget the
fault she had committed, or the parent whom she had deserted ; and the con-
sciousness of her disobedience was with her, in her happiest hour, to sink her
heart as with a weight of lead. She was the only child of a wealthy farmer,
originally from Ayrshire, who had come during his daughter's childhood,
immediately after the death of his wife, to settle in Stirlingshire, not far from
the Bridge of Allan. Andrew Weir was one of those who still retain, almost
in all their original strictness, the peculiar tenets and ideas of the Camero-
nians ; of whom there are many to be found at the present day in the wild
and lonely districts of the south-western part of Scotland. His notions of
family discipline, and of strict seclusion from those who held a different doc-
trine from his own, were extremely rigid ; — yet notwithstanding these, the
affection which he had borne his daughter was very great, — nor had the
harmony subsisting between them ever experienced any interruption, until
the arrival of Allan Mac Tavish near their place of residence, and his sub-
sequent acquaintance with Margaret, first broke in upon the calm tenor of
her life, by introducing sensations to which her heart had never before been
awakened. The intimacy of his daughter with the young Highlander had
continued for a considerable time, ere Andrew Weir became aware of it ; for
Margaret knew her father's prejudices too well to dare to make him acquainted
with her lover. It came to his knowledge by accident, and his anger was
proportionably great. In common with many of his countrymen, Andrew
entertained an extreme dislike to Highlanders, which dislike, in the present
instance, received tenfold confirmation from the circumstance of Mac Tavish
being a Catholic. He would have considered himself as signing the warrant
for his daughter's eternal perdition, had he not instantly forbidden all inter-
course between them.

" At this juncture, Allan's foster-brother died, and left him the legacy
already mentioned ; but with his death, at the same time, ceased all the
reasons for Allan's remaining absent from his own country. He contrived
an interview with Margaret ere he should depart. It is needless to linger on
an oft-told tale. The struggle between filial affection, and all-powerful love
in the heart of the uhsophisticated girl, was severe and long continued ; while
the religious feelings in which she had been educated contributed to swell
the amount of reluctance and of terror with which she contemplated the step
to which she was urged. But love at last prevailed. Margaret fled from her
father's house with her lover. They instantly proceeded to Edinburgh, where
they were married by a Catholic priest ; and then sought the lonely solitude
of Allan's old Argyllshire mountains. But Margaret, — so strict had been the
filial obedience in which she was brought up, so severe the religious faith of
her youth,— could not find happiness the portion of her married life, notwith-
standing all the kindness of her husband, the loveliness of her infant, and the
peacefulness of her home. The image of her grey-haired father going down
in his sorrow to a lonely grave, mourning, in bitterness of heart the sin and
the falling away of his only child, was ever before her eyes. She concealed
from her husband the remorse which embittered her happiness ; but often;
when his boat was on the sea, and she was alone in her little dwelling with
her infant, — not a sight or a sound of a human being near, — nothing but the
sea-birds screaming from the cliffs, and the sea making wild music to their
song, as it plashed and roared against the rocks that shut out the cave from
the world — often at such an hour, would Margaret look back to the image of
the cheerful farm-house in the green sunny holm by Allan water ;— to the

500 A CH APT Ell OX ANNUALS.

blazing ingle, by whose side stood her old father's chair, — to the venerable
form of that now forsaken father, as he opened ' the big Ha' Bible,' to begin
the evening worship ; while she sat by his side, and the farm servants formed
a circle around. Alas 1 her accustomed seat was empty now. The name of
the undutiful daughter was heard no more in the dwelling of her childhood.
Had she indeed still a father ? or had her guilty desertion not broken his
heart, and sent him to a death-bed which no filial hand had smoothed r —
Then would she press her baby to her heart, while the tears of bitter and
fruitless penitence fell on its innocent face, and pray to God that her sin
might not be visited on it ; nor be punished in her own person by a like in-
stance of ingratitude in her own child. The return of her beloved husband
might for a time dispel these miserable thoughts ; but still they came again
when he left her — sometimes even when he was by her side. And when, as
often happened, his boat was out in rough and tempestuous weather, the
anxiety and the terror of poor Margaret were indeed terrible. She seemed
ever haunted by some mysterious dread of punishment through the means of
her warmest affections — her husband or her child.

" There came a bright sunny day in April, when the sun set calmly and
cloudlessly, leaving a long train of light over the sea. Allan Mac Tavish
went to his bed at sunset, bidding his wife awake him at eleven at night. It
would be high tide in about an hour after that time, when his boat would be
most easily floated off; and he, in company with the fishermen who lived in
the huts already mentioned, farther along the coast, were then to depart upon
their expedition. Margaret determined accordingly to sit up until that hour,
in order to obviate any danger of not waking in proper time, had she laid
down to sleep. But as the nig it darkened in, and all became stillness and
silence in the cottage, an unwon ed drowsiness crept over her : in spite of all
her efforts, her eyes closed — thoughts wavered before her mind in confused
and shapeless forms, till they gradually melted away into dreams ; and leaning
her head upon a chair beside the low stool on which she had seated herself,
she sank into a profound sleep.

" When at last she opened her eyes, which was with a sudden start, she

Eerceived her husband standing on the floor, and nearly dressed. Casting
er eyes towards a silver watch (the gift of Allan's foster-brother), which
hung upon the wall, she perceived by the firelight that it was after eleven :
and hastily rose from her seat, in that confusion of ideas which attends a
hurried awakening from sleep.

" ' Margaret, dear,' said her husband kindly, ' what for did ye stay out of
bed ? I never knew it till I wakened, and saw ye sleeping there.'

" ' Have I no' been i' my bed ?' exclaimed Margaret, as she looked around
her. ' Ou, ay, I mind it a' noo. I just fell asleep sittin' aside the fire.
An', Allan, whar are ye gaun e'en noo ?'

" ' Where am I gaun ?' returned Allan. ' Where would I be gaun ? Ye're
no awake yet, Margaret, dear. I'm for the boat, lass.'

" ' The boat !' almost shrieked Margaret, as the recollection seemed to
rush upon her ; ' the boat! — Oh no, Allan, ye maunna' gang the nicht, Allan.
Ye maunna' gang !'

" ' Not gang to night !' exclaimed he in astonishment. ' And what for
no ? — I must gang in half an hour's time. And gang ye to your bed, hinny,
and tak a sleep.'

" ' Oh, Allan,' said Margaret, bursting into tears, ' be guided by me, and
tak na the boat the nicht, or we 'se a' rue it.'

" ' What's the matter, Margaret ?' anxiously inquired he. ' What's pitten
that in yer head ?'

" ' I had a dream e'en now, Allan,' sobbed Margaret, ' that warned me no
to let ye gang. I fell asleep, and I dreamed that I was sittin' here, i' the
ingle-neuk, an' waitin' till it was time to wauken ye for the fishin', an' on a
sudden the door opened, and my auld father cam ben, and stood afore me ;
there whar you're stannin', Allan. An' I thocht he leukit gay an' stern-ways

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 501

at me ; an* says he, ' Margaret/ says he, ' tell your husband to bide at hame
the nicht, and no gang to the fishin', or ye'll may be rue it when ye canna'
mend it.' And wi' that he turned roun', and gaed awa' again, or ever I had
pooer to speak till him ; an' I startit up, and vvaukenet wi' the fricht. But
do, Allan !' and Margaret again burst into a flood of weeping : ' it's na for
nocht that I've seen the auld man this nicht. Be ruled by the warnin' he
gied me, and dinna gang to the fishin.'

" ' Hoots, bairn,' exclaimed her husband, ' your father liked na' me. It
was mair like he wad warn ye no' to let me gang, to hinder me from some
good than from ill. No, no, Margaret dear, gang I must, this night/

" Margaret again wept, wrung her hands, and implored her husband not
to go. But superstitious as every Highlander is, on this night it appeared
that his wife's mysterious dream made no impression upon Allan Mac Tavish.
His spirits, on the contrary, had seldom seemed so high or so excited. He
led Margaret to the door ; — shewed her the calm, clear sky, brilliant with
stars, and the full spring-tide coming so tranquilly into the little bay ; — asked
her with a kiss, if this were a night to let a dream frighten him from his
fishing ; and without awaiting farther remonstrance, strode to the place
where his boat was moored ; and as he pushed it from the shore, turned his
head, once more to utter a light and laughing farewell. ' Gang to your bed,
my bonny Peggy/ he said, ' and be up belyve the morn, to see the grand
boat load o' fish that I'll bring ye back/

" Margaret stood upon the shore and watched his boat as it doubled the
headland, until, through the darkness, her straining eye could no longer
discern it ; heedless the while of the still advancing tide, that now laved her
feet. She dried her tears, and looked up to the calm heaven, where not a
cloud obscured the dark-blue bosom of night ; till at last, half reassured by
her husband's cheerful anticipations, half cheered by the serene aspect of the
weather, she returned to the cottage, and after commending him in a fervent
prayer to the protection of heaven, she replenished the fire with peats, and lay
down beside her child, where, in a short time, she fell into a tranquil sleep.

" How long Margaret had slept she knew not ; but it could not have been
very long, for, except the fitful flashes of the firelight, all was darkness in the
cottage, when she was suddenly awakened by a loud and prolonged sound.
She started up in bed, and listened, in an agony of apprehension that almost
froze the blood in her veins. It was no dream, — no delusion, — she distinctly
, heard the loud wild howling of the awakened blast, raging overhead as though
it would tear off the very roof of the cotttage, and scatter it in its fury. She
had sunk to sleep when all was stillness on earth and in heaven. She awoke
to a tumult as' awful as though all the winds had at once been set free from
their cave, and dispatched to waste their wrath upon the vexed bosom of the
sea. But, deeper and more awful than the winds, there came another sound
— the raging of the waters, as they rose in their might, and dashed themselves
with a loud booming roar upon the cliffs. Margaret sprang from her bed,
and, undressed as she was, rushed to the cottage door. The instant she raised
the latch, the force of the tempest dashed it open against the wall. She
looked out into the night. A pitchy darkness now brooded over all things ;
every star seemed blotted from the face of heaven ; but dimly through the
gloom she could descry the white crests of the waves, as they surged and
lashed the beach within a few yards of the cottage door. The tide had risen
to a height almost unexampled on that coast beneath the influence of a vernal
storm ; it had far overpassed its usual limits within the Cove of Craignavarroch;
and on the rocks, beyond which it could not go, it was breaking high, — high
over head, — with a noise like thunder. Never was change in the weather
more sudden and more complete. Margaret stood for a minute in speechless
horror and dismay ; then, rushing back into the cottage, she fell upon her
knees, and held up her hands to heaven : ' Lord God !' she exclaimed —
' have mercy ! have mercy !' She could not utter another word. She hid her
face in her hands, and sobbed in agony.

502

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

" Still the tempest raged, and the waves roared on. Margaret dressed
herself, and carefully covered her infant, whose sweet sleep was unbroken by
the fearful tumult. Again she went to the door, and stood, looking into the
night, regardless of the wind, which drove a heavy rain against her face. She
strained her ears to distinguish some sound, — some cry, — amid the pauses
of the hurricane. As well might she have striven to distinguish the low music
of the woodland bird, as the wildest shriek that ever broke from the lips of
despair and anguish, in the midst of an uproar of the elements like that
through which she had dreamt of hearing it. But those from whom that
sound must have come, were far — far beyond where her ear could catch their
voices.

" She closed the door, returned into the room, and knelt down again on
the floor, burying her face and closing her ears, as if to shut out the noise of
the tempest ; while her whole frame shook with the gasping sobs which
brought no tears to relieve her : and at every fresh howl of the blast, she
shuddered and her limbs shrank closer together. She tried to pray, — but the
words died upon her lips. She could not speak ; — she could not even think ; —
she only felt as though she were all one nerve — one thrilling nerve — quivering
beneath repeated and torturing pangs.

" On a sudden the wind sunk, — completely sunk. For the space of three
minutes there was not a breath heard to blow. Margaret raised her head,
and listened. All was still. She was about to spring from the ground,
when back — back it came again, — the hideous burst — the roaring bellow of
the augmented hurricane, as though it had gained strength and fierceness
from its brief repose ! Back it came — shaking the very cottage walls, and
rattling the door and little window as though it would burst them open, — and
Margaret flung herself forward again with a wild shriek, and clasped her
hands over her ears again, to deaden the sound.

" Then she started from the ground, as a thought struck her, which seemed
to bring some faint gleam of.hope. ' I kenna whan the storm began,' said
she to herself. ' He may never hae won farrer nor the houses ayont the
craigns yonder ; — or they may hae pitten back in time to get ashore there ;
and he'll be bidin' the mornin's licht, and the fa' in' o' the wind, or he come
back here again. Oh ay, that'll just be it ! Surely — surely that'll be it,'
she repeated, as if to assure herself of the truth of what she said. She took
down the watch from the nail on which it hung, and looked at it by the fire-
light. The hand pointed to half-past two. ' Oh ! will it never be day ? —
will it never be licht again ?' she exclaimed as she replaced it, ' that I may '
win yont the craigs, and see gin he be there/ She went again to the door.
All was darkness still, arid wild uproar without. No gleam of light to an-
nounce the far distant dawn. A fresh burst of wind drove her back. ' Oh !'
she exclaimed, wringing her hands ; ' Oh ! gin he had been advised by me !
But the dochter that left her father's grey hairs to mourn her, deserves na'
a better lot. It was e'en owre muckle guidness to gie me a warnin' o' it.'

The long dark hours of that terrible night dragged on — on — in all the tor-
ments, the unutterable torments of suspense. And if any thing can aggra-
vate these torments, it is enduring them amid darkness. There is something
awfully indefinite at all times in the thick impenetrable gloom of night ; —
but when that gloom is armed with terrors, and big with dangers, to which
the very impossibility of ascertaining their extent adds tenfold in the imagi-
nation, then it is that we truly feel the full amount of its awfulness. At last
a faint dim glimmer of grey light began to break over the tumbling waves.
Again Margaret was at her cottage-door. It was barely light enough to show
her how mountainous were the billows that dashed and raved upon the
shore, — how thick and heavy were the clouds that darkened the sky. The
wind howled with unabated fury, and the rain drove against her by fits.
She could just discern, by the faint day-break, the white foam that marked
the top of the waves, which were now ebbing from the bay ; while a thick
rib of sand and sea- weed upon the grass not far from the door, marked how

A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS. 503

fearfully high they had flowed through the night. She cast an eager glance
towards the cliffs. — Surely by this time it would be practicable to scramble
along their base, and to reach the path on the shore to the fishermen's huts ?
She felt as though it were impossible to remain another instant in that state
of terrible uncertainty. But then, her infant ! She durst not carry it out by
so hazardous a path, in the wet, cold, dark dawn ; and should she leave it
behind, it might wake and miss her ! She turned distractedly into the room,
and approached its bed. It was still in a sound and tranquil sleep ; and with
a desperate effort of resolution, she determined to make the attempt. She
approached the door, and fastened her plaid firmly around her, ere she stepped
forth upon her scarce distinguishable way.

" At that moment, ere Margaret could cross the threshold, a strange sen-
sation came across her. A cold air rushed past her, like that occasioned by
the rapid approach and still more rapid passing of some undiscernible object.
A dimness came over her sight ; she could not be said to see — but she felt as
if something cold and wet had glided swiftly by her, with a scarce perceptible
contact, into the house. A damp dew overspread her forehead ; her limbs
trembled and bent beneath her, as she instinctively turned round, and looked
into the room which she had quitted. The light was so faint, that within
the house it scarce vanquished the darkness ; but a bright gleam flashing up
from the fir?, showed every thing in the room distinctly for an instant's
space ; and by that gleam, Margaret beheld the figure of her husband stsmding
within the door, pale, as it seemed to her, and dim, and shadowy, with the
water dripping from his clothes and hair. The fire-flash sunk as instanta-
neously as it had shone, and all was again obscurity, as she dropped upon
the floor in a swoon.

When the unhappy wife again opened her eyes, and recovered her percep-
tions of what was passing around her, she found herself laid in her own bed.
The bright glorious sunshine was beaming in at the cottage window, as
though to mock her desolation. Several women, from the neighbouring
fishing village, were in the room , one of whom held in her arms the infant
of Margaret, whom she was endeavouring to soothe and quiet : and at the
moment she raised her head, the door opened, and upon the self-same spot
where she had that morning beheld his likeness stand, she saw the lifeless
corpse of her drowned husband, borne in the arms of some of his comrades,
who had with difficulty rescued it from the devouring waves ; yet rescued it

rtoo late to save. ,

" Some weeks afterwards, as the household of Andrew Weir were rising
from their evening devotions, a gentle knock was heard at the door of the
kitchen in which they were all assembled. The old farmer himself went to
open it. A female figure, pale, thin, and wasted, clad in deep mourning,
and holding an infant in her arms, stood trembling before him. He gazed
on her for a moment in silent uncertainty, then desired her to ' come in bye/

" ' Faither,' said she, clasping her attenuated hands together, ' do ye no
ken me ?' An electric shock of recognition seemed to run through the old
man's frame. He sank into a chair that stood by the door, and with averted
face waved his hand, as though to bid the intruder be gone.

" ' Father !' she exclaimed, flinging herself on the ground before him, and
clasping his knees, ' the hand of the Lord has been upon me, for my fau't.
I cam' back to crave your pardon, or I dee. Oh ! dinna cast me aff ! I hae
been sair chasteesed ; sair, sair chasteesed.'

" A murmur of sympathy and compassion arose from the assembled group
of old and attached domestics. The farmer remained silent yet a little space,
with his grey head bowed upon his hands, and his whole frame shaking with
strong convulsive shudderings. He raised his face at last ; and while, every
feature working with emotion, he stretched forth his hand to the weeping
culprit at his knee —

" ' Rise, Margaret,1 he said, in a broken voice, ' rise, my bairn. The
Lord grant ye peace and pardon, as freely as your faither dees the nicht.'

504 A CHAPTER ON ANNUALS.

And the penitent and mourning daughter was clasped once more to her
parent's heart.

" Margaret died not long after in her father's arras, rejoicing with humble
faith in her release. The infant son remained with his grandfather ; and the
cottage which had been the scene of his parents' brief time of wedded love —
of his mother's widowed anguish, was left uninhabited, and speedily fell to
decay, which was accelerated by the encroachments of the sea upon the Cove.
Some broken expressions which escaped from Margaret, regarding the appa-
rition seen by her on the morning of her husband's death, being speedily
circulated among the inhabitants of the coast, deterred any one from ever
. attempting again to fix a habitation in the Cove of Craignavarroch. The
place acquired the reputation of being ' uncanny ;' and at present, there are
few fishermen who would willingly put in there after nightfall, however
rough the sea, and however distant their destined haven. It stands in the
solitude and the desolation befitting the theatre of such a tale." — P. 145.

We have already taken up a larger space than we intended ; yet
such a sacrifice is but due to so very interesting a portion of the litera-
ture of our country. Next month we may be induced to give another
chapter to complete our notice. Hood, by that time, may have
manufactured his Christmas stock of " laughing gas/' and we shall
certainly endeavour to obtain some portion of its essence. The
LANDSCAPE ALBUM is one of the cheapest and best of its contempo-
raries. It has upwards of tfifty engravings from Westall's drawings,
designed to illustrate the beauties of our own country. It is very
elegantly " got up" in green and gold, and might not unaptly be
called the " British Landscape Annual."

Ackermann's FORGET ME NOT maintains its ancient reputation, and
shall have our attention. The LANDSCAPE ANNUAL, — HEATH'S
PICTURESQUE, — The KEEPSAKE, — The AMULET, — Miss Landon's
DRAWING ROOM SCRAP BOOK, and others, must stand over. Among
the juveniles, Mrs. A. Watts' NEW YEAR'S GIFT appears the most
attractive. We have besought Miss Sheridan's assistance to conclude
this long chapter — after the loyal and approved fashion of play-bill
literature — with

VIVAT RKX (WRECKS).

ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS *.

« Splendide mendax."— Hon. Od. iii. 11. 35.

" Velus unda supervenit undam." — Id. Epl. ii. 2. 176.

IT is rarely that we take the trouble to condemn a work of uniform
unworthiness, or offend so far against the reason and good sense of
criticism as to bring before its chastening tribunal a culprit of per-
verse and irreclaimable depravity. On this occasion, though we
obviously depart from ordinary usage, in examining as unmixed a
morsel of absurdity as ever issued from the brain of maudlin fretful-
ness, we consider it sufficient for our vindication to observe, that the
hexameters of Count Achilles are the very type of numerous effusions
of a kind of wandering, scribbling clique, who feel themselves at per-
fect liberty to use the hospitality of foreign nations for malignant
purposes, and afterwards repay it by inventions and mis-statements
of the meanest and most rancorous untruth. We have therefore
chosen, at our leisure, to estimate the merits of one sole production,
indiscriminately taken from a mass of envious and rude invective, to
let our readers see with what a patriotic sensibility to fame and dig-
nity the indiscriminate affection for foreigners is cherished by certain
classes of our countrymen, on the principles of general philanthropy,
and how generously their idols respond to the expression of their dis-
interested homage. Far be it from us to undervalue the friendship
that at present exists between ourselves and our enlightened neigh-
bours, or to despise the criticism of an unprejudiced and conscientious
foreigner ; but we have no courtesy for slanderers — these claqueurs
of a most disgusting school. We propose, therefore, in the person of
my lord Jouffroy, to demolish a whole host of scandalmongers and
retailers of slip-slop, who have lately abused the press with their
libellous profligacy — whose most elevated ambition appears to be that
of procureur, or pander, to the diseased appetites of the most con-
temptible of creation.

There are certain points on which the wisest minds may differ ;
there are manners, customs, habits, climes, and countries, which may
variously affect the moral sense and temperament of various indi-
viduals ; the propensity of one nation may be repugnant to the taste
and genius of its neighbour ; every people has, in short, its imper-
fections to a greater or a less degree. It is for these especial reasons
that we view with satisfaction the frank and frequent intercourse of
intellectual foreigners, as being calculated to ^.rnend the more objec-
tionable habits inherent in the lands of one another. A philosopher
will exemplify as well as praise the wholesome fruit of his researches ;
he will reprove with truth, with temper, and good faith the vices he
has found — no matter with what virtues they are linked; he will
analyze and specify, combine and generalize, always with a view to

* Adieux d PAngleterre. Far le Comte Achille de Jouffroy.
M.M. No. 95. 3 T

506 ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS.

emendation, always with a reverent respect for truth ; and the candid
observations of a mind, so actuated and so endued, will inevitably
achieve in their eventual extension, a proportionate degree of sound
and permanent improvement. The travels of such a man must in-
fallibly benefit the countries he may visit, as well as the native soil
from which he was solicited by the external objects of a commendable
curiosity. Let the traveller be unlettered even — if his perceptions be
but just, his sense of right and wrong correct; if he possess but an
inquiring and observant spirit; if the result of his researches be de-
livered with impartiality and candour — free at once from the distor-
tions of dislike and the accommodation of seductive prepossession —
such a man, we say, must work a portion of advantage to the country
where his travels are performed, as well as to the native home to
which he brings the accumulation of a vigilant experience.

Let us, on the other hand, suppose a traveller of other purposes
and qualities — let us imagine a person of immeasurable insignificance
as to talents, both acquired and natural ; slavish in his prejudice, and
faulty in his predilections ; squeamish, ignorant, envious and peevish ;
destitute of intuition, prone to detraction ; hasty in opinion, and shal-
low in his judgment ; studious of every minor fault, and utterly in-
sensible or blind to every worthy quality. Let us look on this offen-
sive mixture of falsehood, jealousy, and rnisconstructive spleen ;
tortured at the evidence of a foreign nation's grandeur, a specimen at
once of conscious inferiority and of fretful rancour ; striving, by every
art of disingenuous hesitation, to question undeniable excellence — by
distortion to disfigure facts, which scowl defiance on his impotent ma-
lignity ; to stigmatize, by sweeping slanders, the orders of a State that
shed the sneer of a serene contempt on the abortive efforts of his puny
hatred ; endeavouring, by the inversion of all usage, to establish rules
as the exceptions, and the exceptions as the rules, of his silly and un-
candid estimate; — let us add, to all these fruitful qualities, the crowning
honour of unbounded egotism, and we shall not be much surprised
to find that such a person, much below the mediocrity of that com-
munity in which he moved, should prove resentful of his own degree,
and, with a view to vindicate the tortured vanity of disabused preten-
sion, strive to vilify, with flippant impudence and gross untruth, the
national and moral grandeur he beheld but to detest and to decry.

Such, we are compelled to say is in the present day the character
of many vagabond lampooners, who conceive it quite sufficient to
have rolled a thousand miles through any country of the universe, to
be enabled to present a picture of its manners, morals, government,
and institutions. Without the slightest previous preparation on the
subject, they throw themselves upon a world of most revolting novelties;
are launched into the intercourse of mixed descriptions ; acquire, in
general, their information from the casul occupants of public coaches,
the chance acquaintance of an inn, or the infallible dogmatism of some
contemptible itinerary ; with infinite absurdity they regard the surly
rudeness of some wealthy grazier, manufacturer, or farmer, or the half-
French frippery of an occasional man-milliner, as the common traits
of national society ; and, applying to the purposes of predisposed vi-
tuperation all the fractious acrimony of stage-coach politics, each

,

ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS. 507

£oi-di.mnt Anacharsis proceeds to the digestion and exaggeration of
his despicable incongruity,, and ridiculously designates so foul a mass
of falsehood, ignorance, and envy " an account" of countries, where
his information never ranged beyond the precincts of a steam-boat or
the limits of the king's highway.

And Jet us ask, with what fair show of reason can such adventurers
complain of their exclusion from the homes of England ? — we proudly
and emphatically say the homes — to which no foreign system of
economy presents the shadow of a likeness ! — how can such adven-
turers, unsanctioned by credentials of respectability, expect admission
to the pure, and amiable, and hospitable homes of England, when they
bring to their remembrance in how many instances these generous
benefits have been perfidiously abused, in how many instances the un-
suspecting frankness of an open-hearted host has been repaid by the
insidious artifice of some base though titled profligate, abandoned
sensualist, or scandalous traducer ; when they charge their recollection
with the dexterous feats of those mustachioed Barons, Counts, and
Marquesses, who prosecute their GRECIAN enterprises on the purses
of their entertainers, or, beneath the simulated purity of modest inter-
course, attempt a treacherous triumph over innocence and virtue ?

Thus much we think it fair to offer, as a preamble to such remarks
as we shall make on parts of the pretending diatribe of Count Achilles
— not that we impute to this proscribing nobleman the whole or any
of the motives specified in our incorporation of an imaginary character.
But as the Count appears assured that there is something quite un-
answerable in a strain of reckless ribaldry, it is salutary to inform the
versifying lord that every question has (for persons of his imperious
dogmatism) the disadvantage of two sides ; and that, as a natural re-
sult of so much turbulent abuse as the indignant peer has showered
upon the English people, some cool philanthropist may contemplate
his lordship's reformation by a little sober counsel, and, without ap-
plying to him all the various appellations to which his libel has so
bounteously subjected him, may prove my lord Jouffroy to have
shown, in many instances, unbounded ignorance, and in many others
to have erred most flagrantly from what he knew to be the truth.
And, though we should be as injudicious as we are unwilling to repel
the petulant and fanciful assertions of the Count Achilles, by recrimi-
nation on the fine country of which his lordship, we imagine, is a
native — as it is very evident that the inculpation of our own " foggy,
inhospitable, and uncivilized country," is effected through the medium
of implied comparison — we shall run the risk of proving our inferiority
on some few points, in the plain and open course of contrast ; points
on which the noble versifier has treated us — poor, insular, contempt-
ible, manufacturing speculators as we are — with rather more severity
than the high condition of candour and impartiality in revolutionary
France would have led us to expect at the hands of so astute and
just a censor.

But let us enter fairly on the Count's effusion, which he appro-
priately commences, as he ends, on wings of smoke, which separate
him from " ces climats brumeux !" Here is the hacknied charge
upon our climate ; which, however^ has all the accessaries of consum-

508 ENGLAND AND HEll CRITICS.

mate art, the comforts of a house, the excellent condition of the roads,
and the convenience of conveyances to disarm the inclemency of
clime and weather. If at home, you have your well-appointed room,
your curtains, carpet, your well-made doors and windows totally im-
pervious to the wind ; your commodious, cheerful grate and blazing
fire : — if you travel, your swift horses, fresh as the day-spring and as
sleek as sunbeams ; your cleanly coach ; your well-provided inn, a
model and compendium of all earthly comforts. Look on a rainy
day in France — at home — your sanded floors ; a cold, white winding-
sheet for curtains — an ill-made smoking stove, the very counterpart
of misery ; your doors and windows yawning to the winds, the only
agents that enjoy the access to a French menage: — If you travel, a
wooden house on waggon-wheels ; your horses lame, and wearied
from the plough, or from a turn or two of posting ; your harness,
whipcord, thong and rope, and rusted iron. Would you sleep upon
the road, your floor of brick or tiles — and, saving those especial
houses appointed for a traveller's reception, and at an interval of four
leagues distance — no other habitation that can yield you further cheer
than coarse, black bread, new wine as cold as ice (except in summer)
and as sour as vinegar, and eau de vie, comprising in one solitary glass
the fire and fury of Mount JEtna. To this plain, honest contrast, we
may add, " that the mortality of Great Britain, its cities, and its
hospitals, is greatly inferior to that of any other country in Europe ;
that it is at present incontestible that Great Britain is the most healthy
country with which we are acquainted, and that it has been gradually
tending to that point for the last fifty years ; that this superior
value of life in Great Britain is not confined to any particular districts
or classes of individuals. To whatever point we turn our view, the
advantage is still the same ; the man of affluence, the pauper-patient
of the hospital, the soldier and the sailor on active service, the prisoner
of war, the inmate of a gaol, all enjoy a better tenure of existence
from this country than from any other of which we have been able to
consult the records. It has long been the fashion, both abroad and
at home, to exhaust every variety of reproach on the climate of our
country, and particularly on the atmosphere of London ; and yet we
shall find that the most famed spots in Europe, the places which have
long been selected as the resort of invalids and the fountains of health,
are far more fatal to life than even this great metropolis. The annual
proportion of deaths at Montpellier was greater thirty years ago, and
is greater at present, than in London *."

We are not disposed to controvert the Count on politics, or to
pursue him in his wanderings on democracy or aristocratical oppres-
sions— he is eminently ignorant on either point ; but we will tell
him, by the way, that those delightful exhibitions which he has rather
daubed with an invidious, than sketched with a discriminating hand,
are derived in spirit and in form from the disgusting models which
the revolutionary fury of his own country so abundantly supplied ;
that they are the despicable excesses of the indolent and profligate in

Dr. Hawkins' Medical Statistics.

'ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS. 509

London, the abhorrence or contempt of all good and liberal citizens ;
and that their mad and wanton character has been immeasurably sur-
passed by the sanguinary perpetrations of the mobs of Paris and
Marseilles. But when the Count avers that our nobility are insolent ;
our people gross; that the possessor of gold alone is considered
respectable ; let us ask him, pray, in whose opinion ? Whatever may
be the strength of party in the British aristocracy, in their private
character a more enlightened, philanthropic, courteous, unpresuming
class of men no age whatever boasted, or no country of the world
possesses : and as to the predominance of gold in swaying the appre-
ciations of the rich and intellectual, he could not perhaps have taxed
his ingenuity more severely than to find an order of existing people
whose opinions it has less controlled, and on which the strength of
character and reputation only have so distinct and forcible an influence.
As to the inhospitality and grossness of the people, we conceive the
impeachment, coming from a Frenchman, must be downright jocu-
larity. Does the Count Achille de Jouffroy know that almost every
nobleman in Britain has his country mansion " crowded to the brim"
throughout the sporting months ? that every gentleman of fortune,
according to his means, adopts the self-same system of old English
hospitality, and that his guests are sumptuously regaled, throughout
their sojourn, with every luxury that all the quarters of the globe and
corners of the earth supply ? There we find no dovetailing of meta-
morphosed rechaujfees, no third appearances of fricandeaus, no pom-
pous usurpations of conceit upon the legal territory of real epicurism,
no supplement or substitution, devised by parsimonious chicane, to eke
out the appearance of a feast. All is genuine, from the massive
chalice and the salver to the solidity of our national reproach — the
glorious sirloin ; all perfect and appropriate, from the cleanly sim-
plicity of English cookery to the more questionable mysteries of
foreign skill ; the oldest hock, the best Lafitte, madeira smooth as
oil, sherry that would tempt a Mussulman, and fine rich port that
would mollify the rigour of a cynic. Is the Count offended, that we
give not up the spacious damask regions of our board to the insipid
nonsense of mythology, nor place misshapen Venuses and Dians on
our tables ? We act more wisely j we place the bright originals, in
all their beauty, purity and grace, around them ; and, though to our
unspeakable delight, they neither rack us with their politics, or
emulate the smoke-jacks of our kitchen with their tongues, we sted-
fastly maintain, that in no country of the universe, where chastity,
good sense, and beauty are appreciated justly, is the fund of conver-
sation more enchanting, to a man of decent expectation, than the
animated tenor of that well-directed affability, vivacity, and mirth,
which form the envied and unrivalled charm of real English good
society.

Much in the same off-handed style of condemnation does the Count
Achilles level his invective at the grossness of the English people.
The higher classes of our countrymen are palpably above our vindi-
cation ; let the Count contrast the calm — the cold reserve, if he thinks
fit to call it so, of Englishmen, with the eternal antics and grimace of
his own adored race ; and let us see, even under his disfiguring and

510 ENGLAND AND HEli CRITICS.

partial pencil, whether of the two conform the most to manly decency
and reason. The labouring classes of society in every country are
infected with objectionable habits ; but though we are not disposed
to justify the imperfections of our own, allow us to remind the Count
of the disgusting exhibitions he may momentarily witness in the
streets of Paris, and of every city nearly in the empire of the French.
We will ask the Count if ever he beheld in London, or any English
town, examples of such foul indecency as shock the eyes of cleanliness
and delicacy in every corner, under every porch, beneath the porticos
of churches, in the front of every palace, in the sunshine of the open
streets in the refined metropolis of Paris ? His candid answer must
declare, that such an outrage as it is on modesty, and even morals,
palpably outweighs the rougher usages of our uncultivated classes,
were they even fifty times more numerous than prejudice can make
them, or the finical torn-foolery of foreign dancing-masters, in their
pseudo tenderness, can possibly enumerate. Hear my lord : —

" Les plaisirs vertueux ont-ils pour toi du prix ?
Fuis ; que trouver ici ? De 1'impure Cypris
Le culte repandu du palais jusqu'au chaume."

Here, again, we have an imputation so emphatically belied by the
moral feeling of our country, that it suffices to distinguish this as one
of the many instances in which the Count Achilles substitutes the ex-
ception for the rule; and, certainly, the invective comes with most
superlative consistency from one who, founding his abuse of England
on the comparative merits of his own pure country, may remember
that, in the zenith of that slavish glory which the learned and the
brave of France unanimously boasted and upheld beneath the prodi-

fal and pompous domination of the Grand Louis, the destinies of that
ne country, of those noble warriors and immortal wits who bore a
reign of such abuse and filthy libertinism, were swayed alternately by
a strumpet, bigotted yet sensual, and a despotising monk, combining
their insidious influence, and reciprocating its effects for ends of
selfishness and superstition, for rapacity and persecution. Here was,
indeed, an instance of the

" Culte de 1'impure Cypris,"

which well, in such an age of servile flattery and imitation, might
affect the nation " from the cottage to the throne !" Here was, indeed,
an instance of a king so openly defying decency, so glaringly con-
temptuous of the nation, which he nominally ruled — at a period, too,
illustrious for the splendour of its arts, its arms, its heroism, and its
bigotry — that, after vitally corrupting his admiring subjects by the
scandal of his court and the foulness of his own example, he dared to
nominate, as their succeeding masters, the fruits of his notorious
lubricity. And here we take the infamous example of the fourteenth
Louis, of the Grand Monarque, not because the first or last in the
series of such execrable instances, but because the fulsome pens of
flattery — the pens of orators, philosopers, of priests and poets — have
meanly eulogized a prince and system of such ineffable disgrace. Let
the Count Achilles look to the disgusting debaucheries of the court

ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS. 511

of the first Francis ; a court which, in the estimation of historians,
incurably infected the general morals of his country ; let him look
upon the throne, and shudder at the shameful cause which terminated,
at the age of fifty-two, the regal libertine's career. Let the Count
Achilles look to the amours of his successor: how many natural
children had the monarch then upon the throne ? had he issue by less
than three notorious connexions ? and what can be advanced by Count
Achilles in extenuation of that slavish and immoral passion, to which,
in the meridian of his life, he sacrificed the interests and glory of his
country and himself?

Let our censorious Count Achilles look again to the throne as oc-
cupied by the last of the Valesian line, when corruption and depravity
had gained so odious an ascendant that the monarch was exclusively
controlled by players, minions, and Italian harlots.

What thinks the Count Achilles of the gross impurities of Mar-
garet, the queen and wife of the good Henry ? And much as we ad-
mire that frank and gallant prince, we recommend the Count, who
levels his reproaches at the British throne, to read the histories of
Gabrielle d'Estrees, of Henriette de Balzac d'Entraques, of Jacque-
line de Bluil, of Charlotte des Essarts. How many children had the
good and gallant Henry springing from his wanton intercourse?
Why, eight at least.

Let the Count relate the influence of courtezans on that nefarious
regency, when Orleans and Dubois dispensed the secret rigours of the
state, and put at the disposal of the wanton and debauched, their in-
struments of sensual pleasure, the very property and freedom of the
nation indiscriminately. Let him pass to the disgusting annals of
the prostitution of the court of Louis XV., the Pompadours, Du
Barris, .the Pare au Cerfs, when, according to the remark of an in-
dignant writer, " the nation was chained to the car of a prostitute, who
decided alike the fate of princes and of nations, of the exalted and the
low/' So much for the unsullied throne of France ! Now, let the
Count inform us, in what portion of our history he finds these usurpa-
tions of the strumpet on the royal power or popular endurance. The
depravity of Charles II., originated as it was by foreign education,
can hardly come within the scope of this impeachment ; though he is
| welcome to the censure of a libertine so thoroughly un-English, and
will hardly fail, while penning the reproaches of one abandoned
British king, to write a doubly-cutting commentary on a dozen of his
own. Encore, my lord, —

" Disciple d'Epicure, airaes tu les banquets
Ou le bon gout preside, et les jouyeux couplets,
Va chercher ailleurs ; fuis des tables Britannique,
Les mets lourds, les vins forts et les propos cyniques ;
Les convives epais et leurs toasts a foison,
Leur ivresse plus triste encor que leur raison
Garde toi dans le vin d'exciter leur colere !
L'Anglais montre aussitot son brutal charactere,
II vient, fermant les poings, t'attaquer, te vexer
Et tu dois tout souffrir, si tu ne sais boxer."

On the epicurean point in the above quotation, we are strongly of

512 ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS.

the sentiment of Horace, notwithstanding the authority against us of
Count Achilles de Jouffroy, and certainly prefer no verses to bad
verses. We can hardly imagine, for example, any service more
severe than that of assisting at a dinner, where the couplets fell to
the purveyance of the noble and censorious lord. In short, we totally
dispense with such unseasonable and premeditated trumpery. Here,
however, we are v. illing to allow the Count Achilles the full in-
dulgence of his taste, expressing, at the same time, our implicit ap-
probation of the social mirth and reasonable gaiety which commonly
obtain at tables of the English gentry, who are not (good sense be
thanked!) so totally the slaves of levity that every moment of their
lives requires the inspiration of a Merry Andrew, or some other
frivolous jack-pudding. To us it seems sufficient that the course of
a repast is marked with cheerfulness and ease ; nor do we wish to see
the habits of unimpeachable propriety, which reign among us,
changed for that barbarian system of uproarious tumult, which re-
sembles more the fierce voracity of famished hounds than the decent
satisfaction of a human appetite. At the same time, nothing loth to
meet the charges of the Count Achilles on the point of quietude, we
take occasion to commend, and most distinctly to prefer, the con-
cession and forbearance which constitute the very soul of well-bred
conversation in an English company to that clamorous effort for pre-
cedence, which is carried on elsewhere, amidst a shower of missiles
uttered by the full-mouthed candidate for audience — saving some few
steady devotees of Comus, who, intent on the perfections of the pass-
ing feast alone, absorbed in greedy speculation, are looking to the
door for the succeeding plat, and seem, with all their napkins tucked
in their cravats, to await the ceremony of a shave from some expected
barber. Again, upon the point of heavy joints, the Count must be
informed, that England is a country where the meats are so in-
comparably good, that they admit of being wholesomely and simply
set on table ; and that, though in nations where the fact is diametri-
cally opposite, their cooks must have recourse to twenty thousand
freaks of pompous nastiness and sounding nomenclatures, to conceal
the naked truth of half-starved, coarse, and insalubrious viands — the
English kitchen is exempted from those impure contrivances. Be-
sides, we have an hundred lighter works, revised editions of Apician I
skill, improved and purified from foreign trickery — some few genuine
dishes of our own, which put the efforts of all countries at defiance ;
and thus provided as to culinary means, with venison, fish, and
game, which never kitchen but our own produced in absolute per-
fection— we make a pretty reputable stand against the nondescript
pretensions of the very French themselves, who tolerate the tenth
appearance of a worn-out fricandeau, consume a hundred casual
heterogeneous essences in one chaotic soup, and swallow fish with
rapture in the gastronomic capital of France, which the veriest starve-
ling in Great Britain would repudiate in the keenest agony of hunger.
Furthermore, we venture, without fear of confutation, to assert, that
for one superb dinner set on table daily in' the splendid city of Paris,
there are at least one hundred in the gothic town of London, where
infinitely better wines (and the best of French among the number) are

ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS. 513

drunk than in the former ; and, by way of illustrating the noble
Count's invective on the point of hospitality in England, we expressly
say that, where one man in his metropolis dines, by invitation, at his
neighbour's cost, there are at least five hundred in that respective
state in London. In what society did Count Achilles so unfortunately
light, that politics (for such, we apprehend, he means by the indefinite
expression of " propos cymques") became the subject of engrossing
interest? where did he find these heavy guests and drunken dogs?
He surely must have cultivated the protection of some parish-officer,
who took him, as a Roman umbra, to the vestry feasts. And even
there, the sense of decency is far too prevalent to sanction the ferocity
of blows ; though, true it is, that in the streets, where impudence is
sometimes ignorantly offered to a female, the style of castigation is as
summary as the offence is flagrant ; and a coxcomb may be laid upon
his mother earth with the velocity of lightning, if he violates the laws
of manliness and manners. The sarcastic Count, we apprehend, has
never witnessed such disgraceful scenes in any common coffee-house
in London ; but, if the censorious patrician has taken his daily meal in
some of those inferior eating-houses much frequented by the poorer
sort of French, and where the intricacies of arithmetic diurnally pro-
duce some paltry squabbles on the subject of a sol, he may have seen
as much, or more, contention in a week, than any decent native of
the capital would witness in a twelvemonth. No, no ; my Lord de
Jouffroy, our humble meals, if silent, are decorous ; though we have
not yet attained so much of that refined abandonment to ease, that we
see the members of a company employing knives and forks for tooth-
picks, or the purpose of a nail-brush ; or, perchance, some elegant
example of the softer sex expectorating to the distance of a dozen feet,
good measurement, and lodging the pulmonic missive on the sanded
floor in the likeness of a mighty star-fish.

The Count Achilles next proceeds to the encomium of indolence,
the repose of Eden, and the punishment of revolted man, which he
pithily exhibits in its concrete form, in the condition of the artisans ,
of Manchester and of the miners of the various pits of England. He
•informs us that his ancestors, employed by graver cares than manu-
factures, devolved upon their slaves the works which the present free,
but humble. Englishman performs, at the risk of his existence, in
making caps and stockings for the valets of the French. We shall
not take the fruitless trouble of discussing with his lordship the merits
and demerits of our manufacturing or mining systems ; but, we ask,
is any other person than the Count so grossly stultified as to imagine
that it signifies one jot to an artificer to whom his labours are eventu-
ally useful? The censorious versifier may settle with his country-
men his flattering astonishment that English mechanics condescend to
labour for the French community ; though, generally speaking, there
are few indeed, among the lower orders of his country — who have soul
enough— and, what is more important still, the money to procure an
article of genuine British manufacture. As far as our Homeric re-
collections serve us, the namesake of my Lord de Jouffroy was no
small c( Count" in the heroic ages ; and, certainly, the name, in modern
illustration, is but little shorn of its original pretension. " Nos valets !"
M. M. No. 95. 3 U

514 ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS.

saith the Count. How many hath he, marry ? Whatever be the case,
as touching the numerical effect of Count de Jouffroy's retinue, we
surmise, at least, a patriot of his exalted mind would soon eject, by
peremptory process, any servant in his suite who dared to sport an
English broadcloth in the room of that incessant piece of sky-blue
patchwork, which flaps and flies, and barely holds together, on the
backs of all the happy peasantry in revolutionary France. His lord-
ship, in the natural sequence of absurdities, proceeds to eulogize the
indolence and beggary of Italy and Spain ; expatiates on a lyre cham-
petre, shepherds, beech-trees, and the childish common-place of
cocknified bucolics. He ends his little spurt (for such it is) of cant
and squeamishness, by telling us,

" Nicette, en secret, la rougeur ail visage
Lui confie un ruban pour le prochain village,"

when the enviable beggar, who has edified the patriarchal society —
depicted by the Count with much incomparable drollery — by a dis-
sertation upon simples, husbandry, and silk- worms, prosecutes his
mendicant career to share the riches of his wallet with less successful
vagrants than himself: —

" Car le plaisir du pauvre est d'etre genereux."

" Like to the Pontick sea,

Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on,"

the noble satirist proceeds to show the blessing of mendicity, the
comforts of monastic sepulture, and benediction. He apostrophizes
the " miserable Breton," informs him that he has to contest with
swine, the offal which they feed on (potatoes), and that their sus-
tenance is eventually derived from brewers' grains ; forbids him to
solicit aid from opulence, and directs him, with remarkable precision,
to a pawnbroker's shop, where the last rags of his wife may possibly
suffice to lengthen one more day the miserable being of his children.

But, as perhaps the patience of our readers is not of so elastic a cha-
racter as Count Achille de Jouffroy's imbecility, we shall bring our
observations to a close ; alluding merely to the noble censor's notice
of the late atrocities of Burke, and others of the same nefarious class,
and of the system of supply which formerly obtained in London for
the subjects of anatomical professors ; which two systems, the Count
Achilles takes to be infallibly an index to the English character ! We
smile; as well we may. What would any of those intellectual, humane,
and worthy men, who now adorn the soil of France, imagine of the taste
and motives of an English nobleman who took a simple tithe of those
enormous crimes which blot the heinous annals of their Revolution ;
and having given a faithful picture of those unprecedented outrages
on all the laws of heaven aud man, denoted it a character of the
civilized and intellectual inhabitants of Christian France ?

If we condescended to pursue the Count with ridicule, we could
have him on a thousand vulnerable points of national autonomy ; and
though we candidly admit that an acute antagonist, though not
Achilles, might favour us with pretty smart retaliation, we believe the

ENGLAND AND HER CRITICS.

515

palm of triumph in so rude a contest would rest, on the enumeration
of the trophies, by a large majority with ourselves.

If the Comte Achille de Jouffroy is at all acquainted with the
periodical literature of England, he must know that we are not
tenaciously averse from the exposure of our faults. A thousand
points, in all our systems, are assailed in quarterly, in monthly, and
diurnal publications. We consider with good temper every specula-
tion offered to a public studious of improvement ; a public, labouring,
by honest and ingenious means, to lighten the incumbrances imposed
on it, by one great system of exalted magnanimity, morality, and
foresight. England is too grand, too opulent, too wise, too proud,
to heed the envy of the malignant, or the invective of a pctit-maitre.

We cordially exchange " adieux" with Count Achille de Jouffroy,
and strongly recommend him, in his next production on a foreign
country, to reform his plan. Pope thought

" A lie in verse or prose the same ;"

and so do we. In conclusion, we seriously admonish Count Achilles,
that though the ribaldry and falsehood of assertions, purporting to be
authentic, may variously affect the gravity or laughter of a reader,
they are awkward weapons in the best of hands, and never failed to
gain their silly author a well-proportioned quantum of contempt.

BLACK-GUARDS,

(FROM MISS SHERIDAN'S ANNUAL.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, AND ANEC-
DOTES OF REMARKABLE PERSONS CONNECTED
WITH THE STAGE.

BY AN OLD STAGER.

I REMEMBER Gorrick in private life, and seeing him in many of
the characters he performed in his latter days. By preserving accu-
rate memorandums of what I saw him do, and comparing my obser-
vations with the performance of the same characters by other actors
from time to time, I must say that I never saw any actor who ap-
proached within many degrees of the excellence displayed by Gar-
rick ; nor do I think, considering all the changes that have taken
place in the degree and extent of encouragement that is now given to
those who practise that art, there is the least reason, to believe that
it will ever be restored to that eminence I have seen it sustain in even
my own times.

Though I never saw any actor on the stage older than a contem-
porary of Garrick, I feel confident that in former times there have
existed actors like Garrick, equal to him in every respect, and, very
possibly, superior to him in some. As I cannot positively assert what
I have certainly never seen, I must be allowed to make out my case
by such approximations as I am able, by referring to the declarations
of what they have seen, and have been made by other competent
witnesses.

When the appearance of Garrick in Goodman's Fields drew crowds
of spectators from the west, to witness the prodigy, Pope, an ex-
cellent poet, went among the rest. When he had seen the young
man, the poet exclaimed, " This young man will be spoiled by suc-
cess ; for he has neither rival nor competitor ; he is like Betterton, and
quite equal to him!" Here then I, and those who, like me, reflect
upon what they hear or read, feel that the acting of Garrick resembled
that of Betterton, and was quite equal to it ; for Pope, when a
young man, was intimate with Betterton, and, as a volunteer artist,
painted his portrait, which was destroyed by the fire which burned
Lord Mansfield's house in Bloomsbury-square, in the year 1780;
Pope having done this, and being so well acquainted with Betterton,
may be fairly allowed to have spoken the truth of his friend,

Having proceeded, successfully, thus far, we may now venture to"'
proceed a little way farther. Betterton was known to declare, une-
quivocally, that he formed his style of acting by reflecting upon the
performances of Major Mohun and Hart, the tragic heroes of the
time of Charles the Second after his restoration. Betterton is re-
corded to have acknowledged, with gratitude, the great superiority
and kindness of his instructors, in communicating their knowledge to
him. Hart is known to have been the nephew of Shakspeare ; and
having been brought up to the stage from his infancy, it may be be-
lieved thus he received instructions from his uncle, and had, by that
means, a knowledge of the way in which the principal characters of
our immortal bard were performed by Lowin, Taylor, Tarleton, and
other great associates of Shakspeare.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 517

Having thus traced the style of Garrick backwards to the days of
Shakspeare, we will endeavour to show that no actor, since the time
of Garrick, has approached to any thing like to the merit of that
great man. Holland, uncle to a gentleman of the same name, who
was many years afterwards upon the stage, was a pupil of Garrick,
and said to be a very good actor, except when he spoiled himself by
imprudently attempting to imitate his master. Powell was a pupil
of Garrick, but, of the very highest talents, was stage-struck, and
being intimate with Holland was by him introduced to our Roscius,
who, fortunately for both, perceiving the full extent of Powell's
talents, and being himself engaged to pass the winter, and more than
that, in Italy, employed the whole summer in teaching him most
strenuously every thing that could be taught; and after seeing his
debut, in Beaumont and Fletcher's tragedy of " Philaster," which had
not been acted time out of mind, and therefore gave the young actor
the advantage of showing himself in a character which must be his
own, because he had no opportunity of seeing it acted by any one.
He did this with so much advantage that his success was complete
and singly, or at least assisted only by Mrs. Yates. Atlas like, he bore
the weight of the whole season so well, that it produced as much profit
to the proprietors as any one preceding. When Garrick returned,
and Powell's engagement was ended, he married one of Rich's
daughters, and became one of the proprietors of Covent-garden the-
atre, in which he induced Mrs. Yates to become the heroine. The
affairs of the theatre prospered ; but, Powell dying of fever in Bristol,
the theatre passed into other hands, and became involved in lawsuits
several years. Powell was, from the first night of his appearance, an
actor of the first consequence ; he did not descend to imitate Garrick
or any other actor, but formed his own designs, and executed them
in his own manner. If he had lived, he would have arrived to a rank
equal to any one in his profession; but as it was, lie left a vacancy
that was not filled many years afterwards.

We may mention here a predecessor, or rather a precursor, -of
Garrick — a situation in which the individual alluded to has seldom, if
ever, been considered.

In the first editions of Sir John Vanbrugh's" Provoked Wife," among
the dramatis personae are mentioned the characters of Sir John Brute
by Mr. Betterton, and Rasor, his valet, by Mr. Macklin. Macklin
must have been then young, and low in the theatre, from which he
raised himself, by slow and painful degrees, to be a performer of
much reputation in the public mind. As his peculiarities did not
facilitate his advancement among the great, his progress was slow,
and it was not till the distresses of Fleetwood made him employ
Macklin to be his stage-manager, that he obtained the opportunity of
showing the public what he was capable of. He got up the "Merchant
of Venice," as it was written by Shakspeare, which was a novelty
quite unknown, as the play of that name which had been performed
time out of mind, was altered into a sort of low comedy by Lord
Landsdown, who called it the " Jew of Venice ;" Shylock made the
principal character, and time out of mind played by Nokes, who
made him merely a Jew of King's-place, whose peculiarities were

518 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C.

made to excite ridicule. The characters being cast, Quin was made
Bassanio, always the principal character, and all the others settled
except Shylock, of which nothing was said. At last, as the rehearsal
was going on, some one formally, asked, " who is to be Shylock ?"
" O ! I shall do that myself," was Charley's reply. " You ! you !
you ! " exclaimed all who were present. " Yes, I, I, I, will do that
myself," he rejoined, very firmly. All were silent; but "quips, and
cranks, and wanton smiles" sparkled from the eyes of one to another.
In the mean time, Macklin continued reading the part, as they all
thought, very insipidly.

At last the first night of representation came ; a most numerous
and splendid audience filled the theatre to overflowing. The per-
formers, dressed for action, filled the green-room, into which walked
Macklin, clothed in his, till then, unseen dress ; all eyes were fixed
upon him ; but all were silent. The call-boy having made the signal
to begin, Macklin, and the other characters who accompanied him,
walked on the stage, beginning —

Shylock. " Three thousand ducats — well ?"

Bass. " For three months."

Shylock. " For three months — well ?" &c. &c. ;

and proceeded in the same quiet tone which the scene required. The
audience remained silent and attentive ; the performers, confounded
by the novelty of their situation ; and the scene being ended, as they
walked off the stage, Quin said, in one of his malignant under- tones,
" let the fool ruin himself, if he mil." But when the great actor re-
turned, exclaiming in the highest paroxysm of rage, —

" You knew it I None so well as you,"

and went through that scene in the manner that he had then shown
for the first time, and continued to the end of the piece, the audience
burst into perpetual shouts of applause, which continued incessantly
to the end of the piece ; the other actors were confounded ; and from
that moment Macklin became a very great actor in the general opinion.
He was invited into many companies, where his opinions were can-
vassed ; among others by Pope, who is known to have said, on wit-
nessing this performance —

" This is the Jew

Which Shakspeare drew."

And on being asked by Pope, what he meant by lining the top of his
hat with scarlet silk ? is said to have replied, he did so, because he
had read that, in Venice, all the Jews were obliged to do so, as a
badge to distinguish them from all others. " Indeed ! " said the poet,
" I did not know that players accustomed themselves to notice such
particulars." His opinion was correct as to the general practice of
the actors of that time : but to that rule Macklin was a singular ex-
ception. This account of Macklin likewise confirms the correctness
of Pope's opinion as to the resemblance between the acting of Bet-
terton and that of Garrick. It is certain, that Macklin — a child of

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 519

nature — coming without knowledge into this land of civilization, and
believing that he could arrive at excellence in the art of acting,
should study the great actor under whom he was employed, acquire
a knowledge of the principles by which he was directed, convert the
knowledge, so acquired, to his own advantage, and having succeeded
in this, he would naturally make it the subject of conversation with
those he associated with. Now it is quite certain, that before Garrick
appeared on the stage, he associated intimately with all persons con-
nected with his intended profession, from whom he hoped to obtain
knowledge that might promote his success. It is well known that
such intimacy existed between Garrick and Macklin, till subsequent
misunderstandings estranged them from each other*

Macklin, during his whole life, was strongly imbued with the
spirit of reformation or improvement ; it showed itself on all occa-
sions, but on one that was attended with singular inconvenience to
himself. After Powell died, the property of Covent-garden theatre
was purchased by several persons, at the head of which was the elder
Colman : they engaged new performers in various ways ; among
others, Macklin was engaged, by way of what would now be called a
star ; it had been found, for many years previously, that his per-
formance of Ski/lock, with his own farce of " Love-a-la-Mode/' would
certainly produce full houses several nights in the season, and for that
number of nights he had, for several years, been engaged upon shares
— that was, a division of the profits between the parties ; but, on this
occasion, they went even farther. Though Macklin was much beyond
seventy years old, he resolved to astonish the natives by performing
the character of Macbeth, which he never had performed before, and
with improvements which would throw all former performances into
the shade ; and how were these promises to be performed, after the
public attention had been called into action by this announcement ?
Many, many years before, Garrick and Barry had acquired the very
highest reputation for their admirable performance of this important
character ; Smith and Reddish, at that time thought excellent actors,
were still performing the same character, much to the public satis-
faction ; what then could the reformer Macklin do to improve his
reformation or representation of it ?

The theatre, in the days of Garrick and long afterwards, was not
critically correct in arranging or altering the text of their authors,
their scenes, dresses, or decorations. When Garrick determined to
separate speeches or scenes from his author, he did not attempt to
unite the parts separated by language that might seem to belong
to the part separated, but made any thing serve his purpose ; he never
would perform a character in tragedy without having a dying speech
in it, because he thought he had the knack of wriggling about on a
carpet to make himself interesting to his audience : but in this play
of Macbeth, he had more of these absurdities than in almost any other.
Macbeth and Banquo were always dressed in the scarlet court-dresses
of British modern generals ; Duncan and all his courtiers were dressed
as nearly in the court dresses of St. James's as could be represented,
but there was one absurdity that exceeded all this, that is to say, when
Macbethimagmes he sees the « air-drawn dagger," and having followed

520 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C.

it through all its vagaries, he recovers himself; but again, starting,
with his disordered imagination exclaims :

Ha ! I see thee yet

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going

And on thy dudgeon goutts of blood, that were not so before —

Avaunt ! 1 say, — begone

I see thee yet, in form as palpable as that which now I draw ! —

So saying he drew, not any kind of dagger, but a very handsome
small-sword, such as might become part of a modern gentleman's
court dress. Macklin, in his projected performance, reformed all these
things ; clothed all the characters of the piece in the Highland dress,
which, considering the hue-and-cry Wilks had at that time raised
against the Scotch was not very prudent ; instead of drawing his
sword against the " air-drawn dagger," as Garrick always did, he had
a dirk, concealed in his bosom, which he drew forth in propria persona,
and made every thing on the stage as like a scene in Scotland as his
intelligence would enable him to make it. Symptoms of war against
the reformation were rumoured ; but a very great audience was as-
sembled, who waited in silence the rising of the curtain ; when that
was done, and Macklin with his Banquo were seen strutting down
the stage clothed in plaid, to the sound of bagpipes, gentle hisses were
heard ; — " hear him ! hear him !" was, as usual, vociferated in a tone
that prevented him from being heard ; and the confusion proceeded
to increase, till the little dirk started from its hiding-place, when the
rage of the spectators broke out so outrageously, that whatever merit
might have been displayed in the piece was neither understood nor
noticed ; but the curtain dropped, at the end of the piece, among the
most discordant yells that ever disgraced a theatre, till, in after-times,
they were exceeded by those which took place in the O. P. row in
Covent-Garden theatre.

The next morning the combat was renewed in the newspapers.
Macklin boldly charged Garrick, Smith, and Reddish with engaging
in a conspiracy to prevent the reception of his improvements by the
public, who would willingly acknowledge their superiority. In
this he was certainly mistaken, for it is certain that a set of men who
called themselves the town, in those times arrogated to themselves
both the right and the power to prevent any thing which they did
not approve from being represented on the stage ; and whatever they
did not approve, they demolished vi et armis. The manager, resolving
to have another trial of strength, encountered another representation
of the play ; a similar audience assembled, and the curtain was drawn
up, the actors were not permitted to speak— they were sent on booing
and booing, in hopes of getting an audience, but in vain : at last, the
largest board in the house was prepared ; upon it was chalked, with
very large letters, Mr. Macklin is discharged from this theatre. Shouts
of applause hailed the apparition, and poor Macklin retired to get his
supper wherever it was to be found.

He exerted himself to discover the enemies by whom he was thus
wantonly injured — succeeded — brought actions against them, and
continued them for almost three years, before he got the redress that

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 521

he could obtain, such as it was, losing his employment — of course
his salary for three years, besides the continual irritation and loss of
property. Such were the blessed effects of liberty in the British
theatre !

The next remarkable act of this extraordinary man was to bring
his own comedy, the " Man of the World," upon the stage in London,
for the first time, when he was more than fourscore years old. He
had produced it in Ireland, several years before, with much success
and great profit : for several years he never had printed or published
it, nor suffered a MS. copy of it to go out of his hands ; the consequence
was, that when acted it was admired, acquired reputation, and was
followed by the public, when it could be seen, for many years, to the
author's great emolument. That a man of his age should repeatedly
perform so arduous a character, besides his own farce of " Love-a-la-
Mode," so continually as he did, during its successful run, demon-
strates the wonderful strength of this remarkable man. When he had
almost, though not entirely, ceased to act, he still lived in society, in
convivial parties, where he was entertained as a wonder, as he certainly
was, contributing largely to amuse the society in which he moved.
On one occasion, when he was much more than one hundred years old,
I heard him make a long speech in a debating society, upon an his-
torical subject of much temporary interest ; it is true that he was
asked to do so, and prepared himself for the occasion, but still, that a
man of his age should command intellect enough to accomplish this,
is not the least wonderful part of the transaction.

Henderson was the last eminent actor who sprang from the school
of Garrick : remarkable for the disadvantages he overcame before he
fixed himself in the station he deserved to hold, and the steadiness
with which he maintained himself in it while life remained. His
father died young, leaving his widow with two sons, and very little
to support them ; she did give them what was then thought a tolerable
school education, but it was difficult to contrive the means to establish
him in life. John Ireland, a remarkable man in those times, took. a
liking to Henderson, and received him into his house, with a view to
support his interest during his entrance into life; being himself inti-
mate with artists, literary men, and actors, and finding his young
friend partial to the stage, he did every thing practicable to promote his
views in that profession — introduced him to Garrick, and other emi-
nent men of that time, and endeavoured to procure for him an en-
gagement under Garrick. In that he did not succeed, but Garrick gave
the youth a recommendation to Palmer, proprietor of the Bath theatre,
who engaged him at a low salary, and brought him out there with
advantage, and he became the favourite actor of the place.

The most remarkable part of this transaction was, that Ireland,
Henderson's only friend, when he learned how the youth was engaged,
made a party of friends, filled one of the Bath stages, went to that
place, attended the theatre, and by their strenuous exertions contri-
buted greatly to his success. He continued the hero of that theatre,
till the elder Colman bought the Haymarket theatre of Foote, for an
annuity, which our Aristophanes politely relinquished, by dying out
of the way before the first quarter was due. Till then, the per-

M.M. No. 95. 3 X

522 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C.

formances of Foote had been the principal support of his own theatre,
and he had engaged to support it by acting in it only as a hired actor :
this engagement being terminated by death, Colman had to seek for
other assistance. Henderson was not known in London, and Colman
engaged him to perform during the whole of the Haymarket season
at his theatre, for a salary of one hundred pounds and a benefit.
This was not a large salary at that time, but satisfied Henderson,
whose principal object was to have an opportunity of being seen,
which Garrick had repeatedly and constantly denied him.

The success of Henderson was very great; his performance of
Hamlet being very superior to any performance of the same that had
been seen for many years; and in the course of that summer he per-
formed several other characters with equal excellence, which had, for
want of proper representatives, been kept many years out of sight,
greatly to the increase of his own reputation and the public entertain-
ment. At the end of that season Sheridan engaged him at the highest
salary then given to performers at Drury-lane for three years : at the
end of that term he removed to Covent-garden, obtaining an increase
of salary as well as reputation, and continued to do so as long as he
lived.

I regret to say, he did not requite the services he received from
Ireland in the manner they deserved. Ireland was largely en-
gaged in the trade of a watch-maker, in which he had extensive
engagements: he lived in a wide circle of artists, literati, and
professional men of various kinds. Into a house thus arranged he
received Henderson, a poor boy, then in distress — supported him —
promoted his interests according to his own inclinations — went to
Bath to see him fixed there — and when Henderson was engaged to
perform at the Haymarket, received him into his house as a friend,
as he always had done, without any expense, where he continued to
live in the same manner, till a change in poor Ireland's circumstances
unfortunately took place.

Ireland received a large order for watches to be exported to
Turkey : to enable him to execute it, as his own funds were inade-
quate, he borrowed money from several friends ; among others, he
borrowed one hundred pounds from Henderson. The person for
whom the order was executed did not make good his payments —
Ireland became distressed, and was made bankrupt. His affairs,
upon investigation, proved to be quite fair, and honourable to him-
self, as well as satisfactory to all his creditors. It was determined to
give him his certificate at once ; and, I regret to say, that Henderson
was the only individual WHO REFUSED TO SIGN IT. My old acquaint-
ance, Jesse Foot, who was intimate with all, as well as myself, was
engaged to solicit him. They had many meetings for that purpose, in
which Jesse could not prevail: the only reason Henderson alleged
for refusing was, that he could not afford to lose the money. After
many fruitless attempts, Jesse obtained his signature in a very un-
gracious manner, and the parties were reconciled to each other,
though the reconciliation was never very cordial.

Henderson deserved very high consideration as an actor, and cer-
tainly not an actor who copied others. In the silence of obscurity he

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 523

observed the practice of Garrick, analyzed the principles upon which
Garrick conducted his practice, and finding he did not possess the
same, merely physical principles as Garrick did in the same degree,
he wisely combined the same principles of science that were used by
Garrick with his own physical principles, and by this judicious com-
bination produced characters that were quite as perfect as what had
then been produced by any other character whatever. Hamlet is,
perhaps, the character in which Henderson may be more justly com-
pared with all other actors. I never saw Garrick act Hamlet ; there-
fore cannot compare Henderson with him ; but I saw Henderson in
that character frequently, and all other actors who have since that
time performed it in the London theatres, and do not hesitate to say,
that, where nature did not oppose physical disabilities, Henderson
was greatly superior in that character to every other actor I have
seen j in several particulars, but, more than all others, in affecting
sensibility becoming the character, in which I have, more frequently
than in others, seen other actors fail. Of this I will give one example,
which, notwithstanding the time that has elapsed since I saw it, has
still retained its seat in my memory.

In the scene with the grave-diggers, when Hamlet and Horatio
walked on the stage, while Parsons was digging, singing, and tum-
bling the bones about, Hamlet and his companion, after looking at
him with a mixture of curiosity and attention, till Parsons lifted the
skull to him ; he held his hand to receive it — there it lay, Hamlet
looking with some curiosity to learn what was next to be said ; as
the grave-diggers went on with their description in their own way_,
Hamlet's curiosity visibly increasing till the man said it belonged to
" YORICK, THE KING'S JESTER " without starting, Hamlet became
motionless in every part, except, without visible effort, his right hand
fell gradually upon the skull; he exclaimed, " Alas ! poor Yorick!"
then, without other motion, directing his eyes to his companion, he
continued, " I knew him well, Horatio" &c, &c., his hand remaining
upon the ^.kull, as if unconscious of its being there, while his eyes
were silently observing the grave-digger, who was speaking ; at last,
as if recalled to think of what he held by its offensive smell, looking
at his companion, he exclaimed, —

" Shall we look so when we are dead ?"

Horatio. Aye, my lord.

Hamlet. And smell so ?

Horatio. Aye, my lord.

Hamlet, (putting it towards the person who was to take it} Get
thee to my lady's chamber ; tell her this, though she paint an inch
thick, to this complexion SHE MUST COME AT LAST !

This description is poor, as every thing called back by memory
after a long period has elapsed, must be ; but those who saw it were
electrified by it, as the beginning of a long and admirable scene, that
went on with energy continually increasing to its end.

Henderson was a most excellent and original actor in the best
sense of the word : he had much talent for mimicry, which Garrick
said that no man who was a good actor could be without ; but
though, in establishing his own reputation, he took pains to show

524 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C.

that he possessed it, when that reputation was established, knowing how
injurious the practice might be made to those professional persons who
we're mimicked, he abandoned it for ever. In his latter days, when
Henderson was endeavouring to make himself remarkable, he imi-
tated Garrick in this way. Garrick himself was accustomed to treat
his own friends with a ludicrous imitation of a certain nobleman who
.led some whimsical peculia ities in his manner. Our Roscius did
this by repeating an imaginary dialogue supposed to be passing
between the nobleman and himself, which contained much matter
that was both ludicrous and humorous, and an exaggerated likeness
of the noble lord. Garrick frequently amused his own friends with
this exhibition to their great entertainment. Henderson being fre-
quently present at these amusements, resolved to try his own powers
at a similar exhibition. He got up a dialogue tripartite, in which
the interlocutors were supposed to be the noble lord, the great
Roscius, and the humble John Henderson, speaking in his own cha-
racter. The audience was as much diverted by this as by Garrick's
duet; he soon ascertained what had been done, and expressed much
indignation at the rivalship, without very exactly remembering the
simple maxim, •' you should do as you would be done by."

Henderson revived the comedy of " The Chances," which never had
been acted since Garrick laid it down. Henderson played Don John,
making that character a lively, elegant libertine ; and it became as
lasting a character in the public favour as it was while Garrick played
it. The piece being within the compass of ordinary understandings,
became a favourite with many actors, in many places, but in the
hands of Henderson it was unique. John Palmer played the cha-
racter at the other house very well indeed after his fashion ; but he
was a mere Covent-garden buck — very different from an elegant
libertine of rank indulging his propensities in an Italian city, which
was, in those times, by long prescription, thought to be the native
land of refined though libertine pleasure: the admirers of John
Palmer would neither see nor understand the difference.

Henderson's representation of Comus can never be forgotten by
those who fortunately saw it. M ikon's ideal creation was completely
realized, without the admixture of any thing degrading, as other per-
formers who undertook to represent it, gave continually. Before
Henderson undertook it, it had always been represented by a mere
singer, who, when he had sung the songs as well as he could, thought,
he had nothing more to do than wait for the catch-word of the
prompter, inducted what he was to sing or say next; Henderson
turned all that over to the singers, to whose representations he left it,
but felt himself charged, as agent to the author of Paradise Lost, to
deliver his poetry with all the advantages his powers could give it.
There was nothing to remind the spectators of John Henderson ; the
accomplished enchanter, endued with every luxurious blandishment
to captivate most human beings, though the Lady fortunately resisted
them, was the only thing thought of by the audience while he was on
the stage. Here, again, John Palmer put himself in competition
with Henderson, and failed completely. Palmer was an actor of great
talents in a particular way : he had as much confidence, and as little

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 525

modesty or feeling, as ever fell to the lot of an actor. He had a much
better figure and face, as well as manner, where manner only was con-
cerned, but had no comprehension of the feelings of a gentleman
when they were wanted, or other superior qualities connected with
beings of a higher order ; his representation of Comus resembled the
manners of a dashing journeyman linen-draper in his cups. Mrs.
Inchbald, I think, played the Lady with advantage ; and, as far as
they were seen together, Miss Catley supported Henderson with
great advantage, by her performance of Euphrosyne. This was one
of the most remarkable females on the stage during her time : she
/deserves to be remembered, besides her professional performances,
because, in her early days, she had committed many female errors :
as she proceeded in her career she reformed them all, and ended her
days in the highest respectability.

She was daughter of a hachney-coachman. Possessing a remark-
ably fine voice and pure musical feelings, she was found by one of
the great musicians of the day (I think Dr. Arne), who brought her
on the stage with much advantage; being very young she was
seduced by Sir Francis Blake Delaval, one of the great Lotharios of
that day : lawsuits were instituted between the baronet, the father,
and the master ; these were so conducted that a habeas was obtained
to bring the body of the infant into court; when there, she was asked
by the judge, which of the then contending parties she would wil-
lingly consent to live with as her accredited guardian ; she quietly
took the baronet by the arm, curtsied, and walked out of court. When
these parties were satiated with each other, they separated ; the lady
preserving her great popularity with the public, and, as a female,
living a life that can only be described as the most regularly irregular
that could possibly be. At last she attached herself to a gentleman of
large fortune in Yorkshire ; they lived together several years, then
married and had a large family ; she quitted the stage, remained in
private life several years, but was induced to return to it by the
temptation of a very large salary offered her by Harris, principally it
was believed to get her to play with Henderson in COWZM.V, which
contrary to the usual practice was acted at full length as a first,
instead of being given as an after piece as it usually had been.

The performance of Euphrosyne was most remarkable ; without
any of the grossiertees which the habits of her early life might be
supposed to fix upon her, it was every thing spirited and elegant, as
well as comic, that would make a fit companion for Henderson's
Comus. At the end of this season she left the stage, and was seen no
more by the public though she lived many years afterwards in the full
eujoyment of that happiness in private life to which her praise-
worthy conduct so fairly entitled her.

"Sir Giles Overreach," may be called almost an original creation of
Henderson's, the " New Way to Pay Old Debts" having never been
acted in the memory of any one living. Henderson revived the
piece, took the character of Sir Giles to himself, and stamped a cha-
racter upon it that will never, in all probability, be lost, while any good
taste and feeling remain upon the British stage. Captain Bobadil
was another character of the old English drama, in which he shewed

526 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTOES, &C. &C.

himself to advantage, and so he did in Maskrvell, in the " Double
Dealer/' making it, as it deserves to be, a character of the first import-
ance to display the talents of an actor of high order, though in its
circumstances quite disagreeable to the spectator, But that for
which he deserves to be remembered with the greatest reputation
was Falstaff, which had been for many years only known by the re-
nown of Quin. That actor, if he was truly represented, was a great
mannerist ; incapable of varying his style of representation of any
character from that of his own natural feelings, however different the
character to be represented actually was. Thus, being naturally sar-
castic almost to brutality, he converted every passage in the character
of Falstaff, that could be so converted, into bitter-biting satire ; as
enjoying the audity of his own reflections. This is not certainly in
the character of Falstaff; Henderson, with better taste and more
truth, made him a gentleman, degraded indeed by all the necessities
that his profligate society drew him into, was conscious of his own
meanness, and the situations into which it had sunk him, yet had
not resolution to reform, but continued his practices, at the same time
laughing at himself as well as his associates. This was more con-
sistent with truth than the version of Quin, and certainly more
pleasing to the spectators ; the hilarity, the jocundity, with which he
uttered his jokes upon his associates, and the visible delight with
which he said that he was not only witty himself, but the cause of
wit in others, was equalled by nothing that I have seen, but some
passages in his representations of Comus, and made this the truest as
well as most delightful representation of Sir John Falstaff that ever
was seen by me, or, 1 believe, by any other person.

Henderson was the last representative of JBayes in the <f Rehearsal,"
a character first brought forward to burlesque the peculiarities of old
John Dryden; then, by succeeding representatives, made a vehicle in
the hands of several eminent actors to ridicule the peculiarities of
their cotemporary tragedian, who gave opportunities for making
them ridiculous : in that light Garrick used it, to make it a pleasant
entertainment ; and Henderson followed his steps without indulging
in personal imitations, and yet made it a diverting entertainment to
those who were familiar with the absurdities of the tragedies of
Dryden and Lea ; but when Henderson was removed from it, it was
seen no more, and, as it is now obsolete, it may be said to be lost to
the stage.

Captain Bodabil, a Ben Johnsonian double to ancient Pistol, was as
admirably represented by Henderson as a character passing into the
shades of antiquity could be. The delight experienced by the older
frequenters of the theatre in Garrick's time consisted in the perfect
resemblance of the play in all its parts to the manners of the city in
the time of Elizabeth ; Garrick, the Kitely — to a certain extent a
counterpart to the Ford of Shakespeare, but more serious and
earnest in his jealousy — and every character in the play, the decided
well-drawn character of some distinct species of citizen, cotemporary
with Kitely ; Garrick, by his authority as well as his example, kept
all to their duty, and made that play the most correct imitation of old
city manners that could tnen be seen, at the same time that it was

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C. 527

admirable comedy without the mixture of farce, that has been in
later times too frequently substituted for it.

Woodward had been a favourite in Bobadil, but giving it more the
extravaganza of ancient Pistol, became a favourite with the public,
by departing from a true representation of the character. Henderson
made it the serious character the author intended it to be, while the
audience was delighted with the gravity he gave to his most absurd
pretensions, which ended with the complete detection and exposure
of his cowardice. I am not aware that any one has attempted to
perform thecharacter of Bobadil, since Henderson left it; so far
as I know it died with him. The public taste no longer patronizes
attempts to revive Maskrvell, in Congreve's " Double Dealer." I know
not if Garrick ever performed that character ; but Betterton, the ori-
ginal performer of it, was greatly'eminent in it, and if Garrick did not
take it up, it passed into inferior hands, and it was seldom acted ; for
when Henderson first shewed himself in it, it came forward with all
the lustre of an important new character ; the lago-like villany of it
was displayed by him in the most interesting light ; but after his
death it again sunk and was neglected — principally, I believe, because
no actor since his time, who had a chance of succeeding, ventured to
attempt it.

Many other characters represented by this really great actor might
be described ; but it will here be sufficient to say, that no two cha-
racters represented by him were alike. He had a fixed and well
settled opinion that no two human beings exactly resembled each
other, or that when he represented any established character that had
been acted by others, he still gave his own version of them ; so that
though he and Garrick, for example, represented Macbeth, Richard
the Third, or any other character equally well known, though there
might be some general resemblance between them, no one could ima-
gine that either was copied from the other. Had Henderson lived to
the full extent of human life, we should have seen on the English
stage greater variety of characters, as well as greater degrees of merit
than have since been shown ; but he was, unfortunately, cut off unex-
pectedly at the early age of thirty-six years ; his illness was at first
not believed to be dangerous, but he sunk under it; and when the
body was examined after death, the disease that destroyed him was
found to be palsy of the heart, for which it is certain there was no
remedy. Cruikshank, the' well-known anatomist; performed the
melancholy examination ; and happening to dine with me after he
had done it, in describing what he saw, though he had nothing but a
mere anatomist mind, could not refrain from tears when he described
the state in which he found the remains of that accomplished man,
who had contributed so largely to the enlightened pleasures of the
public, as well as of the private circle in which he lived.

Two excellent portraits of Henderson were painted, and are be-
lieved to exist: by one he is represented reading; the action in which
this represents him indicates that he is studying something in which
he appears to be much interested — this was painted by Gainsborough.
The other may be called an historical portrait, representing him as
Macbeth, when stopped by the Witches on the heath ; this is an admi-

528 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD ACTORS, &C. &C.

rable picture, painted by Romney. The figures are half-lengths the
size of life, and painted on a whole-length cloth, turned with its side
downwards ; this picture admirably represents both the character and
the man, and it shews that his good sense induced this accomplished
actor to adopt a dress nearly approaching to the actual dress of the
times in which the scene is supposed to take place, long before John
Kemble reformed the costume of the different pieces in which he
performed; indeed, Henderson began this practice long before Kemble
appeared upon the stage in London.

THE TRIAL SCENE, FROM QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN ;

AN UNPUBLISHED TRAGEDY.

ACT IV. SCENE IV.

The Kings Hall in the Tower ; at the extremity an elevated Platform,
on which is seated the Duke of Norfolk, under a Canopy of State ;
in front, beneath him, the Earl of Surry in his Robes of Office, as
Earl Marshal ; at the sides the Lord Chancellor Audely, the Duke
of Northumberland, and other Peers ; the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs
of London, fyc. $c.

Enter, from opposite sides, Queen Anne Boleyn and Lord Rochford,
guarded by Sir William Kingston, $c. fyc.

Surry. Madam, my duty bids me pray your grace
To put off straight, and with my lords deposit
Your livery, and ensign of the throne,
Which should not bear the shame of accusation.

Anne. Earl Marshal, cheerfully I do your pleasure,
Agreed — it prejudice me not anon.

\JTakes off her crown and mantle, and giving them to an attendant,
These are my right, in purity and faith,
By nought disparaged, but the wrongs heaped on me ;
And I yield them and me to faithful justice,
Content her hands should hold them, or restore,
As truth and honor claim. So Heaven deliver us !

Surry. (Receiving the crown and mantle, which he lays on the table.)
Will it please your Highness to be seated ?

f The Queen bows, but declines the chair placed for her.

Norf. Anne, Queen of England, George Viscount Rochford,
Ye are accused before your Peers of crimes
Most hateful to the searching eye of Heaven,
And to our sovereign Lord (whom angels help,
By those he dearest loved, so deeply wounded),
Of treasons, damnable beyond record ;
Whereat true men, with one complaining voice,
Exclaim your lives are forfeits to your scandal.

Anne. My Lords, my Lords, I claim some interference.
Am I for judgment only here — not trial ?
And are ye creatures of a plot arranged —

'

THE TKIAL SCENE FROM QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN. 529

Men of all estimation reckless —

That my kind uncle, his good Grace of Norfolk,

(Whose love for me and mine was never questioned),

Condemns us, yet unpleaded and unheard,

Crimping the noble span of British justice

To a pent form, whereon to daub a warrant ?

Audely. Madam, your pardon ; by the King's commission,
To which no choice of ours, but featly binds,
You are here summoned to my Lords, your Peers,
To answer, as best may be, certain charges ;
Which, not directly met, and clear rebutted,
Demon strably entail severest penalties.
May I invite your patience to the cause?

Anne. Sir Chancellor, I thank ye. [Sits.

Norf. Read o'er the depositions. [ Clerk of the council reads.

Clerk. Anne Boleyn, Marchioness of Pembroke, Queen,
And you, George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford,
Stand charged, that you, Anne, by base allurements,
Have oft affected the King's daily servants,
And their familiar intercourse incited ;
Whereof are evidence Sir Henry Norris —

Anne. (Starting forward.} Norris against me! then 'tis concluded.
Clerk. Sir William Brereton and Sir Thomas Weston,
Knights, of high treason severally convict ;
Together with Mark Smeaton, groom of chamber —

Anne. What ! that mean boy, scarce known or spoken with,
Endured for some light skill upon the virginals,
That tuned an hour or so of stately solitude !
The' indecent gossip overcomes my patience !

Clerk. With whom, on certain days hereafter named,
You did commit your person unreserved ;
And — by the' advice of Lady Rochford, sworn to —
That with her husband, your said Brother George,
Incontinent —

Anne. Ha! Thou devil of corruption infinite !
Arch minister of hell — down, down, I bid thee, down !
Or, lo ! my desperate and unyoked phrenzy
Wrests from the' accursed some never-taxed revenge,
To sear thy rebel tongue to ashes,
Choak up thy' insatiate throat with its own filth,
Search thy dark soul, seal up the fount of thought,
And spurn thee, drivelling, felon, deep in hell,
A wretch abhorrent to the blackest damned !
My very soul is shuddering within me !
My Lords, my Lords, command his instant silence ;
And would ye save this o'erwrought brain from madness,
Oh, read no more, those horrid fabrications,
That shock my sex, and outrage modest nature.
You cannot prove, you will not dare attach
Enormities so monstrous 'gainst my virtue,
Which, though it haply lack the high repute
M.M. No. 95. 3 Y

530 THE TRIAL SCENE FROM QUEEN ANNE BOLEYXT.

And standard pitch your excellence describes,,

Hath never taken evil to its core —

Ne'er felt a passion that 'twas sin to love,

And never, never shamed the mother and the wife.

Tell me — beseech ye, speak — unsay those libels,

That curdle sickening fevers thro' my blood ;

Assure me I am quit of their oppression,

And I will pray — Oh ! fervent, constant pray for ye,

Morning and night on earth, and when life's o'er,

Climb with an orison for you to Heaven,

And bear the grateful burthen thro' eternity !

Audely. Madam, we much commiserate vour distress,
But these things are all duly sworn to,
And unrefuted by sound testimony ;
My Lords are loyally constrained to judgment.

North. I could desire a more distinct impeachment ;
Can we not have the men to test this guilt,
Or what they would make such — here face to face
Before the accused, which I take to be
Our common law, and birthright in this land ?

Norf. My Lords, I take it to be clear, that men
Of capital offences now convicted
Can bear no witness.

Audely. Such is the law.

Norf. You hear the head and oracle of the law ;
We bring not those bad men before you —
That were unlawful — but we bring ye proofs,
The verdicts and records of other Courts,
That they were tried and lawfully attainted
Of the very treasons which the Queen is called
To answer for. — Duke of Northumberland,
When she was fairest, you would have taken her
For yourself; now she is blown upon,
Would your Grace fasten her upon the throne ?
Methought not I should have to learn from you,
How the King's peers, protectors of the Crown,
Can stand out, and create new difficulties,
To bar the sove'reign Prince from justice.

North. Lord Duke, I thank you for that hint. My presence
Shall create no difficulties in your cause.
Heaven help our homes, when loyalty divides
Our hearts so keenly, we can hardly say
Which way our duty lies. \_Exit Northumberland.

Anne. Oh God, reward him !

Norf. How say you to this charge, George Viscount Rochford —

Rochf. I am bound to speak, howe'er it help me little.
I see I am to die — for what plain reason,
Save that the King desires it should be so,
None can advance ; for sure the monstrous bent
And fashion of your inquisition here,
The' unlikely bulk, and malice palpable

THE TRIAL SCENE FROM QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN. 531

Of stretch'd invention,, and conjectures wrested,

Shall, by reflecting men, be rated earnests

Of inveterate falsehood. How much death's my due,

For manifold offences to my Maker,

My soul being honest, I dare not deny.

Yet am I bold to say, nor this, nor other

Bond, chastisement, or vengeance, should fall on me

From the King. Him I have diligently served,

Loved with an earnest heart, and never slighted —

And thus I lose my head. Here's my requital :

Favours and grace his Highness oft hath done me —

I own them freely ; and holding thankfulness

A solemn debt, no time can wholly pay ;

Even at this crisis I vent no reproaches.

Could I have my wish — long, long the King should live,

And, for the weal of this our merry land,

I'd pray that life should always be a good one.

Norf. Now hath your Highness further point to urge,
Why these oath-laden proofs should not decide us ?

Anne. Is it even so, and must I only turn
For justice or for mercy to my God ?
Amen, so be'it,— man's wrath hath spit its venom.
Here, unbefriended, in extremest need —
Prejudg'd to death on most unworthy slander —
Confronted nowhere with the accuser, —
But — on the frighted oaths of dying men,
Amidst the conflict of despair and hope,
Prone to give voice to any tale of fear, —
Surrendered to the craft of hooded villains ;
I leave the iniquity this day completes
Less on my wiltlessness than on your Lordship's ;
I leave the shame of English law this hour,
A quest for better times to vindicate,
And hold defence herein beneath my honour !
Cold and forbidding as the miser's look,
Denying charity, your eyes bespeak
The stern undoing by this ordeal sought.
But if yet honesty remains, as sure it doth,
The wickedness of this day shall be measured
On ye, proud Lords — deep, deep, on ye and yours !
I have done — you are but mortal men, bear not
A more than mortal hatred. I am innocent !
Judge on — a patient sufferer waits your sentence.

Norf. Thus far the nature of this stubborn guilt,
The evidence in form to bring it home,
And, what the accused durst for themselves put forth,
Have duly by my Lords been entertained.
'Tis left that one and all we now pronounce
What sentence 'tis the premises demand.

Audely. My Lords, I move that we retire.

Peers. Aye, aye.

[Norfolk and Peers retire to consult together on their verdict.

THE TRIAL SCENE FROM UUEEN ANNE BOhEYN.

Rochf. Sister!
Anne. My brother !

[They rush into each other's arms, continuing the dialogue in a
quick, suppressed, and anxious tone, as if communing with
each other by stealth.
Rochf. Cheer thee, love.
Anne. And wherefore ?
Rochf. We yet may live.
Anne. 'Tis all alike :

We do know nothing or of life or death.
A feather in the air, by each wind played with,
An atom of that dust to which all crumble,
Hath as just weight, and is as fully valid.
Here is the lot and measure of existence —
To-day erect in our full height and vigour,
Tomorrow down th' abyss shall swallow all,
And even by our enemies forgotten.

Rochf. 'Tis that uncertainty that gives us scope,
And justifies the prospect of release.

Anne. We'll be more just ; no eyes may pierce the mist
That hides the windings of our travel here,
And its dread ending ; 'tis yet plain our task
Is daily meted ; and their pain is greatest,
Who, shunning instant toil, overload futurity.
Rochf. Then there's a secret policy of life
In every bosom, which, or good or bad,
No touchstone moves so quick, and clear reveals,
As our deportment, when death's straight upon us.
And so the world, to its own frailties tender,
When life's discreetly render'd up, esteem
It hath been honest.

Anne. This were well heeded.

Rochf. Let's be decided then, nor hang i'the balance,
Stirred by all breaths, and yet not swayed by one.
Anne. Even so : God aid us !
Rocfif. Amen, sweet soul, amen !

Crier. Silence in the Court. [_ Norfolk and Peers return to their seats,
Norf. Prisoners give ear.
Ye have had deliberate trial for acts,
Of which resentful conscience should condemn ye
More loudly than the living voice of justice ;
Which, by my lips, for these most noble peers,
Doth here present ye capitally guilty,
Sentencing both your bodies to be burned,
Till the quick fire consume ye into ashes.

Anne. (Falling on her knees.) Father, Creator, imminent, supreme,
All felt, unseen ; eternal, and immense !
Thou know'st I have not merited this death !
Oh ! weigh not now, that thro' my high career,
Meekness and piety have been expressed
So feebly. I take this judgment humanly.
Do them accept the victim, and remit her foes ! G.L.S.

THE CRYSTAL : A RECORD OF 1665.

It vertue had to shew in perfect sight
Whatever thing was in the world contaynd,
Betwixt the lowest earth and heven's hight,
So that it to the looker appertaynd ;
Whatever foe had wrought, or frerid had faynd,
Therein discovered was, ne ought mete pas,
He ought in secret from the same remaynd :
Forthy it round and hollow shaped was.
Like to the world itselfe and seem'd a world of glas.

Spencer's Faery Queene, B. III., Canto II., St. 19.

To Master Thomas Dinford, Gent., at his house in South-street, over
against Trinity Church, Oxon.

London, August 25th, 1665.

WELL-BELOVED BROTHER, — Up to this time I have, from week
to week, sent you a full account of poor Louden's calamities and sor-
rows. I am now exceedingly weary of the fearful tale, and am glad
to feel that this present is the last letter I shall write to you or
any other man — the last earthly business I have to do. I must die,
Thomas — I must die soon. I am as sure of this as that I now live ;
and, were it in my choice, I would not that it should be otherwise :
for I have nothing left unto me now to live for — nothing to make
life a pleasant thing.

If I were disposed to accept your brotherly invitation, and, leaving
all these horrible scenes, come down to Oxon, there would be nothing
now to prevent me. The houses, where doors have the death-mark,
are no longer guarded ; persons from all parts of the city meet to-
gether again, and the streets abound in people passing to and fro
without any care to guard themselves against infection. Great num-
bers also crowd together in the churches, and others assemble to eat,
drink, and concert together once more.

" Is the plague then over or decreasing ?" you will ask. Oh, no,
no, no ! Never before was its rage so deadly as at this moment.
Thousands die daily. The carts are no longer sufficient to convey
the uncoffined, unshrouded, and often unclothed dead to their gene-
ral and unhonoured grave. Hundreds lie dead and dying in the
streets ; and the living citizens have witnessed so many dolorous
things of late, that they pass along heedless of sights now become
common with them, but the bare report of which from a land far off
would a little while ago have filled every heart with horror.

When this calamity first came upon us, loud were the cries of
lamentation as one or two of a family were taken. All kinds of
precautions against the contagion were then adopted, and the people
willingly submitted to all the restrictions which the Lords of the
Council in their wisdom saw fit to impose. But as the affliction be-
came more common and general, the voice of wailing was hushed.

534 THE CRYSTAL : A RECORD OF 1665.

The living sat down in dlence among their dead, and silently, with-
out a groan or tear, brought them forth and laid them down before
their doors, when the rumbling dead-cart drew nigh, and the cry was
heard of " Bring out your dead — your dead !" Call not this hardened
feeling, Thomas. It was the mere stupor of despair. When that is
over — when the survivors awake to the feeling of common life, and
look around on their desolate homes, then will the choking sigh arise
at the thought of their dead ones, and then will the hot tear fall
down for them.

And again, speaking of that cry to which we are now so accus-
tomed, I know nothing more horrible than the coolness and indif-
ference which these cartmen have, from use, obtained in their fearful
occupation. They have all now got a knack of singing forth that
dreadful song, in much the same tone as that in which the common
cries of fish and milk are muttered — " Bring out your dead — your
dead !" That horrible cry, and the more horrible manner in which
it is sent forth, would tingle in my ears were I to live to eternity.
Thank God, I shall not ! My little portion of life is nearly expended
now.

We are now in the next stage of general feeling. The people have
awakened in part from the stupor in which they lay. They have
awakened, not to lamentation, but to despair, in form move reckless
and active than the foregoing. They seemed to think all at once, as
the opinion of one man, " There is no hope, no mercy — none ; we
must all die soon. What boots, then, these restraints — this seclusion
of man from his friends and fellows, since there is no redemption
from the fixed and certain doom." Those, therefore, who were shut
up, with the death-mark on their doors, broke forth ; and many of
the wretches were slain in attempting to prevent them. The same
sort of reasoning led those who were still free to concert willingly in
the offices of society, friendship, and religion, with those in whose
houses the plague was known to have been, or still to be. But men
in their salutations are no longer wont to ask of each other's health.
They neither say, " How are you ?" I ask not, nor say how I am. It
is certain we must all go ; so it matters not who is sick or who is
sound.

Oh, what a preacher is calamity, my brother ! The first impulse
of most, however scoffing, or vain, or profligate before, was to go to
the churches. They went in crowds ; and to thousands whom the
churches could not hold, the silenced, and other Puritan ministers,
preached in the open air to the living, often with the unburied dead
around. Great numbers of the regular clergy having fled or died,
many of these ministers preached also in the churches, often by invi-
tation from the proper officers, and always without opposition or hin-
drance from them. In these congregations the people mingle without
discrimination. No man seems much to care if he knows the person
next him has the plague ; and no man stirs from his place if, as often
happens, his next neighbour falls down dying or dead beside him.
May God grant that these terrible visitations, and the tears and groans
with which they listen to the strong words of these holy and devoted
men, may have an abidingly useful effect on the minds of the sur-

THE CRYSTAL I A RECORD OF 1665. 535

vivors ; but it is to be feared that the feelings of the time will pass
away with the sorrows thereof, and be lost in the returning cares and
bustle of life.

The gay Jack Dinford went forth like the rest, and, for the first
time since the Restoration, designed to go to church ; but St. Giles's
was full to the threshold, so was St. Clement's, and so were St. Dun-
stan's and St. Bride's. Going on, I beheld, near Fleet-ditch, a crowd
listening to a man who held forth to them from the highest step be-
fore the door of a house. I afterwards learned that this was Master
Ephraim Jenkin, the silenced minister of St. Stephen's. His text
was, " 1 will plead against him with pestilence !" and while he con-
sidered the plague as the Lord's strong and awakening plea with us
as a notoriously sinful people, he in conclusion spoke in such a man-
ner as doth, I trust, make my own prospect beyond that grave in
which I must soon lie down, more cheerful than they were before I
heard him. During this sermon three men and two women fell down
dead, or dying, but no stir took place in consequence thereof.

Yes, my well-beloved Thomas, I might certainly come to you if I
would, but it would be of no use ; and as I feel my time now draw-
ing very near, I will wind up all my communications to you by
stating the grounds on which this conviction is founded.

In the month of May, last year, I went with some friends to spend
a jovial evening at the Pied Bull, in Islington. Among the company
was the famous Doctor Henwick, who is never loth to be of such
parties, to the entertainment of which, by his wit, and the amusing
tales he hath to tell, no man knows better how to contribute. His
convivial powers makes his company highly acceptable on such
occasions, and we all thought ourselves very happy in having secured
him for the evening. He did not disappoint us in the expectations
by which we had been induced to invite him, so that I do not recol-
lect any evening, unless such as were spent with Margaret, in which
I have enjoyed more harmless satisfaction.

At last, when the conversation began to flag a little, as it will
sometimes do in the best and most amusing company, Ralph Wingley
began to banter the Doctor on the subject of his occult pretensions
and pursuits, and, among other things, inquired whether he had per-
formed his journey to Battersea on terra firma, or on a dragon or
broom-stick through the air. The Doctor parried these attacks with
good humour and much spirit; but at last remarked with some
seriousness — " Nevertheless, you do not question my power, gen-
tlemen !"

I was infinitely astonished, my dear brother, to see my gay and
jocular friends quite damped by this observation. They looked
stealthily at one another, and were silent. Provoked at this, I briskly
exclaimed, "I do, Doctor, if no one else does!"

" Do you so, Master Dinford ? Well, I will engage to satisfy you
ere this day seven-night, if you are willing to be convinced. But as
there is fasting in the business, to which I am not partial, you must
on your part, if satisfied, agree to feast this good company again next
Thursday — no, Friday."
" Done, Doctor/'

536 THE CRYSTAL : A RECORD OF 1665

" And done, Master Dinford. And now we will end this subject ;
but favour me with a call ere noon to-morrow."

I accordingly did call, and found him employed in his garden.
He received me with his usual urbanity and warmth, and walked
with me up and down the garden — " for my dame Alice," said he,
" is a curious body, and will be listening if we go into the house."

He inquired when I should like the experiment to be made ?
And when I had answered, " The sooner the better." — He added,
" Then it may be very conveniently to-morrow evening at six. You
have nothing to do but to fast the three preceding hours, and remain,
during that period, in one place till you come to me. / must fast
longer ; but for this and my other trouble I intend to repay myself
abundantly at your feast next Friday."

I followed his directions, and the next evening at the appointed
hour called upon him, and found his horse ready saddled at the door.
He received me with more solemnity than usual. He spoke not a
word ; but motioning me to remount my horse, he also mounted his.
We rode briskly till we reached the Pied Bull, where we left our
beasts, and proceeded on foot to Barnsbury-park, and there sat down
under a large elm out of observation.

Dr. Henwick remained silent several minutes. He then said —
" Master Dinford, the experiment I have selected as the most fitting
and easiest to satisfy you is one which may be useful to you in other
respects, and happy, too, or perhaps unhappy. I hope not; but this
will entirely depend on the nature of that proof which you require.
I have no instrument with me [and here he took from his pocket a
globular object, enclosed in a black velvet case] — the CHBYSAT of
which you have doubtless heard. (I nodded assent). It will in liv-
ing pictures exhibit an answer to any question you may ask, whether
it relate to past, present, or future time. You can only ask three
questions ; and that your conviction may be the stronger, I would
advise you to let the best refer to some past transaction known only
to yourself. To show you there is no false contrivance or trickery in
the matter do not ask me your questions, but simply form the wisli
in your own mind, and utter it not. It shall then be satisfied. Now,
Sir, are you prepared ?"

" Quite."

He then uncovered the globe. It was of very fine glass, and, from
its weight, seemed to be somewhat hollow, but too thick for objects
to be seen through it with any distinctness. In one part there was
a very small perforation, not larger than the hole made by a pin, but
there was no other. He shewed the glass to me, and made me remark
that it presented no objects whatever. It did not even reflect the
objects before it, as thick glass is wont to do.

The Doctor placed his left hand on my right, and so holding it,
desired me to lean my head forward upon my knees ; he did the same
himself, so placing the globe, that as he leaned forward his forehead
rested on it ; and in a low and gentle voice began to speak in a lan-
guage I did not understand. After about five minutes he lifted him-
self up and standing with the crystal tightly, pressed in both hands,
repeated in the English tongue, and in a somewhat louder voice than

THE CRYSTAL : A RECORD OF 1665.

before, the verses I enclose, having written them down when I came
home that evening so exactly as I could recollect them.*

Notwithstanding the Doctor had disclaimed it, I was disposed to
suspect some trickery in this — some intention so to excite my mind
as to make it the instrument of its own delusion. Whether so or
not, I was certainly much moved — more moved than I have often
been by having verse sung or said before me ; for the Doctor has a
voice astonishingly effectual to move all passion and feeling ; and I
have not often heard any thing finer than the rise and fall of his
voice where the sense or metre required, especially in the passage
which I have marked.

After having repeated this invocation, he was for a brief space
silent and motionless, still forcibly compressing the globe within his
hands, which were a little elevated. Then for a moment a strong
convulsion seemed to shake his frame ; but it was quickly over, and
turning to me he desired me to form my wish. When I told him I
had done so, he breathed gently on the Crystal, near the perforation
mentioned before, and saying aloud and distinctly, " Tehi chemedath
lebu lo," f placed it in my hands.

My first question was — " What is Margaret doing now ?"

Margaret had then been three weeks with her aunt Grace, at Win-
chester, and this was naturally the first question that occurred to me.
I looked in the glass, and, to my inexpressible astonishment, the
house and garden of her aunt appeared before me. In the garden,
seated on a bench under that old sycamore tree which you wot of, I
saw Margaret with her lute. As if this were but the reflection of an
external and living object, her delicate fingers actually moved over
the strings ; her lips also moved, and her head, with that graceful
motion peculiar to her when singing. I seemed almost to hear her
voice ; a voice mute now, my brother, in all its silver tones, but
which has been all the music my heart delighted in. On one side of
her sat her aunt, and on the other that fine youth, her cousin. I sat
watching till the song was over ; and then the young man took the
lute from her, and as he did so, laid his hand upon her wrist, and
pressed it a little too tenderly I thought.

" Pish!" said I.

The Doctor, who was watching me keenly, said, " You are not
pleased, Master Dinford."

" Not altogether, Doctor."

" But are you convinced ?"

" I confess, Sir, that I am surprised, very much surprised ; but till
some weeks have passed I shall not know whether the scene now re-
presented be true or not. I am not therefore convinced, though I
admit my incredulity is shaken. But do you know the lady?"

"What lady?" "

" What! don't you see!"

" No : I have no wish, Master Dinford, to pry into your secrets.

* The verses are not in the MS.

f This would seem to be Hebrew : if so, man Tin V? nnb, would appear to
signify " let him have the desire of his mind (or heart)."

M.M. No. 95. 3 Z

THE CRYSTAL: A RECORD OF ICC5.

I see nothing ; but I might have done so, if I had taken the proper
measures for that purpose. We will try again."

" First let me see a little more of this."

I looked, but saw nothing.

" The images only remain," said the Doctor, " while the first im-
pulse of your attention is directed to them."

He took the Crystal from me, breathing on it as before, and re-
turning it to me with the same words. I looked again, but with as
bad success as the last time.

The Doctor said my wish could not have been sufficiently definitive.
It was, " What is the principal event of the next year?" I now changed
it to — " What will be the principal event of the next year in England?"
I know not by what singular fatality /, who had as little care or
thought about public affairs as any man under the sun, was led to put
a question of this general nature.

This form of interrogation produced the imaged reply. The
scene was the street in which I now live, as I did then. But it was
represented as overgrown with grass; and though the beams of the
sun indicated late morning, the busy feet of accustomed thousands
passed not by like a river, and coaches, chairs, and drays went no
longer to and fro. Before many doors, and by the way-side, lay
many human forms of man and woman, of old and young, but mostly
of the beautiful and the strong. Some were dead, some dying, some
asleep ; and as I looked, some of the sleepers fell, without awaking,
into the postures of death. Some of the bodies were naked, others
nearly so ; a few were very well clothed ; but of the clothed those in
mean attire were the most common, because their clothes were not
deemed by their friends worth taking off, or considered worth stealing
by the heartless scoundrels who made it a trade.

As I sat looking with a most heavy heart, a few stragglers ap-
peared in the street. Some walked as men in sorrow, with their eyes
bent towards the ground ; many ran as one runs who is drunken, and
many reeled and staggered in their walk, as also the drunken are
wont to do. Of these many fell down and and rose not again. Other
men then appeared, different from all these. They looked keenly
about them to the right hand and the left, and when they saw one who
lay dead in good attire, they drew near and stripped it of all that was
pleasing in their sight. Miserable, hardened wretches ! But, ah !
more horrible than this! — if the dying or comatose were well ap-
parelled they drew nigh also unto them, and laying their most villanous
hands upon their throats, put out quite the flickering embers of life,
and then made spoil of their raiment : — and these were things which
none of the passers-by prevented or seemed to heed.

Then appeared a dray coming slowly up the street ; and as it ap-
proached, many doors were opened, and bodies brought out and
placed on the steps or under the windows — sometimes thrown care-
lessly down, and at others laid softly and gently on the stones, as one
lays'dowri a sleeping child lest he should be hurt or awakened. Of
the draymen, some had pipes in their mouths, through which they
drew smoke from the strong weed of Virginia ; some had the lower
part of their faces covered ; one wore a mask ; and all bore in their

THE CRYSTAL: A RKCOKD OF 1665. 539

hands long forks, with which, when they came to a body, they lifted
it up and threw it into the cart as one throws dung. It* the body
were naked, or so slightly clothed as to afford no external hold to the
instrument, they found hold for it by thrusting it, without hesitation,
into the body itself: and it is a fearful thing to feel, that many of the
sleeping* and the dying were probably thrown in with the dead, and
with them buried.

When these objects of horror were removed, I saw a dray, heavily
laden, coming up the street. O, my God ! my God ! who in calamity
hath spoken to my heart the unutterable secrets of thy love and of
thy kingdom, let me die — let me die, I pray thee, since I have now
seen in truth what I saw in image then! The dray approached, and
I saw — be still, my heart! — I saw among the uppermost of the
youths, the virgins, the parents, the children, mingled in one heap of
death and horror — I saw, in the coarse charge of human brutes, ex-
posed to the rude eye of day, in only one simple inner garment, and
with her long bright hair spread wildly around, over grim and
tender countenances — I saw MARGARET ! Oh, Thomas ! my heart
hcs been since then a withered leaf — but now it matters not what I
have seen and have felt. There is no remedy but the grave before
me, and that is open, and I am ready, quite ready for it.

When the dray had passed from my sight, I started upon my feet,
and threw the Crystal with violence from me, cursing both it and its
owner. The Doctor went quietly and picked it up, and having re-
turned it to its case, came and sat down by my side without speaking.

When I became a little more composed, I apologized for my rude-
ness, and told him what I had seen.

He replied simply, " I know there is to be a great plague next
year — but I shall not live to see it. — But now I hope you are
satisfied ?"

" Satisfied I Doctor, satisfied !] The greatest blessing you can wish
me is, that I may not be convinced that the things shall be which I
have seen ; and which, whether convinced or not, will allow me no
peace or joy till the next year is over."

" Well, Master Dinford, I certainly will not press you to establish
a conviction which may make you unhappy; but you will at least
admit that the fault is not mine, if full conviction is not attained.
Now, then, we will go."

" Not so, Doctor. Though conviction would make me wretched,
after what I have seen, I must have it — or, rather, I must find, by
some strong test, that the things are false which have been brought
before me."

The Doctor smiled gravely.

" But there is another thing, Sir, besides such a question of proof,"
I continued : " I would also know what woukl be the result of the
event to me personally, if this be true. Shall I survive — shall I live?

* From the frequent mention of sleep, the reader should be informed that,
ur.tbr an attack of plague in its worst form, most of the time of illness is parsed,
in sleep. This fact is known to the writer from personal observation.

540 THE CRYSTAL : A RECORD OF 1665.

Survive! — live! — need I ask that which I can answer. I could not,
I would not live."

" Well, Master Dinford, though you could ask but three questions,
and two have already been asked, yet, as what you now wish is but a
continuation of the preceding, you may put the question, reserving
still your final proof. Indeed, had you been patient, you would have
had, ere this, an answer to your present inquiry, as it is the nature of
this glass to exhibit a general event in all the details most interesting
to the seeker himself. But, Sir, let me warn you that serious con-
sequences may follow if you again cast the Crystal from you. The
spirit which through its instrumentality condescends to satisfy your
demands, though gentle as morning sun-beams, may be displeased."

" Oh, fear it nut, Doctor. Nothing more can so strongly affect me
as that which I have already seen."

The same ceremonies as before were repeated, the invocations ex-
cepted, which had only been used in tliejirst instance.

On looking into the glass, the scene before me was a large field.
In one part of it was a great pit, filled nearly to the surface with dead
bodies; and, not far off, men were digging another, apparently to
receive a vast heap of corpses which lay at hand, thrown indis-
criminately on one another. This pile of death was infinitely more
shocking viewed laterally than superficially, as in the carts ; and the
heart rose high and chokingly in the throat to see, protruding from
the general face of this horrid hill, the brawn, hairy, and thick limbs
of the labourer and artisan, contrasted with the small, white, and
velvet ones of the youth and little child ; and the white heads of the
aged and venerable, or rough, grim, and masculine countenances,
terrible in death, intermingled with those of the tender and delicate
woman and the new-born child, whilst the bodies to which these
heads and limbs belonged, were concealed from view by the super-
incumbrance of other corpses. I did not at first comprehend how
this afforded an answer to my question ; but when I had heart to look
with some attention, I saw, among the many protruding heads — my own!

" Enough, Dr. Henwick ;" I said as I gave him the glass. " Now
for the proof."

The fact which occurred to me as most fit to found a question of
proof upon, was indeed a most vile circumstance in my past life, and
which now pains me greatly to recollect. But as only one other
person was a party in it, who certainly could not have communicated
it to any breathing soul, it was the first that occurred to me at the
moment. Therefore I asked, " How was I engaged on the 28^A of
January, in t lie year 1663, at eight in the evening?" The pictured
reply represented the scene with such accuracy as made me altogether
loathe myself — and with such minuteness of detail as even an eye-
witne ss could not, at such a distance of time, have supplied.

" Doctor," I said, rising and returning the glass ; " Doctor, you
shall have your feast ; and I must admit, generally, my conviction of
your skill and power in the things you pretend to. Nevertheless, I
must endeavour to hope that the predictions of the glass are in this
particular instance untrue, and that the scenes I have witnessed will
n -ver be fulfilled."

THE CRYSTAL ; A RECORD OF 1665. 541

Dr Hen wick shook his head, and said, feelingly, " that so far as I
had §een any thing unpleasant, he wished to hope the same."

We returned to the Pied Bull, and there, leaving the Doctor to
make what arrangements and orders he pleased for the feast of the
nsuing Friday, I mounted my horse and rode slowly home.

From that time the scenes of the Crystal were never absent from
my mind ; no, not even in sleep — in which dreams brought theni
again before me with circumstances of aggravated horror. I had no
peace ; and I felt that I never should have any, till the lapse of the
fatal year should prove the images of the Crystal illusive. This, in
my secret mind, I hardly hoped, though I sometimes fancied that I
had laughed and mocked my heart out of its fears ; but the evidence
of the truth of these images was so strong, and circumstances were
so often arising to confirm them, that in any abiding incredulity the
mind could not possibly settle down. But the keen achings of the
heart were all within. No eye saw them. I became more gay, more
noisy, more boisterously dissipated than ever ; for I sought in variety
of active enjoyment to drown for a time the memory of the things I
had seen, and the prospect of the things I feared. I dreaded the
lapse of time ; yet I sought to accelerate its march, because I
thought the presence of evil less terrible than its anxious and feverish
expectation, and because perhaps I had a glimmering hope that,
however true in other things, the Crystal had untruly prophesied in
the things I dreaded.

Oh, with what feelings did I meet my dear Margaret on her
return, and consort with her after. I never viewed her slim and
graceful form — I never looked upon her happy and smiling coun-
tenance— I never beheld her with that peculiarly graceful motion of
her head toss back the bright ringlets of her silken hair, — I never
saw all this ; but that form, as exposed to view in open day, and
dragged carelessly through the street?, recumbent on a heap of death
and plague — that sweet countenance ghastly, silent, and unheeding —
and that most lovely hair dishevelled, and spread wildly and wide
around on other faces in the cart, was ever present to me, frenzied all
my feelings, and drove me for relief to the stupefactions of wine,
and the excitements of play. Often, often did I bitterly curse the
hour when vain curiosity and idle bravo brought all this misery upon
me. If the Crystal had indeed truly represented the things which
must be, still for fourteen months 1 might have been happy in my
ignorance of approaching evil, and have gone on hoping to the last ;
still all these agonies and fears, which far exceed all I can imagine of
hell, might have been spared me, and my pathway to the grave — to
hers — to mine, might have been pregnant with delights, and strewed
with all the flowers which grow only in that garden which love hath
planted.

Meanwhile, as time went on, not hastened by my impatience or
retarded by my fears, circumstances arose one after another, till now,
to tell me that the Crystal had not lied; and now, my brother, only
one thing — the last — the least — remains to be accomplished.

First, then ; — one evening my dear Margaret was singing to her
lute a song, which I had myself written and set to music. When

THE CRYSTAL I A RECORD OF 1605

she had done she smiled, in her own sweet manner, and said, " The
last time I sung this was when with my Aunt Eleanor, at Winches-
ter, to her and my cousin in the garden. Poor Hal, who is passion-
ately fond of music, used to be a little tender to me on these occa-
sions, and I often smiled as I thought to myself, ' how would
jealous-pated Jack look if he were present ?' "

I made no remark, but, it seems, turned very pale ; which she
observing, I complained of a sudden head-ache, and went home.

Next, Dr. Henwick himself died, as he had himself foretold to me
in Barnsbury Park. It is true this had no connection with the
Crystal ; but it confirmed, generally, the conviction of his power, and
of the truth of his predictions, and had therefore a tendency to
strengthen my fears. To this the manner of his death not a little
conduced.

His " curious Dame Alice" used often to teaze him, by inquiring
of him the time of his own death. At first he would generally
answer, " Ah, Alice, Alice ! have but a little patience, and thou'lt
bury thy old man soon enough." But at last he yielded to her im-
portunities, and told her the day and hour. As the time approached,
she, seeing him well and hearty as ever, was accustomed to taunt
him, as now at last detected in an erroneous prediction. This he
quietly bore till the appointed day came, in the morning of which he
was quite well and cheerful. At breakfast, his wife sneeringly re-
marked, that the l'2th of October was come. " Ah, Alice, Alice !"
he replied, " the ides of March are come, but not over." He shut
himself up in his closet till about twenty minutes to twelve, when
he went to the river and took a boat to go to Greenwich. Whilst on
the way up, and as St. Paul's was striking twelve, he suddenly
clapped both his hands to his forehead, and shouting forth, " Now !
now I" expired.

Then came the plague in all its horrid circumstances; and how
much these agreed with the awful scenes exhibited by the Crystal
you already know. My hopes, which had been continually on the
decline from the beginning of this visitation, were very low indeed,
when it became necessary that all personal intercourse between Mar-
garet's family and ours should be suspended, though we still endea-
voured to keep each other informed of our respective circumstances.
I soon heard, in rapid succession, of the deaths of her brother, elder
sister, and mother ; and had to communicate, in return, the loss
of our venerable father, and of our dear sisters, Grace and Meli-
cant.

Last Wednesday I had been two days without hearing from Mar-
garet ; and I rose early in the morning, after a night more than
usually disturbed by the scenes of the Crystal, aggravated as usual.
The head and limbs of each corpse in the carts, which seemed to
roll unceasingly before me, and in the heaps for which the grave was
preparing, and which in my dreams appeared great mountains —
higher than ^Etna or Ararat, seemed to possess a most active prin-
ciple of life, whilst the bodies lay motionless and dead. Their limbs
they threw about in air, and pointed at me the finger of scorn ; and
their eyes were fixed like those of basilisks on mine, while they

THK CRYSTAL: A RECORD OF 1665. 543

grinned and gnashed with their teeth against me, or made most
horrid contortions, mocking and mowing with their mouths.

After breakfast I took a volume of Edmund Spenser, and drew a
chair near to the window, at which, from some hidden impulse, I
usually sat. My eyes ran mechanically over the pages, with little
cognizance of their contents ; and the partial attention I gave was
drawn away by every noise in the streets. Now, as at other times,
whenever a cart appeared, my heart beat quick, and swelled as if it
would burst. But when it had passed I felt relieved, and the heart's
wild throbbings would for a while subside.

The day grew high, and I was about to go down to our dear old
mother's room, when I heard the rumble of another cart, and re-
mained. It was heavily laden, and on the top I saw

I ran — I flew, and stood before the cart, and drawing my sword
commanded the men, in the voice of one that would be obeyed, to
stop. I needed not have been so fierce — they did so. I mounted on
the wheels, and with a strong arm lifted up my loved — my lost one.
I leaped to the ground with the dear burden, and bore it off — ran
with it through the solitary streets, as one pursued, till I came — I
know not whither, into the country — the open fields. There, under
a tree, I laid her down on my cloak, and wrapped it about her : I
disposed her hair — I wiped the dust from her face, and then, sitting
down by her side, I took her cold hand in mine. I then first per-
ceived— let the villain's heart wither like mine who did the deed ! —
that the finger on which she had worn an emerald ring I gave her
had been cut off ! I bound my handkerchief around the wounded
hand and took the other, but it returned not my pressure. I kissed
her lips where the rose was faded, and I called to her aloud —
te Awake, Margaret, awake !" — but she woke not. Hours — hours,
till the morning moon arose, I sat thus by her side, speaking to her
all the tender things she had been accustomed to hear from me, but
she gave no answer.

At last cooler reason came again, and told me she had ceased to
live. Then I arose, and with my sword scooped out a grave — a
work which took me till the sun shone smilingly forth, as if he had
no sympathy for the mourning world he looked upon. It was long,
then, before I could consign her blessed body to its final dwelling-
place. At last I took one farewell kiss — one last desperate embrace,
and, shrouded in my cloak, laid her on the wild flowers I had
gathered and thrown in. Then I covered her with more, and dis-
posing green branches over these, at last filled up the grave with
soil, and replaced the turf I had dug up ; and all this I did, pleased
amidst my agony to think that she at least was saved from that
horrid common grave intended for her. Oh, Margaret, Margaret !
in that grave my heart, with all its affections and hopes, lies buried
with thee.

Well-beloved Thomas, my task is timely done — I feel the symp-
toms of plague — the weariness, the lassitude which I have noted in
others, conies rapidly and conqueringly upon me. I must lie down,
to rise no more. Well, God bless you, Thomas ; he is all my blessing

544 THE

now. Farewell — you only are left; therefore, I charge you, take
care of our dear mother, and cherish her well.

In death, thy loving brother, JOHN DINFOKD.

*#* Any degree of interest this little narrative may possess, will
not be diminished by the information that our correspondent who
forwarded this MS. is himself one of the survivors of a plague in the
East, far more destructive, and not less awful than that of London,
in its scenes and circumstances. ED.

THE BRIDAL.

SHE stood beside the altar, but I saw her cheek was pale,
When the summer breezes wafted back her snow-white bridal veil ;
And listlessly she gazed upon the bright throng gather'd there,
As though in all that glitt'ring scene her heart had little share.

Her youthful form was such an one as painters love to trace,
With raven hair, and deep dark eyes, and steps so full of grace ;
A flow'r just op'ning into bloom, and yet a blight was there,
And on her gentle brow she bore the marks of woe and care.

The bridegroom's mien was stern and dark, and with an air of pride
He rais'd the trembling hand of that young victim at his side ;
And prouder still the father look'd as near he took his stand,
And hail'd his lovely daughter there — a peeress of the land !

O what a glance she gave him then ! it was so full of woe,
There needed not the power of words her wretchedness to show,
But quickly with a quiv'ring lip and one deep mournful sigh,
She turn'd away to hide the tears that gather'd in her eye.

Full brightly flash'd the costly gems amidst her glossy hair,
And oriental pearls were twin'd around her arms so fair ;
But love will not be bought and sold — ye may bring golden chains,
And hearts ye fain would fetter thus still mock at all your pains.

And well do I remember now a frank and gallant youth,

Who pledg'd unto that lovely one a vow of endless truth ;

But their fond dream of tenderness full soon has pass'd away,

And hopes that once seem'd fresh and bright have turn'd unto decay.

Heav'n help thee noble lady ! for full bitter it will be

When he thou lovest shall return, but not return for thee ;

And thou must deck thy face in smiles and strive to seem at peace,

Albeit the pangs that rend thine heart will never, never cease.

O thou hast learn'd that happiness on earth is never known,
But in the azure courts of heav'n it flourishes alone ;
And ere its ever verdant leaves can greet the weary eye,
We must toil through a wilderness, and then lie down to die !

E. C. H.

THE TUSKAR ROCK.

ABOUT nine miles from the point of Greenore, which forms the
south-eastern boundary of the bay of Wexford, stands the Tuskar,
a large steep rock rising almost perpendicular from the bosom of
the deep. Its top is flat, and is of about a quarter of an acre in ex-
tent. The rock is environed by many others, several of which do
not appear above the surface, indeed from the Tuskar to the Saltees,
the south-east coast of Wexford is thickly and dangerously studded
with rocks. A lighthouse has been erected on the Tuskar, exhibit-
ing a revolving light of three different colours, and in foggy weather
a bell is tolled to warn mariners of their dangerous proximity.

In the summer of 1828, I made an excursion with some friends
from the little bathing depot, the village of Churchtown, to the Tuskar.
We went in one of the fishing-cots, that is, a long, narrow, flat-bot-
tomed boat, capable of holding twenty persons, very like a coffin in
figure.

The morning was lovely, scarce a breath moved the surface of
the water, all was smooth and polished as a looking-glass, except
where our oars on each side broke it into circles, or the puffin, with
its young brood upon its back, dived to avoid our nearer approach.

As we rowed along the shore to avoid the tide, the houses, the
trees at St. Margaret's, the whole shore, were represented with the
most correct fidelity, and looked like a moving panorama. We landed
on the Tuskar, and having inspected the machinery of the revolving
light, which is very simple, and kept in capital order, we re-em-
barked. There was a gentle breeze in our favour, which our men
availed themselves of, and, drawing their oars across, they indulged
in that of all pleasures most sweet to a sailor, the far niente. I hap-
pened to remark the dangerous appearance of the Tuskar.

" Troth, and you may say that, Sir," replied the steersman of the
cot ; " and bad sess to them that put it there, and all the rest of
them for rocks."

" Put them there ! How do you mean put them there ? Sure
they were there from the deluge at least, if not before it."
*-f*\ " Well, may be so," said he ; " but the country people here tell a
different story of them; may be your honour has heard of it, and of
the ghost-ship that haunts the rock."

" Indeed I never did."

" Well, your honour, then I'll try any how to tell it ye," said he,
though I'm a morthual bad hand at telling a story. Now, if I wras
ould Paddy Rossiter, of Notherton — he's the boy would spin a long
yarn for you ; but Nicky, honey, (addressing one of the men for-
ward,) take in a small taste of that foresail, the win' is heading-in so ;
steady that, belay naw." Then turning round to me, and removing
the quid of tobacco from his cheek, he began.

<f ' Long ever ago, when the Danes lived in these parts, 'twas they,
your honour, builded all the ould castles about the country, and big
cowards they were to build such strong houses to live in. Well,

M.M. No. 95. 4 A

546 THE TUSKAR ROCK.

then, in the time of the Danes there was a great mischievous big ould
witch lived up in a cave on the top of the mountain of Forth — there,
your honour, you may see it, look rig;ht foreninst you, over the arms
of the mill of Brig. Well, she was a terrible witch entirely — nothing
could pass her. She had one son, and he was out with the rest of
the boys fighting the Danes ; well, one day the Danes pretended to
be walking afther a funeral like, and never a sword could be seen
with them at all, and the boys never suspecting nothing joined the
crowd like christens, till it gathered up to four or five hundred, and
more nor half of 'em were Irish; well, they were going decently and
quietly till one of the Danes picked a quarrel wid one of them, an',
well become him, he ups wid his fist an' knocks him down, for, you
know, he thought he'd a power of his own faction to back him to the
fore, well, 'pon that the Danes threw down the coffin, an' 'twas
filled wid swords ond pistols, and they helped themselves and 'tacked
them, but the Irish bet them, 'spite of the swords, back to the ships ;
however, they took Connor, the witch's son, prisoner, an' brought
him a' ship-board, and then they did all they could to kill him, but
his mother charmed him, and they broke all the swords they had,
and couldn't hurt him, but at last they drowned him. Well, to be
sure, and the witch was in a passion when she heard of it, and she
came out and helped the Irish boys till they bet the Danes away ; and
they sailed, for help, to Bagaubun, where more of them were in camp.
Well, Nora, the witch, knew very well that the ships of the Danes
couldn't be racked by any land, rock, or strand, for when they were
launched, a Norway witch used to christen them, and charm them
with a rime, part of which was —

" ' Vessel, I charm thee,
No tempest shall harm thee ;
Go fearless on land,
On rock, or on strand,
And be not afraid
Of aught that God made.'

And a great deal more, but I forget it. Well, while they were away,
well become Nora ; but she went about and borrowed all the geese
she could from the neighbours, up and down, and drew 'em all into
the sea in flocks, and they were all swimming after a shoal of her-
rings from Greenoor to Connybeg and the Kerogh Islands, when
Nora clapped her hands, and they were all turned into rocks just as
they were at the very moment. The Saltees, and Keeraghs, and
Tuskar were the ould ones, and the Carricks, and Barrels, and all
them were the goslings ; Splough and Fundale were just diving after
fish, and so they remained ever since under water. Well, when the
Danes came back it was at night, and they 'scaped till they came to
Splough, and there they struck, and Nora blew a great storm, and
racked 'em, and they were every soul lost j but that wouldn't satisfy
the witch, and bad luck to her, for she got 'em leave to haunt that
rock and shore ever till, as the song goes,

" ' Till to their tired sight,

A star at night

Shall first be red and then be white,

And then be lost unto them quite ;'

THE TUSK AH HOCK. 547

and that means the lighthouse. But at all events it's certain they
used to haunt it, for Mickle Devereux, of Facumshaw, saw them one
night, and was never the same man since. But, boys, you must pull
a lee oar or we'll never get in, you see the tide is dragging us round

the forlorn/ "

*##**#*

I left the Wexford day coach at the foot of Ballyneslaney Hill, and
whilst it pursued its way into Wexford I turned off to the right, and
entered the vale or glen which runs from the road down to the river
Slaney. The evening was falling very quickly, but as I knew every
inch of my way, I had no fears of not getting safely down to the river
side, where, although there is no regular ferry (a thing, by the way,
very much wanted), I knew I should be able to get some fisherman
to launch his cot and put me across. I walked on lost in admiration
of the lovely landscape around me, and, although I had frequently
seen it before, yet as it is one of the properties of the beauties of
nature that they never tire, the scenery that now presented itself to
my sight came with all the freshness and novelty of a first view.
Before and to my right appeared the high, sharp, clearly-defined tops
of that range of hills which separate the counties Carlow and Wex-
ford, the sun had been some time sunk behind them, but still a rich
rosy hue tinged some large patches of clouds over their lofty sum-
mits, indicating the place of his retreat, and

" Giving promise of a goodly day to-morrow."

To my left were the plantations of Kyle, whose leafy branches af-
forded resting-place to myriads of rooks and wood-pigeons, on all
sides winging their flight in countless numbers towards their lodging
place, and filling the air with ceaseless clamour; farther on, the woods
of Belleview appeared, with their own throngs of feathered guests
vieing in noise with their opposite neighbours of Kyle. Behind me
was the little hamlet of Ballynaslaney, which I had just left, gradually
becoming more and more indistinct, until at last the hoarse murmur pf
the ceaselessly revolving mill-wheel, or an occasional spark and train
of bright light from the open door of the forge, alone remained to
point out its situation. Troops of young men and girls were return-
ing from the corn-fields, with all the mirth and soul-felt enjoyment of
the present moment sparkling in their eyes, or bursting in loud and
unrestrained laughter from their lips. The seniors of the party fol-
lowed at a more slow and measured pace, some engaged in deep cal-
culation as to the probable price of corn during the ensuing winter,
whilst many an anxious mother's eye fondly followed her daughter's
figure as she beheld her walking with the chosen one of her heart,
and listening, with blushing cheek and mingled feelings of fear and
delight, to the perhaps rustic and homely, but not on that account
less sincere, and genuine pourtrayal of hopes and wishes, common to
both the noble born and the peasant. Whilst I stood gazing on this
scene, with something like a wish at my heart that I had been born
to no higher a lot than that of those happy villagers, I saw three men
with spades and shovels on their shoulders approach the group, which
stopped them, and though I was at too great a distance to hear any-

548 THE TUSKAH ROCK.

thing of their conversation, I could observe that the younger mem-
bers of it jeered and bantered them without mercy, whilst the older
seemed to look more thoughtful and serious ; and one old woman in
particular seemed by her gestures to entreat them to return with the
party. With one of the trio, and the youngest too, she succeeded,
but the other two remained obstinate, and finding they could not re-
gain their companion turned on their heels and walked away, pur-
sued by a general shout from the whole party. As I saw they were
directing their steps towards the gap in which I stood, curiosity in-
duced me to wait for them to come up, which they very quickly did,
and saluted me with " God save you ; a fine evening, God bless it."
God save you kindly, I replied, and we entered into conversation ;
but I found them very anxious to get rid of me, and could learn
nothing from them of their late meeting, or where they were going ;
besides, they walked so fast that I could with very great difficulty
keep up with them, though I prided myself in being a good walker.
We therefore very soon wished good evening and parted ; and by
the time I got to the river's bank they were nearly across. I was
obliged to wait until the cot returned, so sat down in an old fisher-
man's cabin, and very soon learned all I wanted to know about my
late companions, it was a very curious story, and I shall give it in
the words, as nearly as I can recollect, of the old woman, the fisher-
man's wife, who told it.

Jack Devereux and his brother Bill lived in the town of Oylegate;
they were very poor, and worked as day-labourers up and down the
country, and they were mighty hard set to live at all. Jack was
always a lively rattling bolium skeeogh * kind of a fellow ; nothing
could cow him, at least if you'd believe himself. Bill Devereux was
a great deal steadier and soberer, and signs by it ; Bill was always
clean and decent in the chapel-yard of a Sunday : and Jack used to
be flying, almost in rags, but never a mind Jack minded it, so as
he got the sup now and then, 'twas all one to him. Well, some time
ago Jack had been up at Mr. Percival's, of Currant-tree, over the
water, where he got his dinner and a glass of whiskey, and set off
home just at nightfall. Well, his short cut was through Arkand-
ridgej 'twasn't very dark, nor very light, but there was a little
moon, and when he got among the trees it got mighty dark entirely.
Well, Jack was a little frightened, and by the time he got into the
middle of the church-yard his heart failed 'him, and he turned back
to go round it. Well, just as he was leaping off the ditch into the
field outside, a beautiful white greyhound, with a great gold collar
round his neck, stood just by his side, and seemed to wait for him.
Well, Jack walked up towards it, and when he got within two or
three perch of it, the dog ran on a little, and stopped again with
his eyes fixed on Jack ; and when he whistled, the greyhound wagged
his tail to encourage him like, but wouldn't let him get nearer than
before. Jack began to think it was one of Capt. Percival's hounds
that had followed him down from the big house, and began to shout

* Bolium skeeogh means a kind of devil-may-care sort of fellow.

THE TUSKAR HOCK. 549

at him to try to drive him home ; but all wouldn't do, bad cess to
the inch he'd move, but just kept a perch before him, walking when
Jack walked, and stopping when Jack stopped ! 'till at last he got very
frightened, and sat down, and so did the dog ; and what was mighty
odd was, that he grew bigger and bigger every minute, 'till he was
almost as big as a calf. Well, you may be sure, Jack was frightened
when he seen that ; and so he was, and he jumped up and ran back,
but the dog got before him3 and began to growl and snarl at him,
till at last he went on. Well, they went on till they came to a great
ould oak tree just near the avenue, and there the dog stopped, and
began so scratch among the roots for the very barelife ; and every
now and then he'd look up to try if Jack was there, and then he got
smaller and smaller when he saw Jack standing quite quiet by his
side, and looking on mighty curious to know what the dog was
scraping for. Well, to make a long story short, Jack's curiosity got
the better of his fright, and he up and he says to him, " Musha, the
cross of Christ betune us and any harm, if it a'nt making too bould
to ax, Mr. Dog what the devil are you scratching for there any how ?"
When Jack began speaking, the dog very genteelly and civilly
stopped scratching not to interrupt him ; and when he was done, he
turned round, and looking him full in the face, he says in a mighty
nice purty voice, " What would you give to know, Jack Devereux ?"
Cf Musha, not a great deal," says Jack, looking on ; he didn't care
about it, though the life was a'most frightened out of him, when he
heard him call him by his name. " Musha, not a great deal," says
he, " your honour, o'ny may be I could help you/'

" Oh, Bedershin," says the dog, winking mighty knowing like at
Jack ; " but come, Jack," says he, " you seem a civil obliging sort
of gorsoon, and a stout gorsoon too ; dig, away, and it sha'n't be
the worse for you."

et Wid a heart and a half, sir," says Jack, on'y I left my feck up at
the big house."

. t( Don't let that stop you, Jack," says he, fk look behind the tree ;"
and there sure enough he found a bran new fork, and shovel, and
pick. So when he found he was fairly catched, he put the best heart
he could on it, and to work they set, the dog scratching and Jack
picking and shoveling, and digging for the bare life, till they were
quite tired ; and the dog had his tongue out, Jack says, a foot and a
lalf out of his mouth. Well, they sat down to rest, and Jack says, —
" I wish/' says he, " we'd something to drink, for troth I'm as dry
as wisps of hay."

" What would you like to drink, Jack ? " says he.
" Myself doesn't care," says Jack; " any thing at all to take the
cobwebs out of one's throat."

" Would you like some of the mountain-dew, Jack ? " says he.
" It will do mighty well entirely, your honour," says Jack,
smaking his lips when he heard it talked of.
" Well, go and get it," says the greyhound.

" The devil a rap I'm owner of this blessed and holy night," says
Jack ; " and if I'd lashins and leavings of money, I couldn't get pot-
teen now, for since the bloody guagers took up the still in Coole-

550 THE TUSKAR ROCK.

devil a sup's to be got for love or money, barrin' some
gentleman keeps a little for his own use, or to treat his friends wid."

" Jack," says the greyhound, looking mighty sober and grave,
" you are too fond of cursing and potteen ; that's three times you said
devil since we met, and I don't like it : you don't know who may
be listening to you; but look behind the tree, and you'll find a
jar ; bring it here."

And there he found an ilegant jar, and a nice big glass ; and he
brought 'em out, and filled the glass, and gev it to the dog.

" Help yourself, Jack," says he.

" After you's manners, sir," says Jack ; " and besides myself
doesn't know what's in it; may be it wouldn't be good for me, your
honour."

" I pledge you my honour, Jack," says he, quite serious ; " it will
do you no harm; but if you suspect me, give me the glass:" and
taking it in his paw, he tossed it off, and made all the faces after it
just like a Christian.

Well, Jack, when he saw that, didn't wait to be tould twice, and
they drank two or three glasses a-piece ; and the greyhound sang a
mighty fine song for Jack, but he couldn't remember it ; but it was
something about an old woman flying over the moon, and a nice
sweet voice he had of his own too. Well, they fell to work again
like mad, and they hadn't dug long when they hot upon a great
stone.

" Put your hand down, Jack," says the dog, " and take up that
stone."

And so he did, a great flat flag wid a ring in it, and under it there
was a big hole full of crocks of money.

" By my soul," says Jack to himself, " I might have easy guessed
what you were scraping for ; but I'll fix you, 'cute as you are."

So when they got the crocks up, Jack would only take the smallest
piece in 'em, just, as he said, for the price of his labour. Well, the
dog tould him he might take what he liked ; coaxed him and threat-
ened him, but all wouldn't do. Jack used always to say,

" What would the likes of me do with so much money, your
honour ?"

" Jack," says the dog, "for a fellow that thinks himself so 'cute,
you're the biggest fool I ever met ; but I have taken a great fancy
to you for your being so obleeging in helping me ; and now listen to
me. Mark this spot well. You may come every Friday night, and
take out of these crocks just one of the pieces of money like what
you have in your hand. You may tell your story to any body, but
you must not show the tree, nor take any one with you on the Friday
nights ; if you do, mark my words, it will be worse for you ; and
now good night, Jack ; if you use my money properly it will prosper
with you, if not, I'll meet you again, that's all. So good bye,
Jack."

" Good bye, sir," says Jack.

So they shook hands and parted ! the dog turned back to the ould
church-yard, and Jack went down to the water-side, and launched
his cot, and came across the river, and so got home. Well, the first

THE MOSLEM. 551

thing Jack did was to light a rush to look at his money, and it was a
bran new gold guinea. So Jack thought his fortune was made, and
next day he tould Bill of his good luck, and divided his guinea with
him ; and they went on very well for some time 'till Jack took to
drink twice as bad as ever, and the money used to be always spent
before he got it out of the hole ; but latterly he found the hole
stopped up, and a broken crock used to be there every Friday night
with the gold guinea in it. Jack was very cross at the dog's sus-
pecting him, so partly out of revenge and partly from devilment, and
to get all the money, he persuaded Bill to go with him and take it
all away. Well, Bill, when he determined to go, bethought himself
of going to a wise woman that lives at Carrigmanna for her advice,
and he gave her two of the guineas ; and she tould him " that the
dog was on the watch every night, and would certainly tear him or
any body that would attempt it, except between twelve and two
o'clock of the third night from new moon; that they must have
three persons with them, or at least three picks must be used in the
digging ; that the dog would not be there then, but that he would
be very close to them, and that if a single word was spoken he'd fly
at whoever spoke and tear him to pieces." Well, Bill thanked her
for the advice, and went home and tould Jack, and they over-
persuaded their sister's son to go with them ; but I see they are gone
alone, for this is the night, and I'm glad the young boy didn't go with
them, for I mistrust something not right will happen. It a'nt proper,
your honour, to have any dealings with the good people ; but if your
honour wants to get across, I see the cot's come back. Upon which
I gave my story-teller many thanks for her narrative, accompanied
with something more substantial, and wishing her good night, en-
tered the little cot, and have never heard any thing since of Jack
Devereux or his brother Bill.

THE MOSLEM.

The morn but dimly lit the Nile,
And half the earth was night the while,
When by the mystic river, stood
A Moslem dripping from the flood ;
Eastward he fixed his stern black eye,
And raised his voice in prayer on high.

Praise Allah ! praise ! Mahommed grace !
Lo, Destiny arrests my race !
Cold dreams come on me in the night,
With labouring sorrow and affright.
I rode o'er endless realms of snow —
The air so keen, yet Heaven all glow.
My rampant steed had eyes of fire,
A sleek coat, black as Saturn's ire ;
Three arrowed forks of flame his tongue,
In lambent flakes the loose main hung,
While, like a burning serpent, swung
Behind in coils a blood-red tail,
And hissed o'er the ice through mount and vale.
Unnumbered deserts shot we by,
Far faster than the winds can fly ;

552 THE MOSLEM.

But still we sped o'er realms of snow, —

Heaven, blue above, — Eaith, white below !

Anon dark clouds the sky bestride,

And torrents rush on every side.

One roving deluge sweeps the land,

And deadening thunders roll command !

One moment on the watery waste

My helpless steed was whirled in haste ;

And instant eddies sucked us low !

My drowning soul would prayers bestow.

But heads of demons to the chin

Rose o'er the dreary waves to grin ;

And as the gulph yawned with its own,

Shrieked to the winds — and sense was gone !

I stood upon a sunny shore —
The ample sea was glittering o'er.
The wave upon its bosom slept,
The stealthy breezes silent swept,
And beautifully over all,
An azure sky spread out its pall.
Supreme upon the bright expanse
Spirits in coral barks advance.
Fair maids they seem, and thinly clad
In gauzes, from the rainbow had,
That half each sacred charm conceal,
And half to ecstacy reveal.
Their angel lips chimed forth a strain
Of love and joy, and love again,

So moving sweet, that nature thrilled %

Through every vein, to transport rilled.
A noble bull, whose golden horns
With roses harnessed, youth adorns ;
Roars as he plunges through the tide,
And tows each fairy freight with pride.
Never upon the ravished sight
Did forms so fair, or scene so bright.
Expand the passions to delight.
Methought great Allah, from on high,
Had given a magic warranty,
That Houris from Heaven's sweetest bower
The loaded realms of earth should scour,
One longing son of earth approve,
And waft him to the realms above.

The song grew loud ; each form shone clear ;
Praise Allah ! praise! for me they steer.
Each maid bends amorous on her bark —
How bright the glance from that eye dark ;
They beckon now, and all my soul
Yearns captive to the soft control.
My limbs are sprinkled by the spray
That leaps before their radiant way.
Mine are these maids, and mine the sky,
And Allah's proud eternity !

I seized the foremost by the hand,
And shivering fell upon the sand.
That moment vanished all the scene,
And utter darkness came between,

THE MOSLEM. 553

The darkness of despair, profound
And horrible. One great throe round
Heav'd the deep void, and forth a sprite,
A writhing corse of yellow light,
Was headlong flung athwart the gloom —
I woke, and wept to read my doom.
Allah ! the spirit thou hast given,
By no reverse from thee is riven.
In unread letters on each brow
The destinies of mortals grow ;
But thine is still the mystic soul
Unhurt, unseen by thy control !
Devouring earth can ne'er consume
That portion in the watery tomb ;
The wind can never waft away
That essence of our mouldering clay ;
The fire may blanch the flesh and bone,
But high the spirit soars alone ;
Afar the deluge desolate,
Wrecks all but its empyrean state ;
Each element, and place and time,
• All war in vain, 'tis e'er sublime ;
E'er true to thee, and leal to fate,
The bond and seal of Heaven's estate !

Allah ! upon this votive spot
Be every recreant hope forgot.
The witching eye, and that soft lip
That whispered here of bliss to sip ;
And if, in sooth, my fate is sealed,
And half eternity revealed —
If all my weary risks are run,
And these my last views of the sun,
Back be my sinking spirit sped
Like breeze worn out on roses' bed.
Oh ! grant my dying breath may rise
In secret to thy deathless skies !
E'en as the note of desert lyre,
May I unwatched, unheard expire !
For thine is all I have to give,
What boots my charge to those who live ?

He bowed him lowly to the ground,
And moody turned. The piercing sound
Of battle, bugle, and the shot
Of instant war pealed o'er the spot ;
And forth th'invading arms of France
Opened before his desperate glance.
Up on the instant flew his lance ;
But ere it left the steady hand,
Three bullets stretched him on the sand ;-—
Praise Allah ! praise ! Mahommed grace !
Lo, Destiny arrests my race !
He feebly cried, and eastward turn'd.
The writhing frame lh' invader spurned
With gibes. On marched the death-leagued train,
And soon grew dim upon the plain,
While he expired unheeded there,

Even as his spirit craved in prayer! G. L. S.

M. M. No. 95. 4B

FRAGMENT OP A FARCE.

BY AN OLD SOLDIER.

SCENE I. — COVENTRY-STREET.

Enter Mountgarrelt.

Mount. Confound this shooting ! 'Tis perfect porter's work ! Four
hours have I been upon the pave, till,, like a lazy Alexandrine, I can
scarce drag my slow length along — and no invitation. I had my hat
a la Hanger too* and fished in all the likely places, but in vain — not
a nibble. Even that, chap from the city fought shy, and his lordship
— yes — yes — I'm done in that quarter. My enormous half-pay appe-
tite has ruined me — 'tis cut, but not come again, I suspect. Curse
that whiff from George's. It comes over me like the sweet south, and
mocks my misery. Something must be done. I've a sixty-alderman
power, and could digest an elephant. Long's is entirely out of the
question, and as for the club, I've held my head so very high among
'em lately, that they have forgotten my face. Yes, I must e'en pre-
vail on my landlady to let me have a chop at home, 'tis my only re-
source (going*). Let me be sure though that nobody is looking. I
wouldn't have it known that I lodge in Windmill-street. No — all's
right, so — (steals off.}

Enter Chipchase, Magennis, Stanley and Doctor

Stan. I'm afraid he saw us.

Mag. The deuce a bit. We were covered by the corner.

Chip. Follow cautiously. He certiinly holds out hereabouts ; and
if we follow him to earth —

Doc. Egad, why we'll dig him out. — (They follow.)

SCENE II.— A SHABBY ATTIC.

Enter Mountgarrett.

Mount. An old devil ! to deny me the vivres. If I didn't owe her
three weeks' rent — a matter of fifteen shillings — I'd quit her infernal
house this instant. Why, I shall starve — die of inanition. There
will be a coroner's inquest upon me, and the parish must bury me.
Oh ! that I were a snipe and could live by suction ! or a dormouse, ye
gods ! to sleep six months at a stretch. Well, if I can't dine, I must
e'en take tea, I suppose (Arranges cups and saucers, blows Jire, puts
on kettle, fyc. #c.) " How are the mighty fallen !" That I, now, Flo-
rian Augustus Mountgarrett, late of the crack lancers, and sixteenth
cousin to a Scotch Earl, should be in a miserable attic here, toasting
my own muffin. 'Sdeath, I wouldn't be discovered in such a situation
for all—.

* The late eccentric George Hanger was at one period of his evenful life a
noted diner-out, and is said t ohave worn his hat with a particular cock when
disengaged, as a hint to his friends to invite him.

FRAGMENT OF A FAlU'E. 555

Enter Chipchase and party.

Confusion seize 'em (rises in great confusion, and tries to conceal the
muffin}.

Chip. I fear we intrude.

Mount. Not at all. I'm devilish glad to — The fact is, I'm just up.
I was rather late last night, you must know. After Almack's we
adjourned to the Clarendon, and there — ha! ha! ha! I told his lord-
ship how it would be — heigho ! I presume you have breakfasted ?

Mag. Ay, and dined too, my jewel.

Mont, (aside). Lucky dogs!

Mag. But what elegant quarters he has! (Looking round). Oh!
murder — murder !

Doc. So airy too. No doctor wanted !

Chip. And, then, the situation !

Stan. Ay, that butcher's opposite.

Mount. Curse your quizzing. I'm a contemptible ass, and there's
an end on't. It's no use humbugging you. 'Tis an evil, I grant you
— a very serious one, and causes much mischief. So much so in-
deed, that at this present moment—hem — that is — I mean — damn it,
the truth's the truth. I have had no dinner — none of the Dons invited
rne. My poverty kept me from Long's — my pride from an eating-
house— my shame from the club. I'm as hungry as an Esquimaux,
and as empty as a poor's-box, and unless I contrive to masticate this
particularly tough muffin immediately, I shall die omniverous, like
poor Tom Otway, and go to the devil fasting. — (Eats greedily).

All. Ha ! ha ! ha !

Mount. I'm sorry I've nothing but cat-lap to offer you.

Doc. Don't mention it.

Chip. We're already provided. — (Pulls out segars).

Mag. Tip us a live coal, Doctor. — (They smoke).

Stan. This smacks of the Peninsula.

Mag. Faith, we'd seldom such quarters. An English garret, let.
me tell you — .

Mount. Attic, you might say, if you were civil.

Mag. Sure it beats a Spanish palace any way, at least in comfort.
I was quartered in one once at Cadiz — a great gloomy place, Sir, just
like a gaol ; and by this same token I might as well have been in
one, for I was eat up by the dismals all day, and the fleas by night.
You may talk of Damien's bed, my darlings, but by my soul it was-
down to mine.

Chip. Ay, there's no country like England.

Stan. And no city like London.

Doc. And no street like Windmill-street.

Stan. And no place in it like No. 13, fourth pair, front attic.

Mount. Ay, and you may add, no dinner like a cup of cat-lap and
a salted muffin !

All. Ha! ha! ha!

Mount. Ay, you may laugh ; however, I have had no reason to
complain. I have east, west, north and south, run the gauntlet
through all grades, and feasted upon the million. Three hundred
thousand dinners are daily provided here, and many of them have

556 FRAGMENT OF A FARCE.

been at my command. Why, Sir, I've ate my way from Westminster
to Whitechapel — from the patrician to the bourgeois — dined at every
hall — and even hob-and-nobbed, Sirs, with Royalty itself. Indeed
before my omniverous gastronomical powers began to get so noto-
rious, I've often had six invitations for a day — ay, upwards of six,
ye gods ! Then have I longed for ubiquity ! Then have I envied
certain sinecurists, and acknowledged with a sigh the vast advantage
of being able to be in half a dozen places at once. Ah, those were
glorious eating times ; but now — heigho ! To be sure, in the city
sometimes — .

Stan. Ay, that's the place — the real land of fat, Sirs ! A citizen
has a high respect for the military ; and though he may not exactly
approve a soldier for his son-in-law, he is generally very willing to
admit him to his table, and treat him with every hospitality. Of
course, I mean your real service-boy — your approved soldado; one
on whose brow the scorching suns of Andalusia have written " SOL-
DIER," or whose mutilated frame bespeaks him the defender of his
country's honour — the champion of her trade ! — (Loud applause.)

Chip. Pop that into your next farce, Doctor. It will tell famously •

Mount. Your citizen, besides, is mighty curious about battles.
Only talk to him of sieges, and skrimmages, and such like, and by
the powers he'll listen to you for ever, especially if you have been
concerned in them yourself; and then he looks upon you as a greater
Count than the Recorder, and treats you accordingly. Sure I'll never
forget an ould bald-pated citoyen, whom I encountered for the first
time at a man's in Coleman-street. He was sitting opposite, shovel-
ling away at double-quick time at a plate of Birch's real, " the world
forgetting, by the world forgot." Our host happened to address me
with — " Well, captain, I suppose this is a better dinner than you had
at Waterloo ?" Waterloo ! The word was electric. It acted upon
the ould gentleman like a rocket. Down went the spoon. With eyes
distended and open mouth, the soup at the same time running down
in two distinct streams from each corner of it, he sat gazing upon me
in speechless admiration, and at length exclaimed — " Lord have
mercy upon us, sir ! were you at Waterloo ?" then seizing my hand
from across the table, and shaking it violently in the butter-boat, he
told me I was an honour to my country, and he should be happy to
see me at Camberwell next day, when he had a few friends to turtle
and venison, to whom he should be proud to introduce me. — I lived
three years on the battle of Waterloo !

All. Ha ! ha ! ha !

Chip. I was cruising off Flushing about three weeks before that
grand affair, I remember, and on boarding one of our transports at
the mouth of the Scheldt, whom should I see among the passengers
but Master Gussy here. We agreed there would be broken heads
before long, and were not mistaken.

Stan. I thought you landed at Ostend ?

Mount. The regiment did. I was on leave, however, whan it
sailed, and so joined as I could, and a precious passage I had of it !
Pent up in that tub of a transport, as sick as the devil, and squatting
down to salt junk every day, with a clamp master, a black table cloth.

FRAGMENT OF A FARCE. 55?

and two Caledonian mates, by the lord, who smelt awfully af brim-
stone— three weeks of it, by the gods ! three whole weeks, sir ! I
was never so sick of any thing in my life, and when the red walls of
Flushing hove in sight, I could have cut an entrechat upon the deck,

Chip. You recollect the pilot, Gussy? That peculiar old cock,
you know, with aforecastle stoop, and nose like the lantern of a light-
house.

Mount. Ah ! that nose ! Methinks I see it now — vast and fiery — .
pimpled and portentous — denoting " health five fathoms deep," and
flaming like another vEtna ! 'Tis an era in a man's life, sir, to have
seen that nose. Poor old Nosey ! I wonder what has become of
him? But Chipchow, my boy, you look in capital case. You must
have turned Algiers and Navar ino to good account.

Chip. You are right, old fellow ; they have stood my friend every
where but at the Admiralty. I was three whole months in Norfolk,
where I fired so many broadsides that my ammunition ran short.
The people there can tell you as much about a Turk as if they be-
longed to the Seraglio, though many believe new they have tails and
live upon brimstone.

AIL Ha! ha! ha!

Enter the Scotch Landlady.

Landlady (curtsying). Gentlemen, ye seem unco merry. Ise just
taken the leeberty to bring the captain his sma' account, just to let
ye see, as friends, that he's no' charged muckle for his apartments.

Mount, (reddening.) Confound you for a grasping old catamaran !
how dare you intrude upon gentlemen in this manner. Bring your
account in the morning — I've no silver.

Landl. Noo, captain, I do not reckon ye ever had. Ise never seen
the colour of it ; but maybe your friends can just, accommodate ye
with the trifle.

All. Ha! ha! ha!

Chip. Certainly — certainly. Stanley, lend our friend the trifle.

Stan. By all means; though I don't happen to have so much about
me ; but Maginnis —

Mag. Oh, with pleasure, if you'll just allow me to step home I'll
fetch it instantly ; though the Doctor perhaps —

Doctor. By Jasus, my friend, to any amount you please; the sum
is nothing out of my pocket —

Mag. (aside.) Though a devilish deal in it.

Doctor. Though I forgot I paid a little bill as I came in ; perhaps
Mistress Mucklethrift, to-morrow — .

Landl. Why, ye good-for-nothing parcel of hungry deevils ; d'ye
reckon to run your rigs on me, Ise—

All. Confusion ! this to gentlemen !

Mount. Out of the room, you d — d old cat, or by force I'll pitch
you through the window !

Landl. Hout, mon ! is that the way ye pay your debts, ye bootless,
brogueless, beggarly half-pays, get out o' my house.

All. Pitch her out— tie her to a broomstick, the old witch !

Landl. Say your say ; Ise no fear ye or the likes o' ye, though I
shoudna like to be a silver spoon in your way —

558 LAMENT OF THE "HALF-PAY CLUB.

All Kick her out !

Landl. Ise tell ye, Captain Mountgarrett, ye owe me a matter of
fifteen shillings, so I'll just take the leeberty o* borrowing this till ye
pay me. {She seizes a coat hanging on a chair, and makes off, followed
by Mounlgarrett. A scuffle ensues. The old woman tumbles down stairs,
screaming murder ; and Mountgarrett re-enters with his coat torn in
half.}

Mount. Ruined and undone — my only coat \

Mag. Fatal charge — Lancers dreadfully punished !

Stan. Baggage captured by the Scotch rifle brigade.

Chip. Capsize of the Scotch smack Beelzebub — cargo saved, but
much damaged. But don't look blank, old friend ; rig yourself in
my great coat, and come along to the club. I can lend you a coat of
mine till you can get another fit, and muster you up a few shot to
get you clear of this privateersman. You shall dine and be merry
to-day — so all hands about ship — Cook to the fore-sheet !

All. Bravo ! (Exeunt omnes, singing in a corresponding happy tone.}

LAMENT OF THE HALF-PAY CLUB

REFT of rank, and joy cut short all —

Poor, lost Subs !
Each a luckless undone mortal —

Poor, lost Subs !

Ne'er, oh, ne'er the sweets of messing

More to taste, Sirs ! How distressing.

Wretched, needy, dank and seedy —

Poor, lost Subs !

Joyous once, we plough'd life's ocean —

Ah, happy Subs !
Bless'd with hope, whole pay, promotion —

Ah, happy Subs !

But fell Peace, our prospects blasting,
Brought us duns, distress and fasting ;
Prisons yawning, watches pawning —
Poor, lost Subs ! .

Depth of woe ! sans grub or rhino — -
Poor, lost Subs !

Where will this all end ? Ah ! I know-
Poor, lost Subs !

Despairing, we'll cast off life's onus —

Suicide — St. Martin's bone-house ;

Pale, distended, care all ended —
Poor, lost Subs I

THE BRIGANDS OF APULIA.

On my return from an excursion in Sicily, in the Autumn of
1831, and carried away by some old classical recollections,, I resolved
to explore that portion of the kingdom of Naples, seldom honoured
by the presence of our English tourists. Accordingly, instead of
proceeding direct from Palermo to Naples, I crossed over from
Messina into Calabria, and after sojourning some weeks amid its
savage beauties and lawless inhabitants, I at length reached the
object of my wanderings, the ancient Samnium — the grave of old
Italian liberty.

The modern province of Molise is the ancient Samnium, and is
one of the most neglected and the least known districts of the
kingdom of Naples. Confined between La Puglia and Abruzzo, cut
in two by the river Biferno, it is commanded on one side by the
formidable chain of the Motese, and washed on the other by the
Adriatic. The soil is sterile, notwithstanding the Motese is of
volcanic formation, and which, although extinguished at a period
long anterior to the earliest traditionary records we are in possession
of, still reveals its former power by frequent earthquakes. Hence
the name of " Terra Tremente," which the province has, in conse-
quence, acquired.

It is here, in this narrow mountain space — on those naked rocks —
on those plains, ploughed up by so many catastrophes of nature —
that was born, flourished and expired, the republican Confederation
of the Samnites. Gifted, like the modern Swiss, with a stern and
persevering nature, they alone made head against Rome — they were
the true Guerillas of antiquity, who sustained for two hundred years
without armies, allies or chiefs, as they themselves told Hannibal,
the glorious struggle of Italian independence against Roman centrali-
zation. With them perished all that remained of nationality in the
ancient Peninsula ; the downfall of the Samnite Confederation was
for Italy what a later period was for Greece — the dissolution of the
Achaian League.

We are acquainted with the great drama of Samnite resistance
but through Livy ; our knowledge of it is, therefore, most super-
ficial, for the historian of the victories and conquests of the Roman
• empire dwells but cursorily on a struggle in which the Roman
legions cut so frequently a sorry figure.

Full of the glory of the ancient Samnites, I wandered forth to
seek the tombs of the brave in the ancient Samnium, after having
raised up the shade of Spartacus in the forests of Lucania, and that
of the Lucanian Deucotius upon the mountains of Sicily.

But here I was disappointed in my hopes. The Roman empire
has passed over Samnium, as she has done over Lucania and Sicily,
bearing every where traces of her profound impression. On the
ruins is her name alone to be found. In vain did I seek amid the
ruins of the heroic Sepinum those of Herenius and of Talesius, I
found in their stead the names of Claudius and of Constantine— not a

560 THE BRIGANDS OF APULIA.

recollection vouchsafed on the vanquished : every thing, even to
their names, was Romanized.

The only truly grand and monumental remains that still exist, are
a vast line of walls, called Cyclopaean, buried in the caves of that
city of Bcecarium, formerly so rich and flourishing, and which has
left its name to the little miserable modern town of Boca3no. These
enormous masses, hidden for ages past from the light of day, are the
silent records of the powerful architecture of the ancient Samnites*
In them alone still lives their fame — on them is written their
names.

Baffled in my search of the past, I returned to the present, and
strove to discover in the modern Samnites some traces of their fore-
fathers, since I found none among their ruins.

The modern Samnite — poor, and confined in winter in chambers
rent by the earthquake, or unroofed by the tempest, speaks with
pride of the riches and military glory of his ancestors, and the recol-
lection of former greatness appears to console him for the oppression
and degradation of his present condition. Hemmed-in among their
mountains, like beasts of prey, these degenerate tribes appear to have
inherited from their ancestors but their love of resistance, and, in
fact, their whole existence is one continued struggle against the cruel
and feeble government which oppresses them. But, degenerate as
they are, tha€ public courage, the living wreck of a proud and high-
spirited people would still be found among them, did the laws but
know how to develope it : but, unfortunately, it is allowed to
slumber, or to exhaust itself in scenes of intestine blood and discord. V

The manners of the modern Samnites are rude and ferocious, and ^
if they no longer find vent upon the fields, there are forests and
mountains, which are but too often the scenes of murder and revenge.
That fierce enefgy which in one age makes a people great, in
another reduces it to a nation of bandits. In this country brigandage
grows out of the violent order of things that exists ; it is the only
road left open to independence and individual justice, for every
where is independence proscribed as rebellion, and justice enchained
at the foot of oppression : and then misery, that powerful counsellor
of crime, is there with all her seductions to legalize and finish the
work of blood.

When I passed the Motese it was infested by a band, whose chief
had been the terror of the whole country for the last twenty years,
and is said to have killed forty persons with his own hand, five less
than are attributed to the famous Roman brigand, Garbaroni, now
confined at Civita Vecchia, where travellers go to visit him as an
object of curiosity. This chief had only the evening before stopped
a priest on the mountain, and burnt him to death to gratify his re-
venge. There is no stratagem that human ingenuity has invented
that had not been put in practice by this bandit j but the secret of
his impunity is as follows: — The inhabitants of the neighbouring
town of Cusano, doubtless delighted at having always at their devo-
tion a well-sharpened poniard, in a country, too, where the sword
and the eye of justice so often slumber, protected the brigand, and
covered him with their mantle, A gentleman to whose hospitality I

THE BRIGANDS OF APULIA. 561

was indebted, had just seen his own steward shot dead at his side.
In any other country the perpetrator of this atrocious act would have
have been delivered over to the tribunals, but here they have no
faith in them, and the people invariably take the law into their own
hands. My host knew the murderer, but he also knew that his own
life depended on his silence.

But in no part were these horrid scenes of such frequent occur-
rence as in the district of Larino. Larino is a miserable little town,
which had greatly suffered from the system of brigandage. Only
very recently a famous band had the audacity to push their recon-
naisance to its very gates. The following are the means by which
the judge, to whom I am indebted for these details, got rid of the
scourge.

On assuming office he found the band under the command of a
chief of the neighbouring province of Avelleno, and which, although
greatly reduced in numbers, still spread terror through the country.
Four members of this association belonged to the Albanian colonies
of the district. The judge immediately negotiated with their fa-
milies, and succeeded in sowing dissension in the band ; they killed
their chief and then murdered each other, and all this at the instiga-
tion of the judge. Two only survived this scene of butchery, and
presented themselves to receive the price of their perfidy, for absolu-
tion had been promised them. They were condemned to death Jor
forms sake, as it was said, and their pardon was daily expected ; but
I should not be surprised if they were subsequently executed, so
little sacred are the most solemn promises of the Neapolitan police.

This tragedy was enacted in a neighbouring wood, in the month
of August, 1829. The effect of such examples upon public morality
may be well conceived.

The judge who related to me these things highly applauded him-
self for the stratagem, which had procured him a very nattering
letter from the Minister. He shewed me upon his bureau the
pistols and the poniard of the chief, who was assassinated through
his instrumentality. There was still blood upon the blade, and he
used these horrible trophies as we use blocks of marble or alabaster,
to press down his papers.

It might be imagined that this magistrate was a man of ferocious
aspect, and of unsociable disposition, but the reverse was the case.
His demeanour was mild and gentlemanly, his manners polished>
his mind cultivated. He was a passionate admirer of nature, and a
studious collector of antiquities. He commenced his career at
Frondi, a downright nest of brigands, ana it was there he received
his judicial education, which, while it perverted one half of his
moral being, left the other untouched.

In fact, this man presented a most singular contrast. He related
to me, in the same tone, his bloody stratagems, and the scenes of
carnage to which they led, the wonders of the Gulf of Gaeta, the
ruins of Amiclas, and, in speaking of the cavern where Tiberius owed
his life to Sejanus, he recited to me whole pages of Tacitus, with
whose language he -was more familiar than with his morality.
But here is another example, still more extraordinary : —
M. M. No. 95. 4 C

THI£ fiRICANUS OF APULIA.

Three brothers of Larino. named Ruggieri, had by their licen*
tiousness drawn down upon themselves the public detestation ; but,
brave and resolute, they were more feared than hated. These men
would carry off married women with impunity, after half murdering
their husbands, and carried so far their insolence as to force open
the doors, and make nocturnal irruptions into the houses of the
citizens.

At last the patience of the population was exhausted. To entrust
to the tribunals the care of avenging them would have been useless ;
besides, the outrages were personal, and their revenge should be the
same. But, not daring openly to attack the Ruggieri, they con-
spired secretly. One was shot while hunting, and another was
murdered in a tavern.

The third took refuge in a cobler's stall, barricaded and defended
himself for three days against the whole population, but, betrayed by
the cobler, the last of the Ruggieri rushed into the middle of the
crowd, and cutting his way through with heroic intrepidity, was
on the point of escaping, when he was struck down by a musket
shpt

This unheard-of act of private vengeance — this bloody outrage
against every principle of society, took place in 1810, under the
dynasty of Napoleon.

The habit of taking the law into their own hands is so inveterate
that it prevails every where. A wood in litigation between two
villages of the province, Compolieto and Repabottoni, spread division
among the inhabitants for more than a century. Worn out, at length,
by the delays of justice, they came to blows, and fought for a whole
day for the right. There is not a town or village which has not
some similar page in its annals.

All these scenes were related to me on the spot, by men who had
been either actors in them, or eye-witnesses to them. This admix-
ture of law and perfidy seems to indicate in the inhabitants a mind of
no ordinary cast. In fact, extremes meet here ; for the modern Sam-
nitcs, so unsophisticated in some respects, are in others spoilt by a
corrupt civilization. But I persist in thinking that they possess all
the elements of a high-spirited poople, and which only require useful
institutions to develope them for the benefit of society. Nature must
never be forced -she requires only to be directed. Observing that I
took a great interest in these details, my host, all the magistrates and
high functionaries of the country, promised to introduce me to a man
who had taken the lead in the extermination of the Vardarelli, the
most numerous and formidable of all the bands which had devastated
the country. The name of this man was Nicola Campofreda ; he
resides at Porta Canone, a village near Termoli. I accordingly set
out for his residence. My road lay across woods of oaks, and paths
marked by mountain torrents, till I descended into the plain of
Biferno, a profound solitude, where the terror of the brigands still
reigns. I walked for several hours ; not a vestige of man animated
the desert: some herds of wild cattle fled at my approach, and left
the desert to its solitude. At last I reached JPorta Canone, and re-
paired to .the house of Don Nicholas Campofreda,, the victor of the

THE BRIGANDS OF APULIA. 563

brigands. He is a man six feet high, strong as Hercules, but quiet
as a lamb. Already informed of the object of my journey, he was
eager to gratify my curiosity ; but I shall allow him to speak foj
himself.

The Vardarelli were not novices in the work of assassination; for
they had been carrying on a system of rapine and murder for ten
years. Reinforced by the royalists and the Carbonari, leagued
against the French, who were then masters of the capital. Such S3
they were under the French, were they under the legitimate king,
burning and murdering as before : they burnt farms, they seques-
tered and ransomed the proprietors^ as the receiver-general has
doubtless told you ; for stopped by them in the Val de Bovino, he
was carried into the woods, and obliged to pny 5,600 ducats for his
ransom.

The government sent out against them a captain at the head of a
company of 120 men, the whole of which fell into the hands of the
Varodelli. The soldiers were sent back by them with all the honours
of war, and a piaster a-head ; but their commander was treated with
the greatest ignominy.

" It is here that ray part in the drama commenced. Some time
afterwards they assassinated my father," — and he twice repeated these
words with terrible energy, while his large dark eyes flashed fire,— -
" they assassinated my father, sir ! and our maxim is, that blood
must be washed out by blood — ' vangue lava sangue.' My cause was
mine own. I did not refer it to justice ; that would have been a
baseness ; besides, what would such a course have availed me ? I
mounted my horse, and traversed the public square, crying aloud —
' they have murdered my father ! revenge !' Several people followed
me — we commenced our march.

" This time the band had not to do with Lazaroni, and were afraid.
We beat for a length of time the woods to no purpose. The bandits
fled before us, and carefully concealed themselves. But revenge was
my object : I was resolved to shed their blood who had shed mine.
One night we came up with them, but they escaped in the darkness
of the forest. Being thus unable to overtake them, we resolved to
lay an ambush for them ; we in consequence concerted with the in-
habitants of Ururi, who had suffered considerably from their depre-
dations. Our cause was theirs, and they eagerly joined us for the
purpose of exterminating them.

" This was in the month of April, 1818. We concealed ourselves
one very dark night in the village, and the Ururais enticed them
into the place. The band arrived on horseback, and dismounted in
the square. We immediately surrounded them ; the fire commenced
amid the darkness : the fusilade was kept up on both sides for some
time, but growing impatient, we rushed upon them with our knives.
Soon the very women'and children of the place took part in the com-
bat. We fought all night knife to knife; and in the morning I
pursued the miserable wrecks of the band to the extremity of La
Pugilia. The square was strewn with the bodies of the slain — I had
enough of blood !

564 THE DELIGHTS OF THE

" After this," said he, in conclusion, " I returned to Porta Ca-
none. I was satisfied, for I had revenged my father's murder ! "

What is most extraordinary in this great act of social insubordi-
nation is, that it weut unpunished, and was not even the object of an
investigation. The police made little stir at first ; but the gold and
jewels of the Varadelli distributed among them they were easily
silenced. As to Campofreda, he was accused of Carbonarism, and
proscribed in 1821 ; but he has since been restored to favour, and
only a few days previous to our acquaintance had been appointed
Inspector of Woods.

These are facts of yesterday, and which I obtained from the first
sources. It is doubtless deplorable to be obliged to seek amid such
scenes for traces of the ancient courage of the nation ; but it is
among them that it seems to have taken refuge, and shall I confess
it ? I discover in the very ferocity of their inhabitants a savage gran-
deur that powerfully appeals to the imagination. When we consider
that what I have just related occurred in the nineteenth century, it
appears incredible. But such is Italy — so radiant in beauty, so fertile
in contrasts, that she appears fated to dispel every idea of progress,
and to belie our loftiest hopes of European civilization. All the evils
that affect that ill-fated land proceed from a corrupt and feeble
government, which, like the poisonous tree, proves fatal to all who
repose beneath its shade. Occupied with these reflections, I took
the road towards Termoli, which, according to some old tradition, has
served Plato as a retreat.

THE DELIGHTS OF THE « DEEP."

SHE stood lone and deserted on the shore, as the boat flew through the
waters to the vessel which was already under weigh. With bitter feel-
ings I watched her on my native strand, till her form was lost in the
distance. My eyes were even then rivetted to the spot : the very
buildings had a charm, hallowed, if I may use the term, by the
presence of one who had baffled with me the storms of life unwearied
and affectionate. In a short time I was alongside, and stepped upon
the quarter-deck of the good ship Mary, for Barbadoes : the captain
gave me his accustomed welcome, and in the same breath desired the
helmsman to lay her course to sea. The confusion on board a vessel
outward-bound is at all times annoying, but, above all, in a fresh
breeze and with a crowded cabin. The bustle of the sailors — the
reeling of the novitiates, as the vessel lurches to the wave — the
stowing away of boxes, packages, hat-boxes, portmanteaus, &c. £c. —
the half-sick faces of some, and complete sickness of others — the
squeaking of the pigs, cackling of geese, screaming of the hens, in
short, the evident uneasiness of every animal unused to a sea voyages
makes so discordant a noise and disagreeable a melange, than Noah's
Ark can be nothing to it.

THE DELIGHTS OP THE "BEEP." 565

* Our live lumber (as the sailors call passengers and poultry) was
numerous. A young Israelite, two old Scotch civilians, a newly-
married clergyman with his young and delicate wife, together with a
thick-headed booby Creole,, and a bigotted Catholic, formed the prin-
cipal characters of the cabin. The Jew was too much occupied with
prayers and sickness to attend to any other worldly concerns — even
a pig-stye, with its abhorred tenant for a companion, would doubtless
have been more agreeable to him at this moment, than his berth.
The cunning old Scotchmen had been the voyage before, so that
while their fellow-passengers were as yet strange, sick and new,
they busied themselves in securing the corners of the cabin for their
desks, or appropriating to their use sundry convenient pegs for their
hats, caps, and cloaks, — in short, to be good and true men fra' the
land o' cakes, they secured all they could secure for themselves.
The married couple were too ill to help each other ; the lady's eyes
spoke love and fear, and her husband's were as dull as a bishop's
after his feed. The booby Creole, who had been in England for his
education, was returning with all the airs and impudence he could
export, and banished his nausea by admiring with all due solemnity
his legs and boots. While busy scenes were acting in the cabin, and
the steward was in high request supplying doses of brandy, various
domestic utensils, holding the heads, — in short, while the steward
was as busy as a bee in a tar-bucket, acting as wet-nurse to the full-
grown babies, there was a scene of bustle among the crew. The
hoi sting-in of the boats which were to be launched in other climes,
the unbending and stowing away of the cables and lashing of the
anchors, kept all hands in active employment ; while the watchful
captain, with his speaking-trumpet, strode the quarter-deck, and
tempered his canvas to the gale.

Night crept on, — our native hills became lost in the mist and spray
of the angry waves. The winds began to whistle through the rigging,
and reefs were set in the topsails. The ship rolled her huge mass
among the surges, as the captain paced the deck, now looking
anxiously at the binnacle, then at the direction of the wind; his
manner appeared to me foreboding, as he said, every now and then,
" keep her the course'' — f' keep her well out." As he gazed anxiously
to windward, methought it was ominous of evil.

I retired to my berth with a weary heart. The hasty and unex-
pected farewell I had uttered in the morning weighed heavily on me.
The anxious hours of my lonely wife in a strange town, her last gaze
upon me, and her last look upon our sails as we sunk in the horizon,
— in short, a host of feelings worked upon me, till I became heart-
sore. The sighs and groans of my fellow-passengers in the dead of
the night, when all was darkness, together with the dismal creaking
of the vessel as she rolled heavily about, added no comfort to my
fevered brain. At last a delicious state of fitful sleep came over me.
I dreamt and waked in the same minute. Thoughts came and went
ere my mind could fix or dwell on any. Phantoms danced before me.
Deep red streams shot in long and rapid lines. Showers of light,
then darkness, and brilliant beams again. In this state of half-un-
consciousness, I was aroused by a sudden and tumultuous sound of

566 THE DELIGHTS OF THE " DEEP."

voices on the deck. •"' A sail a-head — a sail a-head : port your helnr
— port. She nears ! Steady there ! — she'll shoot a-head." I rushed
up the companion hatchway, and could just discover another vessel
right athwart our course. She appeared in the misty darkness of the
night as an indistinct mass upon the water. The helmsman had
ported his helm to give her time to shoot across us. The gale was
driving us rapidly — " Shout! shout, men!" cried the captain ; " the

crew are asleep, and — She does not move — down with your helm !

By G— d ! we are foul 2" The next moment there was a crash of
horror. Our vessel staggered with the shock, and reeled like a
drunken man. Our velocity through the water was suddenly checked1;
a wave broke over us, and before I could regain my breath, our ship
was walking her dreary course alone !

The pilot-boat had sunk ! The crew, perhaps worn out with toil;
were asleep, and had lashed the helm, leaving the boat to drift till
dawn. Our vessel pressed onwards — its keel passed over the expiring
crew .' Our men stood horror-struck — there was an awful silence —
not a cry, not a shriek from the sufferers arose from the dark waves
that foamed astern ! — The billows rolled in white surges over their
grave, and the wild winds howled their requiem !

The morning broke at last upon the world, and the sun arose dull
and heavy. It was in unison with our own hearts. A sad scene had
passed since his last rays beamed upon our topsails.

We buffetted our course, and at night-fall the Start Point was on
the starboard bow. A pilot-boat of Cawsand Bay advised us to make
for Plymouth, as the night was threatening, and we were on a lee-
shore. The little bark then filled her foresail, and danced buoyantly
on the waves, as if flying with joy to the shelter of her moorings.
A West India man of four hundred tons, compared with a trim pilot-
boat, is like the floundering of a huge whale to the swift and elegant
dolphin ; so that the captain and passengers of the good ship Mary
soon lost sight of their little guide, and night again came upon us,
and all was looking black and dreary as before. The promontory
stood forth on the horizon, dark and undefined, like a bravo wrapped
in his gloomy mantle. The world was shrouding itself from us, and
our little community, in compliment to the weather, looked very blue,
heartily wishing themselves any where but near land with a strong
southerly wind. The vessel added to their discomfort by her cur-
vettings and jumpings, as awkward as an elephant's jig on a hot
floor.

The pilot's prophecy was coming true, and the sailors anticipated
what they emphatically termed a dirty night. The captain resolved
to make for Plymouth, but the pilot had sailed too far into the sur-
rounding gloom. The elements now broke loose and began their
frolic, vclut agmine facto. The eye of day appeared hitherto to
have restrained their madness, and the winds and storms commenced,
like wild schoolboys breaking forth in a boisterous clamour wrhen
their old pedagogue has turned his back. " Crack on her to over-
haul the pilot — shake a reef out if she'll bear it ; and now, gentle-
men,0 continued the captain, " I will show you Plymouth."

Hopes arr vain, and winds arc like courtier's promises — fickle, ami

THE DKI.TGHtS OF tttfe > DEF.lO* 567

frequently mischievous. We were already within the Bay, when her
steersman exclaimed, " She falls from her course." " Keep her full/'
said the captain; and in a few minutes we were in a rush of eddy
winds. The sails were all aback, and it was a query in this dilemma
whether we were to sink or swim.

The wind in a short time returned nearly to its former quarter of
the compass, but the captain was afraid to venture for the port -with-
out a pilot's aid, and orders were given to tuck, in order to clear, if
possible, the Bay. " Stand by to go about," said the Palinurus. —
" Aye, aye, sir," sounded from various parts. Their rough voices
from different quarters came loud, then weak, as the wind hurried
over us ; inspiring a wild idea, as they sounded from the darkness
and the storm, like the Red Daemon's laugh in Dcr Freischutz.

All were ready. " Helms a lee !" — " Helm's a lee !" as loudly an-
swered the helmsman. The vessel obeyed the helm. " Mainsail
haul !" was heard from the trumpet mouth. In the same second the
block sheaves creaked as the cordage traversed — the yards moved
quickly round, and the good ship was on the larboard tack.

Wind and waves drove us deeper and deeper in the Bay, and we
were unable to weather the point. It seemed as if a magic chord
was stretched from headland to headland by some tempest god,
while a sad enchantment, a destructive fascination, hovered over our
native hills and shores, to tempt us to our death. It was an anxious
S period— the gale increased— the sea was dreadful. " Aloft, my boys,
and close keep the fore- topsail," exclaimed the captain, but the crew
demurred. A panic had commenced, and the commander instantly
threw his hat, as a challenge to the storm, into the 'wave beneath us
as it was passing away with its sheet of foam. " Cowardly lubbers,"
he cried, " if fear has not unmanned you follow me !'' and he sprung
up aloft, and was out at the weather yard-arm before a man could
overtake him. The Jacks rallied in a moment., and all tried who
could reach the cross-trees first. The main yard snapped in the
middle like a reed in a giant's hand, and fears were entertained for
the masts. The sea became terrific — at times we were engulphed in
the valley of waters, and the next minute we were hanging on the
summit of the surge; the face of the bravest looked lank with
despair. I had remained upon deck, nursing hope, till the bantling
expired in my bosom, and I descended the companion-ladder, as if I
had been entering my tomb. The sun will rise, thought I, in a few
short hours, and the timbers which now bind us to life will be scat-
tered on the wave. My widowed wife may look for my return in
vain — my dying words will be breathed to the gale ! I entered the
fore-cabin — a lamp pendant from the beam shed a dim light upon the
faces of my unfortunate companions ; they had long since retreated
from the deck, and I beheld them now kneeling around, in deep
prayer, preparing themselves, each according to his creed, for the
dreadful moment of dissolution.

In the hour of peril the fierce hatred arising from religious preju-
dices is miraculously absorbed. Fear is certainly contagious, like
the plague; I could with difficulty resist its influence. Here the
panic ruled absolute, and the hymns of one party increased the fer-

568 THE DELIGHTS OF THE " DEEP."

vour of the other. In one corner of the cabin, away from Christian
prayers, kneeled the devout and wretched Israelite. His quick and
active eye, which had often glistened at gain, now darted round the
cabin with an expression of despair, as his lips were muttering that
in which his mind had no share. Near him were the two Scotch
Presbyterians, ejaculating psalms, and almost close to him I beheld
the Protestant clergyman and the rigid Catholic. Here I saw men
side by side, who, if free, would have persecuted each other to the
death, now joining their prayers to the Deity of all. Sad picture of
human folly and human frailty. The impression it made upon my
mind can never be forgotten. Each after the manner of his fathers
was closing his account with the world ; and it was to me as an
epitome of mankind at the moment of some vast and violent mun-
dane catastrophe ! Cold and wet, and almost exhausted with watch-
ing, I had recourse to brandy ; and poor Levi, who was inclined to
try my remedy, rose from his corner, and came staggering towards
me, when an unlucky pitch of the vessel threw him upon the Catho-
lic, and in a moment, the shock being communicated to the clergy-
man, I saw the Jew, the Catholic, and the priest huddled into the
vacated corner. The noise increased the fears of the presbyters, and
their terror was expressed by the heightened pitch of their voices.
The Jew shrieked out a Hebrew ejaculation, as if all was lost. For
a moment each expected death, but as the vessel righted, hope re-
sumed her empire. The Jew commenced most humbly begging the ^
shcntlemans pardons ; but his humility recalled all the earthly feel-
ings of the bigot and the priest. He sued for pardon at Christian ^
hands for his unlucky accident, but it was granted in a manner which
made me pity the one and respect the other.

The wind changed, and before day-break we had weathered the
Point ; the spell was broken, and the morning broke upon us clear
and unclouded. We ran for Portland Roads to refit, and after a
delay of a few days, we once more embarked ; we made a fair start,
and with as much confidence and spirits as a caravan troop, well
armed, enters upon the wide desert of the East. Forgetting our past
perils, we steered into the wide waters of the Atlantic.

I would willingly narrate the adventures of my voyage, — of the
distresses of poor Levi about his provender — the Jews not being
allowed to touch any thing killed by unclean hands, — of our conse-
quent good-nature, in constituting him butcher to the mess, — of the
remonstrances of the cook thereupon, — of the Jew's unartist-like in-
capacity for his office, — of how one day the malicious cook forestalled
him, and how his gloomy perspective of a banyan-day was achieved,
by the circumstance of an inexperienced dolphin speculating upon a
piece of pork, wherein was diabolically concealed a stout fish-hook, —
of the Hebrew's anxious inquiries whether the dolphin wore scales
according to the Levitical law, — of his rapture on finding the flesh of
dolphin sanctioned by Moses. All this and much more could I
relate, but for the abrupt intimation that my " yarn" is already spun
too long. I must, therefore, gentle reader, ere I am well introduced,
bid you, reluctantly, farewell !

EVERY MAN HIS OWN STORY-TELLER.

THE art of relating stories or anecdotes in a rapid and skilful
manner, so as to excite pleasurable sensations in the bosoms of those
who hear, requires no mean exertion of taste and humour. You shall
meet fifty clever and able men of business in society for one enter-
taining companion ; a circumstance which is to be attributed to the
great disinclination which the people of a commercial country have
to exert themselves from any other cause than the acquisition of
wealth. The mere pleasure of pleasing is an impulse not sufficiently
strong to stimulate the powers of men, who think life happy and
enviable only in proportion as it is wealthy. Hence we find, in this
country at least, that the entertaining and agreeable companions are
to be found among those persons, whose life being somewhat irre-
gular and idle, presents them with opportunities of seeing and hear-
ing much variety of adventure, and abundance of time to devote to
acquirements, which the more solid, grave, and discreet part of society
consider as trivial. The gay soldier, who dines every day at a dif-
ferent table, and changes his quarters every six months ; the young
man of extensive property and enlarged education, whom no neces-
sity or difficulty enchain ; the pliable parasite, the restless author, are
the characters which often in society yield us amusement by their
convivial qualities and anecdotal skill.

The teller of good stories ought to be a man of the true epic cast,
who dashes immediatel, in medias res, without any prolixity or long
prefacial preparation. He should have the judgment to select the
most striking parts of his anecdote, and the art to embellish them.
He should be rapid and forcible in narration ; and if he have a talent
for mimickry, a flexible voice, and a countenance susceptible of variety
of expression, he will be able to throw into his story a theatrical effect,
and captivate the eyes as well as the ears of his auditors. Horace
says, " Segnier irritant animos demissa per aurer, quam quce cunt
oculis subjectafcdelibus." The teller of stories or anecdotes should,
above all things, avoid an injudicious introduction of them. They
should be always told as illustrative of the matter in discussion, and
appear to grow out of the conversation. The person relating them
should avoid all hesitation, or episode, or a too frequent use of con-
junctions, but hasten onward to the pith and marrow of his circum-
stance, and terminate his anecdote with the peculiar incident or re-
mark which forms the point, the zest, the soul of it. Let him intro-
duce no after observation, no comment on his own anecdote, no
moral, but leave the effect entirely to the matter itself, and the manner
in which he has related it. — We cannot better explain our opinion on
this subject, than by the introduction of a couple of anecdotes. The
first was told by a tedious old grocer, who amassed a considerable
M. M. No. 95. 4 D

570 FVERY MAN HIS OWN STORY-TELLER.

fortune by trade, and in the latter part of his life pestered his friends
with long stories that were deficient in interest. His anecdotes were
like those of Farmer Flamborough, in the Vicar of Wakefield, very
tedious, and all about himself. If he happens to push himself into a
knot of persons, they all flew off from him, like the radii of a circle
from the focus. — " I remember," he would say, " in the year seven-
teen hundred and eighty-three, or eighty-four, I am not quite certain
which, though my wife, who has a good memory, has often assured
me, contrary to the opinion of my daughter, that it was in the year
seventeen hundred and eighty-four, that I got up at eight o'clock in
the morning. I always shave with cold water, because hot water
makes the face tender, at least so says Barber Humbug, though I
have heard Dr. Graspfee tell quite a different story about that matter.
— I rose at eight o'clock in the morning, as I was saying, and looking
out of window saw the sun. — It is really a remarkable fine object. —
A fine morning so revives one. — I had no sooner put on my inex-
pressibles, than I said to myself, ' I'll take a good walk to-day ; it will
do me a pound's worth of service/ Well ! we were all up and down
to breakfast by nine o'clock. My wife made tea, and I well remember
that I ate two eggs, which is a most unusual thing for me to do.
Breakfast being over, I said to my servant Thomas, who now lives
with me — and probably will live with me till I die — ' Thomas/ said I,
f bring me my hat/ My hat was brought. ' Now/ said I, ' fetch my
stick and gloves,' which was no sooner said than done. — I then put on
one glove, and after that I put on the other. — This is invariably my
custom. — I then took up my hat in my left hand, and my stick in my
right, and walked towards my hall, but turned round to my wife as
I left the room, and said, e Patty, I shall be home to dinner/ Thomas
opened the street door for me, and shut it after me. I walked down
the steps until I came into the street (we then lived in Baker-street),
when I said to myself, c shall I go to the right or the left ? shall I walk
towards Bond-street or the New-road?' I decided on walking to
Bond-street, and proceeded down Baker-street until I arrived at the
corner of Portman-square, when — now comes the curious part of my
story— when I met the Bishop of Cloyne, who, walking up to me,
and politely bowing (he really is a gentleman — a fine gentleman),
said, ' I hope I see my Lord of Upper Ossory well ? ' < My lord/
replied I, with a low bow, I am not my Lord of Upper Ossory/
' Then, Sir/ said he, with an agreeable smile, ' I am mistaken ; but I
never saw in my life a gentleman so like his lordship/ Now was not
this a very singular incident ? "

As a corollary to the above I will subjoin a story told by an officer,
a young agreeable fellow, who had an off-hand expeditious way
of despatching any matter which his memory delivered over to his
tongue. I vouch not for the novelty or authenticity of the circum-
stance, and desire that the manner of relating it may be only under-
stood as bearing upon the subject. — " A gentleman, a great hypo-
condriac," he would say, " was ordered to remove into Devonshire
for the benefit of his health. While in that county, he made frequent
excursions on horseback to different parts, where some novelty of
scene offered him momentary recreation. One night, while returning

EVERY MAN HIS OWN STORY-TELLER. 571

to his residence, being overtaken by a storm, he sought shelter in a
decent but humble public-house. The landlord and his wife did all
they could to make him comfortable— prepared him a light supper,
and made him up a clean and soft bed. The landlord had given up
his own room — mark that ! He slept well till after midnight, when
he was awakened by the noise of one entering his chamber. Starting
up, he beheld approaching his bed a tall and ghastly figure, half
naked, conveying in one hand a lamp, in the other an immense knife,
with which he beckoned him to follow him, and then drew it across
his throat, as if he meant to intimate that he was about to commit a
murder, and needed his assistance. The nerves of the gentleman were
excessively weak ; but he saw it all — the landlord was a murderer,
and this his diabolical accomplice. Vainly did he attempt to call
for assistance, his tongue refused its aid — he sunk on his pillow.
There he lay for a considerable time in a sort of swoon, from which
he was roused to the full sense of horror by the rude grasp of a hand,
and the glare of a lamp, which some one held close to his eyes. He
looked up. The same terrific figure stood before him, but more
dreadful than at his first appearance. His shirt-sleeve was stripped
up to his elbow, and his right hand and arm deluged in blood ! The
assassin, as soon as he saw the stranger open his eyes, struck the
ground three times with his foot, and by three movements of the arm,
intimated that he had exterminated three lives. ' Oh ! save me, save
me ! ' cried the stranger ; ' do not take my life ! ' At this moment
the guilty landlord rushed into the room, — e Kill thee, Sir ! ' he ex-
claimed, ' what be thinking of— this is poor Tom, my pig-killer, who
be come to wake me to kill pigs ! — I suppose he's done it without
me — The poor fellow be deaf anid dumb, and harmless as a babby !' "

SH- .

THE JESUIT CRESSET, AUTHOR OF VERT-VERT.

AMONGST the splendid productions of the Augustan age of litera-
ture in France, there is probably no work which occasioned greater
interest, on its first appearance, or which has to the present day so
successfully maintained its claim to the admiration of every class of
readers as the Vert- Vert, of the Jesuit Gresset. This poem, written
to commemorate the adventures of a favourite parrot, was first printed
at Rouen, in 1734. The circumstances under which it appeared, as
connected with the private history of its author, added much to its
singularity. Jean Baptiste Gresset was born at Amiens, in the year
1709 : his family, originally English, settled in France some time, in
the seventeenth century, and intermarried with some of the most
distinguished families of Rouen. Our author commenced his studies
with the Jesuits of Amiens. Father Lagneau, provincial of the order
at Arras, quickly discovered the talents of his pupil, and took the
greatest delight in cultivating them.

For the care and attentions of his preceptor, Gresset preserved
through life the liveliest gratitude. In an ode to the city of Arras,
written in 1740, we find the good Father thus commemorated by
our poet :

L'un de tes citoyens aux Heux de ma naissance,
Daigna former, instruire et guider mon enfance.
II m'apprit a penser : il m'apprit encore plus j
En ouvrant le Parnasse a mon jeune courage,
II eclairait mes pas du flambeau des vertus.
Mon ame enfin est son ouvrage.

Struck with the promising talents of their young pupil, the Jesuits
endeavoured to attach him to their order. Having no fixed views
with respect to a profession, Gresset at first exhibited no signs of re-
pugnance, and at the age of sixteen commenced his noviciate ; he
was, to use his own expression, " carried from the cradle to the
altar."* After having completed his studies at the college of Louis
le Grand, at Paris, our author, in accordance with the practice of the
Order of Jesus, re-commenced the course by becoming " professeur
des humanites" at Moulins, Tours, and Rouen ; in each of which
towns he displayed considerable talents, as well in his sermons as in
the public exercises composed by him for the use of their several
colleges. But even the grave pursuits of theology were insufficient
to obliterate from the breast of the young divine the attachment for
the muse which he appeared, like Voltaire, to have nourished from
his cradle. His first essay (at least the earliest of which we have
any trace), was a poem in Latin elegiac verse, entituled " Charities,"
or the Graces, which was recited by one of his scholars as a new
year's ode, and which appears to have met with the most decided
approbation. In 1733, as professor of rhetoric, he himself pro-
nounced a discourse in Latin verse on " Harmony." This work was
the foundation of an epocha in his life. From thence may be traced

* Vide Adieux aux Jesuites.

THE JESUIT CRESSET. 573

the whole train of those petty cavils and vexations which finally
induced him to renounce an engagement contracted without inclina-
tion., and to separate tor ever from the order of the Jesuits. In a
discourse on harmony, it was natural to eulogize every thing con-
nected with the science of music for one in holy orders ; and at that
time, this was by no means an easy or even a safe task, as we shall
find in the sequel. He could not well avoid speaking of the opera, of
the ballet, of the vaudeville — all this was voted somewhat more than
profane : through the intrigues of c'ant and hypocrisy, his work was
denounced as scandalous, and inimical to religion : Gresset was com-
pelled to screen himself under an apology written with great taste
and discretion, but which met with but a cold reception. Shortly
after this affair our author made a decisive effort, and, in the words
of one of his biographers, " fixed his name on the temple of renown
by placing there that of a parrot." Vert- Vert, as we have before
remarked, appeared in 1734. " Le poe'me/' says M. d'Alembert,
" n'eut etc entre les mains d'un autre qu'une plaisanterie insipide et
monotone, destinee a mourir dans 1'enceinte du eloitre qui 1'avoit
enfantee. Gresset eut 1'art de deviner dans sa retraite la juste mesure
du badinage qui pouvait rendre piquant pour les gens du monde un
ouvrage dont le sujet devoit leur paroitre si futile : il y repaudit,
avec intelligence et avec sagesse, ces graces delicates et Icgeres qui
dans les details dont il a egaye ses tableaux, empechent la gaite d'etre
ignoble et fastidieuse." In a letter addressed to Father Brumsy,
Jesuit, Jean Baptiste Rousseau speaks of our author in terms of the
greatest admiration. " Parmi les phenomenes litteraires que vous
m'indiquez, vous n'avez point voulu m'en citer un qui a ete eleve
parmi vous, et que vous venez de rendre au monde : vous voyez bien
que je veuxparler du jeune auteur des Poe'mes du Perroquet et de la
Chartreuse. Je n'ai vu de lui que ces deux ouvrages, mais en verite,
je les aurais admires, quand meme Us m'auraient ete donnes comme le
fruit d'une etude consommee du monde et de la langue Franqoise. Je ne
crois pas qu'on puisse trouver nulle part plus de richesses jointes(a
une plus liberate facilite a les prodigeur." Again, in another letter
to M. de Lassere, then counsellor in Parliament, he observes, on the
subject of Vert- Vert : — " J'ai lu le poe'me que vous m'avez envoy e ;
je vous avouerai sans flatterie, monsieur, que je n'ai jamais vu pro-
duction qui m'a autant surpris que celle la, Sans sortir d'un style
familier que 1'auteur a choisi, il y etale tout ce que la poesie a de
plus eclautant, et tout ce q'une connaissance consomme du monde
pourrait fournir a un homme qui y atirait passe toute sa vie : il nVtait
point fait pour le role qu'il a quitte, et je suis ravi de voir ses talents
affranchis de Fesclavage d'une profession qui lui convenait aussi peu.
Je ne saurois trop vous remercier, monsieur, de la peine que vous
avez prise de me copier vous meme une piece si excdlente : quelque
longue qu'elle soit je lai trouvee trop courte, quoique je 1'ai lu deux
fais. II me tarde 1'ai de la pouvoir joindre a celle que vous me pro-
mettez de la meme main. Je ne sais si tons mes confreres modernts
et moi ne ferions pas mieux de renoncer au metier que de le continuer,
apres 1'apparition d'un phe'nomene aussi surprcnant que celui que
vous venez de me faire observer, qui nous efface tons des sa nais-

574 THE JESUIT CRESSET.

sance, et sur le quel nous n'avons d'autre avantage que 1'anciennetej
que nous serions trop heureux de ne pas avoir."

At the time when these brilliant eulogiums were conferred on him
by one who was then considered the most refined and classical of the
poets of France, and even of Europe, Gresset was but twenty-six
years old, and a Jesuit. His poem was a source of equal surprise to
the world, to whom he was unknown, and to the order amongst whom
he had been educated. Vert- Vert produced the effect of a literary
phenomenon ; it was translated into Latin verse. Raux, at that time
a celebrated artist, represented in enamel the adventures of the tra-
velled parrot. M. Bertin, the Secretary of State, presented Gresset
with a magnificent set of china, manufactured at Sevres ; on the
cups and other pieces of which were traced the chief events in the
life of Vert- Vert. " This," the poet would frequently remark, " is
the Sevres edition of my poem." But the fame which surrounded
the young author proved but a slight defence against a second perse-
cution, more dangerous than the first. Vert- Vert had amused the
public at the expense of the nuns : the minister had a sister who was
superieure of the Visitaudines,* or Convent of the Visitation, in
which the poet had laid the scene of the parrot's history. Her
brother, not however from any personal dislike to Gresset, for he
ever after continued to remain one of his best friends, took up Vert-
Vert on the footing of a state affair. He was not himself a bigot,
but he had no choice but to espouse the quarrel of his sister : he ac-
cordingly laid a grave complaint before the Jesuits. The fathers,
although in secret, greatly flattered by the success of their young
brother, dared not risk the displeasure of the Court, and the author
of the harmless badinage of Vert- Vert was banished to La Fleche.

This state of exile, as may readily be supposed, soon became irk-
some to our lively poet. He gave vent to his feelings on the subject
in a description of his journey from Tours to the village of La Fleche,
in a letter, half prose and half verse, addressed to a lady of quality at
Tours. This jcu d' esprit, which is inserted in all the editions of his
works under the title of " My Journey to La Fleche," contains many
passages replete with wit and satire ; which last, however, he never
allows to transgress the bounds of good humour : indeed, the very
amiable character of Gresset is apparent through all his works, and
one cannot but feel indignant that the petty malice of cant and bigotry
should have succeeded in embittering the existence of so mild and
inoffensive a being. Speaking of the good Father Superior, who had

* A Nevers done chez les Visitaudines

Vivoit naguere un peroquet f'ameux.

A qui son art et son coeur ge'ne'reux

Ses vertus meme, et ses graces badines,

Auroient au faire un sort moins rigoreux,

Si les bons coaurs etoient tongours heureux.

VERT-VERT. Chant. 1.
Les petits soins, les attentions fines
Sont nds, dit-on, chez les Visitaudines.— IB.

Toutes les soeurs parlent toutes ensemble ;

En entandant cet essaim bourdonner

On eut a peine entendu Dieu tonner.— Chant. 4.

THE JESUIT CRESSET. 575

come expressly from La Fleche to Tours to fetch him, and with whom
he travelled to the former place, he says, " II est ici le geolier de
trente-quatre nonnes qui le font eurager a ce qu'il m'assura ; mais je
brise sur cet article—

Attaquez vous par quelque raillerie

Un regiment d'infanterie ?

Mars ne fera q'uen nire : il s'en amusera :

Mai si par malheur, votre muse

A draper les nounes s'ainuse,

L'amour propre s'eu veugera ;

Devotement il rougira

Et bientot il vous poursuivera

Jusqu' a La Fleche, et par-dela •"

At last, grown weary of his state of exile, he wrote to the Provincial
of his order, and the answer he received not being satisfactory, he lost
all patience, and demanded his dismissal from the Order of Jesus,
wrote them his adieux in verse, and in the year 1735, entered again
upon the world.

Our author having published several other poems, the chief of
which (La Chartreuse) met with nearly the same success with Vert-
Vert.- His friends, and indeed the public, looked forward with impa-
tience for his appearance in that career in which Corneille, Moliere,
and Racine had gained immortal honours : in fact, it was then gene-
rally understood in France, that a writer ambitious of the name of
poet, could not avoid submitting his talents to this severe ordeal.
Gresset accordingly commenced with the tragedy of Edward the
Third, which was represented on the 22d of January 1740. He sent
it by post to Voltaire, who found " the postage rather expensive,
although there were some good lines in it." The reception of this
piece, though flattering, was not altogether such as to induce him to
persevere in the tragic line, which he appears thenceforward wholly
to have forsaken for that of comedy. " Le Mediant," a comedy in
five acts, and in verse, is, however, the only production of con-
sequence which entitles him to the rank of a comic poet. Its success,
if we may judge from the fact of its having gone through twenty-
four representations, at its first appearance, may be said to have been
complete, although the journals of the day were violent in their dis-
approbation. The journals however are forgotten, and the " Mechant"
still remains an ornament to the French theatre.

In the year 1740, Gresset addressed to Frederick the Great, an ode
on that monarch's accession to the throne of Prussia. The king re-
turned him an answer very different from the usual style of replies
from crowned heads in general : the poet received an ode to him-
self, in elegant French, in the hand -writing of Frederick, concluding
thus :—

" Au centre du bon gout c'une nouvelle Athene
Tu moissonnes en paix la gloire des talents,
Taudis que 1'univers, envieux de la seine

Applaudit a tes chants.
Berlin en est frappee : a sa voix qui t'appele
Viens des Muses de 1'Elbe animer les soupirs
Et chanter, aux doux'sous de ta lyre immortelle

L'amour et les plaisirs."

476 THE JESUIT CRESSET.

Frederick, however, did not stop short at poetry and compliment;
he made the most flattering and generous offers to Gresset, in order
to induce him to fix his abode at Berlin : it was generally supposed
that they had been accepted. Voltaire, in several of his letters, seems
to have looked upon the thing as settled, and frequently designates
our author as (( the Prussian Gresset" But too much attached to
France, and enamoured of his native Picardy, he contented himself
with carrying on with Frederick a respectful correspondence. In the
mean time, the success of " Le Mechant" had paved the way for the
admission of Gresset to the Academic Fran9aise, and on the 14th of
April, 1748, he succeeded to the vacancy caused by the death of
Dauchet. At this period he was incessantly occupied in amassing
materials, and in tracing numerous plans of comedies. Towards the
close of 1751, he had just finished two pieces which had been re-
quested by the court (!' Esprit a la mode, and 1'Ecole de 1'amour
propre,) when a new vexation, occasioned by a sentence in an acade-
mical discourse, suddenly checked his emulation, damped his genius,
and left him an unresisting prey to the religious insinuations of the
Bishop of Amiens (d'Orleans de la Motte.) This prelate, a man of
exemplary piety, was the intimate friend of Gresset, and possessed
over his mind an influence which he ultimately employed to exact
from him a sacrifice which the interests of true religion could never
have demanded.

On the 14th of December, 1754, d'Alembert was received into the
Academy, in the place of M. de Surian, Bishop of Vence. On
Gresset, who was then director of the Academy, devolved the duty of
pronouncing a panegyric on the deceased academician. We have
before had occasion to see the unlucky issue of Gresset' s public dis-
courses. In the present instance, he acquitted himself with still
greater credit to his reputation as a poet, and with proportionate ill
success to his fortune as a courtier. After paying a brilliant tribute
to the memory of the prelate, he concludes with the following burst
of eloquence, which laid the foundation of his disgrace at court.
" Arrive a Fepiscopat sans brigues, sans bassesses et sans hypocrisie,
il y vecut sans faste, sans hauteur, et sans negligence. Ce ne fut
point de ces talents qui se taisent des qu'ils sont recompenses : de ces
bouches que la fortune rend muettes, et qui se fermant des que le
rang est obtenu, prouvent trop que Ton ne preche pas toujotirs po'ur
des conversions. Devoue tout en tier a 1'instruction des peuples con-
fies a son zele, il leur consacra tous ses talents, tous ses soins,
tous ses jours; pasteur d'autant plus cher a son troupeau, que
ne le quittant jamais, il en etait plus connu : louange rarement donnee
et bien digne d'etre remarquee ! Dans le cours de plus de vingt an-
nees d'episcopat. M. 1'eveque de veuce ne sortit jamais de son diocese
que quand il fut appele par son devoir a I'assemblee du clerge: bien
different de ces pontifes agreables ct prophanes, crayonnes autrefois par
Despreaux, et qui regardant leur devoir cornme un ennui, Voisivete comme
un droit, leur residence naturdle comme un exil, venoient promener leur
inutilite parmi les ecueils, le luxe et la mollesse de la capitale, ou venoient
ramper a la cour et y trainer de V ambition sans talent, de I'intrigue sans
affaires, et de I'importance sans credit."

THE JESUIT GUESSET. 577

It is but natural to suppose that Gresset, previously to addressing
this fulminating discourse to a court chiefly composed of non-resident
prelates, would fully have made up his mind as to the probable con-
sequences. True, he had not in all this transgressed the bounds of
truth ; but the event proved, that although Boileau, protected by Louis
XIV., had been able to point the arrows of his satire against the pre-
lates of the court with impunity, yet Gresset under Louis XV. had
not the same privilege : the last phrase especially seemed to close with
so discordant a twang, that it was struck out of the " Recueil" of the
Academy. When he appeared at Versailles to present his discourse,
the king turned his back upon him. Gresset, thunderstruck at this
disgrace, forgot all his literary projects, and terrified at the idea of
being looked upon at Versailles as a dangerous man, he opened his
mind to his friend the bishop of Amiens, and consulted with him on
the means of escaping the reputation of a philosopher and an " esprit
fort." It was under the combined influence of this prelate, and of
the prospect of returning favour at court of the royal patronage, and
even of an appointment as tutor to the young Duke of Burgundy,
douceurs held out to him in brilliant perspective, that our author, in
May 1759, came to a resolution equally strange and unexpected.
After having thrown into the fire a number of plays and other pro-
ductions, the fruit of years of laborious study (amongst which, to the
lasting regret of all true lovers of verse, were included the fifth and
sixth canto of Vert- Vert), he solemnly abjured the theatre, in a letter
which he inserted in the greater part of the public journals of the
period. In this production, as may well be supposed, the stage and
all its connexions are handled with the severity of an enraged eccle-
siastic, embittered by the usual hatred of a renegade partisan — a spe-
cies of malevolence which, according to ethic writers, is more to be
dreaded than any other in the affairs of religion and friendship. Our
modern saints cannot fail to be in raptures at the terrific blows therein
dealt out, with all the powers of eloquence, on the devoted head of
their arch-enemy — the stage. The Rev. (Brunswick theatre) Smith
could scarcely desire a more zealous champion against the many-
headed monster. By the way, it is not a little amusing to discover,
in the letter before us, an almost perfect coincidence, in point of style
and argument, between a Jesuit of the year 1759 and the " modern
Saints" of our day. In the first place, we have the same unqualified
begging of the question as it regards the Christian religion. Gresset
remarks — " Je vous avouerai done que clepuis plusieurs annees j'avois
beaucoup a souffrir interieurement d'avoir travaille pour le theatre,
etant convaincu, comme je 1'ai toujours ete, des veritcs lumineuses de
notre religion, la seule," &c. * * * * " il s'clevoit souvent des nuages
dans mon ame sur un art si peu conforme a I' esprit du christianisme"

then we find the usual portion of humble, pious vanity.-—

" Dieu a daigne eclairer entierement mes tenebres, et dissiper a mes
yeux tous les enchantements de Fart et du genie. Guide par la foi,"
&c. &c. But, above all, we recognize^the sensitiveness to satire, the
same dread of ridicule, the same endeavours to turn its edge by being
the first to revile the antagonist from whom the attack is most natu-
rally to be expected. Thus, for the information of all whom it may

M. M. No. 95. 4 B

578 THE JESUIT CRESSET.

concern, he declares — " Les gens cle bon air, les demi-raisonneurs, les
pi/oi/ablcs incredules, peuvent a leur aise se moquer de ma demarche : *
je serai trop dedommage de leur froides plaisanteries, si les gens senses
et vertueux. (courtiers and ecclesiastics, of course), si les ecrivains
dignes de servir la religion, si les ames honnetes et pieuses que j'ai pu
scandaliser, voient mon humble desaveu avec cette satisfaction pure

* Voltaire and Piron, who never liked Gresset, lost no time in profiitng by
a permission conveyed in such flattering terms. The latter, vexed perhaps a't
the success of'4 Le Merchant," which bade fair to rival his own " Metromanie,"
had already given vent to his spleen at the reception of Gresset into the Aca-
demy, in one of his best epigrams, and which, by the way, seems to have been
a species of prophecy :

" En France on fait par un plaisant moyen
Taire un auteur quand d'e'crits il assomme ;
Dans un f'auteuil d'Acadamicien
IML quarantieme on fait asseoir mon homme ;
Lors il s'endort, et ne fait plus qu'un sommc ;
Plus n'en avez phrase, ni madrigal.
Au bel esprit ce fauteuil est en somme
Ce qu'a 1 'amour est le lit conjugal."

Upon Gresset's public declaration of repentance for the past, and abjuration of
the future, sins of authorship, Piron greeted him with another :

" Gresset pleure sur ses ouvrages
En penitent des plus touche's.
Apprenez a devenir sages,
Petits ecrivains de'bauche's.
Pour nous qu'il a si bien preches,
Prions tous que dans 1'autre vie
Dieu veuille oublier ses pe'che's
Comme en ce monde on les oublie."

Voltaire, on his part, suffered not so favourable an opportunity to escape,
and made the following lines a vehicle for the expression of that feeling of
jealousy of the fame and impatience at the success of his contempories'and
literary rivals, of which even the excess of his own glory could not in many
instances cure him. These verses, which he has placed in the mouth of his
" Pauvre Diable," breathe a spirit of greater bitterness against Gresset, than
is to be detected in the lively sallies of Piron :

" Gresset doue du double privilege
D'etre au colle'ge un bel esprit momlain,
Et dans le monde un homme de colle'ge ;
Gresset devot, longtemps petit badin ;
Sanctirie par ses palinodies,
II pretendait avec compunction
Qu'il avait fait jadis dcs comedies
Dont a la Vierge il demandait pardon.
Gresset se trompe, il n'est pas si coupable ;
Un vers heureux et un tour agreable
Ne suffit pas ; il faut une action,
De Finteret, du comique, une fable,
Des mceurs du temps un portrait veritable,
Pour consbmmer cette ccuvre du demon."

In justice, however, to our author, it is necessary to state, that such were the
simplicity of his manners, the amiability of his disposition, and the modesty of
his discourse, that his talents (and great they certainly were) procured him no
enemies. He was generally beloved by his literary compeers, and the above
sarcasms of Voltaire and Piron are the only satirical shafts ever directed either
against his person or his writings.

THE JESUIT CRESSET. 579

que fait naitre la verite des qu'elle se montre." Nor does poetry
escape the general anathema — it is designated as " cet art si dan-
gereux, dont 1'histoire est beaucoup plus la liste des fautes celebres et
des regrets tardifs. Que celle des succes sans honte et de la gloire
sans remords ***** One se laisse entrainer a etablir des
principes qu'on n'a point; un vers brillant decide d'une maxime
bardie, scandaleuse, extravagante ; 1'idee est temeraire, le trait est
impie, n'importe: le vers est heureux, sonore, eblouissant: on lie pent
le sacrifier, on ne vent que briller, on parle contre ce qu'on croit, et
la vanite des mots 1'emporte sur la verite des choses."

After the publication of this letter, Gresset retired to Amiens,
where he still continued to cultivate the Muses, and occasionally in-
serted some light production of his pen in the journals of the period.
But no circumstance of importance occurred in his life until the year
1774, when he had the honour of pronouncing, in the name and at
the head of the Academy, a discourse before Louis XVI. on his acces-
sion to the throne. Shortly afterwards he received a patent of nobi-
lity, which was publicly read, by order of the court, in an assembly
of the Academy of Amiens, the preamble being highly nattering to
our author. In 1777 he was appointed by the king to the post of
ecuyer, and was subsequently created a knight of the Order of St.
Michael, and historiographe of the Order of St. Lazarus. His health,
which had been gradually declining for some years, left him not long
in the enjoyment of his titles : on the 16th of June, 1777* he sank,
aged sixty-eight years, under the combined attacks of a violent fever
and of an abcess in his breast. He left no children ; the mention of
which, by the way, reminds us of a circumstance in our author's life
which we had well nigh passed over in silence, an act of biographical
remissness, for which we might perhaps hereafter be justly called to
account, at least by the fair portion of our readers ; namely, that in
1751, Gresset obtained the hand of Charlotte Gallaud, a young lady
of great wit, and withal of a sweet and amiable disposition. She was
the daughter of a merchant of Amiens, and a relation of Antoine Gal-
laud, celebrated by his translation or imitation of the Arabian Nights'
Entertainments.

Several anecdotes of Gresset's wit and bonhommie are related, and
he appears to have been a favourite companion of the wits of the age.
He was member of a society or club, consisting, amongst others, of
1' Abbe de Chauvelin, a counsellor in parliament ; a little deformed
man, but extremely witty, and famous for his denunciation of the
Jesuits — de Vallier, president of the parliament, captain of the regi-
ment de Champagne, and celebrated for his strange and romantic
adventures — La Place, the translator of Tom Jones — De Lafantiere,
counsellor in parliament — and the Marquis of Chauvelin, brother to
the Abbe, formerly ambassador at the court of Savoy. Their meet-
ings were held at the hotel de Chaulnes. Amongst other humourous
anecdotes of this coterie, Gresset was fond of relating the following :

After one of their suppers at the hotel de Chaulnes, these gentle-
men were walking home in company at about two o'clock in the
morning ; passing down the rue Dauphine, Vallier perceived on the
door of a house of very respectable appearance, a notice stating,

580 THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF;

" This house to be let, with immediate possession/' (maison a louer
presentement.) He knocks twice at the door — the porter at last gets
up, and asks the gentleman's pleasure. — " We wish to see the house."
— " How, sir, at this hour?" — " To be sure; and why not? read —
' This house to let, with immediate possession' " The porter wakes
his master, a light is brought, and our pitiless wags dance the land-
lord, half asleep and half awake, through every room in the house, from
the gaurets to the cellar : at last, Vallier exclaims, " I have seldom
met with a house better built or more commodious ; but," addressing
himself to the landlord, " it certainly has one great defect." — " And
what is that, sir?" — " It is very dark." — " Parbleu ! and how should
it be otherwise?" cried the impatient proprietor, " it is not yet day-
light." Seeing, however, that he had to do with men of rank, and
humourists, he soon joined in the general laugh.

The society of such friends might well have dictated the verse —

" Tout ce qui vit n'est fait que pour nous rejouir,
Et se moquer du monde est tout 1'art d'eu jour.
Ma foi, quand jc parcours tout ce qui le compose,
Je ne trouve que nous qui valions quelque chose."

Le M&hant, Acte ii. Sc. 3.

THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF.

"How am I glutted with conceit of this !

Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please ?

Resolve me of all ambiguities ?

Perform what desperate enterprise I will ?

I'll have them fly to India for gold ;

Ransack the ocean for orient pearl;

And search all corners of the new-found world

For pleasant fruits and princely delicates."

MARLOWE.

" FROM morning to night do I toil," said Hubert, the wood-cutter,
as he returned one evening from the forest, " and rags and poverty
are my only rewards ; but I will endure it no longer ; this very night
will I betake me to the wizard Grimerius, accept of his terms, and
become rich. What care I about having a self? I shall have wealth
enough to support a dozen selfs, and my second self will be a com-
panion to my first self."

Grimerius was a learned and skilful magician, and so wonderous
were the powers of his art, that the ministers of darkness tremblingly
performed his bidding, and the elements were the slaves of his will.
He dwelt alone — at least without any earthly companion. He
stamped with his foot, and a score of infernal lacquies attended the
summons, and were ready to fly, at his command, to the world's
verge. If he wished to vent his wrath on man, away rode his spirits
on the wings of the wind, and the tall and stately ship was dashed
upon the rocks, or whelmed beneath the furious waves. The fierce
volcano opened wide its hot and flaming jaws, and fertile villages be-

THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF. 581

came heaps of burning ashes. The shuddering earth was rent in
twain, and the peasant's cottage and the noble's castle were hurled
indiscriminately into its womb. These, and numerous other pranks,
were at least ascribed to him by his neighbours, and he would indeed
have been deemed a sceptic who had dared to doubt the truth of their
assertions. It was also said, amongst the peasantry (and for the
veracity of this assertion my tale will vouch), that Grimerius would
grant a man any thing he desired, provided he^would'consent.to have a
self; that is, a figure of the wizard's creation, exactly like the person
who acceded to his terms, and animated by the same feelings and
impulses. What could be his motive for wishing to indulge this
strange whim was beyond his neighbours' comprehension. It is true
many explanations were given of the mystery, quite clear and satis-
factory to their respective authors ; but as they were all different, I
shall not trespass upon the reader's patience by stating them. I can-
didly confess my own inability to throw any light upon the subject,
and therefore the mystery is likely to remain one for me. Thus far,
however, all accounts agreed : — the wizard was extremely desirous
of accomplishing his object, yet could not create the being he wished,
without the previous consent of the person in whose likeness it was
to appear. Hubert had long pondered over this matter, and had
often thought of applying to Grimerius for " further particulars."
A tradition existed, that the wizard's terms had once been accepted,
and that he who accepted them soon grew so weary of the unearthly
companion, who was ever by his side, that, in a fit of despair, he put
an end to his existence. This was the principal reason that had
hitherto deterred the wood-cutter from making an application to the
wizard, though, as will be- seen by his preceding soliloquy, he now
determined, reckless of consequences, to subscribe to the conditions
of the/magician, be they what they might.

It was near midnight, and the lamps of heaven burned brightly
over the head of Hubert as he knocked at the door of the wizard's
habitation. A clear and full-toned voice bade him come in. The
room into which he entered was dark and spacious, and a faint
light, emitted by a single taper, vainly struggled to dissipate the
surrounding gloom, and only served to render " darkness visible."
The walls were ornamented, or rather defaced, with drawings of gro-
tesque and hideous forms, whose distended eyes, seen through the
imperfect light, seemed to glare fearfully on the intruder, and around
were scattered various necromantic implements. The magician was
seated at a desk of ebony, intently perusing a ponderous volume,
inscribed with strange and mystic characters. Several minutes
elapsed, and still he continued his studies, apparently unconscious
of his visitor's presence, the wavering of whose purpose be-
gan to be indicated by the trembling of his limbs, and his fre-
quent glances towards the closed door. His prolific imagination,
aided by the objects around him, had succeeded in conjuring up
such a train of terrific fancies that he was just on the point of
effecting an escape, when he beheld the wizard raise his head slowly
from the book he was perusing, and fix upon him his piercing gaze.
He paused ere he spoke, and the wood-cutter had leisure to survey

582 THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF.

his singular countenance. He appeared a man little past the middle
period of life. His features might be termed faultless, and his ra-
ven locks, curled closely round his high and expansive forehead. His
eyes were intensely bright, and but for their snake-like expression,
and the ashy and almost cadaverous hue of his complexion, he would
have been eminently handsome. His dress, which fitted close to
his person, was of black velvet. Previous to speaking, he rose from
his seat as if to display his towering and majestic stature, and fold-
ing his arms over his bosom, he thus addressed his disconcerted
guest : — " What would'st thou of me, that thus thou breakest m
upon my meditations?" " I come to ask thy aid/' said Hubert;
" I have long endeavoured to earn a subsistence by honest means,

but finding all in vain, I am determined " " For the future to

use dishonest ones," interrupted the magician. (e Why, as to that,"
said the wood-cutter, " if the world lie not, I am not the only person
who prefers wealth and power, however obtained, to despised po-
verty, with all its honesty." " No prating, sirrah !" said the wizard
testily, for report said that he himself had in other days been ac-
quainted with want and wretchedness ; " I am not to be trifled with ;
what would'st thou with me, fellow?" "Briefly, then," replied
Hubert, "• I am poor ; and having heard that by fulfilling certain
conditions, my poverty might be remedied, I am come here to do
your bidding." " Know'st thou the terms on which thou can'st
become rich ?" said the magician. " In part," said Hubert, " but be
they what they may, I will consent to what thou requirest."
" Enough," said the magician, and a smile of bitter derision played
over his features. He took from his desk the skeleton of a bond,
and filling up the blank spaces in a lawyer-like manner, he handed
it to the wood-cutter for his signature. As our hero — all chief per-
sonages of tales are heroes, be they princes or peasants, warriors or
highwaymen — as our hero, therefore, was unacquainted with the
profitless art of writing, he was about toumake its customary sub-
stitute, a sign of the cross, when his hand was suddenly arrested
in its progress by the wizard. " Hold !" cried he, in an alarmed
and quick voice, " give me some other token of approval, some other
mark of thy consent — make not that hated sign, or here our treaty
ends." The wood-cutter having made a mark of less obnoxious
character, the magician proceeded to business. He opened a closet,
and brought forth a number of nameless ingredients, and casting
them into a cauldron, under which a fire was previously burning, he
began to stir them with a stick or wand. A mist rose 'slowly from
the cauldron. The magician paused in his employment, and the
mist instantly dispersed. " Approach," said he, in a low voice, and
the wood-cutter obeyed. " Bare thine arm — now let the blood flow
into the cauldron," and, as he spoke, with a sharp instrument he
dexterously opened a vein. The wood-cutter did as required. The
magician resumed his occupation. Again the mist rose slowly from
the cauldron. By degrees it gained an appearance somewhat re-
sembling a human being; the ingredients were stirred with re-
doubled vigour. " 'Tis done !" shouted the wizard. The mist
vanished, the blood ceased to flow from the arm of the wood-cutter,

THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF. 583

and turning his head, he saw by his side a figure his exact coun-
terpart in form and feature. " Away !" cried the magician, " thy
wish is accomplished." <e Not so fast, good sir/' answered Hubert ;
" I have performed my part of the covenant, and it is but just that
you should perform yours. Where is my promised wealth ?" " Hie
thee," said the wizard, " to the place where thy hut once stood, and
thou wilt find wealth in abundance, aye, even to satiety."

As Hubert bent his steps homeward, his heart misgave him.
" How," said he ,if the villain should have played me false." " How,
if the villain should have played me false," echoed a voice by his
side. He turned, and his eyes met those of the newly-created self.
(( Gadso," said he, " I had forgotten I had a companion, and one,
too, of the wizard's creating; suppose, now this fellow should tell

him ." He stopped short, for each word he spoke was re-ecoed

by the figure. " Thou art a mighty impertinent varlet," said he to
the being ; but if thou wilt play the echo, thou shalt at least be a
musical one, and assist me in the trolling of a ballad. So saying, he
chaunted the following ditty, in which he was accompanied by the
self:—

THE BARON'S LOVE.

It was Sir Hugh, the baron bold,

Rode out at break of morn,
With hound, as though to chase the deer,

And loud he blew his horn.

He rode o'er hill, he rode o'er dale,

He rode o'er barren moor,
And sprung o'er crags where horse nor hound

Had ever been before.

The morn was fair, the sun shone forth,

The rivers flash'd like gold ;
And all was gay that met the eye

Of the joyful baron bold.

Oh, it was not so much to chase the deer,

Or to brush the dew away,
That the baron had left his downy couch,

And saddled his courser gray.

The baron he lov'd a maiden bright,

Yet she was of lowly race,
And he rocle to meet her at break of day,

As though he had sought the chase.

The baron he spurr'd his goodly steed,

And rode with might and main ;
And when he had ridden a mile or two,

A deer flew o'er the plain.
Then drew the baron his fatal bow,

Swift flew the feathery dart ;
The arrow it miss'd the bounding deer,

But it pierc'd his true love's heart !
The knight he sprung from his foaming horse,

And clasp'd unto his breast
The dying form of the lovely maid,

And her cold, cold lips he prest.

584) HOMANCE OF THE SELF.

" And must thou die my own true love ?

And art thou slain by me ?
Thou wert my life, my hope, my all,

And I have murdered thee !"

The knight returned unto his hall,

A changed and sorrowing man ;
And never, from that hour, a smile

Passed o'er his features wan !

" Well," said Hubert to the self, when the song was finished,
" thou wilt not be a quarrelsome companion ; actuated by the same
impulses as myself, thou wilt be glad when I am gay, and sad when
I am sorrowful ; and when two persons are of the same opinion, tis
odds but both agree." They now arrived at the place where Hubert
expected to find his dwelling. Instead of a mean wooden hut, he
beheld a large and magnificent mansion; he gazed around him,
rubbed his eyes, and stared at it again. Am I awake," said he, 'f or
is this habitation raised by magic ? Well, what boots it, whether
awake or asleep, magic or not ; it seems a goodly place, and I will
essay to gain an entrance." Suiting the action to the word, he grasped
the handle of a bell, and tugged lustily. His clamourous summons
was answered by a porter, who, with a profound obeisance, ushered
him into a handsome and brilliantly illuminated apartment, in the
middle of which was placed a massy and richly gilt table, spread
with a profusion of the most costly viands. The juice of the joyous
grape sparkled in goblets of burnished gold, and the plates and
dishes were of pure and dazzling silver. At the head of the board
were placed two throne-like seats ; in short, all the furniture was of
a rare and splendid description. Hubert was led, by an attendant,
to one of the seats, and the self took possession of the other. The
viands were found to be delicious, and the wine, of which the wood-
cutter drank plentifully, was pronounced excellent. " This cheer is
delightful," said he to his companion, as they rose from the table,
after a long carouse, and staggered away arm in arm ; <e what thinkest
thou ?" The self merely repeated his words. They were conducted
up a wide and lofty stair-case, into a spacious chamber, where stood
a couch, the curtains of which were embossed with figures of gold.
Hubert's faculties were too much impaired by the revel to let his
attention be attracted by any thing which now presented itself, and
hastily disrobing himself, he was in a few moments fast asleep.

The morning was far advanced when the wood-cutter awoke, but
the draperies of the windows kept the chamber still in darkness. All
recollections of the preceding night's adventures had vanished from
his memory, and finding he had a bedfellow, he was at a loss how to
account for it. He arose, and began to search for his garments, as he
thought it must be time for him to proceed to the forest, in order to
resume his employment. His search was fruitless, and to heighten
his vexation, his companion was following his steps, and imitating all
his movements. A dim recollection of the events of the night now
recurred to his mind. " Leave me," said he to the figure. ' ' Leave
me," it repeated, still keeping close to him. " Curse thy mockery !"
said he, aiming a blow at it. The blow fell heavily on the self, and

.ROMANCE OF THE SELF. 585

was as heavily returned. Hubert's patience was now quite exhausted,
and foaming with passion, he began to pummel the Self with all his
might. The Self was not tardy in repaying his cuffs, and a furious
battle ensued. Firmly clasped together, down they went on the floor,
and Hubert having before opened the chamber-door, for the purpose
of admitting light to aid him in his search for his apparel, in their
struggles they dragged each other out of the room, and rolling along
the gallery, both tumbled down stairs. Having arrived at the bottom,
the fall somewhat cooled their fury, and with a rueful countenance,
Hubert loosened his grasp, and managed to lift up his sorely bruised
body. ' ' I see," said he to the self, tf it is of no use to quarrel, so even
give me thy hand, and let us be friends/' The self echoed his words,
and did as required. On returning to their chamber, they found two
rich suits, and whilst donning his new array, Hubert thus communed
with himself: — " I now begin to think that an entire similarity of
ideas does not always make the truest friends. This companion of
mine would be a pleasant fellow enough, if he did not possess this
plaguey trick of imitation. I have often wondered why men who
professed to agree in opinion, should yet find matter of fierce dispu-
tation ; and this perchance may be the cause. Those sentiments,
which, uttered by our own lips, seem full of wisdom, when made use
of by another, and no longer seen through the flattering glass of self-
love, lose their claim on our admiration. Thus it is too, that we are
often offended at the words of our neighbours, whilst we ourselves,
after having made use of language far more offensive, are astonished that
offence should have been taken by those to whom it was addressed."
Hubert now resolved to provide a costly banquet, and give an in-
vitation to his friends and neighbours ; accordingly he despatched
servants to request the attendance, on the following evening, of all
those whom he had known in his adversity. The appointed time
came, and the largest apartment was thronged with people, princi-
pally of the lowest class. When the company had assembled, Hubert
entered the room, clad in the most gorgeous apparel, with as much
dignity as it was possible for him to assume. The self entered at the <
same moment, clad in like manner. Both took their seats at the
upper end of the table to the admiration and astonishment of their
guests ; but neither admiration nor astonishment spoiled the appetites
of the visitors, and they ate and drank as if for a wager. No sooner,
however, had they satisfied the cravings of their stomachs, than the
alteration in the circumstances of their host, the sudden appearance
of the stately mansion, and the apparition of the two Huberts,
formed the subjects of their discourse. They commenced whisper-
ing earnestly one with another, and ever and anon cast anxious and
inquiring glances towards the head of the board. Hubert perceived
their curiosity, and to put a stop to their surmises, spoke as follows :
tc My friends, I see you are surprised at this change in my situation,
but I will explain the cause of it in a few words. The person by my
side, is my twin-brother, who left me when young, for a far distant
country ; and having amassed a vast quantity of wealth, he has re-
turned to share it with his only remaining relative. You no doubt
feel astonished at his repetition of my words and actions. Owing to
M.M. No. 95. 4 F

586 ROMANCE OF THE SELF.

a wound, received in the vicinity of his brain, he is at times afflicted
with fits of temporary derangement ; and when I inform you that
during these fits he is always seized with this odd whim of imitation,
you will no longer feel so much amazed." This speech Hubert had
framed, thinking it would obviate all suspicions as to what his com-
panion really was. His address evidently produced little effect.
The visitors continued to stare and whisper, and at an early hour,
they all slunk away with looks of alarm.

The next day Hubert thought proper to walk abroad, for the first
time since he had acquired his riches. As he paced through the
streets, the children fled before him, and doors and windows were
crowded with people who had gathered together for the purpose of
gazing at him. These he imagined were tokens of their deference to
wealth and power, and their admiration of his jewels and apparel ;
but he was soon woefully undeceived. There was a loud and conti-
nued cry raised after him of " Behold the double man, behold the
wretch who has sold himself to the wizard !" Then followed hootings
and imprecations ; and a shower of stones, and other offensive mis-
siles fell around him. Some of the boldest and most rancorous of
his persecutors, armed themselves with clubs, and ran after him
breathing threats, and he was obliged to seek safety in flight. By a
circuitous route he contrived to get within his own gate. Trembling
from head to foot, he sought refuge in his own chamber, for his pur-
suers proceeded to shew further demonstrations of their wrath, by
demolishing his windows, and vowing they would effect an entrance,
arid drag him from his hiding-place. The Self was still at his side.
" Accursed monster !" he exclaimed, " were it not for thee, I might
now be truly happy ; and hast thou no comfort to offer me ? no
voice, save to repeat my own words ? Fiend, mocker, can'st thou not
answer me ?" He hid his face in his hands, and turned from the
figure with loathing.

In vain did he try to shun the Self — sleeping or waking, it was ever
by his side. If he stirred abroad, the persecutions of the peasantry
rendered his life in peril j if he sought to steep his senses into forget-
fulness by wine, when about to raise the cup to his lips, his eyes en-
countered those of the Self, and the draught was turned to bitterness.
" Fool, madman, that I was," thought he, " to expect happiness
from leaguing myself with the powers of darkness ! I am a hermit
amongst my fellow-men, a prisoner in my own mansion, despised by
those that loved me, hated and avoided by all. I will return to the
wizard, and implore him to restore me my poor hut, homely fare, and
coarse garments."

When darkness was around, Hubert again bent his steps towards
the wizard's dwelling, and found him, as before, occupied in poring
over a large volume. " What more dost thou require," said he,
" that thou again disturbest my solitude ? Have I not supplied thee
with all thou didst wish ? Art thou not satisfied ?" " Thou hast
granted to me all, nay, more than I wished," replied Hubert, " and
yet I am not satisfied. Take back thy wealth, take back thy mon-
ster ; and give me in return poverty and content." " Dolt, idiot !"
said the magician, " would'st thou again exist in rags and wretched-

ROMANCE OF THE SELF. 587

ness ? Would'st them relinquish all thy riches, merely because I
have given thee a companion in thy good fortune?" "What is
wealth and grandeur to me ?" said Hubert, tc all my friends shun
me — no one will share my prosperity, except this hated being, who
clings to me as a shadow ; whose words are but echoes of mine own,
and whose aspect, though like to mine, I regard with disgust and
detestation." " Thoirwastest breath in vain;" said the wizard, "I
have fulfilled thy request, and it were as easy for thee to alter the
course of the sun, as to persuade me to alter thy condition. Begone !
and trouble me no further." t( Demon as thou art," replied the
wretched man, " hast thou no compassion ? If I must retain thy
fatal gifts, at least let this creature have words and actions differing
from mine, even if it thwart me in all my purposes. Let it be any
thing but an echo to myself, and I will bless thee I" " Ha !" cried
the wizard, e< dost thou taunt me ? Thou askest that, and that alone,
which it is beyond my skill to accomplish. Hence, miscreant, thy
doom is fixed !" So saying, he stamped violently on the ground, and
instantly Hubert felt himself seized by invisible hands, and borne
away through the air with such incredible swiftness, that his brain
grew dizzy, and his senses forsook him. When he recovered from
the stupor occasioned by the rapidity of his flight, he was reclining
on a couch in one of his own apartments, and the self still was with
him. He wept in anguish. " Miserable wretch that I am," ex-
claimed he ; (( my happiness and hopes are blasted for ever : sorrow
is my portion here, and eternal torture awaits me hereafter !"

A weary year wore away, and each day did the urihappiness of
Hubert increase ; each day did his hatred of the self wax greater.
So miserable, at length, became his existence, that in an agony of
passion he drew a knife from his girdle, crying, " There is but one
way to rid myself of thee, detested fiend, and I will accomplish the
deed, or perish !" Wildly he rushed upon the self, and the glittering
steel sunk deep into its bosom j at the same moment its own arm was
raised, and with a stroke as true, another weapon clove the heart of
the ill-starred Hubert ! A loud crash was heard by the surrounding
inhabitants, and when they looked to the place where the stately
edifice had so lately stood, they beheld nothing but a confused mass
of stones, from which clouds of dust, having, they averred, a sul-
phurous smell, arose in large columns. The heap of stones, says my
authority, remains to this day, a record of the frailty of evil posses-
sions.

In the morning, hundreds of people repaired to the spot : no ves-
tige of the dwelling could be traced. The herbage was withered for
miles round, and the leaves had fallen from the trees, shrivelled and
yellow, as if they had been visited by autumn, though it was then
only the commencement of summer.

The above tale was told me by an old grey-headed man, at Hesse-
cassel ; and, when he had finished, he read me a long sermon, by
way of moral, the gist of which was never to seek that which could
only be acquired by dishonesty, " For," said he, stroking his beard,
and looking extremely wise, (f what is got over the devil's back
always goes under his belly."

NOTES OF THE MONTH,

The Lord Mayor has been gratified with a nice piece of gossip at
Guildhall, which was more particularly sweet from its being entirely
out of his jurisdiction. It appears that Mr. Turner, the artist, who
by a singular economy lias astonished his brethren of the brush by
becoming as rich as Dives, has waxed wroth against Mr. Tilt, the
publisher, of Fleet-street, for endeavouring to possess himself of some
few of the crumbs which have fallen from the rich man's table. The
fact was, that Mr. Tilt had purchased certain plates engraved from
Mr. Turner's drawings, in which that artist had a share, and thinking
these same engravings would sell better on a reduced scale, employed
the same gentleman that executed the larger work to effect its faith-
ful transposition on a smaller and more commodious scale. The
hysterical feeling which this intimation caused to the artist can only
be conceived by the greedy glutton who witnesses the bouleversement
of the soup tureen before he has secured his second plateful. During
the paroxysm of his agony he rushed to the Lord Mayor, imploring
the magistrate to secure him a portion of the spoil. Sir Peter was
an unlucky referee. The unhappy old gentleman knew as much of
artists and publishers as a sow does of saddle-making : had it been a
case of leather it would have been a different thing. Mr. Tilt, whose
character as a tradesman stands too high for Mr. Turner or Mr. Any-
body-else to touch, stood upon his right — that is, his copyright — for
which he gave upwards of a hundred pounds. Part of this had al-
ready gilded the breeches-pockets of the insatiable Turner ; but it
had only served to whet his lathe. Industry, however, hath not al-
ways its reward. The arguments of the artist were Greek at Guild-
hall ; there was no show of sympathy — only one point told. Mr. Tilt
sturdily stood to his right, and challenged him to try its merits.
f ' Sir," said the publisher, " you have not a leg to stand upon, and
you know it !" — " Sir," responded the angry man of parts — a gleam
of waggery breaking through his distress — " I know no such thing;
/ have two !" The worshippers of Gog grinned. To speak seriously,
Mr. Turner calls himself a distinguished man, and certainly with
good reason ; but we would humbly suggest, that the road to distinc-
tion does not lie through Cheapside and the Poultry, neither will he
raise his reputation by sketches from Guildhall and the Compter. A
word more, and we have done. We once knew a printseller — he is
dead now, poor fellow ! — who used to relate an anecdote touching
our distinguished friend. Mr. Turner one day entered the shop of
the tradesman, and inquired for the engraving of a particular picture
of Claude's. The tradesman could not possibly understand the exact
engraving he was anxious to see, until, to end the matter, he placed
a sheet of paper and a pencil before the artist, and desired him to
sketch the engraving he could not explain. Turner regarded him
with the wary look of one who apprehends the abstraction of his coin
by some unsatisfactory process; then thrusting his tongue into his
cheek, he significantly ejaculated, " No go V — " Sir," said the
tradesman, < ' when you were a poor boy and I befriended you, you

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

promised to give me a drawing ; now redeem your promise !" The
tradesman might have sought the longitude with success, or the
north-west passage, but he found it vain to t( Try Turner !"

WHISKERS AND GLORY. — The protracted struggle in Portugal has
had the effect of setting the small wits of our martial-minded scape-
graces in a ferment for " glory." We want some such philosopher
as " Crack/' the cobbler, to cool their ardour. Not a few, however,
have been effectually cured of their military mania by the
smell of powder ; and we consequently see in every coffee-house,
among the new arrivals, sundry hairy-faced Hectors from Lisbon
and Oporto, having retired from the service in " disgust." The
numbers of these " elegant extracts" have converted the appearance
of our peaceful capital into a huge crimping shop. We cannot turn
a corner without riskiug our eyesight from the sharp-pointed mous-
tache of some whiskered Bobadil. The thirst for " glory" has been
great beyond all precedent. Undismayed by the return-accounts of
the ill-treated Pistols, who are now basking in the glory of their six
months' scampering, there appears to be an encreasing rush of the
valorous public towards the transports of Donna Maria. The conse-
quence will be, that some few months hence, when the thing will
be finished in Portugal, and " valour" consequently at a considerable
discount — when, in fact, stabbers and cutters are no longer in de-
mand, and glory at a shilling a-day unattainable — our streets will be
crowded with whiskered desperadoes, and our sympathies and purses
put into active exercise in favour of " brave men" and " patriots."
We would seriously admonish those who have honest callings to
pause ere they exchange them for a most precarious livelihood, and
one in which it is very probable they will obtain " monkey's allow-
ance" for their services — more kicks than coin.

Of all the crimes which disgrace the metropolis, nothing stands
out with so glaring a front as poverty I — the perpetrators are posi-
tively irreclaimable. Notwithstanding the repeated magisterial
denunciations, the guilty wretches still haunt our streets ; they seem
to exult in their depravity. The station-houses are filled with them
every night — every cell in the houses of correction is choked — and
the tread-wneel goes merrily round. Felons will never want bread
while there is a magisterial purveyance of paupers to grind their
corn. The offences of these daring violators of the laws are as
follows : — Suspiciously sleeping at night without a shelter ; the felo-
nious asking of alms ; arid the heinous disposition to wander, rather
than starve at home. In a recent case at Queen-square, a criminal
guilty of the latter offence was thus addressed by Mr. White : — " In
the course of my experience I have found many such as you, who
would rather starve from home than at home ; but it is my duty to
send you to the house of correction for fourteen days." However,
our friends the police magistrates are taking efficient means to rid us
of these depraved creatures. They are packed all off to prison with
thieves and cut-throats, so that when they get out they will have
acquired sufficient experience to be able to gain their living indus*

590 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

triously, and, as Mr. White has it, by the " sweat of their brow."
Their implements of trade will not cost much. A jemmy, a centre-bit,
and a dark lantern, doubtless Mrs. Fry can furnish them with, or
perhaps Mr. White, or any other philanthropist. The benefit of Mr-
White's schooling ought not to be lost for lack of encouragement.

This has been a sad month for the Welsh church. The mortality
has been awful. We have to lament the loss of the following dis-
tinguished members of the profession: — Died at Llandilo, Cardigan-
shire, the Rev. T. Benyon, Archdeacon of Cardigan ! Prebendary of
Clirow ! Rector of Pamboyr and Llanfihanyd-peh-Cilfargen ! Vicar
of Llanfihanyd- Aberbythick ! Perpetual Curate of Llande-feysant !
Commissary-General of the Archdeaconry of Carmarthen ! and Rural
Dean of Emlyn ! &c. £c. &c. The Welsh ponies have good reason
to regret the death of a dignitary, for their reverend masters have
been mighty active under such a bereavement. It is understood,
however, that our noble premier has another nephew anxious to
serve his country, who is, moreover, blessed with a singularly reli-
gious turn of mind. He is desirous to relieve the Welsh expectants
from the heavy responsibility which the situation they vainly seek
would force upon their philanthropy, and has nobly resolved upon
self sacrifice, by taking upon himself the whole of these onorous
duties. Thank heaven ! we live in enthusiastic times. Great men
do not spare themselves. We find a patriot for every place, and our
church is in no want of martyrs.

TENDER MERCIES OP THE " GREAT UNPAID." — We have this
month been favoured with several interesting specimens of the bles-
sings of the " Great Unpaid." One, more particularly, relates to the
Earl of Guildford, who has permitted a tenant, Mr. Henry Boys, to
be proceeded against and fined, under the new Game Act, thereby
taking advantage, as he supposed, of a clause in the Act, to invalidate
a clause in his granted lease. So paltry a proceeding appears to us
not only derogatory to the high bearing which ought to characterize
a British nobleman, but inconsistent with the duty of an honest man.
To grant a lease conferring certain privileges for the consideration of
a certain rental, and then attempt to withdraw those rights for which
money had been paid, under the shelter of a subsequent Act of Par-
liament, is a proceeding only worthy of a Staple's Inn attorney. If
his Lordship, instead of an Earl, had been a pettifogging lawyer, and
plastered his name on the door-post of some obscure inn of court, his
reputation would doubtless have secured him an abundant practice.
It is greatly to be pitied that nature so unsuits men to the situations
they occupy. Mr. Boys appealed against the conviction at the East
Kent Session, and succeeded in quashing it, though only by the ma-
jority of one among the forty magistrates present.

A case at the Quarter Sessions at Chichester appears to have
been visited with a monstrous penalty, more particularly the as Duke
of Richmond, who bears the reputation of a liberal-minded nobleman
was in the chair. A Mr. Elliott, a farmer, prosecuted two persons,

MONHTLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 591

one for stealing, and the other for receiving part of a loaf of bread,
value three-pence ! The " crime" was thus : — One of the prisoners,
aged eighteen, was an in-door servant, and, returning from work, had
his dinner in the kitchen. Part of the loaf, of which he had parta-
ken, he gave to a fellow out-door labourer, which being seen by
Elliot, the master, he immediately gave them both into custody, and
the magistrates actually committed both to the tread-mill for three
months !

This is one of the hardest cases we have read of for some time— a
case alike disgraceful to the prosecutor, and disreputable to the au-
thorities. A poor fellow is branded as a thief for an act most credit-
able to his nature — that of sharing his meal with one poorer than
himself; and with his accomplice in " crime" is sent to a place from
whence he can never return an honest man. If any one wished to
select a case of magisterial oppression, here is one to his hand ; one
which exemplifies the care with which the morals and comforts of
the poorer classes are considered by county magistrates. Doubtless
it was dinner-time when these poor fellows were brought up, and it
behoved the " judges" to be quick in their decision. The tread-mill
was the shorter road to the turtle, and the months of the reverend
magi were watering for the fat haunch from Goodwood Park. What
was the good or evil of the after-life of these unfortunate men, in
comparison with the culinary glories of mine host of the White
Hart ? When was the clamour of a clerical paunch ever quieted by
the cries of the miserable ? However, thanks to the increasing in-
telligence of the country, the glories of the " Great Unpaid" are fast
fading away. The law still sanctions their oppressions, but their
moral power is defunct. The great wealth and limited intelligence
of these men make them forget themselves ; but we hope yet to see
the day when the arrogance of the greedy landholder is checked by
an equitable property-tax, and free trade in corn, and the overgrown
wealth of a pampered hierarchy equalized by Act of Parliament.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

MENTAL CULTURE ; OR THE MEANS OP DEVELOPING THE HUMAN
FACULTIES. BY J. L. LEVISON.

" WHAT a piece of work is man !" exclaims the philosophic
Hamlet, filled with admiration of that goodly compound, of which
we ourselves are a right worthy specimen ; and well indeed might
he say so, if the " piece of work" continually made of him, happened
to be present, at that moment, to his mental vision. Shakspeare,
however, was little aware of the high perfection to which we were to
be brought at a later day, when he put these words into the mouth
of the noble Dane ; indeed, we have every reason to believe, that his
organ of vaticination (by whatever phrenological term it may be

592 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

known) was lamentably deficient. With the science of phrenology
itself, he was undoubtedly and indisputably familiar. As for in-
stance, in the very play, the name of which we have had occasion to
mention,, we find something to this effect —

" For murder, though it hath no tongue,
Doth speak with most miraculous organ,"

fully, and by a bold defiance of prejudice and ignoraace, meanness of
spirit, presumption, arrogance, and folly, substantiating and confirming
the whole principle of phrenological research ; particularly the con-
spicuousness, and enlarged developement of the organ of destructive-
ness in cases of homicide, and that sort of thing, by the demonstratively
sanguinary caput of the usurper king. We have no hesitation in
stating, that this passage has hitherto been most grossly misappre-
hended and misread. That Hamlet had opportunities most ample,
to settle his mind as to the state of his uncle's cranium, cannot for a
moment be questioned ; and, moreover, the result of Hamlet's un-
wearied investigation, deserves our more especial attention, from the
fact of the extraordinary facility he experienced in the pursuit of his
enquiry, from the absence of an ordinary impediment — for his
facinerous relative indulged in the costly comfort of a wig. We
think it necessary to make our opinions public upon this question ;
nothing can be more proper ; and considering the very eminent au-
thority the bump-philosophers have now discovered, for the first
time, in support of their system, nothing can be more just.

Our own sconce we fear, had, up to the epoch.', of the perusal of
Mr. Levison's book, maintained a most unaccountable hostility to the
application of all phrenological rule ; in fact, it was candidly admitted,
by a very celebrated professor, that a more discouraging pate had
never been submitted to his inspection. Mr. Levison, however, has
effected a strange revolution in our " distracted globe." Our cranium
has been in a state of commotion all the morning. We had scarcely
began to warm in Mr. Levison's company, before a change, a vital
change came over us ; our senses rose at once against the Unmethodical
state of things ; confusion, for a time, ran wildly through the streets
of our mental metropolis ; — the genius of phrenology has come upon
us ; — the hitherto plain surface of our upper-story has become orna-
mented with sundry mysterious mole-hills. Our skull has been like
unto a sea in trouble, with the restless undulation of our organs, rising
and sinking on their passage to their appointed localities. " Change
sides, and down the middle," has been the order of the day. Peace
is now restored, and a more phrenologically-orthodox pate, we dare
to say, is not to be found among the factitious images in the shop of
Mr. De Ville himself. Our hat, however, refuses to environ our
temples, so changed is the size and fashion of its late occupant; our
tresses have been strangely cast about in the irruption. We know
not what our friends will say, for we are absolutely ignorant of our-
selves when we look in the glass. Our wife looks sulky, and likes
us not in such a head. She would fain give the command, " as you
were.M Our children run away from us ; and we have not yet con-
vinced them, though plentifully bribed with sweetmeats, that we are

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 593

their true and exemplary parent. Meanwhile we have taken good
care to post an overpowering array of virtues and amiable qualities
in the places usually allotted to them, " very fine and well-grown ;"
while the vices and evil tendencies cut but a poor figure in our idio-
syncrasy. We have " modesty" staring in the face of every one ;
" gentleness" occupies a strong position; " judgment" throws "pre-
judice" quite into the shade ; " charity" looks down upon " folly ;"
and " benevolence" and " tenderness" press so hard upon te ferocity,"
that it is doubtful if it will ever hold up its head again. Our te valour"
lords it over " timidity" most hectoringly ; and as for " power," it
crushes " weakness" into mere oblivion. In short, we have an
economy of skull, quite as satisfactory to ourselves — and ministering
quite as largely to our own vanity — as any convert to the creed, or
any disciple of the noble science of phrenology, can or does possess,
in this thronging metropolis. We query if any one has ever heard
of a phrenologist who has not most ingeniously helped himself to a
tolerable slice from the joint of genius, with a plentiful supply, also,
from the side-dishes of sweet-temper and morality.

There is some merit, however, in Mr. Levison's book, although his
views, now and then, are rather impaired (unintentionally no doubt)
by the arguments he advances to enforce them. Mr. Levison com-
plains at full of the folly of filling the rising youth exclusively with
the classics. Where such a system is in operation, we have not the
pleasure of knowing. " Men of words," it appears, is to be the title
of scholars hereafter ; — very well, sir, as you please ; but if you will
give us a reason, we shall be quite as much obliged. You don't
mean to apply it to philologists, but to those who learn Latin and
Greek like parrots — something of that kind is your meaning. Then
to about ninety-nine hundredths of those who do learn Latin and
Greek, you do mean it to apply, if not to be a philologist is to be a
parrot. And, moreover, while wasting their time over a foolish ar-
rangement of letters, which, their thoughts being English, they can't
understand, how might they be improving their minds by a study of
outward nature, and (we think we hear Mr. Levison add) phrenology.
Now, is Mr. Levison a Latin or Greek scholar ? if not, he knows
nothing of the matter ; and would have shewn infinitely more sense
if he had confined himself to those subjects upon which he is better
informed : — but if he lays claim to the consideration of " a man of
words," we are quite willing to take up his opinion, and consider the
pursuit " waste of time," in his case at least, and this with as much
sincerity as he appears to have adopted, in a general sense, that low
and vulgar error.

Our space will only allow us to drop a hint or two to Mr. Levison,
with reference to the phrenologic foundation upon which he erects
himself to take his observations. If phrenology be good for anything
it is good for a good deal. Let Mr. Levison write a work upon the
advantages likely to be effected by its universal adoption. It strikes
us great things might be done ; for instance, let us have a college to
which all mortals, when arrived at the proper stage, may be sent for
examination. There will the individual tastes and tendencies be de-
cided, with a view to his settlement in the world, as a contented
M.M. No. 95. 4 G

594 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. .

labourer in that vocation to which his mind is disposed. This, we
think, would effectually rid the world of the peevish complaints and
petulant murmurings we are almost daily doomed to hear. Again,
if the subject shall exhibit upon his young cranium such signs as in-
dicate a blood-thirsty or a treacherous spirit, let the professor be in-
vested with powers to hang the murderous wretch at once, upon that
principle in jurisprudence that justifies strong measures where cri-
minality is to be prevented ; and what more efficacious to that end,
seeing that the monster bears, in phrenologic letters written, "a thou-
sand mortal murders on his head," than to prevent the horrid deeds
by hanging him before they are committed ! We have often wondered
that, in cases of a doubtful kind, even in the present barbarous state
of things, a professor of phrenology has not been called in to settle
the point, as in every case of murder, within our memory, it has been
infallibly determined, after the death of the culprit, that the crime, as
well as the punishment, was " on his own head/' as plain as a pike-
staff. This could surely have been determined before the rope had
done its office ; and, therefore, may be considered an unfailing resource
in doubtful cases and complicated homicides.

We would suggest also, a reform in our mode of conferring honours
upon genius and learning, especially at our colleges. There is no
doubt that interest supplies the place of capacity in many of the ap-
pointments. What would we do ? Would we idle away our time in
putting questions to the candidates to fathom the depth of their
knowledge ? — No, submit them to a phrenologic examination, as in
the first case we have mentioned. Then would corruption receive
such a blow on the organ of sensitiveness (if such it have), as to make
it an invalid for life. Further, we would have no degree of M. A.
and D. D., and D. L.L., and so forth, but, according to the organic
power of the party, confer upon him the honours, either of doctor of
a bump of the first degree, master of a full mathematical develop-
ment, bachelor of a bump of the second degree, and so on. We leave
these suggestions to the consideration of Mr. Levison, with the full
persuasion that, however the plan may become matured under his
hands, the credit of the invention, and the honour of its philanthropic
service to humanity, will conscienciously and cheerfully be acknow-
ledged due to the heart and to the efforts of the ' ' Monthly Magazine.

LIBRARY OF ROMANCE. EDITED BY LEITCH RITCHIE. WALDEMAK.
VOL. VIII. SMITH, ELDER, AND Co.

ANOTHER of these very excellent and interesting tales, forming
the eighth of that fund of fiction, the Library of Romance, which,
under the management of its accomplished and gifted editor, gives
earnest of a long life to come of amusement and edifying interest.

Waldemar is a story of the thirty years war, written at once with
the boldness of history and the imaginative fervour of romance.
Schiller's pen has lent a lustre to this period, which, playing upon
the stirring and exciting incidents of the time, gives an imposing
grandeur to the scene, with which our minds can never for a mo-
ment dispense or part. Love, of course (the urchin's ubiquity is

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 595

marvellous) has his accustomed part in the plot ; for it would appear
that the saucy fellow is as requisite to the construction of a tale as
the bodily presence of the hare to the exercise of Mrs. Glass' method
of Cookery, and, accordingly, we find him busying himself, with all
his might, in the following scene : —

" Waldemar was a man of quick feelings, but he was not a puling senti-
mentalist ; and, therefore, instead of bowing his energies to the melancholy,
into which the discovery of Bertha's fickleness had thrown him, sought to
divert his mind in the bustle of his military duties ; but there were, never-
theless, intervals, in which he could not help thinking of the high hopes he
had once cherished, and when the anguish of his disappointment wrung from
his bosom many a bitter sigh.

" The leisure, which he was wont to spend in the house of Schlaukopf,
was now passed, for the most part, in solitude. It occurred that he was,
one evening, walking thoughtfully, in a retired spot, in the vicinity of the
electoral residence, when the approach of steps awakened his attention ; and,
looking up, he beheld the form of Bertha within a few paces of him.

'* Taken by surprise, he uttered her name in the tone of tenderness with
which he had been accustomed to address her : indeed, however keenly he
might have felt his wrongs at the moment, he could not gaze upon those
lovely and yet loved features, arrayed, as they were, in the expression of the
most bitter dejection, and have accosted her in any other than the language
of kindness. ' Bertha !' he repeated ; ' dear Bertha !'

" The mention of her name, and the well-remembered tones in which it
was breathed, startled her : she looked up, and a momentary expression of
delight irradiated her countenance, but as quickly subsided; and she ex-
claimed, in a voice of deep melancholy, ' And is Bertha, after all that you
have lately seen and must have thought of her, still dear to you ? O, Wal-
demar ! Waldemar ! could you but read my heart?'

" ' There was a time, Bertha,' he answered, ' when I fondly deemed I could;
and that I saw my name inscribed upon its stainless tablets in characters
which neither time, nor change, nor sorrow, could efface : but, I have been
deceived — bitterly deceived !'

" •' Bitterly, indeed, Waldemar,' was Bertha's reply, ' and I have been the
tool, because I am the slave of the deceiver ; and yet, as Heaven is my wit-
ness, am guiltless of the deceit.'

" ' And Heaven knows/ rejoined Waldemar, with equal fervour, ' how
gladly I would believe you innocent of it, Bertha ; and, O ! were I, even now,
to hear from those lips that you still love me — that I am not the despised,
rejected being I have deemed myself — all that I have suffered would pass from
my memory as an idle dream, and I should be happy.'

" ' Of what avail were it,' continued the gentle girl, ' to tell you that the
love which has been the cherished jewel of my heart hath never known
aught of change, since it would be but to raise hopes which I must blight by
the assurance that I never can be yours ?'

" ' Not mine, Bertha ! wherefore not ?' exclaimed Waldemar.

" ' Because,' replied the maiden, ' one, whose power it were madness and
ruin to resist, hath decreed me to another !'

" ' The traitor Schwartzheim ?' asked her lover.

" ' You have named the most hated of human beings, and yet I am his
destined bride/ said Bertha.

" ' And against your will !' exclaimed Waldemar: ' never ! the villain dies
first!'

" ' O, Waldemar !' cried Bertha, imploringly, ' meddle not with that fearful
man : you know not the extent of his malice or his power, He hates you

596 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

with the malignity of a fiend ; and will not hesitate on the means of effecting
your ruin, whenever it becomes necessary to his purposes/

" ' Bertha/ said Waldemar, ' you speak in riddles/

" ' Question me no further, dearest Waldemar/ pursued the damsel ; " my
lips are sealed ; nay, were even this our interview discovered, the penalty
would be dreadful. ' But, hist ! I hear footsteps ! leave me, I implore you —
for my sake, if not for your own, leave me instantly !'

" B'efore, however, he could reply, a rustling was heard in an adjacent
thicket, and, immediately after, baron Spit?,vogel stood before the lovers.

" ' It grieves me/ he said, with his usual sardonic smile, ' to interrupt so
interesting a tete-a-tete, and so admirably contrived, both as to time and
place ; but, unless you especially desire the participation of the young lady's
father in the conference, I would counsel an immediate adjournment. I
marked the old gentleman coming up the avenue, and looking marvellously as
if he snuffed a plot. Nay, not that way, or you will walk into the lion's
mouth. There is but one path for you both — through the arch yonder.
Haste ! he approaches ; I will endeavour to keep the ground until you have
put the ruins between you and him, and then you are safe/

" The young pair had scarcely disappeared through the arch, which the
cynic had pointed out, than Schlaukopf stood on the spot which they had
just occupied.

" ' Good evening to you, baron' was the minister's salutation : ' have you
seen my daughter ?'

" ' Very possibly I have/ was the answer ; ' but I do not keep a register of
all the butterflies which flit about my path/

" ' Nay, baron/ rejoined the other, ' you misapprehend me : I mean, have
you seen her in the park here within these last few minutes :'
Had she on a green mantle ?' inquired Spitzvogel.
No/ replied the minister.
O, then' pursued the cynic, with the most provoking simplicity, ' it was

the scarlet one ; I do remember me '

Baron !' exalaimed Schlaukopf, ' you are trifling with me. I could
swear I heard my daughter's voice proceeding from about this spot, a few
minutes since/

" ' Nay/ observed Spitzvogel, ' if thou. knowest not the voice of thine own
child, I know not who should ; and, methinks, it were scarcely worthy thy
senatorial wisdom, to waste words and time, in questioning me upon a sub-
ject, on which thou hadst been previously satisfied by the evidence of thine
own senses/

" ' Thou compound of knave and fool !' exclaimed the minister, losing his
patience, and laying his hand upon his sword, 'tell me instantly by which
way she passed hence, or I will stab thee to the heart !'

" « Truly/ said the imperturbable Spitzvogel, ' that weapon of thine is an
awkward instrument for worming out a secret, seeing that dead men are not
given to telling tales/
• " ' Villain !' roared the other, ' know you to whom you speak ?'

" ' Ay, that do I, sir councillor/ was the calm reply"; ' I know thee for an
unnatural parent, and a bribed traitor ; for one who hath sold his child to a
robber, aud his prince to a tyrant/

" ' Thy knowledge perish" with thee, then !' vociferated Schlaukopf, un-
sheathing his weapon, and attacking Spitzvogel.

" ' Nay, there go two words to that bargain;' returned the latter, pre-
serving his equanimity, but, at the same instant, drawing his sword with
equal celerity, and using it with so much coolness and address, that, after a
few passes, by a manoeuvre, which savoured of sleight of hand, he struck the
weapon from his antagonist's grasp, whence it sprang upwards into a tree,
and hung, glittering in the sunlight, on a branch.

MONTHTY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 59?

" '• Slave !' said the cynic, dropping his point, which was at the throat of
his vanquished adversary, ' I had well nigh stained my good sword with the
blood of a felon ; but a glance at thy dangling weapon yonder, which hath
reached the goal somewhat before its master, reminds me that I may not
cheat the hangman of his fee/

" Having thus spoken, Spitzvogel turned upon his heel, and left the
minister to digest his discomfiture on his way home as he best might."

We cannot conclude our necessarily brief notice of this volume
without congratulating the public on the facility afforded to intel-
lectual culture and amusement, by the exceeding cheapness of this
publication.

THE USE AND ADVANTAGES OF PEARSON'S DRAINING PLOUGH. BY
THOMAS LAW HODGES,, ESQ. M. P.

- WE have referred this pamphlet to one of our country friends for
an opinion as to its merits, and also for information touching the par-
ticular use and advantages of Pearson's draining plough ; for we must
conscientiously confess, that we know as much about Mr. Pearson or
his plough as we do about the birth, habits, and connexions oft he
man in the moon. The plate descriptive of the construction of this
instrument appears very well engraved, and the drawing may be to
the very plough for ought we know. Certainly, the machine at the
bottom of the page, with fig. 1 affixed, appears, as far as our judg-
ment serves, to resemble the idea we have formed of a plough as
much as any thing we ever saw. The truth is, looking amid this
metropolitan smoke and clatter, from month's end to month's end, in
our own vocation, we have little opportunity of extending our ob-
servation to the uses and improvements of the art of husbandry. We
therefore (and our country friends will be satisfied) must con-
tent ourselves with condensing simply the account Mr. Hodges gives
of Mr. Pearson, and the use and advantages of his improved ma-
chine.

It appears, about six years since, Mr. Pearson hired a farm in the
parish of Frittenden, in Kent, and, after the first year's occupation,
discovered that the soil generally was wet and stiff, having through-
out, with very partial exceptions, a strong clay subsoil. Having but
a very limited capital, to undertake the draining of his farm was not
in his power. Mr. Pearson, nevertheless, applied his mind to the
discovery of some cheaper method than that hitherto practiced, and
succeeded ultimately in forming this plough, the use and advantages
of which Mr. Hodges, pointing out in his communication to the
Society for the Encouragement of Arts, submits to their notice.
When Pearson first entered upon his farm, the produce of the wheat
crops varied from two to three quarters per acre ; since it has been
underdrained by the plough in question, his average has exceeded
four quarters per acre — not unf'requently getting five.

" This invention consists in having applied to the common foot-plough a
certain share, which he calls a torn share, together with certain other irons,
by which he cuts out the drain to a sufficient depth, with an accuracy and
celerity hitherto unattained, and gives a principle of duration and effect to
the drain, when finished, equal to the best work of the same kind hitherto
entirely performed, and at so great a,-cost, by hand labour; thereby ac-

598 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

complishing what lias been so long and so much desired by all who are
interested in improving wet and stiff soils — namely, a method of effectually
and permanently draining such lands, and at a charge not exceeding one-
sixth of the price which the best underdraining of such land has hitherto
cost."

HORTUS WOBURNENSIS. B¥ JAMES FORBES, GARDENER TO THE

DUKE OF BEDFORD. JAMES RIDGWAY, 1833,

THIS volume, in the words of the indefatigable compiler, is a de-
scriptive catalogue of upwards of six thousand ornamental plants
cultivated at Woburn Abbey ; and gratified, indeed, are we, to find
so valuable and elaborate a work introduced to the public with the
patronage of such highly distinguished individuals as appear in the
subscription list.

Botany and horticulture, the most pleasing of pursuits, have become
more generally cultivated than others, for various reasons ; and not
in the country alone, amid their natural green and freshness, but in
the city and the populous town — the haunts of trade and of com-
merce. Whatever a man's " hobby" may be, the inner pride of skilful-
ness is usually his first stimulus ; you never find a man attached,
really attached, to any sport, or any particular art or science, who is
not admittedly " chose" or, at least, " very well" in its exercise. A
gentleman rarely becomes extravagant in the praise of hunting who
has been discharged over the head of his quadruped as often as he
has mounted him ; nor does another frantically eulogize the art of
fishing, who, having served his terms of patience, enlivened by some
most orthodox duckings, and a touch of the ague, discovers, at last,
that all are not fish that come to his net, though he has had his eye
to his hook most diligently. The " good shot," also, counting over
the slain, rejoices in the sport, while the unhappy wretch, just
emerged from a neck-deep slough, birdless and full of grief, turns
from the sorry pastime sick and sorrowful , while, to complete his
misery, some feathered wag perches on his gun-barrel and chirps
away in provoking ridicule and defiance of him.

Botany (of course we are not speaking of it now with reference to
its chemical importance) possesses more extensive and varied means
of gratifying this inner pride ; and, accordingly, we find, while the
peer enriches his green-houses with foreign shrubs and exotic flowers,
the peasant, in his cottage garden, and the artisan in his suburban
plat, indulges alike in its pursuit. Indeed, as though to prove the
power of nature in. us, even when apparently shut in and barred to
her approach, we very much question whether there are any more
ardent lovers of flowers than the working people in and about London ;
and this we fearlessly state in the very teeth of those who pretend to
ridicule <( cockney tastes," as they call them, and who seem to con-
sider the perfection of stupidity to be involved in the hypothesis, that
there might be found a less delightful prospect than from Richmond
Hill ; and the further enormity, that a rose may have blown once,
by accident, at Hampstead or at Blackheath.

The first part of the work before us contains a descriptive catalogue
of the generic and specific character of several thousands of plants such
as are adapted for the green-house. It gives, in the plainest and most

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 599

perspicuous manner, the systematic and the English name, form of
the leaves, and other particulars ; colour, and month of flower ; native
country; the year of introduction; sort, and propagation of each
plant ; the class and order. The second part illustrates the general
arrangement of the pleasure-ground, &c. ; and the concluding part
treats, and admirably, of tli9 kitchen-garden department. Such a
work, we should consider, would be invaluable to the gardener and
seedsman, besides furnishing a ready book of reference to the amateur
botanist. We could scarce refrain, on looking over this ample volume,
to exclaim, with the author of " Phytologia," or the Philosophy of
Agriculture and Gardening: —

" Winds of the north ! restrain your icy gales,

Nor chill the bosom of the happy vales ;

Hence, in dark heaps, ye gathering clouds, revolve,

Disperse, ye lightnings, and ye mists dissolve !

Hither, emerging from yon orient skies,

Botannic Goddess ! bend thy radiant eyes ;

O'er these soft scenes assume thy gentle reign,

Pomona, Ceres, Flora, in thy train ;

O'er the still dawn thy placid smile effuse,

And with thy silver sandals print the dews ;

In noon's bright blaze thy vermil vest unfold,

And wave thy emerald banner, starr'd with gold."

DOMESTIC SUMMARY.

Pheasants and pop-guns still occupy the industry of statesmen. Gentle-
men speak with much satisfaction of the number of birds they have bagged ;
and look askance at the slightest hint of returning to business. However, it
is supposed that Parliament will meet for a short time previous to Christmas,
in consequence of the unsettled state of our foreign relations,

The safe return of Captain Ross, and his band of intrepid adventurers, has
been hailed with much satisfaction and good feeling. Although unsuccessful
in the grand object of their expedition, they have settled some points in the
navigation of those inhospitable seas, which are extremely satisfactory. The
result is as follows : — " The discovery of the gulf of Boothia Felix, and a vast
number of islands, rivers, and lakes ; the undeniable establishment that the
north-east point of America extends to the 74th degree of north latitude ;
valuable observations of every kind, but particularly on the magnet ; and, to
crown all, have had the honour of placing the illustrious name of William
the Fourth on the true position of the magnetic pole." Captain Ross, for all
this, will of course be the lion of London for the next six months ; he will
divide the fame of the Chippewa chief and the man that eats fire. The Lord
Mayor intends to open the exhibition by " showing him up," at his dinner
on the 9th of November, when his various qualities and propensities will be
fully made known to a feasting public.

Tithe arrests still go on in the county of Tipperary. A few days since
Messrs. Cleary and M'Grath were marched through Clonmel at the Vicar's
suit — the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Cavendish, Vicar of Cahir — escorted by a large
body of police, and lodged in the county gaol. Our English clergymen have
seen the absurdity of the late hostile proceedings, and have, it is understood,
generally relinquished them.

There is an universal outcry against the assessed taxes. — The metropolis
has heen quite in a ferment concerning their enforcement. It is a pity that
those in authority do not manifest some sign or token touching these odious
imposts. People suppose they will be discontinued next session — why not
say so ?

FOREIGN SUMMARY.

POLITICAL events have this year taken an extensive range ; the North and
South, the East and West, have successively been the theatres of their ope-
ration. At its dawn our attention was fixed upon Antwerp — that appeared
to be thrown into the arena of politics, like the apple of discord, to kindle
the slumbering animosity of the two great parties that divide the European
continent. Still the storm burst not, but eastward took its course ; and even
there, when the lowering tempest threatened to pour desolation, and " let slip
the dogs of war" on those fair regions, the lightning-conductors of our diplo-
macy directed the electric fluid from the tapering minarets of Josambole.
More recently, it is on the pigmy war in Portugal, and on the congress of
Kings and Emperors at Munchen-Gratz, that the ardent gaze of Europe has
rested, — on that congress which has fully proved that the object of the mili-
tary Sovereigns is not war, but to preserve peace till war is inevitable. And
now it is on Spain that we anxiously turn our regards ; the death of whose
Monarch has rendered still more complicated the embroglio of European
politics. The phraseology of politics grew up in times that are no longer
ours ; to their application, therefore, the words it employs have a sense
relative to the manners and customs of every nation, — this should be kept in
view in considering the contemporary events of Portugal and Spain. In
France we have seen a revolution accomplished in three days, and regularized
in less than a week. But what is at present passing in Spain and Portugal
cannot be called a revolution, — it is a civil war, such as the annals of abso-
lute monarchies offer so many examples of. Princes dispute the crown —
their subjects espouse their cause, according as it may administer to their
passions and prejudices. Foreign governments interfere either openly or by
intrigue, and when the country is exhausted the two contending chiefs effect
a reconciliation to their own profit, while the nation is more oppressed than
ever. From the difference that exists, therefore, between a revolution effected
by popular movement, ard a dynastical civil war, we shall easily feel that the
results cannot be produced with the same rapidity in two situations, the ten-
dency of which is not towards the same object. In Portugal the mass of
the people, even in spite of the late success that has attended the operations
of the Queen's cause, still remain neutral ; for the truth is, that the civil
war of Portugal has been prepared in England and France by Jew bankers
and stock-jobbers, and carried into execution by foreign condottiere from
every part of Europe ; hence the inertio — the political apathy of the nation
generally.

A similar game will, we now predict, be played in Spain. Already a part
of the country is in arms in favour of Don Carlos, and his proclamation has
dispelled any lingering doubt of his disinclination to strike for the Crown.
Spain is therefore on the eve of a bloody civil war, such as no other country
affords such a scope for ; but while we draw this gloomy political horoscope
for the Iberian Peninsular, we have no fears of the peace of Europe being
disturbed by the Spanish contest, which is, after all, not one between libe-
ralism and absolutism, but between the Queen and Don Carlos — between the '
Salic law, as established by Phillip V., and the fundamental laws of Castille,
re-established by the will of Ferdinand — in which not one cry for the ancient
liberties of Spain will be heard. But, as if the Sovereigns of Europe mis-
trusted the astute combinations of that very diplomacy which for the last
three years past have preserved peace, they are, during this interval of armed
tranquillity, preparing for war. In the meantime, Germany is in the iron
grasp of Prussia and of Austria ; Poland extinct ; Italy bristling with Aus-
trian bayonets ; while the Russian eagle, gloating on prostrate Turkey, is
already directing its fiery glance towards the rich plains of Ilindostan. When
the storm does burst, let us hope our India government will be found at bay.

Baylis and Leighton, Johnson's-court, Fleet'Street.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES

VOL. XVI.] DECEMBER, 1833. [No. 96.

THE OPERATION OF MONOPOLIES.

English Indifference — Corporate Abuses the result of the Aristocracy —
Strong-hold of Toryism — Literary and Medical Corporations — Literature
of the Ancients not upheld by Charter — Charters granted in the barbarism
of the Middle Ages — Result in the Conduct of the University of Oxford to
Erasmus — Remarks on the Ancients — Sparta — Opinion of Adam Smith on
privileged Literary Bodies — Medical Monopoly — College of Physicians —
Monstrous Privileges — By-laws — Fellowships and Licentiates — Their
Qualifications — Ad vantage'of the College to the Public — Bigotry and Bar-
barism of Fellows — Quotation from Orations of Dr. Pemberton, Dr. Powell,
and Dr. Latham — Unjust Practices of the College — Conclusion.

IT is a peculiar feature in the English character to disregard the
operation of monoplies which do not glaringly affect their personal
liberties as freemen, or their commercial glory as a nation ; although,
if ever they took the pains to look into their workings, they would be
found inimical to the interests of the community in every particular.
Absorbed in the improvement of his own individual condition, the
Englishman overlooks the abuses of his own institutions, until that
which first commenced in fraud obtains the sanction of custom, and
is claimed as a right.

The abuses in corporate bodies and monopolies, are the result of
the aristocratical tone of our government, which has been the curse
of our country for so many years. England has long been the genial
soil in which the aristocratical tree has taken such deep root, and
flourished so exceedingly, that its huge, rank branches have over-
topped and smothered every thing useful. The veriest despots of the
Continent, subjected as they have been to the occasional violent
ebullition of an abused people, have cast the glance of envy and
covetousness towards England, as the place wherein they could
exercise their accursed fancies, by means of her free institutions, with-
out control and without danger. England has long presented the
anomaly of a professedly free country bound by worse than feudal fet-
ters: and such has been the duration of her slavery, that her rulers
have been astonished when she ceased to hug her fetters. Like the
overburthened brute, she has now kicked off her panniers : it is yet
to be seen whether her new pack-saddle will sit easier.

602

THE OPERATION OF MON LIES.

The strong-holds of the aristocracy, we may rather say Toryism, are
the corporate bof'ies, which have been so fostered, and for such a
time, that an entire social system is paralyzed by them. It is this evil
that has rendered us so comparatively slow to improvement, and
which acts as a continual check to advancement ; when the advantage
of any great discovery becomes so apparent to the nation that preju-
dice is beaten dowry, th t instant it is seized upon by speculators, and
so formed into me ;opc ies, and fenced by acts of parliaments — all in
unison with the (vV2at system of Toryism, that any further improve-
ment becomes a work of infinite difficulty, merely because of its in-
terference with the private interests of one or two of the corporate
body. This great system of monopoly has interwoven itself amongst
us to the prejudice of our arts, our science, our literature, and our com-
merce. It is but justice to say of our present ministry that, in accord-
ance with the spirit of the times, they have commenced the attack
upon this hydra, which will surely end in its destruction. It needs
but to be held up to the light, that its native deformity may become
apparent.

There are some few points connected with the monopolies of litera-
ture and medicine, which the late disgraceful scenes of medical jobbing
lately brought before the public have given rise to, on which we have
a few words to say.

To estimate fairly the merits of any system, it would be necessary to
consider the times, and the means by whom it may have been proposed.
If we find the growth of an enlightened age supported by the talents
and learning of its day, there is much in its favour ; on the contrary,
if it appear the produce of a barbarous era, fostered by ignorance, and
its natural deformities perverted by design, we cannot hesitate to con-
demn it as unfitted for the interests of society. Let us look back upon
corporate institutions : the ancients were unacquainted with them,
though some learned Thebans would have the world believe that they
existed with the Greeks and Romans, and allude to the union of the
Sabines with the Romans as a corporate body; but the union of two
savage tribes for mutual interest has but little in it analagous to cor-
porate institutions. Athens owed her literary reputation to her ex-
emption from them. As we descend from those bright days to the
darker ones of the middle ages, when feudal and ecclesiastical misrule
crushed in the bud the very germs of freedom, we find them peeping
from beneath the cowl of the crafty monk, and the public interest the
last feature in their organization. Kings patronizing universities for
the accidental circumstance of being born there j Elizabeth, for the
equivocal credit of proselyting youth at the shrine of protestant pre-
judice. The conduct of the univerity of Oxford to Erasmus, when he
came to unfold to them the stores of Grecian literature, affords an un-
answerable proof of the evils of such corporate bodies — the arrogance
of pretenders, the insolence of mere book- worms ! Whatever we have
seen of prejudice, of bigotry, of ignorance, in the progress of the
world's knowledge, have we not ever witnessed it most rife in the
cloisters of our universities? When did Toryism ever make so strong
a stand as when begirt by a phalanx of our chartered monks ?

There are in society, however, some good-natured simpletons o

THE ' RATION OF MONOPOLIES. 603

much attached, by habit, to corporations of every kind, who really
believe, that were these institutions destroyed, darkness would in-
stantly succeed — chaos would come again. Amongst these we are
sorry to find some who, at one time, held an honourable place in their
profession. Sir A. Carlisle says, <e I do not believe that any subversive
change in our English colleges would amend the profession, or benefit
the public." Strange, that the ancients, with -ill their wisdom, could
not devise such measures for instructing youf# ! f:nd yet we do not
find that they were wanting in any of the learning of their day which
could render them good and useful citizens. Athens had no colleges,
corporate or chartered bodies — she rose to pre-eminence by her free
institutions alone. There was nobody to compel the attendance of
students. Solon's law, which released the child from the obligation
of supporting its parent, if it was not brought up to some profession,
obliged all to be educated : further than this the state never interfered.
Salaries were first granted to professors in the reign of Antoninus :
Plato, Aristotle, Zeno, received none. The medical schools of Italy
and Sicily were without charters ; Egypt was a stranger to them ; —
but look at their effects on Sparta, where the government regulated
the education — learning never flourished. The history of the world
affords no instance of the prosperity of literary institutions under the
withering influence of corporate charters.

The learned Adam Smith has brought the influence of his great
mind to bear happily upon this subject. " Have public endowments,"
he says, " contributed to approve the abilities, and encourage the
diligence, of the teacher ? Have they directed the course of education
to objects more useful, both to the individual and the public, than
those to which it would have gone of its own accord?" The answer
to this is not difficult ; — but he proceeds : " In every profession, the
exertions of those who exercise it is always in proportion to the ne-
cessity they are under of making it." The endowments of colleges
have denominated this necessity, more or less, in the attention of the
teachers ; — and why ? " Their subsistence, so far as it arises from
their salaries, is evidently derived from a fund altogether inde-
pendent of their success and reputation in their several professions."
Again, he says, " Whatever forces a set of students, of any college,
independent of the merit of their teacher, tends to diminish the neces-
sity of that merit."

The abuse of medical monopolies in this city is a most monstrous
and crying evil. We shall begin with the College of Physicians, and
in so doing we enter not upon it as a question involving merely the
rights of fellows and licentiates, but, more correctly speaking, one
between the public and a medical monopoly, and which is of the
deepest interest to all.

In the reign of Henry the Eighth, a chapter was granted to this
college, securing to it the medical practice of London and seven miles
around. The charter was granted with the laudable view of check-
ing mountebank practice, without intending to interfere with the re-
gularly-educated physician, or limiting the number of physicians in
the metropolis and its suburbs to the small number of six, which at
one time was all that this chartered body would admit to practise

604 THE OPERATION OF MONOPOLIES.

But the college found that all the practice must necessarily devolve
upon them, could they but prevent other physicians from exercising
their profession without their sanction. Accordingly, clubbing their
sagacity, they framed some by-laws, by which they compel all phy-
sicians, no matter of what rank, talent, or genius, to solicit their per-
mission to practise — this is obtained by an examination. Not content
with this, they framed another by-law, reserving the right of fellow-
ship for the graduates of Oxford and Cambridge alone. This right
of making by-laws is the distinguishing feature of all corporations,
and for which they are not amenable to any power. Experience has
shown, that wherever this power has existed, it has been abused. But
it has been alleged that by-laws cannot interfere with general statutes ;
and where they do, an action obtains a remedy. This is generally
worse than the disease ; for what individual can maintain an action
against a joint-stock company of jobbers leagued against the rights of
individuals ? The conduct of this college, in thus degrading the mem-
bers of every other university by the subordinate title of licentiate, is
the more surprising, as we find them, down to the days of Head, pro-
posing a foreign education as best fitted for physicians. The only
wonder is, that whilst this fit of making by-laws was on them, they
did not make some one, by which fellows and licentiates could, at a
coup d'ceil, perceive who were, and who were not, their own especial
prey ; for this distinction into fellows and licentiates would lead to
the belief of an inferiority of talent in the latter : possibly the fellows
may say, with the man in Moliere, " Vous n'etes pas oblige d'etre aussi
habile que nous" — whilst in truth it is but an effort to introduce into
medicine a Tory aristocracy.

Let us examine the qualifications of licentiates aud physicians in
general, to participate in a share of the practice of this great city, as
also to a share in college honours, if any such there be. All have
graduated in physic, and the majority in arts, in some of the first
universities of the world — as Vienna, Leyclen, Milan, Bologna, Paris,
Dublin, Edinburgh, whilst those soi-dissant fellows graduated in
Oxford in Cambridge, acknowledged the very worst possible medi-
cal schools. With what justice, then, can these men proclaim, from
their seventh mile-stone (for thus far their jurisdiction from the me-
tropolis extends) to the medical literature of Europe, like Canute to
the wave's : " Thus far you may come, but no further \" Conscious
of the little interest which medical subjects possess for the general
reader, they are convinced that the assumed superiority which they
arrogate to themselves will lead to the general conclusion of a su-
periority of talent. Hitherto, unhappily, this has been the tendency
of the unthinking part of mankind ; but the wide spread of educa-
tion and spirit of inquiry now abroad has led, of late, to other con-
clusions, and the aristocracy of birth is fast approaching the limit
of its tether.

The existence of this corporate body, yclept a college, in the me-
tropolis of the world, with the powers which it arrogates to itself, in
the nineteenth century, is not only a libel on the wisdom of the na-
tion, but an insult to humanity. Is the public aware, that no physi-
cian who is not a member of this .corporation, dares, except at the

OPERATION OF MONOPOLIES. 609

risk of prosecution and fine, afford them the benefit of his valuable
experience. Even the Fellows are visited with the severest mark of
collegiate displeasure, should they meet in consultation an unlicensed
physician, whom they denominate by the barbarous epithet of an
alienus homo ! And what return does the College make for the privi-
leges which it enjoys ? Alas ! there is not one redeeming virtue to be
found. Not a single branch of the profession is taught here ex cathedra.
No lectures upon Anatomy, Physiology, Chemistry, Materia Medica,
Practice of Physic, &c. There are about fifteen orations delivered in
the course of the year, but of their tone, temper, or importance to
society or the literary world, a few brief quotations will suffice. The
Harveian Oration, which should embrace the wide field of literature
and science, is made the vehicle of rancour and animosity against all
physicians who presume to practise in London without soliciting a
licence from the College, through the degrading ordeal of an exami-
nation by their inferiors. On one of these occasions Dr. Pemberton
uttered the following philippic against men with whom he would
have fraternized under the seal of an examination : " Quis vestrum
ignorat, alienum hominurn concessum habitum esse, novis conciliis,
nova audacia erectum, ad reformandum ut aiunt, sed potius ad ever-
tendum earn medicam disciplinam'quae in hac nostra domo per tria
seculcK feliciter constituta est, immo eo processit hcecce rerum nova-
rum cupiditas, ut consulerunt de petitione Senatui referenda ad in
ceptum suum lege sanciendum. In tuli casu ubi is vestrum qui non
ad arma currat ? quis non clamat stet fortuna domus." Upon another
anniversary of this oration, Dr. Powell applies the following expres-
sions to the same body of men : " Immi subsellii viri et criminum
graviorum vix insontes, certamen auda cissimum et turpissimum, ve-
lut agmine instructi movirunt." In 1794, when the licentiates de-
manded admission into the fellowship, Dr. Latham dared apply to
them the following epithets : " We are attacked by ferocious, daring,
and obstinate enemies, regardless of the faith which they have pledged
for the observance of our statutes." Thus it is, that men clothed inia
chartered panoply, would narrow the operation of talents which were
intended for mankind. There is, in the organization of this College,
something so directly opposed to sense and reason, that, to be cor-
rected, it only requires to be generally known. To refuse the right of
practice to men who may have graduated with honour in some of the
first universities of the world, and to grant it to men who have never
graduated in any university, and upon whom this College cannot
confer a degree, is the climax of corporate jobbing. Yet such is the
fact : Not long ago this College admitted to practice ten men who
had never graduated in any university, whilst they, at the same time,
were persecuting some of the first physicians of the day.

Let us hope, however, that it will not be long ere talent will be
freed from Tory trammels, fit only for an ignorant and barbarous
age, and that medicine, of all commodities, may not long be admi-
nistered through the medium of party prejudice.

M.M. No. 96. 4 I

STRANGE COMPANIE.

A LITTLE child, a little child,

Upon its mother's knee,
With dimpled cheek, and laughing eye,

A holy sight to see.

A thoughtless boy, a thoughtless boy,

A truant from the school,
Urging his tiny wooden sloop

On through the glassy pool.

A musing youth, a musing youth,

With eyes fixed on a book,
Where he but sees his mistress' face

In her last farewell look.

A gay gallant, a gay gallant,

Hero of club and ball ;
His father's pride, his mother's joy,

Admired and loved of all.
A traveller, a traveller,

Returned from foreign strand,
With store of wisdom, culled with care,

For use in his own land.

A happy man, a happy man,

With wife and children round ;
And smiling friends, and cheerful home,

Where all pure joys abound.

A patriot, a patriot,

Intent on public good ;
Who, in a court's ordeal tried,

Corruption's bait withstood.
A man of woe, a man of woe,

Bankrupt in heart and wealth —
Wife, children, hopes, all in the grave,

A bankrupt, too, in health.

A misanthrope, a misanthrope,

Disgusted with mankind ;
Deserted by deceitful friends,

Whom favours could not bind.
A lunatic, a lunatic,

In melancholy mood,
Shrinking from every living thing —

Sighing in solitude.
A burial, a burial,

With none of kin to weep,
And lay the old man 'neath the sod,

To take his last long sleep.

Strange Companie, strange Companie,

Are these to meet, I ween !
Alas ! they are but life's changes,

That in ONE MAN are seen !

W. B. H.

THE SANCTUARY; A TALE OP 1415.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE " BONDMAN."

THE Breton merchants had acquired so much influence and so
much profit in their traffic with the English,, that the native mer-
chants took the alarm, and to so great a degree, that even then the
Commons possessed sufficient influence to obtain the passing of an
Act (under the pretext that the strangers were to be regarded as
French spies), ordaining that all Bretons, not denizens, should, under
pain of death, leave England before the then 24th of June, 1415.
This was in the reign of Henry V. Expostulation, and then gold,
was resorted to by the more wealthy individuals, to purchase exemp-
tion from the arbitrary decree. But gold, though omnipotent in
cases of greater moment, was here unavailing. The fifth Harry
deemed it expedient, at this juncture, to conciliate the native traders,
and more especially those of the good city of London, by the expul-
sion of the adventurers. As the Bretons one by one withdrew from
the land where they had so long lived and flourished, there might
have been seen young wrives weeping tears, which they vainly strove
to conceal from their foreign husbands, and young maidens plighting
troth with those who might never again set foot in England.

It was on the evening of the 23d of June, that a young Harwich
maiden was seated at a window, opening upon a delicious garden,
just within the eastern wall of the town. The casement was thrown
back, so that the perfume from the evening flowers could in no wise
be impeded. But the flowers might as well have wasted their
sweetness on the desert air as beneath the window of this maiden.
Her left elbow rested on the window-sill, and the upraised palm of
her left hand supported a soft glowing cheek. Her right hand
rested upon a missal that lay upon the window-ledge, and her eyes
were cast down ; but it could scarcely have been to read, for the sun
had long set, and besides, for the last hour, not a leaf of the missal
had been stirred. She raised her eyes, and the action of raising the
lids caused tears, which had been unheedingly surcharging the
lashes, to fall in round drops down the cheek. At this moment a
whispered " Mary !" caused the maiden to start ; and even in the
darkness of the hour her face might have been seen to crimson.

" Mary !" repeated a tall figure, in a dark green tunic, beneath
the window, " Mary, this is almost the last hour I may abide in
England."

The stranger paused. The maiden's bosom rose, as she listened to
this brief address, but she did not speak. Man, in his love, is often
unreasonable, and there might have been detected something of dis-
appointment, if not of anger, in the contraction of the brow, as he
looked up at the bending figure of his silent mistress.

" Will you not answer me ?" he abruptly asked: " Is this to be
the end of all I had striven for and hoped ?"

" What may I answer?" replied Mary, in a subdued voice;
<c Alas ! Henri, I thought you had been far from England before
this."

612 THE SANCTUARY.

" Aye," returned the young man, in a bitterness of tone that
ill accorded with the received notions of a lover's courtesy, " aye,
that I might not intrude upon an hour which should be given to
him."

He paused, and from the relaxing of the brow, and the drawing
in of the breath, it might have been inferred that the bitterness of
feeling which had dictated his language had passed away, and that
he now awaited, rather with the feelings of a criminal than an ac-
cuser, the fiat which might be pronounced. During this Mary had
seated herself as before, within the casement, but bending her head
forward as Henri ceased speaking —

" I have not deserved this," she said, with a more firm intonation
than she had used before. " Mary Woodman is not wont to boast ;
but — but" — her voice softened as she went on, " it is hard to be sus-
pected by him, for whom I have borne the reproaches of one whom
my own heart tells me truly loves ; and have borne, too, the daily
upbraidings of a fond father, who had a right to my obedience."

She bent her face on her hands, as she tremulously pronounced the
last words ; and Henri, who had stood while she spoke with the
downcast look of a culprit, caught by the branch of an oak that partly
shaded the window, and, with one bold spring, was instantly in th*e
maiden's apartment.

Mary uttered a faint scream ; but terror and resentment soon fled
before the magical influence of love. All was forgiven and forgotten,
except the well-grounded fear for her lover's safety.

" Is not your bark freighted, and does not the light breeze that
has wafted away so many vessels this day blow direct for Brittany ?"

" My vessel is freighted, and the breeze is favourable ; but, Mary,
I go not unless with you."

" I dare not, Henri — I dare not call upon myself the curse of the
disobedient. But hark ! the bell of Saint Nicholas chimes — in ano-
ther hour it will be midnight. Oh ! Henri," she added, with con-
vulsive eagerness, " go this moment to your bark ; there is not, I
swear, at this hour, one Breton stranger in all England except your-
self. There is yet time to escape the felon's death. Hush !" she
continued, breaking from his arms, " was not that a foot-fall ? Do
you not hear a rustling among the bushes yonder ?"

" It is only the beating of your own little heart."

•" There again. Hush !"

<( If the leaves do rustle, love, it is because the breeze is fresh-
ening."

" Then, Henri, if the breeze does freshen, surely it is a warning
to depart. If you will not hearken to my voice, hearken, at least,
to the voice of the winds of Heaven."

There was that imploring earnestness in her speech, and that
agonizing entreaty in her countenance, revealed by the moonlight,
that Henri could not but swerve from his fixed purpose ; however,
he essayed a last attempt ; —

" Would you have me go alone, Mary ? Shall no smile of thine
gladden my far-off home?"

" It is too late !"

THE SANCTUARY. (51.3

c* Say not so, dearest ! The first air we breathe in Brittany shall

waft our marriage- vow to Heaven — and 'till then I swear "

" Swear not, Henri : a maiden's fame is of higher price than even
her love. Were I your wife — but it is too late — besides, my father
— Oh ! fly while there is yet time !"

And Henri did, at length, retire with only the promise of an early
meeting, at a point where a stranger might land with little fear of
detection. Mary breathed freer as he dropped from the window,
and when she saw him pass the clustering shrubs which concealed
the gate by which he had entered, her heart felt an indescribable re-
lief. But just at this point, the burthen which had been taken from
Mary seemed transferred, with all its oppression, to the young mer-
chant. It was in vain that he raised the wooden latch, which had
ever been the only fastening to the gate — it was in vain that he ex-
erted all his strength, it would not open. He could easily have
broken the door to splinters, and so have forced a passage ; but the
noise would alarm Mary, and in all probability her father, and that
was a thing by no means to be desired. His next impulse was to
scale the garden- wall ; but he felt that Mary was at her casement,
and so could not fail to observe him, as he rose above the bushes
which at present concealed his figure. He tried another tug at the
gate, but to as little effect. What was to be done ? He sprung
across the garden. Mary, in the confidence that he had departed,
was leaning her head on her arm, weeping the bitter tears of deso-
lation.

" Mercy — Henri ! why are you here ?" she asked, starting up,
and bending out of the window in a perfect agony.

" The gate is fastened, Mary, and I came to tell you, lest you
might be alarmed if you saw me scaling the wall."

" The gate fastened ! — then you are lost !" said Mary, clasping

her hands. " Robert Halton is as bitter in his hate as he is but

fly, any how ! Regain your vessel before the hour strikes. Oh !
that I might accompany you, or at least share in whatever befals."

" And why not, Mary ?" asked Henri, eagerly ; " was it not in
that hope I have lingered even until this last hour ?"

" No, no !" answered Mary, impatiently, " it cannot be; bat fly !
for mercy's sake lose not a moment !"

Henri, after gazing an instant, darted away, and she saw him
climb the ivy-covered wall, and saw him wave his hand as he stood
on the summit. He dropped from her sight, and then she heard the
sounds of man's wrath, and the words " craven-liar !" and then the
clash of weapons smote as a death-knell upon her ear. But the clang
of strife which at other times would have chilled her heart, seemed
now but to lend fresh energy to her frame. The blood mantled
upon her cheek, and the retiring maiden, at this late hour, swung
from the window-sill and dropped into the garden. The obstruction,
of whatever nature it might have been, was removed. Mary, with
the slightest possible effort, opened the garden-gate, and, in the
shadow of the moonlight, looked out upon the fearful scene. She
had just noted that, besides the two whose weapons were flashing,

614 TKK SANCTUARY.

there were other armed men, standing stealthily apart, when the
church-bell chimed.

" Henri— to sanctuary ! — you are betrayed!" shrieked out Mary,
as she perceived the satellites of her rejected lover about to surround
their intended victim. At the sound of her voice the young merchant
turned round, and, at the instant, received a wound on his shoulder ;
a second, more deadly, would have followed, had not a female hand
arrested the blow.

" Away, Henri !" again shrieked out the heroic girl, as she stood
between the combatants ; " the way to the church is yet open."
And Henri, who saw at a glance his peril, fled, and, lacerated and
bleeding, at length gained the porch.

It was then that Mary, who had followed with a swift foot and a
beating heart, gave the first evidence of woman's feeling. An hys-
terical sob burst from her lips — her eyes closed — and she would have
fallen to the ground, had not one who with a demon's malice had
marked her daring, sprang forward and caught her in his arms.
But it was merely the body that had been exhausted — the spirit was
yet awake ; and this contact with one, whom she never could have
loved, and whom, at this moment, she regarded with every feeling of
dislike of which her nature was susceptible, aroused her dormant
energies. She disengaged herself, and was turning, with a faltering
step, away, when Robert Halton's deep voice arrested her.

" Mary Woodman ! why are you thus, at midnight, following the
steps of a felon ?"

" My purpose is honest, Master Halton. Had your's been so,
Mary Woodman would not have been witnessing ruffian hirelings
besetting the stranger."

" Your father would hardly call your purpose honest, Mistress
Mary," replied Halton, in a sarcastic tone. " Methinks it is enough
to put honesty to the blush to see a discreet maiden periling life
and good name for the robber who drops from her father's walls !"

f( Robber !" repeated Mary, with indignation. ' ' Did yon not
basely secure the gate ?"

" And what did he within that gate? — and what did he within
your chamber ? — and what said he as you lay upon his bosom ?"
fiercely interrogated Halton.

" If you saw him in my chamber, you heard his words — they were
not said in a whisper. Let me pass \"

" I did hear his words — and you shall hear mine. Did I not
swear to you, on the eve of the last blessed Christmas, that he for
whom I was rejected should, before six months, be branded as
a felon ! You laughed at me, and has it not come to pass ? And I
here swear again, that if the craven, who hugs himself in his
sanctuary, does leave unharmed the shores of England, he goes alone.
The air of Brittany shall never waft thy marriage-vow to Heaven —
no smile of thine shall ever gladden his home !"

He turned away, in the bitterness of his soul; and Mary, whose
steps were no longer impeded, fled tremblingly towards her home,
and regained her gar den- chamber in safety.

THE SANCTUARY. 615

It was at midnight, the fortieth from his seeking the sanctuary of
ihe church, that the young Breton merchant, having passed the cus-
tomary period of penance, and having abjured the realm, and vowed
to hasten with all convenient speed on shipboard, received from the
priest the farewell benediction, and the symbol which was to protect
him until his foot should rest on the deck of his own bark.

With a large wooden cross in his hand, and attended by a priest,
the young man issued from the church-porch. A broad moon was
shedding almost the light of day upon the silent town ; and, as his
conductor led the way to the eastern gate, beyond which, upon the
waters of the German Ocean, his little vessel was riding at anchor,
he cast a yearning anxious look at the stone house, and the enclosed
garden, which held his heart's treasure — her for whom he had thus
subjected himself to this degradation. He paused and looked across,
with the determination of attempting a parting interview ; but, as he
looked again, and saw that his guide had gone steadily forward, and
was now considerably in advance, he remembered that his protection
lay only upon the high road. After a momentary inward struggle,
and one farewell glance, he quickened his pace, and presently gained
upon his conductor. Being arrived at the east gate, the priest, com-
manding the watchman to allow the penitent to pass, bestowed a be-
nediction and an injunction, and turned to retrace his steps. Henri,
having bent his head to the ecclesiastic, passed through the gates,
which were hastily closed after him.

Grasping firmly the cross, he went on silent and solitary, until an
abrupt turning in the road brought the sound of the splashing waves
like the welcome voice of a friend, distinctly to his ear. At this
moment, when his heart beat high with a feeling of security, he
heard, or fancied he heard, the whisper of a human voice. He
stopped, and looked around. On one side was a high straggling
hedge — on the other an old ash tree ; and some clustering underwood
was thrown partly in the shadow by the sharp projection of an
overhanging crag. As his eye rested upon the ill-defined space be-
neath the crag, a figure enveloped in a cloak, and wearing a broad-
brimmed slouching hat, moved from beneath the ash.

A suspicion of treachery crossed Henri's mind. He clasped his
only protective weapon closer to his breast, and was moving rapidly
away, when a scarcely murmured " Henri !" fell on his ear. He
turned, and flinging down the cross, caught the trembling, loving
Mary to his bosom.

" My sweetest love !" and " I was afraid even you would condemn
me !". were the only words distinguishable, ere regardless of life or
limb, a man jumped from the crag above, and, with a giant -grasp,
seized Henri, and dragging him from the terrified maiden, they
struggled and strove until they both rolled in the dust. At the same
instant a shrill whistle, and a snapping asunder of the twigs of the
opposite hedge, told Mary that her lover was now indeed betrayed,
and under this conviction she fled towards the harbour.

" Felon ! — craven !" thundered Halton, as the ruffians had over-
powered Henri ; " I could, with a good stomach, stab you to the

616 THE SANCTUARY.

heart with this (brandishing a dagger), and feast my eyes with your
dying throes ! but I will not : No — had you kept your cross, such
might have been — and now, on the gallows-tree, you will learn
something of what I felt when thy coward-gripe was on my throat ! —
Ye can swear/' he continued, addressing his myrmidons, " that this
felon flung away his cross — for the rest I will answer to the Mayor.
Look out the strongest arm of that ash — aye, that will do : now
fasten this round his throat !" throwing a cord to the most powerful
of the accomplices.

The conflict was short, and fearful, and desperate, even as might
be the strife when one was struggling for life, and numbers were
seeking to earn gold; but the many prevailed, and Halton gave a
short demoniacal laugh as the writhing body of his rival was sus-
pended from the tree. But scarcely had the ruffians secured the
gold that was flung among them, ere advancing footsteps were sud-
denly heard.

Halton's quick eye caught the glimpse of men. They rushed on,
and a wild female shriek burst from the midst. The mariners struck
right and left, and the foremost springing upon the tree, the next mo-
ment Henri's swollen face was pressed to the hot, tearful cheek, of
her who loved him.

The suspension had been, as it were, but momentary, but the
young man's perceptions were strangely deadened. He was con-
scious that he was hurried on by one whose arm was around his
waist, and whose moist burning cheek sustained his own throbbing
temples. He was conscious, too, that there was a parrying — a
thrusting — a sort of running fight ; but he was conscious of little else
until his feet were bathed in the cooling waves. It was then that
sensation really returned, and, in endeavouring to shake off the in-
cumbrance that kept him from joining in the strife, he heard a shriek
and a splash, and a sudden hush of the clashing weapons. His eyes
were opened, and he looked around ; he saw his bark and his
mariners, but he saw not Mary ! Was it she who had dropped in the
surge ? Before the thought could flash across his brain, one, whom
he knew to be Halton, flung down his weapon, and leaped into the
sea. This brought conviction, and with a shout of agony he sprung
in also.

But the dreadful excitement overpowered his gathering senses ;
unconsciously he was borne by his faithful mariners to his bark, and
alone the Breton merchant departed from England.

The spot is still pointed out where the greedy waves swallowed
the devoted girl, and there is a rocky point from which it is said the
Mayor's son leaped when he sought an ocean-grave !

A DINNER AT POPLAR WALK.

MR. MINNS was a bachelor of about forty, as he said — of about
eight and forty, as his friends said. He was always exceedingly
clean, precise, and tidy, perhaps somewhat priggish, and the most " re-
tiring man in the world." He usually wore a brown frock-coat with-
out a wrinkle, light inexplicables without a spot, a neat neckerchief
with a remarkably neat tie, and boots without a fault ; moreover, he
always carried a brown silk umbrella with an ivory handle. He was
a clerk in Somerset House,, or, as he said, he held " a responsible
situation under Government." He had a good and increasing salary,
in addition to some 10,000/. of his own (invested in the funds), and
he occupied a first floor in Tavistock-street, Covent Garden, where he
had resided for twenty years, having been in the habit of quarrelling
with his landlord the whole time, regularly giving notice of his in-
tention to quit on the first day of every quarter, and as regularly
countermanding it on the second. He had but two particular hor-
rors in the world, and those were dogs and children. His prejudice
arose from no unamiability of disposition, but that the habits of the
animals were continually at variance with his love of order, which
might be said to be equally as powerful as his love of life. Mr. Au-
gustus Minns had no relation in or near London, with the exception
of his cousin, Mr. Octavius Bagshaw, to whose son, whom he had
never seen (for he disliked the father), he had consented to become
godfather by proxy. Mr. Bagshaw having realized a moderate for-
tune by exercising " the trade or calling" of a corn-chandler, and
having a great predilection for the country, had purchased a cottage
in the vicinity of Stamford Hill, whither he retired with the wife of
his bosom and his only son, Master Alexander Augustus Bagshaw.
One evening, as Mr. and Mrs. B. were admiring their son, discussing
his various merits, talking over his education, and disputing whether
the classics should be made an essential part thereof, the lady pressed
so strongly upon her husband the propriety of cultivating the friend-
ship of Mr. Minns in behalf of their son, that Mr. Bagshaw at last
made up his mind that it should not be his fault if he and his cousin
were not in future more intimate.

" I'll break the ice, my love," said Mr. Bagshaw, stirring up the
sugar at the bottom of his glass of brandy-ahd-water, and casting a
sidelong look at his spouse to see the effect of the annoucement of his
determination — " by asking Minns down to dine with us on Sunday."

" Then, pray, Bagshaw, write to your cousin at once," replied his
spouse ; " who knows, if we could only get him down here, but that
he might take a fancy to our Alexander, and leave him his property ?
— Alick, my dear, take your legs off the rail of the chair."

" Very true," said Mr. Bagshaw, musing ; " very true indeed, my
love."

On the following morning, as Mr. Minns was sitting at his break-
fast table, alternately biting his dry toast and casting a look upon the
columns of the Times, which he always read from the title to the

M.M. No. 96. 4K

618 A DINNER AT POPLAR WALK.

printer's name, he heard a loud knock at the street door, which was
shortly afterwards followed by the entrance of his servant, who put
into his hand a particularly small card, on which was engraved, in
immense letters, " JWr. (Sctabtug 33ag$i)ato, AMELIA COTTAGE (Mrs.
B.'s name was Amelia), Poplar Walk, Stamford Hill."

" Bagshaw !" ejaculated Minns, " what the deuce can bring that
vulgar fellow here ? — Say I am asleep — say I've broken my leg —
any thing."

" But, please, Sir, the gentleman 's coming up," replied the ser-
vant:— and the fact was made perfectly evident by an appalling
creaking of boots on the staircase, accompanied by a pattering noise,
the cause of which Minns could not for the life of him divine.

" Hem ! show the gentleman in," said he, in a state of desperation.
— Exit servant, and enter Octavius, preceded by a large white dog,
dressed in a suit of fleecy-hosiery, with pink eyes, large ears, and no
perceptible tail. The cause of the pattering on the stairs was now
but too plain. — If it be possible for a man to entertain a feeling of the
most deep-rooted and unconquerable aversion to any one thing, Minns
entertained this feeling towards an animal of the canine species. This,
by the way, was hinted before.

ff My dear fellow, how are you ?" said Mr. Bagshaw, as he entered.
(He always spoke at the top of his voice, and always said the same
thing half-a-dozen times.) — " How are you, my hearty ?"

" How do you do, Mr. Bagshaw ? — Pray, take a chair/' politely
stammered the discomfited Minns.

" Thank you, thank you. Well, how are you, eh?"

" Uncommonly well, thank ye," said Minns, casting a diabolical
look at the dog, who, with his hind-legs on the floor, and his fore-
paws resting on the table, was dragging a bit of bread-and-butter out
of a plate, which, in the ordinary course of things, it was natural to
suppose he would eat with the buttered side next the carpet.

" Ah, you rogue !" said Bagshaw to his dog. — " You see, Minns,
he's like me, always at home : eh, my boy ! — Egad, I'm precious hot
and hungry ! I've walked all the way from Stamford Hill, this
morning."

" Have you breakfasted ?" ejaculated Minns.

" Oh, no!" returned Bagshaw. "Oh, no! — Came to town to
breakfast with you; so, ring the bell, my dear fellow, will you?
and let's have another cup and saucer, and the cold ham. — Make my-
self at home, you see !" he continued, dusting his boots with a table
napkin. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 'Pon my life, I'm hungry !"

Minns rang the bell, and tried to smile, but looked as merry as a
farthing rushlight in a fog.

" I decidedly never was so hot in my life," continued Octavius,
wiping his forehead. — " Well, but how are you, Minns ? 'Pon my
soul, you wear capitally !"

" Humph ! 'dye think so?"

" Ton my life, I do !"

tf Mrs. B. and — what's his name — quite well ?"

" Alick, my son, you mean. Never better — never better. But
such a place as we've got at Poplar Walk ! you know. It certainly is

A DINNER AT POPLAB WALK. 619

a most capital place — beautiful ! I'll trouble you for another cup of
tea. Let 's see — what was I saying ? Oh ! I know. Such a beauti-
ful place ! When I first saw it, by Jove ! it looked so knowing, with
the front garden like, and the green railings, and the brass knocker,
and all that — I really thought it was a cut above me."

" Don't you think you'd like the ham better," interrupted Minns,
" if you cut it the other way ?" as he saw, with feelings which it is
impossible to describe, that his visitor was cutting, or rather maiming,
the ham, in utter violation of all established rules.

" No, thank ye," returned Bagshaw, with the most barbarous in-
difference to crime ; " I prefer it this way — it eats short. But, I say,
Minns, when will you come down and see us ? You'll be delighted
with the place ; I know you will. Amelia and I were talking about

you the other night, and Amelia said another lump of sugar,

please : thank ye she said, ' Don't you think you could contrive,

my dear, to say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way' Come down,

Sir — damn the dog ! He's spoiling your curtains, Minns — Ha ! ha !
ha!'' — Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the dis-
charge from a galvanic battery.

" Come out, Sir ! — go out, hoo !" cried poor Augustus, keeping,
nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog, having read
of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morning. By dint of
great exertion, much shouting, and a marvellous deal of poking under
the tables with a stick and umbrella, the dog was at last dislodged, and
placed on the landing, outside the door, where he immediately com-
menced a most appalling howling ; at the same time vehemently
scratching the paint off the too-nicely varnished bottom pannels of the
door, until they resembled the interior of a backgammon-board.

" A good dog for the country, that !" coolly observed Bagshaw to
to the distracted Minns, — " he's not much used to confinement,
though. But now, Minns, when will you come down ? I'll take no
denial, positively. Let's see — to-day's Thursday; — will you come
on Sunday ? We dine at five. Don't say no — do." After a grea,t
deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to despair, and finding
that if the dog, remained in the house much longer, he, Mr. Augustus
Minns, might just as well lodge in the Zoological Gardens, accepted
the invitation, and promised to be at Poplar Walk on the ensuing
Sunday, at a quarter before five, to the minute.

" Now, mind the direction," said Bagshaw : " the coach goes from
the Flower-pot, in Bishopsgate-street, every half hour. When the
coach stops at the Swan, you'll see, immediately opposite you, a white

house "

" Which is your house — I understand," said Minns, wishing to cut
the story and the visit at the same time.

" No, no, that's not mine ; that's Grogus's, the great ironmonger's.
I was going to say, you turn down by the side of the white house till
you can't go another step further — mind that ; and then you turn to
your right, by some stables — well ; close to you you'll see a wall with
' BEWARE OF THE DOG,' written upon it in large letters — [Minns
shuddered! — go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter of
a mile, and anybody will show you which is my place."

6:20 A DINNER AT POPLAR WALK.

" Very well — thank ye — good bye."

" Be punctual."

4f Certainly : good morning."

" I say, Minns, you've got a card ?"

" Yes, I have : thank ye." And Mr. Octavius Bagshaw departed,
leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit of the following Sun-
day with the feelings of a pennyless poet to the weekly visit of his
Scotch landlady.

Sunday arrived ; the sky was bright and clear ; crowds of clean,
decently-dressed people were hurrying along the streets, intent on
their different schemes of pleasure for the clay ; and every thing, and
every body, looked cheerful and happy but Mr. Augustus Minns.

The day was fine, but the heat was considerable ; and, by the time
Mr. Minns had fagged up the shady side of Fleet Street, Cheapside,
and Threadneedle Street, he had become pretty warm, tolerably
dusty, and it was getting late into the bargain. By the most extra-
ordinary good fortune, however, a coach was waiting at the Flower
Pot, into which Mr. Augustus Minn's got, on the solemn assurance
of the cad that the coach would start in three minutes — that being
the time the coach was allowed to wait " by act of Parliament." A
quarter of an hour elapsed, and there were no signs of moving.
Minns looked at his watch for the sixth time.

" Coachman, are you going or not?" bawled Mr. Minns (with his
head and half his body out of the coach-window).

" Di — rectly, Sir," said the coachman, with his hands in his
pockets, looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible. —
" Bill, take them cloths off." Five minutes more elapsed ; at the end
of which time the coachman mounted the box, from whence he looked
down the street, and up the street, and hailed all the pedestrians for
another five minutes.

" Coachman ! If you don't go this moment I shall get out," said
Mr. Minns, rendered desperate by the lateness of the hour, and the
impossibility of being in Poplar Walk at the appointed time.

" Going this minute, Sir," was the reply ; — and, accordingly, the
coach trundled on for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped
again. Minns doubled himself up into a corner of the coach, and
abandoned himself to fate.

" Tell your missis to make haste, my dear — 'cause here's a gentle-
man inside vich is in a desperate hurry." In about five minutes more
missis appeared, with a child and two band-boxes, and then they
set off.

" Be quiet, love !" said the mother — who saw the agony of Minns,
as the child rubbed its shoes on his new drab trowsers — " be quiet,
dear ! Here, play with this parasol — don't kick the gentleman."

The interesting infant, however, with its agreeable plaything, con-
trived to tax Mr. Minus's ingenuity, in the " art of self-defence,"
during the ride; and amidst these infantile assaults, and the mother's
apologies, the distracted gentleman arrived at the Swan, when, on
referring to his watch, to his great dismay he discovered that it was
a quarter past five. The white house, the stables, the " Beware of
the Dog," — every landmark was passed, with a rapidity not unusual

A DINNER AT POPLAR WALK. 621

to a gentleman of a certain age when too late for dinner. After the
lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Minns found himself opposite a yellow
brick house, with a green door, brass knocker, and door-plate, green
window- frames, and ditto railings, with " a garden" in front, that is
to say, a small, loose bit of gravelled ground, with one round and
two scalene triangular beds, containing a fir-tree, twenty or thirty
bulbc, and an unlimited number of marigolds. The taste of Mr. or
Mrs. Bagshaw were further displayed by the appearance of a Cupid
on each side of the door, perched upon a heap of large chalk flints,
variegated with pink cone-shells. His knock at the door was an-
swered by a stumpy boy, in drab-livery with a parsley-and-butter
border, cotton stockings and high-lows, who, after hanging his hat
on one of the dozen brass-pegs which ornamented the passage, deno-
minated by courtesy ' The Hall,' ushered him into a front drawing-
room, commanding a very extensive view of the backs of the neigh-
bouring houses. The usual ceremony of introduction, and so forth,
over, Mr. Minns took his seat, not a little agitated at feeling that he
was the last comer, and, somehow or other, the Lion of a dozen
people, sitting together in a small drawing-room, getting rid of that
most tedious of all time, the time preceding dinner.

" Well, Brogson," said Bagshaw, addressing an elderly gentleman
in a black coat, drab knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who, under
pretence of inspecting the prints in an Annual, had heen engaged in
satisfying himself upon the subject of Minns' general appearance, by
looking at1 him over the top of the leaves — " well, Brogson, what
do ministers mean to do ? Will they go out, or what?"

" Oh — why — really, you know, I'm the last person in the world to
ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, is the most likely
person to answer the question."

Mr. Minns having assured the last speaker, that, although he was
in Somerset House, he possessed no official communication relative
to the projects of his Majesty's Ministers. His remark was evidently
received incredulously; and no further conjectures being hazarded on
the subject, a long pause ensued, during which the company occu-
pied themselves in coughing and blowing their noses, until the en-
trance of Mrs. Bagshaw caused a general rise.

The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced,
and down stairs the party proceeded accordingly : Mr. Minns es-
corting Mrs. Bagshaw as far as the drawing-room door, but being
prevented, by the narrowness of the stair-case, from extending his
gallantry any further. The dinner passed off as such dinners usually
do. Ever and anon, amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the
hum of conversation, Mr. Bagshaw's voice might be heard asking a
friend to take wine, and assuring him he was glad to see him ; and a
good deal of by-play took place between Mrs. Bagshaw and the ser-
vants respecting the removal of the dishes, during which her counte-
nance assumed the variations of a weather-glass, sometimes " stormy"
and occasionally te set fair." Upon the dessert and wine being placed
on the table, the servant, in compliance with a significant look from
Mrs. Bagshaw, brought down- " Master Alexander," habited in a sky-
blue suit with silver buttons, and with hair of nearly the same colour

622 A DINNER AT POP L All WALK

as the metal. After sundry praises from his mother, and various
admonitions as to his behaviour from his pa, he was introduced to his
godfather.

" Well, my little fellow — you're a fine boy, an't you ?" said Minns,
as happy as a torn-tit upon bird-lime.

" Yes."

" How old are you ?"

" Eight, next We'nsday. How old are you ?ft

" Alexander," interrupted his mother, " how dare you ask Mr.
Minns how old he is ?"

" He asked me how old 7 was," said the precocious darling, to whom
Minns had, from that moment, internally resolved he never would
bequeath one shilling. As scon as the titter occasioned by the ob-
servation had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sit-
ting at the bottom of the table, who, during the whole of dinner,
had been endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about She-
ridan, called out, with a very patronizing air — " Alick, what part of
speech is be ?'

" A verb."

" That's a good boy," said Mrs. Bagshaw, with all a mother's
pride. " Now, you know what a verb is ?"

" A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer ; as, I
am — I rule — I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma/'

" I'll give you an apple," replied the story-teller, who was clearly
one of those bores who are commonly called ' friends of the family,'
" if you'll tell me what is the meaning of, be."

" Be ?" said the prodigy, after a little hesitation — " an insect that
gathers honey."

" No, dear," frowned Mrs. B., — " B double E is the substantive."

" I don't think he knows much yet about common substantives,"
said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable oppor-
tunity for letting off a joke : " It's clear he's not very well ac-
quainted with proper names. He ! he ! he !"

" Gentlemen," called out Mr. Bagshaw, from the end of the table,
in a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, " will you have
the goodness to charge your glasses ? I have a toast to propose.""

" Hear ! hear !" cried the gentlemen, passing the decanters. After
they had made the round of the table, Mr. Bagshaw proceeded —
" Gentlemen : there is an individual present "

" Hear! hear !" said the little man with the red whiskers.

" Pray be quiet, Jones !" remonstrated Bagshaw, soito voce.

" I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present," resumed the
host, " in whose society, I am sure, we must take great delight — and
— arid — the conversation of that individual must have afforded to
every individual present the utmost pleasure." — [" Thank Heaven he
does not mean me !" thought Minns, conscious that his diffidence and
exclusiveness had prevented his saying above a dozen words since
he entered the house.] — " Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual
myself, and I perhaps ought to apologize for allowing any individual
feelings of friendship and affection for the person I allude to, to in-
duce me to venture to rise to propose the health of that person — a

A DINNER AT POPLAR WALK. 623

person that, I am sure — that is to say, a person whose virtues must
endear him to those who know him — and those who have not tne
pleasure of knowing him, cannot dislike him."

" Hear ! hear I" said the company, in a tone of encouragement
and approval.

" Gentlemen," continued Bagshaw, " my cousin is a man who —
who is a relation of my own." — (Hear ! hear !) — Minns groaned au-
dibly— " who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not
here, would certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all
feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear !) — Gentlemen : I feel that I
have already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With

every feeling of — of with every sentiment of — of

" Gratification" — suggested the friend of the family.
" — Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns."
" Standing, gentlemen !" shouted the indefatigable little man with
the whiskers — " and with the honours. Take your time from me, if
you please. Hip ! hip ! hip ! — Za — Hip ! hip ! hip ! — Za ! — Hip !
hip ! hip ! — Za — a — a !"

All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who, by gulp-
ing down port-wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endea-
voured to conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency
would admit, with a face as red as a flamingo, he rose ; but, as the
newspapers sometimes say in their reports of the debates, " we
regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance of the
honourable gentleman's observations." The words " present com-
pany— honour — present occasion," and " great happiness" — heard
occasionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive
of the utmost misery, convinced the company that he was making an
excellent speech ; and, accordingly, on his resuming his seat, they
cried " Bravo !" and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who
had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up.
" Bagshaw," said he, will you allow me to propose a toast ?"
" Certainly," replied Bagshaw, adding in an under tone to Minns
right across the table — (( Devilish sharp fellow that : you'll be very
much pleased with his speech. He talks equally well on any sub-
ject." Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded :

" It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many cir-
cumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose a
toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honour to be
surrounded. I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own — for why
should I deny it — felt the overwhelming nature of the task I have
undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the sub-
ject. If such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions,
what must they be now — now — under the extraordinary circum-
stances in which I am placed. (Hear ! hear !) — To describe my feel-
ings accurately would be impossible ; but I cannot give you a better
idea of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which
happens, oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On
one occasion, when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan

was "

" Please, Sir," said the boy, entering hastily, and addressing Bag-

()24 THE POLISH FOURTH.

shaw, " as it's a very wet ev'ning, the nine o'clock stage has come
round to know, whether any one's going to town. There's room for
one inside."

Minns, who had some time meditated suicide, now, with a courage
heretofore unknown, started up to secure the chance of escape.

Many were the expressions of surprise, and numerous the entrea-
ties to stay, when Minns persisted in his determination to accept the
offer of the vacant inside place. It was useless to press him further ;
so, after detaining the coach for the purpose of looking for his um-
brella, and then making the pleasant discovery that he had left it in
the other coach coming down. Minns was informed by the parsley-
and-butter coated boy that the coachman " could'nt wait no longer;
but if the gentleman would make haste, he might catch him at the
Swan." Minns muttered, for the first time in his life, a diabolical
ejaculation. It was of no use that fresh entreaties poured upon him.
Quite as effective was the appeal of Master Alick, who, after dabbling
half-an-hour in raspberry jam and custard, and fixing the print of his
paws on Minns' trowsers, cried out — " Do stop, godpa' — I like you
— Ma' says I am to coax you to leave me all your money !" — Had
Minns been stung by an electric eel, he could not have made a more
hysteric spring through the door- way ; nor did he relax his speed
until, arriving at the Swan, he saw the coach drive off — full inside
and out.

It was half-past three in the morning ere Mr. Augustus Minns
knocked faintly at No. 11, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden. He had
footed it every step of the way from Poplar Walk : — he had not a dry
thread about him, and his boots were like pump-suckers- Never
from that day could Mr. Minns endure the name of Bagshaw or
Poplar Walk. It was to him as the writing on the wall was to Bel-
shazzar. Mr. Minns has removed from Tavistock Street. His resi-
dence is at present a secret, as he is determined not to risk another
assault from his cousin and his pink-eyed poodle.

THE POLISH « FOURTH OF THE LINE/'

ON the fall of Napoleon, the Congress of Vienna having re-con-
stituted a simulacrum of the kingdom of Poland, Lukasenski passed
into the new army that was organizing by order of the Emperor
Alexander, and in a short time was appointed major of that Fourth
regiment of the line since so famous in the war of independence. This
corps had already distinguished itself by the admirable order which
Lukasenski had introduced into it. Such was its discipline and
splendid appearance, that the Grand Duke Constantine always gave
it a marked preference, loved to call it his young guard, and never
allowed it to go out of Warsaw. The pro-consul little dreamt, at the
time, that in so skilfully organizing his countrymen, the young major
was aiming at something higher than the suffrages of a Muscovite ;
and he was certainly far from foreseeing that this regiment, this ob-

THE POLISH FOURTH. 625

ject of his especial favour, would one day turn their arms against his
Russians, and would merit the first place for- their patriotism and
bravery, even among the brave battalions of Poland.

From the middle of the last century, the Poles, narrowly watched
and oppressed by their treacherous neighbours, saw themselves under
the necessity of recurring to secret associations, in order to deceive
foreign tyranny, and to secure some rallying points against perfidy
and violence. It was with this object that were prepared the glo-
rious Confederation of Bar, in 1769, the labours of the Constitutant's
Diet, the insurrection of 1794, and those that followed; and, lastly,
the organization of the Polish legion in Italy and France. The na-
tional patriotism of the Poles lends itself singularly to these mysterious
enterprises, but that the character of the people is neither dissimu-
lating or treacherous; on the contrary, their native frankness has
rarely or ever been able entirely to conceal a project of insurrection
from the espionage of their despots. But, in expiation of this over
frankness of character, the Poles have constantly exhibited, in the
dungeon, so admirable a firmness, that the plot has always survived
the arrest of some of the accomplices. In vain have the inquisitors
in turn employed ruse or violence, pompous promises, or the most re-
refined tortures — never was the secret betrayed ; and the loss of some
members never prevented the continuation of the work.

Thus the association that prepared, ripened, and accelerated the
last revolution was but the continuation of that which, ever since 1819,
was continually conducting new victims to prison. Though often
frustrated by the persecutions of the Russians, it pursued the object
in the face of dungeons and of death, and seemed to grow th > greater
from the obstacles it had to overcome.

The first conception of this association, of which Lukasenski was
the principal founder, is due to the illustrious Dombrowski, general-in-
chief of the old Polish legions, in Italy. He bitterly expressed, before
his death, his regret at the sad fate of Poland, an heroic nation, whose
valour had so often contributed to the glory of her chiefs, without
having derived any benefit for herself. " At this time" (1818), said he,
" what has she to hope, and what has she not to fear ? Ought not the
Poles every day to tremble at the fate which awaits them to-morrow ?
None of the bonds that constituted the force of Poland now unite
her children ; and thus divided, who can cheer them upon the future
chance of events ? When Napoleon escaped from the island of Elba,
had he even have brought back his eagles in triumph to the banks of
the Vistula, what would have been the result for Poland ? Rivers of
blood, new combats, new victories, but independence and liberty —
never ! In whoever' s cause the Poles have shivered their lances,
what has either victory or defeat done for them ? Weak, because
they are divided and disunited, what conditions can they expect from
the conqueror ? None but those which policy will advise him to im-
pose. Why/' said he, " is it not possible to rekindle the fire that
burns at the bottom of the heart of every true friend of his country ?
Why can I not awaken the former energy of those Poles, who, to
be free and powerful as their forefathers, need only believe in their
strength, and re-assert their former greatness ? Whoever are the men

M. M. No. 96. 4 L

626 THE POLISH FOURTH.

who direct, whatever the government that rules them, let it be their
object to concentrate their opinions, their desires, and their efforts.
Let the nation again become herself, and then one day she may re-
cover her ancient independence and her liberty/'

Such were the patriotic views of Dombrowski. Whether this gene-
ral really made use of the words attributed to him, or whether they
were placed to his account in order to exculpate others, it is certain
that it was Lukasenski who first conceived the idea of carrying them
into execution.

Profiting by the toleration of the police towards freemasonry, he
organized, in concert with some of his friends, a private association,
under the name of national freemasonry. In its external form anala-
gous to the ordinary masonic institutions, the two rites differed in
this sense — that, instead of having in view a universal fraternity, the
national freemasonry was completely Polish in its operation. All the
symbols and ceremonies suggested to the brothers the name of Poland :
they wore the national colours ; the great historical names served
them as pass-words ; and the catechism breathed but the love of the
country, and the oath inculcated fidelity unto death.

Such an association was certainly of a nature to give umbrage to
the government : this the founders felt ; and in order to veil the real
objects of the association, they skilfully confounded the duties they
owed the king with those they owed the country. They dwelt upon
the works of benevolence, that to the profane appeared to be the ob-
ject of the institutions: they thus blinded the public as to its lofty
conception. This, in fact, was only revealed to the brothers in the
fourth degree — a grade reserved to the founders and their most con-
fidential friends : and this conception was to revive the spirit of na-
tionality throughout all the provinces of the kingdom, and, on the
first occasion, to avail themselves of these vast elements to recognize
the Polish independence.

From Warsaw the national freemasonry spread through all the
provinces. There were few regiments that had not their private lodge,
besides the new association formed among the officers of the old army
of Poniotowski — a host of apostles. Aware of this rapid progress,
Lukasenski thought himself, in 1821, sufficiently strong to raise the
country, if Yermolof, destined by the Emperor Alexander, at the
head of 100,000 Russians, to support the Austrians, had commenced
their march.

Unfortunately, at this period, freemasonry was forbidden in the
Russian empire and the kingdom of Poland ; and thus the national free-
masonry lost all those pretexts that had hitherto lulled the mistrust of
the authorities. The most timid among the united spoke already of
abandoning a re-union positively forbidden by the laws ; the more
ardent, on the contrary, persisted in their original views, and under-
took to transform the work of the prudent Lukasenski into Carbo-
narism. In the grand duchy of Posen the associates adopted even the
denomination of scythe-bearers. In order to regenerate the ancient
association, either by concentrating its direction or by giving it a new
form, there was, in 1821, a meeting of several chiefs, who came to
Warsaw from the extremities of Poland. Through the influence of

THE POLISH FOURTH. 627

General Umenske, a directing committee,, composed of seven mem-
bers, was established in the Polish capital. Unfortunately, in closing
the masonic lodges, the police was put upon the traces of the national
freemasonry, and, by that means, on that of the new patriotic associa-
tion. At the same time, an old officer (Karski), who had gone to
Paris in order to establish a correspondence with the foreign lodges,
was arrested on his return : his papers, seized on the frontier, impli-
cated several individuals, and Lukasenski was not forgotten in the
list, But, already, some months before, he had incurred the hatred
of the Grand Duke by the following circumstance. A superior officer
was brought before a court-martial, of which Lukasenski was a mem-
ber ; the Grand Duke, as he was always in the habit of doing, sent
the sentence already drawn up to the court, in order that the members
might attach their signatures to it, as a mere formality. " I will not
sign," said Lukasenski • " for, as a judge, I have the right of judging
the case ; and if I am not so, my signature is useless." His firmness
awakened the scruples of his colleagues, and the order of the Grand
Duke was disregarded ; but scarcely had he returned to his quarters
than Lukasenski was arrested. Placed upon half- pay, he was exiled
to Krasrystaw, under the surveillance of Prince Adam, of Wurtem-
berg.

Some other indiscreet revelations soon aggravated the position of
the chiefs of the plot. Colonel Szneyder, who had been initiated by
Captain Schrobecki, made use of it to gain Lukasenski's confidence,
and to obtain from him a secret mission to Kolisz ; but arrested, at
at the same time, upon a charge of bigamy, Szneyder, on condition of
being pardoned, promised to make some important discoveries. It
has since been suspected that both Szneyder and Skrobecki were
in the pay of the police. However it may be, the Grand Duke, put
upon the traces of the plot, immediately arrested the individuals com-
promised.

Placed in solitary confinement, Lukasenski and his companions in
misfortune remained upwards of two years in the famous state prison
at Warsaw of the Carmelites. It had just been established in the
convent of that name, and which depended on the will of the Grand
Duke, who administered it through his aide-de-camp, General Kol-
zokoff. All that the gaolers of the Inquisition and the Bastile have
invented in vigilance and severity, formed the rules of this prison,
with the exception of torture, to which hunger was substituted. The
prisoners, confined in cells eight feet square, were deprived of light
and air ; their families, on no pretext whatever, were allowed to com-
municate with them, and they were rarely or ever allowed the use of
writing materials. An extraordinary commission, under the influence,
took cognizance of the case of the accused. The examination alone of
Lukasenski would fill volumes.

Being unable to deny the existence of the national freemasonry, he
assumed upon himself all the responsibility; but he denied its exist-
ence after the imperial ukase had forbidden the pure freemasonry.
In spite, therefore, of this defence, he was delivered over, with five of
his companions, to a military commission presided by the minister of
war, Haeke, and in which the famous General Blumer commenced

THE POLISH FOURTH.

his Jeffries' career. This commission condemned Lukasenski to nine
years' hard labour, Dobrogayski and Dobrzycki to six, and all three
to be degraded from their military rank — the rest were acquitted.
The Emperor Alexander, in his inexhaustible clemency, commuted the
sentence of Lukasenski to seven years, and that of his companions to
four. The execution of the sentence took place at Warsaw, on the 1st
of October of the same year, in the presence of the Russian and Polish
armies. The condemned bore it with courage amid the general con-
sternation. Chained to a wheelbarrow, they were afterwards sent to
the fortress of Zamock,

The limits of this paper will not permit us to detail the sufferings
he underwent in his confinement. Hope never forsook him; and, con-
vinced that it required but a man of head and execution to revo-
lutionize Poland — one ready to sacrifice himself to the cause of in-
dependence— he resolved to attempt this, and thought to succeed by
seizing the fortress of Zamock ; but the indiscretion of one of his ac-
complices betrayed the existence of this new plot. A court-martial,
assembled on the spot, condemned Lukasenski to death. This cir-
cumstance reawakened the slumbering hatred of the Grand Duke
against Lukasenski : he had long panted for an opportunity of again
bringing him to trial, for he was aware that he was yet in the dark
respecting the national freemasonry — its object and its ramifications ;
the unsuccessful attempt at Zamock, therefore, furnished him with a
pretext for removing the inquiry. The sentence pronounced against
the unfortunate Lukasenski was commuted into imprisonment for life :
but what seemed a species of mercy became, in its execution, an
atrocious aggravation of the punishment. Once a week the wretched
prisoner underwent the punishment of the knout in the presence of a
military auditor, who interrogated him at the most poignant moment
of his sufferings. Despair, in fact, extracted some indiscreet words
from him, which led to the arrest of the members of the ancient
directing committee. This was at the moment of the death of the
Emperor Alexander, in 1825; and it is too well known how the bloody
accession of Nicholas to the throne compromised the celebrated Rus-
sian association. This circumstance soon led to the imprisonment of
the most distinguished members of that part of Poland who were in
correspondence with Pestel, Bestonjiff, and other Muscovite leaders.
A commission of inquiry was instituted by Nicholas, under the pre-
sidency of Count Haneslon Amoyski, president of the senate. It was
composed of half Russians and half Poles. Lukasenski, brought be-
fore it, was called upon to juridicially confirm what had escaped from
him before the military auditor. Showing his lacerated back, " Be-
hold, gentlemen," said he, " my body, and weigh well the value of a
deposition extracted in a moment of excruciating torture." This noble
firmness, and the high-minded independence of the Polish senate, led
to the acquittal of all the prisoners.

In the glorious night of the 29th Nov., 1830, when the Fourth of
the line, the brave regiment of Lukasenski, acceded the first to
the revolution, and signalized their adhesion by the capture of the
arsenal, the people and the soldiers forced all the prisons, to de-
liver the victims of foreign tyranny. But it was in vain that they

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 629

sought everywhere for Lukasenski, both at Warsaw and at Zamock —
no traces, either of his existence or his decease, could be found.
Some time afterwards some Russian prisoners deposed that, in their
flight, the guards of Constantine had dragged after them, beyond the
bay, a man in rags, chained to a gun-carriage, and heavily ironed.
His eyes were hollow, his features contracted by suffering, and a long
beard blackened his face. This man was Lukasenski — the hero — the
patriot — the martyr !

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

IN a wild and retired spot, in one of the southern states of North
America, there resided, many years ago, on a small plantation which
he had purchased, a gentleman of very secluded habits, but of most
amiable and prepossessing manners. Nothing was known of him,
further than that he was a skilful practitioner of medicine and sur-
gery, whose advice and drugs were always at the service of his
neighbours, and their domestics and slaves, whenever other assistance
was not at hand. A two-years' residence, however, had procured
him, unsought, the whole practice of the extensive district; and,
although he had been thus brought into the closest contact with all
about him, and was generally known for many miles beyond the pre-
cincts of his labours, no one, in all that time, had been able to dis-
cover the cause of his seclusion ; or, in fact, any thing more of him
than appeared on his visiting card, which bore the name of " Mr.
Clinton." He was about thirty years old, of a tall and graceful
figure, with highly intellectual and dark handsome features, seldom
enlivened by a smile, and which were evidently " o'ersicklied" with
something beyond the mere " pale cast of thought." His mild and
unobtrusive manners and conversation rendered him a favourite
with old and young, the whites and the blacks, while they secured
him from the open pryings of a curiosity which he seemed, in no one
instance, to be desirous to gratify.

About this period Colonel Ashe, a gentleman of large property
and of distinguished family in the state, came to reside for a short
period on an extensive plantation which he owned in the neighbour-
hood, and which was situated near to Mr. Clinton's, from which it
was divided by about four or five miles of pine forest. He was
accompanied by his wife, a lady of great attractions, considerably
younger than himself, and two children. As the Colonel was one of
the greatest land and slave proprietors in the district, as well as in
the country, and was, besides, a senator in the Legislative Assembly
of the state, his arrival on this portion of his property was the signal
for all kinds of festivities among the planters and their families.
Among those invited to his first entertainment was his unknown
neighbour, Mr. Clinton, or the Doctor, as he was generally desig-
nated ; an invitation, however, which, as had been predicted by the
neighbours, was most respectfully declined, on the score of ill health—

630 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

his usual plea for avoiding parties of pleasure. The same excuse,
however, did not prevent him from attending to a subsequent pressing
request on the part of Colonel Ashe, the afternoon previous to the
entertainment, that he would immediately visit his youngest child,
who had been suddenly taken ill.

On Clinton's arrival, he was received, in the absence of the Colonel,
who had ridden out with his overseer, by an old grey-headed negro,
who immediately conducted him to the door of the nursery, into
which he was ushered by a mulatto matron, who, with a young negro
wench, immediately retired.

The sun had recently set, and the glow of the evening was just
sufficiently excluded from the chamber by the muslin curtains as to
shed a soft and mellowed light around. Mrs. Ashe was leaning over
the bed, watching the countenance of the little sufferer; but, on
hearing the Doctor announced, turned round, and advanced towards
him, with her hand extended, to welcome him, for the first time, in
her own person, to her husband's mansion. The moment Clinton
caught a glimpse of her features, and heard her voice, he started
back in consternation, and wildly exclaiming, te God of heaven !
Caroline ! and alive !" staggered a few paces, and would have fallen
to the ground but for the intervention of a couch, upon which he
sank, with his hands convulsively pressed over his eyes and brow.

Mrs. Ashe was petrified — for, although her name was indeed
Caroline, she had no recollection of ever having seen Mr. Clinton
before in her life. The allusion to her being alive, too, was likewise
remarkable ; as, when about fifteen, in one of her botanical rides,
she had been separated from her groom, and, missing her way, was
lost in the woods for nearly two days, when she was discovered by
her father and his friends. But how this could have so intensely
interested a perfect stranger, as she felt Mr. Clinton to be, as to
betray him, and at this period, into so strong an expression of feel-
ing, was to her an impenetrable mystery. These reflections passed
through her mind like lightning, and were as quickly succeeded by
vague feelings that her own destiny, if it had not hitherto been, was
about to be, somehow mingled with that of the unhappy and interest-
ing stranger, whose first introduction to her was attended with cir-
cumstances so singular and mysterious. For the first time, too, since
her marriage, she felt not only the propriety, but the absolute neces-
sity, of concealment from her husband, — the propriety, from a sense
of delicacy towards the unhappy gentleman who had thus been, to
her, unaccountably led, by her own appearance, into a betrayal of
feelings that she understood had been studiously concealed by him
from all around him, and which she felt, under the circumstances,
ought to be held sacred by her, — the necessity, from a fearful pre-
sentiment that the common-place feelings, and rude and irascible
temper of the Colonel, would torture the occurrence into a criminal
understanding, either past or present, and thereby place both Mr.
Clinton and herself in a position of great delicacy, if not danger.
Fortunately, for this purpose, her own old nurse, and that of the
child, had immediately retired on the entrance of Clinton, and she
had been the sole witness to his exclamation and his agony. These

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 631

reflections, the work of a moment, and having formed her resolution,
she hastily approached the couch, and, placing her hand on Clinton's
shoulder, gently attempted to shake him into consciousness.

" Mr. Clinton !" said she, in a hurried tone, in which delicacy,
and fear, and sympathy, were touchingly blended — " Mr. Clin-
ton ! for heaven's sake, throw off this delusion. We have never
met before, believe me ; and if this emotion, so strange and un-
accountable, continue, we must never meet again — never. You
mistake me for some other — my maiden name was Duchesne. Look
at me again, Mr. Clinton ! There ! You see I am not the Caro-
line for whom you took me. Oh, my God ! he has fainted again.
Sir ! sir ! unless" you instantly throw off this weakness, I must call
for assistance. Thank heaven ! he revives again. Here, sir, take a
glass of wine — another — 'twill restore you to yourself. And now,
Mr. Clinton, throw off this agitation, and relieve me from this really
distressing scene." Clinton strove hard to regain his composure;
but his eyes were riveted on the countenance of the lady. " Your
emotion, I am convinced," she continued, " was real and irrepressi-
ble, on your part; but which, I am assured, as regards myself, is
unfounded and impossible."

" Madam," returned Clinton, who had risen on recovering his con-
sciousness, and had listened to the latter part of Mrs. Ashe's address,
in great confusion — " Madam, I know not whether I am more
astounded at your miraculous resemblance to a young lady, for whose
calamitous and untimely loss I am daily and hourly suffering, or at
the delicate consideration and fortitude which you have displayed.
Yet, believe me, madam, my astonishment falls far short of the feel-
ings of gratitude with which you have inspired me."

Mrs. Ashe having re-assured him of her sympathy in his misfor-
tunes, extended her hand, which he respectfully took in both of his,
and, bowing over it until it was touched, for a moment, by his pale
and chilly brow, led her to a seat beside her suffering infant, and was
soon absorbed in the interesting functions of his profession.

Sensitive persons are ever subject to a morbid fear of having even
their most trivial words and actions misconstrued, by those whom
they esteem ; and, in cases of great moment or delicacy, will often-
times writhe themselves almost into madness, lest a misconception, or
a doubt, should be entertained on any point on which they feel that
their honour and veracity might, in the remotest degree, be liable to
even the shadow of a suspicion. Under the influence of this latter
feeling, Clinton, on his return home that night, sat down, after much
tormenting reflection, to pen a more detailed vindication of himself,
in the eyes of Mrs. Ashe, than the peculiar circumstances of time
and place had allowed him to make. He recounted, unreservedly,
the whole progress of his attachment to a beautiful and wealthy
young lady, whose mind, disposition, and accomplishments were the
full realization of even his fastidious conception of the beau ideal of
feminine perfection. He recited the many unobjectionable offers,
from quarters of the highest distinction, that she had rejected ; and
dwelt, with modest gratitude, on her unhesitating acceptance of his
own humble, yet audacious suit. For the rest — &e could not trust

6*32 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

his pen with a narrative of the awful and extraordinary catastrophe
which deprived him, in a moment, and on a party of pleasure, too,
of one in whose existence his whole soul was bound, and in whom
was centred all his thoughts, and desires, and hopes of future hap-
piness. He referred to paragraphs from the newspapers, which he
enclosed, for an account of the event which had so suddenly hurled
him from bliss to misery. In conclusion, he reverted to the almost
incredible resemblance of Mrs. Ashe to that unfortunate young lady ;
in corroboration of which he inclosed her portrait, which she had
herself placed in his bosom, on the morning of the day that deprived
him of her for ever, and which had never since been removed from
his heart.

Having made up the packet, and broken it open a dozen times to
gaze yet once again on the portrait, and to press it to his heart and
lips, it was sealed for the last time, and Clinton enjoyed a few hours
of more refreshing slumber than he had known for a long period.
Such is ever the effect of a communication of our sorrows, when we
are assured of the sympathy of a fellow-creature !

Early the following morning Clinton rode over to visit his little
patient, and availed himself of a favourable opportunity to place his
vindication, unseen by a third party, in the hands of Mrs. Ashe,
who, fully relying on the honour of her new friend, unhesitatingly
received it.

Major, now Colonel Ashe, was in his youth celebrated at college
for every thing but application to study, and an observance of the
principles and etiquette of polished society. Roving in disposition,
fiery and ungovernable in temper, coarse in his manners and pur-
suits, and slovenly in his appearance, he was the last man that Caro-
line Duchesne would have chosen, of her own free will, for her lord
and master. But she had been betrothed by her father, and he had
been peremptory, and the estates were contiguous, and the world —
at least the worthy old couple, who formed the only portion of it
that she had yet seen — all said it was a fit and proper match — and
she strove to be as obedient a wife as she had been a daughter ; but
she felt that happiness had departed from her for ever with her
maiden name. She had since travelled, and mingled with the world
at large — which also, however, fully concurred in the opinion of the
world of worthy old couple aforesaid, that the marriage of her's
and her husband's large properties was a fit and judicious match ;
and that, with such wealth, and station, and establishments, and
equipages, and retinues, she must be the happiest woman on the
earth. Alas ! what are wealth, and station, and establishments, and
equipages, and retinues, and the opinion of the world to boot, to a
lovely woman, every day becoming more and more conscious that
her heart — that more than all the world to her — had been sacrificed
beyond redemption to a mistaken kindness on the part of her parent ;
and, on her own part, to an exaggerated sense of filial and womanly
obedience ! It is an old tale— but the court, the city, the cot, in
their comparative degree, abound with " modern instances."

Shut up in the retirement of her own chamber, Mrs. Ashe hastened
to break the seal of Clinton's packet The moment the portrait met

THE LIVIXO AND THE DEAD. 633

her eye, its perfect resemblance to herself entranced her \vith amaze-
ment and consternation. She could not believe, at first, but that it
must be her own likeness, taken by some skilful artist, employed sur-
reptitiously to portray her, without observation or suspicion. She
gradually, however, became convinced that it was indeed, what it
assumed to be, the likeness of another ; and that the resemblance,
however wonderful, was altogether accidental. It was richly set in
enamelled gold, encircled with costly diamonds. On the reverse was
a small lock of hair, enclosed within a small crystal-covered frame
at the top, surrounded with smaller diamonds ; beneath which was
engraved, within a wreath of rosebuds, beautifully raised, and
studded with various coloured precious stones, " The gift of Caroline
de la Warre, to Henry Clinton." At the bottom was the date. It
was appended to a massy plain gold guard-chain, constructed with-
out clasp or locket, and a cord, somewhat longer, entirely composed
of thick plaits of hair, of the same description as the lock at the
back, and ingeniously woven in a continuous circle.

So absorbed was Mrs. Ashe in her contemplation of the portrait,
and the reflections, profound and mysterious, with which its magic-
like resemblance to her own features suggested, that it was some time
before she could sufficiently collect her thoughts to enable her to
peruse Clinton's M.S., and the paragraph recounting the dreadful
catastrophe which deprived the unfortunate Caroline de la Warre of
her life, and Henry Clinton of a bride. The perusal was at length
accomplished, and Mrs. Ashe sank back on her couch, dissolved in
tears. Her first emotions were purely those of sympathy for the
unhappy Clinton. But these imperceptibly giving way to reflections
on her own ungenial marriage — how different, alas ! to that which
had awaited that other image of herself ! — were succeeded by feelings
of admiration at Clinton's constancy to the memory of his betrothed,
in flying from those bright scenes of refinement which he was so well
calculated to enjoy and to adorn, and, in concealing himself and his
sufferings in the gloomy recesses of the forest — a living monument to1
his unhappy passion. She dwelt upon his sensibility, his affection,
his affliction — the goodness and gentleness of his heart and dispo-
sition, as described by her neighbours and domestics — the superior
qualities of his mind, evident from her own observation, during their
short acquaintance — the refinement of his manners, the quiet lofti-
ness of his demeanour, the noble beauty of his countenance — and
thought, had

" Heaven made her such a man,"

how different, how blissful had been her lot ! The equal of Caroline
de la Warre, in station and in wealth, and so closely resembling her
in personal appearance as to be mistaken for her, and under such
circumstances, by Clinton himself, she thought that she, too, might
have inspired him with an equal love, had fortune but brought them
earlier together. Never before had the whole extent of her misery
been so apparent as in that dangerous reverie — for never had she
before been so fully conscious of the boundless capabilities of her own
heart for the enjoyment of mutual love and happiness. From that
M. M. No. 96', 4 M

634

THE LIVING AND THE BEAD.

moment the passive langour of resignation was changed with her into
an active principle of grief and despair.

Clinton, to the astonishment of all his old friends, was easily per-
suaded, by Colonel Ashe, to join the party at dinner; and, to their still
greater surprise, participated more freely in general conversation than
he was ever known by them to have done before. The pent-up sorrows
of his bosom had, lor the first time since the date of his affliction,
found relief, in his vindication to Mrs. Ashe ; and in her assured and
evident sympathy, and in her features and form, he had discovered,
without seeking it, a living link in the chain that bound him to the
tomb of his lost Caroline.

" A change came o'er the spirit of his dream ;"

but it was not until some time subsequently, that he felt how unequal
upon the heart are the holds of the living and the dead !

Under all these complicated feelings and relations, on the part of
Clinton and Mrs. Ashe, added to their perfect congeniality of minds
and dispositions, and the dangerous facilities which the professional
attendance of the former afforded, to a constant personal interchange
of sentiments, it would be matter of surprise to the philosopher, or
the man of the world, no less than to the lovers of romance and the
sentimental, that a mutual affection should not simultaneously, how-
ever unconsciously, have taken root in their hearts ; and, in due
course of time, sprung up, and ripened into a passion deep and dan-
gerous. The fact, indeed, was soon fully apparent to themselves ;
but the Rubicon, although not criminally, yet morally, in the con-
sciences of the wife and the widower of the tomb, was passed. To
return was impossible — to go farther was equally repugnant to the
intentions or hopes of either — for theirs was an intercourse of hearts
and affections, which had its origin in virtue, through accidental and
mysterious agency, and recoiled at the bare supposition of criminality
and degradation. They felt that an irresistible destiny had bound
them, in which, as yet, their earthly feelings and infirmities had no
participation.

Such sentiments and principles, however refined, and although
mutually confident of their own inherent honour, they felt were
neither compatible with their relations to each other, nor their indi-
vidual position in society, and that such a mode of reasoning would
neither be understood nor sanctioned by the world, nor did they
desire that it should. But they felt, at the same time, that separa-
tion, although the only step dictated by prudence and propriety,
could neither weaken nor destroy a passion, originated, and founded,
and established under such peculiar circumstances and influences ;
and that it would be infinitely more desirable to cease at once to be,
than to exist apart from each other. The high sense of honour, and
superior strength of mind of Clinton, would have impelled him, on
the first discovery of their mutual passion, to have torn himself at
once, and for ever, from the presence of Mrs. Ashe and from the
country ; but the instinctive penetration of that lady had anticipated
such a resolution, and she had bound him, by the most sacred obli-
gations, not to abandon her to her misery and despair, without her

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 635

knowledge and consent. The destiny, however, which had so un-
accountably brought them together, accelerated the denouement.

The sittings of the legislative assembly being at hand, Colonel
Ashe, finding that the ill state of health of his wife would not allow
of her present removal from the plantation, was compelled to take his
departure alone, to resume his duties in the senate, leaving Clinton,
in whom he placed the most implicit confidence, in charge of his
family, and empowering him to superintend the management of the
estate.

About a month after his departure, he received an anonymous
communication, advising him to an immediate return to his domestic
duties, unless he was disposed calmly to submit to an usurpation of
his rights by one in whom he had placed too unlimited a confidence ;
and concluding with a hint, that probably a change of air might be
found as beneficial to his wife's soul as to her body.

It has been already stated that the Colonel had a fiery and ungo-
vernable temper ; in fact, he was continually subject to the most
violent orgasms of passion, which were as frightful as they were pi-
tiable. The effect, then, of such a communication, unauthenticated
and anonymous as it was, may be easily conceived. The moment he
had run it over, he threw his shooting apparatus over his shoulders,
and loading a favourite double-barrelled gun, his inseparable com-
panion, with a double charge of buck-shot, mounted his horse, with-
out saying a word to any one, and galloped off in the direction of
the estate, to which his return was thus unexpectedly hastened by at
least two months. After foundering two horses and riding one to
death, he was entering the borders of the plantation, which was the
goal of his fury, when, meeting one of his negroes, his wife's favourite
groom, he threatened instantly to shoot him through the head, unless
he disclosed every thing he knew relative to the intimacy between Mrs.
Ashe and Mr. Clinton. The poor fellow, frightened out of his wits,
threw himself on his knees, and made the most solemn asseverations of
his total ignorance of any thing that could possibly lead him to suspect
the infidelity of his mistress. On being further questioned, he readily
acknowledged, that early that morning, for the first time in his life,
he had been dispatched by his mistress with a note to Mr. Clinton,
who had returned an immediate answer, and almost immediately
followed him to the mansion, where he then was.

Disappointed in his inquiries, the unhappy man dashed on into a
bridle-path through the woods leading to the back of the house, on
arriving near to which he dismounted, and securing the horse where
it could not be seen, proceeded at a rapid pace, concealing his ap-
proach by keeping the out-houses between him and the mansion.
Finding no one about likely to announce his unexpected arrival, he

Eassed on with the intention of at once entering the dwelling, when,
eing about to turn the corner of the front piazza, he saw in it his
wife and Clinton, with their backs towards him, the former sitting on
a chair, with her head bent back upon the breast of the latter, who
was leaning over her, with his arms around her neck, and his face
close to hers. The unfortunate husband stood for a moment per-
fectly stupified ; but, recovering himself, levelled his gun with the

036 THE LIVIXr. AND THE DEAD.

most deliberate aim, and, without a word or an exclamation, pulled
both triggers at once. The report was followed by a groan and a
shriek, and Clinton and Mrs. Ashe fell heavily on the floor of the
piazza at the same moment.

Without stopping to ascertain whether life animated either of the
prostrate bodies, Colonel Ashe walked hurriedly past them into his
wife's chamber, and, forcing open every drawer and cabinet, secured
every paper he could find, and rushed out through the back of the;
house without exchanging a look or a word with the terrified do-
mestics, who were flocking from every direction to the scene of the
disaster.

The unfortunate sufferers lay weltering in their own and each
other's blood. Life was extinct in both. An open lancet lay beside
them, with the remains of a basin which had been broken by their
fall. On the outward sill of the piazza-window nearest to where
they lay, was an instrument for drawing teeth, with a white cambric
pocket-handkerchief wound around it as. for immediate use. On
examination, the gum about one of Mrs. Ashe's teeth, on the lower
row, was found to be partially lacerated preparatory to extraction.

What the unhappy husband had mistaken for amorous dalliance,
was merely the ordinary position in a dental operation !

. The writer of this melancholy narrative being in the neighbour-
hood at the time, and ,well acquainted with the parties, and also with
both the counsel for Colonel Ashe on his trial, and the law-officers
of the state appointed to arrange the affairs of all persons dying in-
testate, was allowed to inspect the letters and papers found in Mrs.
Ashe's chamber, and those left by the unfortunate Clinton. Among
the latter, the only one in the handwriting of Mrs. Ashe, the first and
last ever addressed to him by her, was the note he had received on
the morning of the catastrophe, and alluded to by that lady's groom.
It ran as follows :

" For God's sake, come to me as soon as possible. I have had a
dream which has filled me with the most melancholy forebodings. I
fear something dreadful is impending over one or both of us. I
never was so thoroughly wretched in my life. That tormenting tooth,
too, is considerably worse, but the pain it occasions is rest and sere-
nity compared with my mental agonies. I have made up my mind
at last to allow you to take it out— so do not forgot the necessary
instruments. Again and again — come to me without a moment's
delay, or I shall go mad — if it be possible to be more so than I am
already. Is it not singular that these croaking and complaining lines
should be the first I ever penned to you ? — Will they be the last ? —
Oh ! come to me without a moment's delay."

The following extraordinary answer was found among Mrs. Ashe's
papers :

ts I should have been inclined to have smiled at the seriousness of
your apprehensions about your dream, had I not myself had one last
night, that has made an impression upon me that dream never did
before. But we will smile over the matter together when I join you,

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 637

which will be almost immediately. So question not I shall subdue
your forebodings as speedily as your tooth-ache. God in heaven
bless you !

" I had thrown my dream into doggrel after I awoke, and as it will
save the time of telling, I inclose it. Pray don't consider it a speci-
men of my muse. I shall be with you shortly after the time you have
conned it over. It is worth two of your's ; for you'll see I dreamt that
you told me you had dreamed a dream, and that I told you of my
having dreamt one, too. God for ever bless you !

" I dreamt I was a little bird
Up-springing to the sky,
With anxious haste, as on I whirl'd,
Thy presence to be nigh.

" I dreamt I lit on that dear tree

Which near thy casement grows,
And that I sang a song to thee
Warning impending woes.'

" I dreamt thou cam'st in haste, and threw'st

The casement open wide,
And said'st that, thro' a dream, thou knew'st
That evil would betide.

" I dreamt I said, that I too dream'd

A dream resembling thine,
In which some threaten'd evil seem'd
To blend thy fate with mine.

" I dreamt I flew upon the sill

At thine own sweet command,

And lost all thought of coming ill

While perch'd upon thy hand.

" I dreamt while thus in bliss entranced

Thou gav'st me crumbs of bread,
And while I peck'd — HE quick advanced
And shot thy poor bird dead !"

This remarkable dream, shadowing out, as it were, the fatal catas-
trophe which took place in the course of the day, was considered not
the least singular feature in the development of this extraordinary
case.

Among Mrs. Ashe's papers were also a great many other notes, let-
ters, and poems, addressed to her by Clinton, forming the data upon
which this hasty and imperfect sketch has been drawn. In the packet
containing his vindication was found the portrait of Caroline de la
Warre, which it is surprising he had never requested to have returned
to him. The incredible exactness of its resemblance to Mrs. Ashe
filled every one with astonishment; and, in connection with all the
concurrent circumstances of the case, went far to palliate the conduct
of both in the minds of even the most fastidious in moral pro-
priety ; while many, from a consideration of all the facts that were
ascertained, and the inferences to be derived from them, were inclined
to regard the whole affair as the result of a particular over-ruling

A -DAY ON THE MOORS.

destiny, by which both parties were irresistibly led for some end in-
scrutable to human penetration.

The author of the anonymous letter was discovered to be a wretched
empiric, who had but lately found his way into the district, and who
had hoped, by bringing Clinton into disgrace, to have supplanted
him in his practice. Appalled at the fatal and unthought-of result
of his villany, he was found suspended from a bed-post in his
apartment, having previously forwarded a confession to the injured
husband.

Colonel Ashe having thrown himself upon the laws of his country,
was, after a minute investigation, acquitted by an intelligent and sym-
pathizing juty> who every where expressed their conviction that no
evidence of guilt attached to the memories of the deceased sufferers,
further than the indiscretion of having, under very extraordinory cir-
cumstances, cherished a romantic passion, however refined and ex-
alted, which it was their duty to have crushed and exterminated — an
opinion that found its echo in the minds and hearts of every one
acquainted with the parties and their melancholy fate.

W. B. H.

A DAY ON THE MOORS.

" The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot,

Or hunt ; the young because they liked the sport —
The first thing boys like, after play and fruit." — Don Juan, c. 13.

GROUSE shooting may be had in many parts of England, but it is
a very different affair from the same amusement in the Highland hills
of Scotland, holding nearly the same relation to each other as angling
in a well-protected fish-pond and the same sport on the banks of a
river, amid the wild and beautiful scenery it frequently exhibits. One
great charm of the muir is its entire novelty, its obvious and irre-
concileable difference from our every-day experience. There is a
feeling something similar to that produced by gazing on the ocean,
excited by looking over the boundless waste of heather. We are like
monarchs, in those solitudes, where we meet no one to dispute our
pretensions, and seem to breathe more freely in a region where we are
discharged from the ordinary trammels of society. Even in the game
which is the object of our pursuit, there is a peculiarity of character :
no one, for the first time, ever heard the bold, proud call of the grouse,
amid the imposing stillness of an extended muir, without being struck
by it: it is the note of alarm and defiance by the lord of the soil.

No wonder that an amusement capable of producing such excite-
ments should be purchased by so many sacrifices of time and solici-
tation, that the relish should be poignant, when the gratifications are
so unusual in their kind. A day in the muir has something of the
air of an enterprise: we take the field with at least as much of pre-
paration as of expectation ; every thing essential to the sport must be

A DAY OX THE MOORS. ()39

provided, for nothing that has been omitted can be supplied in the
lonely glens or mountains. A number of contingencies may interrupt
it altogether : the want of a flint, the loss of a screw-driver, a defi-
ciency of wadding, all, or any in this dismal train of evils, are fatal ;
for there is no means of repairing them, save by returning to your
cot ; and some of these mishaps, even there, may not admit of remedy.
For some, or all of these reasons, every one feels the difference be-
tween grouse and partridge shooting. The latter amusement is merely
an affair of walking ; varied only from the highway to the. fields,
pursued amidst lanes and farm-yards ; conveyed to the ground in the
well-hung tilbury, refreshed by sandwiches and noyeau, directed to
the game by a keeper, who assists to pass the enclosures, and, occa-
sionally, with a more dexterous hand than our own, to fill the ample
bag. All this is but the work of a few hours, we have changed no-
thing except our dress ; fu stain takes the place of our morning coat,
and water-proof shoes, that too frequently keep in the water they
cannot keep out, displace our ordinary walking boots. We see from
our windows, perhaps, the very fields we mean to beat ; we are fami-
liar, from their first flight, with the covies we seek to destroy ; we do
not leave the bustle of society, by withdrawing from it for a short
space ; we quit the breakfast table, and join the dinner table in the
evening. In a word, there is no interruption to the ordinary current
of our ideas, nor any thing in the scenery to suggest new trains of
thinking, or awaken unfelt associations, by the powerful magic of
nature, in her wild and solitary modes of existence. I well recollect
my first campaigns on the Highland hills of Scotland j I had fixed
my quarters in a small inn by the road side, occasionally frequented
by a few travellers, and at this season of the year by one or two
sportsmen. Two beds, in the only apartment, were occupied by my-
self and friend ; the walls showed some symptoms of a taste for the
Arts, by the display of most valiant-looking portraits, arranged with
as little regard to chronology as to history. His late Majesty was
stuck beneath the Pope, and Bonaparte pranced most manfully beside,
King William ; stucco parrots, and wax birds'-nests, with gum-
flower roses, that seemed sadly out of place amid the surrounding
heather, completed the pendant ornaments of the chamber; and bare
benches, to accommodate the meetings of the country people on
Sundays, when returning from the kirk, eked out the furnishing of
the apartment. A square of glass was wanting to the window, which
had been supplied by a hat, pushed into the aperture from the inside ;
and the landlady, from a love of order, as I presume, had put aside
into it several small articles, so that the spectacles of the gudeman, a
Gaelic Bible, a string of muir-fowl eggs, and a night-cap, might be
seen arranged in this unassuming bureau. In spite of all this gar-
niture, the look of the room was abundantly waste and cheerless. The
chimney was filled (I could not say decorated) with a piece of haw-
thorn, whose withered flowers recorded the time when it was sepa-
rated from the parent stem, to conceal the unsecured grate ; and the
floor sanded over, made a grating noise, while we bustled about dis-
posing of our luggage, listening to the landlady's apologies, but, in
reality, coqueting with her bonnie daughter, who had followed her

6'40

A DAY ON THE MOORS.

into the room, with a lighted piece of peet (turf), and was blowing
the fire with both good will and dexterity. Of all cheap comforts, a
fire is at once the cheapest and the best ; a glow, that seemed like
warmth, spread through the chamber ; its walls looked less sad, and
pictures, parrots, and flowers were all improved by the blazing fire ;
even the atrabilious countenance of the emperor of the French was
brightened by the reflection from his majesty's scarlet coat, and the
god of Orange idolatry was less grim and phlegmatic, while the land-
lord pledged us in a welcome to Glen h. We were soon fairly

established in our quarters ; the guns were unlocked from their tra-
velling case ; shot-pouches filled, and powder-flasks replenished ; dog-
whips untied, and dog-calls sounded, till the pointers yelled out a
response. All this delightful labour of preparation was not soon ac-
complished ; some tale was attached to every part of the process ;
anticipations of the result of next day's sport occasionally occupied
us ; we levelled our gun at the old hat in the window, and felt con-
fident of success ; but when we recollected we had never seen a muir-
fowl on his own hills, we almost doubted the efficacy of a Manton.
It was a tedious interval till dinner ; we guessed our bill of fare, from
the screaming and alarm among the poultry, and the disappearance
of a piece of hung-beef from a smoky corner of the kitchen ; our
journey had given us an interest in these proceedings; but oui*
anxieties would neither pluck the chickens, nor hasten the after-
stages of their cooking. The muir, indeed, was at no great distance,
and we might walk there with our dogs, to try their steadiness on
new game ; but we were too highly excited to brook such trifling ;
we could not endure the mimic sport, when the reality would so soon
be within our reach. It was some amusement to mark the various
parties who were travelling to further stages on the road, for similar
purposes with ourselves ; each gig furnished, like the discovery ships,
with every conceivable requisite to comfort, in a region which, by
English sportsmen, is supposed to be little better than that of Del
Fuego. Cloaks, coats, and caps were hung all around these vehicles ;
our pointers held a kind of tete-a-tete with the dogs of the strangers,
which commenced with congratulation, and generally ended with
worrying. The first symptoms of dinner were discovered by the
collie dog, who now left us to take his station in the kitchen ; the hat
in the shattered window was removed, and a leaf, torn from the school
writing-book of the landlord's son, supplied its place ; but whether
from an ambition of greater neatness, or the vanity of showing the
family accomplishments, we could not decide. But all our enjoy-
ments on this uncomfortable evening were in the future tense ; even
dinner, that diurnal festival, to which we recur at short intervals,
with all the regularity of Moslem devotions, and much more than
their fervour, had little that could please on its own account, but as
finishing some part of the business of the day, and leaving less in the
perspective of bed-time.

We could not as yet drink whiskey toddy, for we tasted it at first
as if it had been laudanum, and the genius loci would not be propi-
tiated by any other libation. The whole inmates of the family were
on watch to announce the appearances of the evening, and the very

A DAY ON THE MOOHS. 641

dogs, I believe, would have barked an alarum had a cloud darkened
the sky, or threatened the sun-shine of the morrow. To so mer-
curial a state of existence even a bad bed is a good drop-scene ; the
landlord and his son were to act as our guides to the muir, at a very
early hour, and had promised (good easy souls) to awake us, when
God knows, they would have done a greater favour, could they have
taught us how to sleep. A confused restless slumber, every now and
then broken by the fear least something had been forgotten in our
arrangements, was at length succeeded by something like sleep ; when
we were at once aroused by the crowing of a cock, and a most un-
usual stir above head; and our eyes, which we had very unadvisedly
opened, were instantly filled with dust. An open loft above our bed
was the roost of the poultry, and was formed of loose timber, covered
with *lry turf; the fire had unexpectedly kindled into a transient
blaze, and the lord of the dunghill, mistaking its gleams for the first
smiles of morning, begun his carol, and, in his coqueting with the
beauties of his harem, had produced all this tourbiUon.

Nor did the mischief rest here ; for we now heard a number of
voices from the opposite side of the partition, in that provoking kind
of whisper which sets the devil, Curiosity, on edge to ascertain its
purport ; a chink in the boards tempted a look beyond, and we dis-
covered our host, with the partner of his cares, lying in the midst of
half-a-dozen children (who we had displaced), with much more the
appearance of state than of comfort, and suggesting a tolerable resem-
blance to the hen-and-chicken daisy. All was soon hushed again, and
my neighbours might be said to sleep audibly around me. Even
chanticleer was in repose, and his favourites, no longer roused by his
minanderies, had again pillowed their heads within the wing. Not
the lightest noise was heard over the whole house; the old crazy
clock clicked harshly and disagreeably ; I would willingly have shut
my ears to its interruption ; but in attempting not to listen to the
progress of seconds, I only found that I was watching them more
anxiously. Besides, why lose more time ? I had travelled far to
enjoy the day which would soon break, and in the mean time more
alert sportsmen might get the start of me, and take my intended beat
on the muir. Inspired by the valiant purposes which those consi-
derations suggested, I left my bed very quietly, dressed myself pat
hazard, collected my sporting articles, and slipped, with cat-like step,
out of the apartment, to rouse the young man who was to be my
gilly ; * I passed into the kitchen, and wishing to know the hour, ap-
proached the fire-place, before which stood a screen, on which my
travelling-cloak was hung. I drew it a little apart, and putting my
head forward to look at my watch, was alarmed by a scream from the
opposite side; " Gude God, sir, is it you?" said my landlord's son,
•" thae morning sights are no that canny; but if it's just yoursel, it's
the less matter." I satisfied him on this point, by explaining my
errand, and having removed the eggs from the pan, which he had
been watching while they boiled hard, we were both ready in a few
minutes, and left the house together. If the truth was told, my en-

* Gilly — attendant, or servant.
M. M. No. 96. 4 N

642 A DAY ON THE MOORS.

thusiasm abated before we had proceeded far : the morning' had not
dawned, and the stars were provokingly clear and beautiful, and gave
rather too much of the air of midnight adventure to my purpose.

The grey, doubtful light which precedes sun-rise, had just begun
to appear when we reached the muir ; the dogs gamboled round as if
they understood my business, and occasionally darted across the
ground when led off' by the fresh scent of grouse, but almost imme^
diately returned, as if they feared a hoax, and were questing owls in
place of higher game. Daylight was now advancing fast : on every
side was heard the crowing of the muir-fowl, which was answered by
the different families of the feathered tribe, like sentinels passing the
reveil from watch to watch, over the muir. Now and then a flutter
of wings caught our ear ; and we could see, between the heavy mist,
which hung, canopy-like, all around, and the dark heath with which
it almost mingled, a pack of grouse taking a low flight, and settling
at no great distance, and then, with head erect and some appearance
of alarm, running about under the direction of their parent leader.
The effect of the mist in magnifying the few objects presented to it
was very singular, and gave a romantic colouring to my feelings in
that lonely spot. A few sheep feeding near me had the bulk of oxen ;
but their difference of shape, though it puzzled me how to reconcile it
with their size, did not unravel the mystery ; and Archy Fraser had
some difficulty to persuade me that I laboured under a deception,
which, as he was insensible to it, appeared to him the more remark-
able. Occasionally we could hear voices, though we could not dis-
tinguish the speakers in the dense fog, and the sounds felt harsh and
unmellowed on the ear ; they were evidently sportsmen, from their
hurried, impatient progress. Again the grouse were alarmed ; and I
shall never forget the effect upon me, when five fine birds settled
close beside where I sat, and for the first time I saw them strutting
among the heather, could mark their eye turning within its scarlet
fringe, and observe their motions.

The mists now rolled slowly and heavily from the sides of the hills,
and spread over the low grounds like a vast lake ; the level sun could
not penetrate them, but gave a rich yellow glow to the whole medium.
In the partial glimpses which were afforded by the dispersion of the
vapours, I could see sportsmen in different directions, and this was
sufficient to disturb and break the apathy which the gloom of my
situation had at first produced, and to kindle anew my zeal by emu-
lation and competition. At this moment the dogs were drawing with
the impetuosity inseparable from new game : " Take care, Ranger —
Why so fast, Juno ? — Hold, there ;" at once they set off, their no&es
nearly breast high, and an old cock was sprung at some distance.
" Thrash them weel," was the remedy which Archy Fraser suggested
for their fault ; and at that time I thought they deserved it, although
better experience has shown me that solitary birds are generally a
severe trial to the temper of the best bred pointer ; and if they are
improved by the whip, the steadiness of the master's nerves is gene-
rally hurt in a tenfold degree. " Steady, steady, Juno !" — she had
now settled to fresh game, and looking round to me with eyes flaming,
and tail erected, sunk down among the heather. Ranger was in an-

A DAY ON THE MOORS. 643

other direction, but missing his partner, was coming down at speed :
he instantly backed, his body forming a curve, obeying the direction
of his course, and of the quarter from whence he received the scent.
I panted with breathless expectation, and wished to give the dogs
leisure to enjoy their point; but I was teazed with the importunities
of my gilly, who, not understanding either the niceties or flutter of
spirits in the presence of a muir fowl, was urging me to go on and
take my shot. I did so, and missed my bird, which, under such cir-
cumstances, was less wonderful than if I had bagged him. Archy
had lost confidence in me by this specimen of my address, but I had
gained some in myself; I could depend on my dogs, and I knew what
he did not, that I could depend on myself when the first impressions,
inseparable from young sportsmen, had been dissipated. There was
no want of game: we returned to the grey stone from whence we had
first started in the morning, and giving the dogs the wind, passed
through the low grounds, which were full of hags, in some places se-
parated by water, or wet, miry turf. In passing over to one of these
detached masses, a pack of grouse rose before me : I had not expected
them ; but, on the other hand, neither was I flurried with the sus-
pense and awful pause which, more or less, besets a sportsman to the
last, in the interval between the point and the shot; — I killed the old
cock with my favourite left-hand barrel, and a bird which rose nearer to
me shared the same fate with the second discharge. The dogs had
instantly dropped, and the game was fluttering on the spot where it
had fallen, when I called Arehy in a tone which sufficiently marked
how I felt after this exploit, and asked him for a charge of shot. I
would not condescend to make any remarks on it myself; that would
have looked too much as if such feats had been new to me: no, it
must come from him only. — a Had 1 not better pick up the bird,
Sir ?" — " Not till I have done, and then you will find two grouse, or
I mistake;" which, I believe, was pronounced with an air of great
dignity ; for Archy, who seemed to freeze under the chillness of my
aspect, attempted to cajole me, by saying, while he lifted them.)
" Lord, Sir, if ye gang on that gait till gloaming, what will the bag
say till't?" While I am writing this I have almost a repetition of the
wild joy and pleasure I had when these beautiful birds, my first
trophies, were brought to me ; not a feather ruffled ; their eyes nearly
closed, and the big, thick drops of blood bursting convulsively from
the mouth. I smoothed the plumage, and laid them, with something
like tenderness and pride, into my bag, and encouraging the dogs to
go out, was again on the alert. Before eight o'clock I had counted
seven brace ; a wide track of excellent heath lay before me, and my
hopes were not unreasonably high of my day's sport : now and then
an anxious thought would come across me, of jealousy of my com-
panion's success/ but on the whole I was delighted and satisfied. I
learned there was a shepherd's cot at no great distance, and feeling it
was breakfast time, proceeded in that direction to get some milk. It
was a wretched hovel, no bad resemblance to an Indian wig-warn,
seated at the foot of a high hill, with a stream running close beside.
A little kail-yard., with a patch of corn, completed the whole appear-
ance of this simple man's provision for the winter : a heap of peats
r>iled to the end of his house, and a hovel for his cow at the other,

644

A DAY ON THE MOOJiS.

showed the value lie attached to both of these necessaries, by having
them so close at hand.

Altogether, there was something imposing in the still sequestered
look of this place; the short velvet turf near it looked greener by its
contrast with the adjoining heather, and the rill was crystalline when
compared with the brown sluggish streams I had seen passing through
the mosses. But how did they fare in sickness or in trouble, sepa-
rated by many miles from any human habitation, a pathless muir in-
tervening to render access difficult in summer, and in winter almost
impassable? I had no time to resolve this question, for my hand
was on the latchet of the door, and I was about to draw it, when
arrested by hearing a voice, as if in prayer. I instantly drew back,
very much to the astonishment of Archy, who had given more than
one indication of a wish to lighten the stock of provisions ; but in
spite of his impatience, 1 would not disturb the devotions of this
humble worshipper.

I caught a portion of the feeling which the act, as well as the place,
was calculated to inspire, and sitting down, waited till the door was
opened. We were beckoned, rather than invited to enter; for, as
Ben Jonson said of Shakspeare's learning, he had but small English;
a huge chest was at once our table and our seat ; and our wallet,
when spread, and displaying its contents, gave the look of a feast in
this lowly cabin. Archy produced his eggs, and cast a significant
glance to me, in allusion to the adventure of the morning ; but they
were put aside for an after refreshment ; but the roasted fowl and
smoked tongue did not pass so easily. Boiled milk was the only
beverage; and a little whiskey, which was under the special charge of
my gilly, served to complete the repast, and to pledge our host. I
could not prevail on him to accept of money, till I made him under-
stand, it was as a present not as payment it was offered ; a slender
distinction, one would suppose, but evincing a pride of feeling which
was, perhaps, a solace under many heavy privations. The day was
now delightful: a soft, warm breeze made the dogs true to their
point, and vigorous in their travel ; the birds were broken into smaller
packs, and sat close on the bask, as the sun heightened. I was pass-
ing a soft, green quagmire, covered with short moss and larger tufts
of the same kind of stuff, raised above the surrounding surface, when
one of the clogs made a point where I could not have expected game.
His look was unusual ; his head was turned to one side, and was evi-
dently bent downwards at the object which arrested him immediately
beneath : he was in the act of watching the animal, and eager to
spring : he did not couch to it, as was usual with him ; and though
Juno backed, it was apparently not in compliance with her own nose,
but in deference to her companion. I supposed it might be dead
game, and gave the word to " fetch ;" but Ranger was still fixed ;
when, on approaching nearer, I saw a large adder coiled within its
circles, its head in the centre, with a singular kind of motion, as if
watching attack, and ready to punish it. I blew the reptile to pieces :
there was a horrible tenacity of life about it ; every atom seemed to
retain a portion, which gave an uncomfortable idea of its power of
doing mischief.

There is a part of the day, between one and three o'clock, when it

A DAY ON THE MOORS. 645

is well known to be almost impossible to find game: it seems the
natural hour of the siesta on the muir. We sat down on a sweet spot,
green and beautiful, such as sometimes are to be met, like oases in
the desart, where we fancy we could live our lives out ; although I
have thought, on after reflection, that the fascination of these little
islands, as they seem, owes a good deal to the wearied limbs they
serve to repose.

Here we rested in delightful, careless indolence : every thing was
still around ; the few sportsmen, over the wide extent of muir were
enjoying, like ourselves, the recreation of that interval. At times,
the howl of a dog under the whip broke the prevailing silence of the
hour ; then, perhaps, a shot would follow, and again low murmurs and
complaints from the bungling cur, who most probably had plunged
among the birds without giving warning, and was beat to save his
master's character, as well as to atone for his own offence. Then
would come some idle speculation about the success of our friends —
some affectation of blame on our own doings, and a strenuous vindi-
cation of our dexterity from the flattering and obsequious gz//?/, who
soon learns the weak side of the sportsman, and plants himself there
as in a strong-hold. In this way the hour of resting was easily passed
away. There was a piece of ground still before me which I had re-
served for my return in the afternoon ; it was much broken into hags,
but was noted for the sport it generally afforded. Juno very soon
began to draw on game, and at length stood fast: now she went on; now
halted ; then moved cautiously forward ; at once she rushed in a dif-
ferent direction, and taking the wind with her, came down again, as
if she had got new instructions how to act in this dilemma, and dis-
appearing among the hags, remained concealed by the inequalities of
the ground. It was evident that this was an old cock who thus tried
Juno's patience. I moved forward without knowing exactly where
she was set ; and at this moment the bird rose, and made a low, strug-
gling-kind of flight along the surface of the heather. Poor Juno
could not resist the temptation of springing to seize him as he passed
the spot where she lay quietly couched, and at this unlucky crisis a
few pellets of my shot were lodged in the back of the faithful spaniel.
Juno howled, and looked reproachfully at her reckless master ; even
the dead bird that had wrought this trouble, had lost its power to
soothe. I coaxed, caressed, nay threatened, by turns, but she would
not quit the spot. She was but slightly grazed, but it was evident
my sport was over for this day. I do not choose to use harsh words
of my favourite, but, to say the least of it, she was both sulky and
wayward, and would not even follow me, but watched till I dis-
appeared, then would run forward till she caught a view, and again
lie down. Archy, more than once, suggested the application of his
nostrum for all canine perversities, and was loosing the whip from his
.shoulders with a look and action very significant of his meaning, but
I did not choose to understand him ; so that he was at length forced,,
most unwillingly, to adopt a much more disagreeable expedient, and
carry her on his own shoulders till we reached our quarters.

I had bagged fifteen brace before this accident : it would have been
difficult to speculate upon what might have been the full amount of the
returns of killed, had it not been for the casualty to which I have alluded.

THE FRENCH CONVULSlVES. *

Tins is a very cleverly executed work, and, though bearing the
name of one of the stronger, is now known to be the production of
one of the gentler sex. Certain it is, that it is a performance which the
author of " Matilda, or Yes and No," might not be ashamed to acknow-
ledge. The ground- work of this novel is substantially old and hack-
neyed. It has formed the subject of several thousand romances and
novels of fashionable life. The embarrassing situations arising out of
the conflict of the affections and feelings of our nature with the laws
of society that would regulate and control them, have been pathetically
set forth with every colouring of sentiment, from Helen of Troy
down to the Corinne of Madame de Stael.

We are still travelling over the same ground, though the characters
of our companions may vary, and the incidents of the way be differ-
ent and differently related. In the work before us, the materials may
at first sight be taken to be of the commonest description : A West
Indian planter, with his wife and friend, are almost the only charac-
ters that figure in it ! but they are so naturally and skilfully deve-
loped, so successfully laboured and wrought into the incidents and
circumstances of the tale, that they seize upon the attention and
awaken a strong feeling of interest. If we are disposed to receive
cleverness of execution as a compensation for the want of a moral
tendency ; or if we are to suppose, as in the case of the heroes of
the Greek drama, that her personages are urged on by inevitable
destiny, and not by the force of wit, passions, and a depraved will,
we may appreciate the character of our author's heroine and sympa-
thize in her afflictions. Certain it is, that there is no want of sym-
pathy between the author and her heroine, and, consequently, she
has written what all who are capable of entering into the same feel-
ings must recognize as truth.

Indiana was the daughter of an opulent West Indian, who made a
considerable figure in the Parisian circles, during the temporary as-
cendency of Josephine. On the fate of Napoleon he retired to his
estate in the Isle of Bourbon, where Indiana, a little time previous to
his death, became the wife of Colonel Delrnare, a soldier of fortune,
bred up in the camp of Napoleon, and passionately attached to that
general and his system. Nothing could be more ill assorted than this
union. To say nothing of the age of the colonel, which more than
trebled that of his young bride, there was nothing congenial in their
tastes or dispositions. Indiana, brought up by a father of a whimsical
and violent temper, had never known the happiness which is to be
found in the affection of others. She had long endured the morose tem-
per of her father, who, soured by political passions and baffled schemes
of ambition, had become the severest task-master and the most trouble-
some neighbour of his settlement. But while contemplating the con-
tinual picture of the miseries of slavery in bearing up against the ennui
of solitude and dependence, she had acquired a degree of patience

* Indiana, a Novel. By Sarnies. Paris, 1832.

THE FRENCH CONVUI.SIVKS. 647

Capable of triumphing over every trial — a gentleness and sweetness
of disposition that gained her the adoration of her inferiors, and at
the same time an incalculable power of resistance against every thing
tending to oppress her. By marrying Delmare she only changed
masters, by being transferred from the Isle of Bourbon to her hus-
band's estate in Brie, she only changed her prison and her solitude.
Reared in the desert — neglected by her father — surrounded by slaves
for whom she had no other succour or consolation but her compassion
or her tears, she had been accustomed to say to herself, " A day
will come when every thing in my existence shall undergo an altera-
tion— a day, when I shall be loved — when I shall give my whole
heart to him who will give me his. In the mean time let me bear it ;
let me be silent, and keep my love for the man who shall come to
deliver me." But this Messiah came not. Colonel Delmare was a man
of iron — captious, jealous, vindictive, morose. The brilliant clay had
passed when, as Lieutenant Delmare, he breathed triumph in the air
of camps forgotten by his ungrateful country, the retired officer saw
himself condemned to endure all the consequences of marriage ; that
is to say, to be the husband of a young and lovely woman, the owner
of a comfortable estate and of a flourishing manufactory. The con-
sequence was, that the Colonel was peevish and irritable, an excellent
master before whom every body trembled — wife, servants, horses,
and dogs. Such was the husband of the gentle and delicate Indiana;
and the stranger who beheld her frail and sylph-like figure — so
young, so beautiful, and so melancholy in the midst of her old fa-
shioned house, and by the side of her old husband, would have
pitied the wife of Colonel Delmare, and perhaps Colonel Delmare
more than his wife.

The next personage is the fox-hunting baronet, Sir Ralph Brown,
or as he is sometimes called, Sir Brown ; and this character is the most
laboured and original of the set. He is cousin to Indiana, and had
been brought up with her in the Isle of Bourbon. Nature, in giving
Sir Ralph a heart exquisitely susceptible and warm, had denied him1
the power of expressing his sensations, either by looks or words. He
was slow, heavy, phlegmatic, and cold ; and as the interior man was
judged of by the exterior, Sir Ralph was despised and overlooked
both by his parents and by the world. Thus thrown upon himself,
he became an egotist — a lonely, musing, melancholy being. Indiana,
equally forlorn as himself, became his only resource ; and during ten
years she was every thing to him — his occupations, his joy, his riches ;
a young flower, whose blooming he watched with impatience, in the
hope of her one day becoming his bride. But his eldest brother,
who monopolized the affection of his parents, happening to die, Sir
Ralph was, much to his own surprise, taken to supply his place, and,
in spite of his passion for Indiana, was married to the betrothed of
his deceased brother. This lady died in England, and on Sir Ralph's
return to the Isle of Bourbon, he found Indiana married to Delmare :
and as he could not live without her, he became domesticated with
them, with the husband's plenary consent. So complete was the re-
straint which he exercised over himself, that neither Delmare nor
Indiana herself were ever aware of the real nature of his passion, and

()48 THK FRENCH CONVULSIVE*.

he appeared to both to be nothing more than what he assumed to be;
as a disguise — a confirmed egotist, who had outlived all passion, and
whose philosophy was, in one word, ease. This is the man of pro-
bity. As a contrast to him we have the man of society, the man of
the world, with all its selfishness, hypocrisy, arid tinsel virtues, in the
person of the young and noble Raymon de Ramure, whose estate ad-
joined that of the Delmares.

Patronized by the court for his powerful advocacy of the cause of
the restoration, gifted with mental and personal endowments of the
highest order, he had acquired unbounded influence over mens'
minds, and complete success in society. This species of Mirabeau
had become enamoured of the Creole maid of Madame Delmare, who
almost equalled her mistress in beauty. He was struck with admi-
ration of her large black eyes at a rustic festival, and had the glory of
triumphing over a host of rivals. He paid his addresses to her at
first from mere idleness, and success had awakened his passion ; white
the Creole, on her part, loved with all the wild fervour and headlong
clevotedness of passion that characterizes the children of the tropics.
The circumstances of romance attending their stolen interviews lent
a charm to the affair which was pleasing for awhile. But Raymon
was not long in being awakened to the difficulty and embarrassment
of the consequences attending it. He had been surprised into a
holiday amour; what was to be done? To marry her was to entail
misery on both parties ; so he took the resolution of forgetting her ;
he left his country-seat, and once more mingled in the gay world, the
scene of his triumphs and success. Accident here brought him in
contact with Indiana at a public ball, and he no sooner saw her than
he conceived a strong attachment for her. With a man of his con-
summate skill and experience in the art of winning hearts, all resist-
ance was vain. Indiana felt the effect of his impassioned declarations ;
she thought not of the duties which had been imposed upon her, nor
on the prudence which had been recommended to her, nor to the
futurity which had been predicted to her; she only recalled the
odious past, her long sufferings, her despotic masters. Neither did
she think that this man might be a deceiver or a trifler. She saw
him as she desired him, as she had dreamed of him ; and Raymon
might have deceived her, if he had not been sincere. Raymon had
loved Noun with the senses ; he loved Madame Delmare with his
whole soul. So far he had not deceived either of them ; the point
was, to effect the removal of Noun before a secret, which must bring
despair to her heart as well as that of her mistress, should be mutually
communicated. To make her an offer of half his fortune was nothing
to the difficulty in being obliged to confess to her that he did not love
her. With this view of adjusting matters, he appoints an interview
with her in the park of Lagny, during her mistress' absence. Noun
lead him into the house, and into the cabinet of Indiana. She used
all her arts, and tried all the force of her charms, to win back his
estranged affections. But when he made her his proposals with re-
gard to her future disposal, she burst into a transport of rage, and
sought to destroy herself. She rejected them with scorn, and said
ehe would throw herself at the feet of Madame Delmare, and confess

FRKNCIT CONVULSIVE*. 649

all. Madame Delmare suddenly returns from Paris, and entered the
house at this identical moment, before Raymon could make his escape
from her apartment. He has only time to withdraw behind the cur-
tain, in the hopes that Noun may mid him an opportunity of escaping.
As this scene is one of the best and most dramatic of the work, we
shall give it at full length, as a specimen of our author's style and
manner : —

" Tndiana entered in haste, threw her bonnet upon the bed, and embraced
Noun with the familiarity of a sister. There was so little light in the apart-
ment tbat she did not remark the agitation of her companion.

" ' Then you expected me ?' said she, as she approached the fire ; 'how did
you know I was coming?' And, without waiting for an answer, ' Mr. Del-
mare/ said she, ' will be here to-morrow — I set out the moment I received
his letter — I have my reasons for receiving him here rather than at Paris.
But do speak to me — you don't seem as pleased to see me as you are Wont
to be.'

'" I am sad,' said Noun, kneeling beside her mistress to remove her shoes.
— ' T, too, have something to communicate to you, but not at present — per-
haps you will step into the saloon.'

" ' What an idea ! — why, 'tis bitter cold there.'

" ' No : tbere is a good fire.'

" ' You are dreaming — I have just crossed it.'

" ' But your supper is served there.'

" ' I don't want supper : — besides, there is nothing ready. Go fetch my
boa, which I left in the carriage.'

" ' Presently.'

"' Why not immediately? — Nay. go now — go now.' And as she spoke
she pushed Noun With a playful air ; and the latter, seeing that firmness and
presence of mind were requisite, left the room for a few moments. She had
not gone a moment when Madame Delmare latched the door, and unclasping
her pelerine, laid it on the bed beside her hat. At this moment she ap-
proached Raymon so closely that he made a motion to draw back : but the
bed being set upon very light castors, yielded with a slight noise. Madame
Delmare, astonished, but not alarmed — for she might have fancied that the
bed had been pushed by herself — nevertheless advanced her head, drew aside
the curtain a little, and discovered, by the uncertain light cast by the fire, the
outline of a man's head upon the wall. Startled, she screamed aloud, and
sprung towards the bell to give the alarm. Raymon would prefer to be again
taken for a robber (he bad been fired at by Mr. Delmare, on a former occasion,
as a robber) than to be discovered in this situation. But if he did not adopt
this latter part, Madame Delmare would summon her attendants and com-
promise herself. He had hopes in the love with which he had inspired her,
and, springing towards her, he attempted to silence her exclamations and to
withdraw her from the bell, by saying to her, in an under tone, for fear of
being heard by Noun, who, doubtless, was not far off, —

" ' It is I, Indiana ; recognize me, and forgive me. Indiana, forgive a
wretch, whose reason you have bewildered, and who could not prevail upon
himself to restore you to your husband until he had seen you once more.'
While pressing her in his arms, as well to soothe her as to prevent her from
ringing, he perceived that she was almost undressed. Noun knocked at the
door in a fit of agony. Madame Delmare, then disengaging herself from the
grasp of Raymon, ran to open the door, and again sunk into an arm-chair.
Pale, and almost expiring, Noun placed herself against the door of the cor-
ridore to prevent tbe domestics, who passed to and fro, from stumbling upon
this strange scene. More deadly pale even than her mistress, her knees trem-
bling, her back applied to tbe door, she awaited her fate in agony. Raymon

M. M. No. 96. 4 O

650 FRENCH CONVULSIVE*.

felt that it only required address to deceive both these women at the same
time. — ' Madame,' said he, falling on his knees before Indiana, ' my pre-
sence here must appear to you an outrage ; behold me at your feet to implore
your pardon. Grant me a moment's hearing alone, and I will explain'—
' Hold, Sir, and begone from here!' cried Madame Delmare, resuming all the
dignity of her part. ' Leave this openly. Noun, open that door, and let this
gentleman go forth, that all my servants may see him, and that the shame of
such a proceeding may fall upon him alone.' Noun believing herself de-
tected, threw herself on her knees beside Raymon. Madame Delmare gazed
at her with surprise, without uttering a word. Raymon tried to take her
hand, but she withdrew it with indignation. Flushed with anger, she rose,
and pointing to the door, —

" ' Begone ! I tell you,' cried she, ' begone ! for your conduct is infamous.
These are the means which you have chosen to employ. You, Sir, concealed
in my chamber, like a robber ! So, then, it is customary with you to intro-
duce yourself thus into families! This is the attachment you swore to me
yesterday evening! It is thus you would protect me, respect me, defend me ;
this is the homage you render me ! You see a woman who has assisted you
with her own hands, who for this lias braved the anger of her husband ; you
abuse her by a feigned gratitude ; you swear to her a love worthy of her ;
end in recompence for her cares, for her credulity, you would surprise her
sleep, and insure your success by an indescribable baseness. You bribe her
maid ; you almost steal to her bed ; you do not fear to make her servants
privy to an intimacy which does not exist. Go, Sir ! you have taken care to
disabuse me very soon. Go ! I tell you : stay not a moment under my roof. —
And you, abject girl, who have so little respect for the honour of your mis-
tress, leave my sight !' Noun, half dead with surprise and despair, had her
eyes fixed upon Raymon, as if to ask an explanation of this unexpected
mystery ; then, with a haggard air and choked utterance, she staggered to-
wards Indiana, and, grasping her arm with energy,—

" ' What have you said ?' cried she ; ' her teeth set with anger — ' did this
man declare himself your lover ?'

" ' Oh, doubtless you know he did,' said Madame Delmare, repelling her
with disdain ; ' you know full well what must be the motives of a man who
conceals himself behind the curtains of a woman's bed. Ah, Noun !' said
she, as she witnessed the despair of the girl, ' it was an unheard-of perfidy,
and one of which I did not think you capable. You would have sold the
honour of her who had taken such care of thee !' Madame Delmare wept,
but as well from passion as from grief. Never had she appeared so beautiful
to Raymon ; but he scarce dared to look upon her, for she was almost naked;
and her outraged pride compelled him to cast down his eyes. He stood
rivetted to the spot with consternation at the presence of Noun — for, alone
with Madame Delmare, he felt he possessed the power of soothing her. But
the expression of Noun was terrible : rage and hatred had discomposed her
features."

But the arrival of Sir Ralph Brown compels our hero to make a
precipitate retreat by the private door of the garden, to which he is
conducted by the wretched Noun. She spoke not, but abruptly dis-
appeared ; and, the next morning, as Madame Delmare walked forth
by the bank of the stream that fed the mill of her husband's factory,
she was horror-struck at beholding the body of her beloved Noun
floating on the surface. She had drowned herself in one of those
moments of a violent crisis when extreme resolutions are so easy of
accomplishment. Her death was attributed to accident by every one

FRENCH CONVULSIVKS. 651

but Raymon and the gardener of Lagny, who was privy to her in-
timacy with Raymon. Although Sir Ralph Brown had sufficient
penetration to assign it to its right cause, he consdered him sufficiently
punished by remorse, and remained silent on the subject. Madame
Delmare was thus kept in ignorance of the facts, and continued so to
the end. As for Raymon, he at first meditated suicide, but resolved
to live for the sake of his aged and helpless mother, to consecrate his
existence to her happiness, as the best reparation for his crime. He
returned to Paris, plunged again into the world, and soon felt its
vital and exciting influences. He felt, in his young heart, in his
active brain, in his whole vivacious and robust being, life overflow
at every pore. Destiny made him happy in his own despite ; and he
asked pardon of an angry ghost, which sometimes would wait in his
dreams, for having sought in the attachment of the living a support
against the terrors of the tomb. His thoughts reverted to Indiana,
to the treasure he had lost; he still retained hopes, and he set about
repairing that loss. He made himself useful to Colonel Delmare,
and by degrees gained the confidence of the Colonel, who, provided a
man was what is called honest, never inquired further into his cha-
racter.

Though Madame Delmare refused again to meet Raymon, his arts
and assiduity triumphed over her determination, and, in a short time,
he was fully established in the intimacy of the Colonel and Sir Ralph
Brown, and the love of Indiana. The latter abandoned herself to
her passion with an intensity that startled Raymon. He was hurried
along by the charms of a woman so frail and so impassioned, so deli-
cate in body and so resolute in heart. Six months passed away in
this mutual intercourse of soul, when, at length, the Colonel was
obliged to absent himself on business that threatened the ruin of his
fortune. Indiana was confided to the care of Sir Ralph. Raymon
seized the opportunity of pressing for a proof of her love. It was
granted as readily as it was asked. He entered the park at midnight,
by the same door through which he had so often passed to visit Noun '
— crossed the bridge that spanned the stream where she had perished
— eluded the vigilance of Sir Ralph, who was posted there to inter-
cept him, as he had a suspicion of his intention — and, with a light
heart, mounted the stairs leading to his mistress's chamber. But he
was little prepared for the scene that there awaited him.

Seeing that she was fast approaching the crisis of her fate, Sir.
Ralph had attempted to reveal to her the real causes of the death of
Noun. Her impatience prevented her from giving ear to it, but she
heard sufficient to awaken her reflections. To satisfy the doubts of
her mind she resorted to an experiment such as the weak and unhappy
alone are capable of conceiving. She resolved to practise on the
conscience of her lover, and collected around her all the memorials of
the departed Noun. On entering the chamber, Raymon started at
finding it furnished with objects of remorse. Indiana had imitated
the dress of Noun so closely, and resembled her so much, that for an
instant he thought his superstitious ideas were realized. He recovered
himself, however, to undergo a fresh shock. Indiana put into his

652 FRENCH CONVULSIVES.

hands a mass of long, black hair. At first he took it to be her own ;
but death was in its dimness and heaviness. He saw it all : — his ir-
ritable nerves yielded to the shock — he shuddered and fell senseless.

" ' You have done me a dreadful wrong/ cried he, ' a wrong which it is
not in your power to repair ; you can never restore me the confidence I
placed in your heart. You have just showed me how much revenge and
cruelty it contains. Poor Noun ! poor unfortunate girl ! it is her I have
wronged, and not you ; it is she who had the right of revenging herself, and
who did not do it. She destroyed herself to leave me a futurity. She sacri-
ficed her life to my repose. You had not done as much.' "

After proceeding at great length in this strain, which we are forced to
give in order to exhibit the fluxes and refluxes of sentiment, the vicissi-
tudes and rapid transitions of feeling, and the play of the affections,
on which the whole interest of the work depends, and which are de-
lineated with singular force and accuracy, he is interrupted by the
sudden arrival of Colonel Delmare. He retreats by the garden door,
and finds Sir Ralph posted, there to receive him. Perhaps you will
anticipate a duel as the natural consequence of this rencontre; and
such was the idea of Raymon ; but the calm and inflexibly stoical
demeanour of Sir Ralph betrayed not the slightest impatience, and
he contents himself with asking for the key of the gate, as a pre-
caution in favour of Madame Delmare. Such was the all-absorbing
passion of Sir Ralph for Indiana, so entirely did it fill his whole soul,
and so completely had he learnt to compress his feelings and emotions
by the long discipline of years, that he only thought of her happiness.
To have killed Raymon were to make her unhappy ; and to such a
pitch of madness was he transported by this sentiment, that when he
beheld the sufferings of Indiana he felt almost tempted to betray his
friend Delmare, and assist the success of his enemy. The return of
the Colonel brought with it the news of the utter ruin of his affairs
by the failure of a banker in Brussels. He was compelled to sell his
estate and to repair to a remnant of property in the Isle of Bourbon,
again to set about rebuilding his fortune. He confided his projects
to Raymon, and deputed him to break the matter to Indiana. She
had taken the resolution of hazarding every thing rather than leave
Raymon. This declaration by no means accorded with the disposi-
tion of Raymon : he saw, with satisfaction, that events were taking a
course which would preserve him from the troublesome and inevitable
consequences of a worn-out intrigue. He only thought of profiting
by the last moments of passion of Madame Delmare, and then of
leaving to his benevolent destiny the care of ridding him of her tears
and her reproaches. Besides, he had grown so virtuous by the con-
fidence reposed in him by Colonel Delmare, that he would not de-
prive him of his wife — he would only seduce her. Meantime the
period of departure approached. The temper of the Colonel grew
every day more insupportable. Indiana openly declared her de-
termination not to accompany him, and in this she was encouraged
by her aunt. The violence of her husband was carried so far as to
confine her to her chamber : she escaped, and fled to Raymon ; but
his passion had reached the last degree of disgust, it had descended
to ennui. He received her with every studied demonstration of

FliKXCH CONVULSIVES. 653

passion, but, in the end, called a coach to reconduct her to her hus-
band. Indiana was stupified — she quitted the house, and —

" At the first few paces in the street, she felt her trembling limbs ready to
refuse their service — she fancied every moment she felt the rude grasp of her
furious husband seizing her and dragging her into the stream. But very
soon the bustle around her, the carelessness of the figures that passed her,
and the penetrating cold of the morning, restored her strength and tranquil-
lity ; but 'twas a painful strength, and an awful tranquillity, similar to that
which spreads itself upon the waters of the sea, alarming the sagacious sea-
man more than the commotions of the tempest. She descended the quay,
from the Institute to the Corps Legislatif, but she forgot to cross the bridge,
and continued to follow the course of the river, absorbed in a stupid reverie —
a meditation without ideas, and continued to walk forwards without any
fixed object. Insensibly she found herself by the margin of the river, with
the icicles at her feet, and broke them with a dry, cold noise, upon the stone-
work that bounded its waters. The greenish and sounding waters exercised
an attractive power upon the senses of Indiana. We become accustomed to
terrible ideas ; by entertaining them we are led to take a pleasure in them.
The example of the suicide of Noun had long soothed her moments of
despair — she had long made suicide a sort of fascinating temptation. One
thought alone — one religious thought, had prevented her from fixing defi-
nitively upon it ; but at this moment her exhausted brain was under the
dominion of no complete thought. Scarce did she recollect there was a
God — that there was such a person as Raymon, and she continued to walk,
still approaching the river, obeying the instinct of misfortune, and the mag-
netism of suffering. When she felt the piercing cold of the water, which
already bathed her feet, she awoke, as from a fit of somnambulism ; and,
looking around to discover where she was, she beheld Paris behind her, and
the Seine flying beside her feet, bearing upon its oily mass the white reflec-
tion of the houses, and the greyish blue of the sky, This continuous motion
of the river, and the immobility of the bank, became confounded in her con-
fused perceptions, and it appeared to her that the waters were still, and that
the land was careering along, She leant against a wall, and bent forward,
fascinated towards what she took to be a solid mass."

This is as it should be ; a French novel, descriptive of the wild
play of overmastering passion, would be as incomplete without a
picture of suicide — real or projected — as an English novel would ba
without a duel. The interposition of Sir Ralph, who had been inde-
fatigable in his search after her, rescues her from her perilous situa-
tion. By him she is reconducted to her house; an explanation of
the causes of her absence partially satisfies her husband, and they set
sail for the Isle of Bourbon. Notwithstanding their repugnance to
such a step, Sir Ralph insists on accompanying them. He disposes
of his property, and settles with them in their villa, in the mountains
above St. Paul. Though he watched over Indiana with the most
tender and unremitting vigilance, in the excess of his delicate reserve
he continued to wear the appearance of coldness and egotism. Mean-
time the heart of Indiana was a prey to all the violence of disap-
pointed love. Raymon had sought her forgiveness before her depar-
ture, and her passion had returned with fresh violence. After
spending the sultry hours in her hamac —

" When, as evening advanced, the sea breeze began to bring with it the
perfume of the rice flowers, she plunged into the savannah, leaving Delmare
and Sir Ralph to inhale the aromatic infusion of the taham, and slowly to

654

FRENCH CONVULSIVES.

distil the smoke of their cigantos. Then would she climb some accessible
height, the extinguished crater of some old volcano, to gaze upon the
setting sun, which fired the red vapour of the atmosphere, and spread, as it
were, a dust — half- gold, half- ruby, upon the murmuring edges of the sugar-
canes. She fancied that, beyond those waves and those distant vapours, the
magical apparition of another land would be unrolled to her eyes. And, in
truth, the clouds of the coast presented to her view fantastic shapes. Some-
times she beheld a white sheet rise above the waves, and describe a fantastic
line, which she took for the fa£ade of the Louvre. At times it was two
square sails, which, suddenly emerging from the haze, reminded her of the
towers of Notre Dame, when the Seine exhales a thick fog, which embraces
their base, and give them the appearance of being suspended in the heavens ;
at other times it was large flakes of rosy clouds, whose changing forms pre-
sented all the caprices of architecture — of an immense city. The mind of
that woman was wrapped in the recollection of the past, and she felt her
heart palpitate with joy at the sight of this imaginary Paris, whose realities
had signalized the most miserable periods of her existence. Poor creature !
she lived for weeks and months beneath a tropical sky — knowing, loving,
caressing nothing but a shadow."

In these wanderings she was ever guarded by the vigilant tender-
ness of Sir Ralph, though all familiarity between them had almost
ceased.

" He never absented himself from the house but during the hours when
the heat confined her to her home ; but when she went forth in the evening
he dexterously withdrew from Delmare, and repaired to wait for her, at the
foot of the rocks, upon which she was in the habit of seating herself. He
remained there whole hours, gazing at her at times through the branches,
blanched by the moon, but respecting the short space that separated her from
him, and never daring to shorten, by an instant, her melancholy reverie.
When she descended into the valley, she always found him on the bank of
the little rivulet, whose course was parallel with the path leading to the
house ; he gave her his arm, and conducted her to the house without utter-
ing a word, unless, being more melancholy than usual, she began the
conversation."

Meantime Raymon, disappointed in his ambitious views by the
revolution of July, had retired to the country. He was seized with
a severe illness, which brought back his feelings to their former
course. His heart softened at the recollection of Indiana, and he
repented of his rejection of her sacrifice. Under the influence of
these ideas he wrote to her to say he was unhappy, and gently insi-
nuating the remedy for his afflictions. This letter, added to the
effect of a violent outbreak of her husband's temper, determined
Indiana to quit the Isle of Bourbon, and fly to Raymon. Difficulties
and sufferings of the most appalling nature were surmounted by her
energy and address. She arrives in France, and finds her lover
married to the heiress of the rich manufacturer who had purchased
her husband's property. The scene in which this eclaircisseimnt
takes place is so spirited, that we are tempted to extract it.

She had intended to surprise him, and had given him no intima-
tion of her presence : —

" At the foot of the stairs she again paused to take breath — she felt her-
self less able to bear joy than grief. She stooped and looked through the key-
hole ; RayniOQ was alone — he was reading. It was, indeed, himself ; it was

\

FUENCH CONyULSTVES, 6'55

Raymon, full pi* strength and life ; vexations had not made him look older,
political tempests had not deprived him of a single hair ; he was there, calm
and beautiful, his brow resting on his white hand, which was lost in his
black hair. Indiana pushed the door with a brisk motion — it opened without
resistance.

" ' You have been waiting for me,' cried she, falling on her knees, and
leaning her drooping head upon his bosom. ' You counted the months, the
Jays—you knew that the time was passed — but you knew, too, that I could
not fail to answer your call ; it is you that have summoned me — I am come,
I am come, I am dying.' Her ideas became confused in her brain, she
remained for a time silent, sobbing, incapable of speaking, thinking, —
absorbed, overwhelmed by their sensation. And then she again opened her
eyes, recognized Raymon, as if awaking from a dream, uttered a cry of joy
and frenzy, and clung to him with the wildness of delight. He was pale,
mute, motionless, thunder-stricken.

" ' Recognize me,' cried she ; ' it is I — it is your Indiana — it is your slave,
whom you have recalled from exile, and who has come from a distance of
three thousand leagues to love and serve you — it is the companion of your
choice, who has quitted every thing, risked every thing, braved every thing,
to bring you this hour of joy. Are you happy? are you satisfied with her? —
Speak, I await my recompence — a word — a kiss ; I shall be repaid an hun-
dredfold.' But Raymon replied not — his admirable presence of mind had
abandoned him ; he was overwhelmed with surprise, remorse, and terror, on
beholding that woman at his feet — he covered his face with his hands, and
wished for death.

" 'My God — my God ! you speak not to me, you do not embrace me!'
cried Madam Delmare, grasping his knees — ' you are unable, then — happi-
ness is overcoming — it destroys — I know it does. Ah, you suffer — you are
choking — I have surprised you too unexpectedly.'

" ' I would weep,' said Raymon, in a smothered voice. — ' And I, too/ said
she, while she covered his hands with kisses. ' Ah, yes — 'twill do you
good — weep, weep upon my bosom, I will dry your tears with my kisses ;
for, mind, Raymon, I have come to make you happy — to be all that you can
wish. Hitherto I have been very cruel, very silly, very selfish ; I have
caused you much suffering, and I would not understand that I tasked you
beyond your strength. But, see, I have reflected on it since, and as you do
not fear to brave public opinion for me, I have no longer a right to refuse
you any sacrifice. Dispose of me, of my blood, of my life — I am thine,
body and soul. I have traversed a space of three thousand leagues to be
thine — to tell you this ; take me — 1 am your property — you are my master.'
Some infernal idea crossed the mind of Raymon, he withdrew his counte-
nance from his contracted hands, and gazed upon Indiana with a diabolical
coolness : a fearful smile then strayed upon his lips, and sparkled in his
eyes ; for Indiana was still beautiful.

" ' At present I must conceal you,' said he, rising.

" ' Why conceal me here ?' said she, ' are you not at liberty to receive me —
to protect me — me, who have nothing but you left upon earth, and who,
without you, would be reduced to beg upon the highway ? Away ! even the
world cannot find fault with you for loving me. It is I, who have taken the
responsibility on myself — it is I, — but where are you going ?' she exclaimed,
as she beheld him proceed towards the door.

" It was his intention to shut and secure the door, but he was too late, it
opened before he could lay his hand upon it ; and Laura de Nangy entered —
seemed less astonished than shocked — uttered no exclamation — bent forward
a little to view, askant, the lady who had fallen half-fainting upon the floor ;
then, with a cold, bitter, contemptuous smile —

" ' Madame Delmare,' said she, ' it seems it is your pleasure to place

656 FH-KXCH CONVULSIVES.

three persons in a strange position ; but I thank you for having assigned me
the least ridiculous part, and thus do I discharge it. Pray retire.

" Indignation gave strength to Indiana ; she rose up, tall and command-
ing. ' Who is this woman, then ?' said she to Raymon, ' and by what righ-
does she give me orders in your house ?'

" ' You are in my house, Madame/ replied Laura.

" ' But do speak,' said Indiana, shaking the arm of the unhappy man in a
transport of rage ; ' tell me, at once, is this your mistress or your wife ?'

" ' My wife,' replied Raymon, with a stupified air.

" ' I pardon your uncertainty, ' said Madame de Ramiere, with a cruel smile.
' If you had remained where your duty placed you, you had received a letter,
informing you of this gentleman's marriage. — Come, Raymon,* added she, in a
tone of caustic amenity, 'I pity your embarrassment; you'are somewhat young,
I hope you will learn that a little more prudence is requisite in life. I leave you
to conclude this absurd scene ; I shall laugh if you look so woe-begone."

Indiana is again on the point of sinking under her misfortunes,
and again she is restored by the opportune interference of Sir Ralph
Brown. Pier husband had died on the night of her departure, with-
out being aware of the circumstance of her flight. But all the assi-
duity and tenderness of Sir Ralph were insufficient to cure the
disease of her mind ; so, finding all his efforts unavailable, he coolly
proposes one peculiar to himself. And what is that, think you, gentle
reader ? — why nothing more or less than suicide, which he charac-
terizes as the principal superiority of man over the brute. After
examining the matter, both parties determine on adopting this
remedy. It only remains to fix upon how and when Sir Ralph cuts
this matter short, thus —

" ' I would die,' said he, ' joyfully, with brow serene, and eyes upturned
to heaven ; but not here. I will tell you, then, where suicide has appeared
to me under its most noble and most solemn aspect ; it is on the edge of a
precipice in the Isle of Bourbon ; it is from the sumnait of that cascade
which leaps forward translucent, and clothed with a glorious prism, in the
solitary ravine of Bernica ; it is there we have passed the sweetest hours of
our infancy ; it is there I have learnt to pray — to hope ; it is there that I
would wish, on a fine night of those climes, to bury myself beneath the clear
waters, and to descend into the fresh and flowery tomb presented by the
depth of the green gulph.' "

We question if, even in the pages of the most extravagant
romances, we could find a passage of similar absurdity; but we
must hasten to the conclusion of the drama. This proposal is
adopted ; they set sail for the Isle of Bourbon, and a three months'
voyage has a most decided effect in composing the mind of Indiana.
A change equally extraordinary, and equally beneficial, had taken
place in the mind of Sir Ralph. But this did not prevent them from
proceeding to carry their meditated scheme into effect. Arrayed in
their gayest attire, they stand above the fatal cataract, in the moon-
light, and, just before taking the leap that is to end their earthly sor-
rows, Sir Ralph gives vent to his long-compressed feelings, and
details the history of his profound attachment, from infancy down-
wards, of his sufferings and despair, in a strain of such impassioned
eloquence, that Indiana beholds him in a new light ; and they are, as
it were, miraculously preserved, to enjoy a life of the most exquisite
domestic felicity.

AN OXFORD-STREET REMINISCENCE.

SOME few years ago, a shabby looking gentleman, carrying in his
hand a fiddle, enclosed in a green bag, entered the shop of an eminent
hosier in Oxford-street.

" I want," said he, addressing himself to the obsequious man of
hose, " a pair of silk stockings."

cf Here are a dozen pair," replied the shopkeeper, " of such a qua-
lity as no other house in London can offer. They are cheaper than
dirt, and more durable than iron, and when they are worn out, they
will cut down into capital socks ; but that will not be for many years."

"Excellent qualities!" replied the shabby gentleman, with the
fiddle ; " but what is the price ?"

" A trifle," returned the seller ; " only twelve shillings a pair/'

" Then put up one pair for me," said he of the green bag, t{ and
I'll pay for them." At the same moment his right hand dived into
the extreme recesses of his breeches pocket, as though he were endea-
vouring to select something underneath. He was not successful.

" Gracious Heavens ! " cried he, " I have either lost my purse, or
left it at home, and I know not how I can possibly do without the
stockings ; for you must understand, that I am going to play at a
celebrated concert to-night, and must have them to wear."

" Well, sir," replied the hosier, " that shall not trouble you ; we'll
send them to your house."

ff Unfortunately," whimpered the man of sweet sounds, screwing
up his features to the dimension of a dried codling, " I am not going
home ; but I will, by your kind permission, leave my fiddle as a
security for the twelve shillings, only requesting that you be careful
of it, and hang it up (for it is a valuable instrument), on that nail,
which I see disengaged over the chimney of your back parlour." ' ,

" With all my heart," replied the hosier ; and immediately con-
ducted the musician into the parlour, where he hung up the fiddle,
and having received the stockings, left the shop.

About two days after this event, a person entered the shop, and
bought two or three trifling articles. Being suddenly seized with a
spasmodic indisposition of stomach, he requested permission to re-
cover himself in an arm-chair of the parlour. The hosier's humanity
and civility were equal to his industry. He attended his customer
with much assiduity, and by help of a little brandy, rubbing, and
chafing, restored the gentleman. As soon as he was well, he began
to look about the room ; to admire the pictures ; to compliment the
hosier on his taste, when his eyes rested on the fiddle.

" What ! my friend," he exclaimed, " are you a musician ?"

ee No, sir," said the hosier ; " that fiddle belongs to a poor fellow
who bought a pair of stockings of me two days back, and probably
has not yet been able to raise money enough to pay for them, and
redeem his fiddle."

" Allow me," said the gentleman, " to look at it — I am a judge of
these matters." The fiddle being delivered to him, he drew it from

M.M. No. 96. 4 P

658 AN OXFORD-STREET REMINISCENCE.

the bag, and having examined it said, as though to himself, " This is
really a prodigious fine fiddle !" He then placed it to his shoulder,
and negligently passing the bow across the strings, produced a few
notes, which appeared to the hosier of such exquisite delicacy, that
the passion of gain was for a few seconds suspended.

" This fiddle," said the stranger, " appears to be a Cremonae of the
best tune. — Mr. Nottingham," he continued, looking up at the hosier,
" I have known you some years, and have dealt always with you —
I know you are an honest man — I will riot inform you what is my
opinion of the worth of this instrument ; but here is a thirty pound
note, for which you will give me a receipt ; and if, when the wretched
musician again makes his appearance, you can purchase it for fifty
pounds, this note, which I have now put into your hands, shall be
your own." When he had thus spoken, he gave him the note, toge-
ther with his card ; and having received an acknowledgment for the
note, departed.

He had scarcely been gone from the shop above an hour, when the
musician, in a great hurry, and much worse clothed than before, ran
hastily into the shop, and, putting down the twelve shillings on the
counter, requested to have his fiddle.

" Ah !" quoth the man of yarn, " I'm delighted to see you, I wish
to have a few moments' conversation with you ;" and, taking him into
the back parlour, informed him of the liberal offer which the gentle-
man had made who had been there in the morning.

".With respect to the fiddle," said the musician, " I am well aware
that it even exceeds in value what you have offered ; nor would I
think of selling it, but that my distresses are great, and customers
are difficult to procure. To tell you the truth, I am now under
arrest, an officer is with me outside, and I have only been allowed a
few moments to fetch my fiddle, in order to carry it to a friend, who
is ready to advance me upon it a sum of money sufficient to relieve
me from arrest." The hosier saw that such was the fact.

" I will go with you," said he, " to the gentleman's house, and
receive the fifty." — " Impossible !" replied the musician. " He may
be from home, or otherwise ; I cannot take the risk. The person I
allude to is waiting my return."

The wily hosier now began to suspect that the fiddle would escape,
and that the thirty pounds commission would be lost. He therefore
resolved on a bold venture, and added twenty pounds of his own.

" Wait one moment," said he to the musician, " and you shall
receive the fifty pounds." The musician hesitated, as if reluctant to
part with his fiddle for the price : he surveyed it with tenderness,
and said, " 'Tis my necessities alone which induce me to part with
thee, thou cheerful companion of my life — the better portion of my
existence. But we must separate ; and having been a long time the
delight of thy master, thou must now become his support."

Tears were visible in the eyes of the wretched musician, and, with
a trembling hand, he delivered the instrument to the hosier, and
having received the fifty pounds, hurried away from the shop in a
very distressed state of mind. The hosier almost repented making
such a gain from so poor a man. But <f business is business."

TO THE WARRIORS OF POLAND. 659

As soon as the fiddle became the property of the hosier, he ordered
a coach, and repaired to the house of the gentleman whose card he
possessed. The servants informed him that their master was at home,
and he was soon introduced into the library. He found himself in
the presence of a gentleman very different in appearance from him
whom he had seen in the morning. However, he produced the
fiddle, a receipt for the money he had paid, and the card, and begged
to know when he could see the owner. The gentleman appeared
surprised, and, indeed, the man of stockings very soon became con-
vinced that there must be some mistake. The gentleman acknow-
ledged the card to be his, but declared himself quite ignorant of the
transaction. The hosier was struck with dismay, and returned home
in a most disconsolate state, yet not without hopes that the person
who had advanced the money would soon make his appearance to
claim the fiddle he had so much coveted. At all events, the instru-
ment was valuable, and he might, after all, make a handsome profit.
He was relieved from all suspense by the arrival of a customer, who
was a musical instrument maker ; who, having examined the instru-
ment, declared it to be a Dutch fiddle, value about eighteen and six-
pence ! The sound of a fiddle, ever after, threw the hosier into fits !

TO THE WARRIORS OF POLAND.

DROOP not, ye brave ! though wide around you scatter'd
The blossoms lie from Freedom's shaken tree ;
Though gone that embryo fruit, whose promise flatter'd,
Oh ! droop not ! soon another spring shall see
The soil, so fed, teem more abundantly :
The trunk, as branch by branch is lopp'd away,
More keenly feels the life-blood bounding free ;
So Liberty, concentred thus, will play,
All wildly rushing forth to mock the might of clay !

. Blench not, ye brave ! although the dastard nations,
Aged, and cold, and callous, will not know
The lofty hopes, proud aim, and young impatience,
That nerve your arm to strike th' avenging blow :
Oh ! blench not ! soon the war-stream's ruddy flow,
Now sinking in your native plains, shall rise
In lands remote, and sweep those cravens low ;
Who, from their tott'ring thrones, with coward eyes

Beheld your glorious deeds, yet dare not sympathize !

Yield not, ye brave ! far better to be lying,
Gory and gasping, on your thresholds dear ;
And blending (as undying with undying)
Your spirits with glad Freedom's spirit clear !
Oh ! yield not ! though o'erwhelming hosts appear ;
Still may the Patriot's sword triumphant wave,
And guard six feet of ground to hold his bier ! .
And, when oblivion shrouds yon Victor-slave,
Shall pious pilgrims seek the Freeman's holy grave !

J. MARSHALL.

PROGRESSIVE DEGENERACY OF THE HUMAN RACE.

I HAD often heard my grandmother declare, that the men and wo-
men of our time were not what they were in her earlier days. Often,
good soul, has she lamented, with tears in her eyes, that we had no
actors, no singers — that men were less manly and women less beauti-
ful than in the days of her youth, and wondered what they would come
to. I was a foolish boy then, and used to laugh at her prodigiously.
I knew very well that Adam himself could not beat me at-pitch-and-
hustle, and prison-bars; and I laughed in my sleeve to think, that if I
could only get my grandfather at leap-frog, how I would undeceive
him touching the degeneracy of the present day in that particular.
As I grew in years, the continued asseverations of my elders produced
within me a spirit of inquiry. Happy would it be for me had it been
otherwise !

" Terra malos homines nunc educat atque pusillos." — Juv. Sat. 13.
" Earth nurses now on her exhausted face,
A dwarfish, evil, and degenerate race."

Had the love of wisdom been less firmly imprinted on my nature,
what a world of uneasiness and misery would have been spared me ;
I am convinced that the pursuit of knowledge is a most unsatisfac-
tory career ; and my whole life, alas ! has been a continued string of
painful discoveries.

I will not enumerate the list of tributary groans, sighs, tears, con-
vulsive starts, and even fits of the cholic which attended my first
suspicion of the degeneracy of man, and the gradual course of my
conviction. Suffice it to say, that I have satisfied myself beyond the
intrusion of a doubt that we, the unhappy representatives of humanity
in the nineteenth century, are mere shadows in comparison with our
original species ; and further, that I have ascertained the constant
ratio of decline from the creation to the present day. I am now ac-
tively employed in calculating the exact epoch of futurity, when the
mortal substance of man shall be reduced to an infinite decimal. And
in all this, I beg to say, I have never once had recourse to Mr Bab-
bage's calculating machine, or any artificial means whatsoever.

I shall begin, ab inilio, with our first parents, of whom I am in
possession of much curious and authentic information, not generally
known, which I may, perhaps, one day be induced to publish for the
benefit of society ; but at present I shall limit myself to the question.
M. Heurien, Mem de 1'Academie des Belles Lettres, has singularly
enough hit upon the same course of study as myself. He has fa-
voured the world, torn. i. p. 125, with a chronological scale of the
different stature of the human race in various ages. This ingenious
calculator, after surmounting many difficulties, with a patience wor-
thy of one who labours in the cause of his fellow-creatures, at last
fixes the average height of mankind at successive periods, as follows :

Feet. Inches. Feet. In.

Adam .... 123 9 Moses 13 0

Eve 118 9 Hercules 10 31

Noah . . . 103 6± Man in the days of Romulus 8 0

Abraham ... 28 01 Ditto at the birth of Christ 7 2£

PROGRESSIVE DEGENKRACY OF THE HUMAN RACE. 661

Now these calculations agree with my own in a marvellous man-
ner, with the exception of Moses, who I make 13 feet 1 f inches, and
of which I am so certain, that I boldly challenge M. Heurien to dis-
prove it before any learned society in Europe ; but this I know he
will not attempt.

In the happy days of the protoplast, the existence of man was pro-
portioned to his size, and extended nearly to one thousand years !
Alas ! how are we reduced in duration of life and dimensions ! From
a glorious ten centuries and more than twice sixty feet, to a miserable
maximum of threescore and ten, and a beggarly six feet two in our
stocking. From the time of the flood the days of man were cut down
to nearly one half; from that event to the Trojan war we find our
species rapidly decreasing in length of life and fine proportion. Nes-
tor was, accordingly, esteemed old at the moderate age of three hun-
dred, which the sybils, I fancy, did not much exceed. In all times,
however, there were extraordinary individuals who overstep the
bounds of nature — such a one was Polyphemus, who, as we learn
from Lucilius, an author of great accuracy and research, was two
hundred feet in height ; and this account is strongly corroborated by
Boccaccio, in the Fourth Book of his Genealogy, who tells us that the
body of this very Cyclop was found in a Sicilian cavern, holding in
the left-hand the pine-tree which, in the time of Ulysses, served him
as a walking-stick. This shillelah was considerably longer than the
mainmast of a man-of-war. The extraordinary height of Polyphemus
makes nothing against my argument for the progressive degeneracy
of mankind ; for this formidable person could hardly be consi-
dered of the ordinary race of mortals ; but of that larger class — now
almost extinct — called giants : of such a race he is usually classed by
the historians. None but unreasonable sceptics can doubt the exist-
ence of such beings — of what other race were Goliah, Og, king of
Basan, and the sons of Anak? I have myself seen the enormous
bones of the Lsestrygones and Cyclops on the vast excavations in
which they resided years ago in various parts of Sicily ; nay, I have
trod with my feet, and touched with my hands, the identical rocks
hurled by the eyeless and enraged Polyphemus at the departing ship
of Ulysses, which, in memory of the fact, are to this day called gli
scoglj del Ciclope, the rocks of the Cyclops. It is hardly necessary
to make further proof; but if any should be wanted, I recommend
the incredulous to consult the work of the Abbe Bania, as also that of
the Abbe Zilladet, where is clearly shewn, that entire cities and po-
pulous nations of giants formerly existed.

Let us, however, return to the race from which we are actually
descended, and examine a little into the size and prowess of the he-
roes before Troy — men comparatively of our own times, and the un-
doubted progenitors of the modern Greeks. Here, then, we are at
home — positively at our own threshold ; for we have for our guide the
unimpeachable testimony of Homer — as veracious an historian as he
is an admirable poet. The only style of recording events in those
days was in poetry ; for it was not until about 550 B.C., that Cadmus
of Miletus composed the first history in prose. Homer, it is to be
recollected, lived little more than two hundred years after the de-

662 PROGRESSIVE DEGENERACY OF THE HUMAN RACE.

struction of Troy, and consequently conversed with the descendants,
in a very near degree, of the warriors whose exploits he celebrates.
He acquaints us that, in his age, two of the strongest men would be
unable to raise from the earth the fragments of rock with which
Hector, Ajax, and Diomed saluted the heads and skins of their op-
ponents. These fragments, it appears, were flying about in those
days as thick and fast as pebbles at a cock-shy. The exact and ma-
thematical Virgil, treating of the same generation, and having before
him the exact ratio of the decline down to his own age, allows twelve
vigorous athletae of the Augustan age,

" Q'talia mine hominum producit corpora tellus" — ^EN. Lib. 12.

" Men of such frame as earth produces now."

For the mere operation of moving the stone with which Turnus
proposed to break the head of his adversary ^Eneas. What but
manifest truth could have caused two authors of different ages and
nations to coincide with such nicety in their calculations? The
mace with which Ajax repelled the Trojans from the Grecian
fleet was twenty-two cubits fycoxai tMaw/j, or nearly thirty-six
English feet in length ; and the ordinary spear of Hector, which that
hero was accustomed to dart to the full range of a modern rifle-ball,
was half as long, or about eighteen feet English. I must here halt,
by the way, to animadvert on Pope, who, in his version, does not do
justice to the weapon of Ajax, by at least three feet, and to that of
Hector in the same proportion — his translation runs thus :

" A ponderous mace, with studs of iron crown'd,

Full twenty cubits long, he swings around." — Book 15.

And again,

" Of full ten cubits was the lance's length." — Book 8.
Whereas the Greek bard assures us it was exactly eleven cubits long.
I could quote the original, but least I should be suspected of osten-
tatiously wishing to display my reading, I shall leave the learned
inquirer to refer to the passage himself, and content myself, in the
succeeding quotations, with Pope's otherwise admirable performance.
But neither the lance of Hector, nor the mace of Ajax, could stand a
comparison with the spear of Achilles, which was one of the largest
ashes on Mount Pelion :

" An ash. entire
Great Chiron fell'd, and shap'd it for his sire."

The mass of iron hurled by Polypaetes to an enormous distance
and won by him as his prize, at the funeral games in honour of
Patroclus, was of such size as to suffice for stocking a large farm for
the space of five years, with plough-shares, iron tools, and utensils of
every descripti on ; but he was a remarkably strong man.

The appetite of these renowned Greeks, as it may easily be
supposed, was on a par with their prowess, and will serve to illus-
trate my position. In the present day, I venture to assert, on my
own experience and capability, that the aggregate of men, in the
fullest enjoyment of health and vigour, will find themselves puzzled
to consume, at a single onset, more than three or four pounds of

PROGRESSIVE DEGENERACY OF THE HUMAN RACE. 663

solid meat, with proportional accompaniments of pudding, bread, and
vegetables, to say nothing of porter and gin-and-water ; whilst the
strongest headed drinker will begin to stagger at his fifth or sixth
bottle. Perhaps the most respectable instance of modern mastication
on record, is the late feat of a countryman, who, having devoured as
much tripe as would by measurement have made him a coat and
waistcoat, bargained, in the pride of his heart, for demolishing a
whole suit, but was ingloriously obliged to give in at the calf of the
left leg. Let us now turn to the ancients, and we shall find all these
apparently powerful exhibitions of prowess puerile and insignificant
in the extreme. From the Iliad we derive much valuable informa-
tion respecting the appetites of the age ; for though the principal
heroes whose table exploits only are commemorated may have had a
greater quantum on which to exercise their talents, there is no
reasonable ground for maintaining that they excelled more in the
exercise than the ignobile vulgus. When the single combat between
Hector and Ajax is concluded, Iliad, Book 7> the leaders of the
Greeks sit down to dinner : —

" Each takes his seat, and each receives his share ;
The king himself, an honorary sign,
Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine/'

Which entire back of beef, destined for the stomach of one hero,
was, as we have been previously informed, late the property of a
full-grown ox. Again, in Book 9, the same Ajax, Ulysses, and old
Phoenix, are deputed to conciliate Achilles. On their arrival at his
tent, the first salutations past, before they proceed to the business of
the day —

" Patroclus o'er the blazing fire
Heaps, in a brazen vase, three chines entire ;
The brazen vase Automedon sustains,
Which flesh of porket, sheep, and goat contains."

Which ample provision of pig, mutton, and goat, it must be noted,
is to constitute the supplemental repast of five persons who have
already dined, and that not half-an-hour before. The frugality of
the ancients is well known ; they regulated the quantity of their
fare to the experienced or supposed appetites of their guests ; and
such was the nicety of their calculation, that remnants were rarely
suffered to leave the table. Several centuries after this, Milo of
Crotona killed a bullock of four years old with one blow of his fist,
and eat the whole animal in a single day. As late as B.C. 235, the
Roman Emperor Maximinus dispatched every day for dinner forty
pounds of beef, and five gallons of wine. In short, innumerable ex-
amples of a similar nature might be cited to prove the absurd
degeneracy of the present age, though these, I trust, will suffice to
bear out my argument. Even within this last 500 years our
ancestors were much larger and stronger than ourselves. What
modern grenadier can sustain, for half-an-hour, a complete suit of
the armour which our able-bodied forefathers wore in their daily
pastime ?

The only consolation that offers itself on the subject is, that
instead of repining at what cannot be remedied, we ought rather to

TO A TEAR.

congratulate ourselves that we have appeared on the stage before the
human race has dwindled into absolute pigmies, as assuredly they
will ; and, though we cut but a sorry figure when compared to our
ancestors of three thousand years since, posterity, in its turn, will
venerate us as very formidable fellows. Let us console, therefore,
ourselves with the reflection, that but a few years hence, and some
strapping grenadier of two feet six, doing duty at anew Horse Guards,
not bigger than a dog-kennel, will behold with wonder the rusty
remains of one of our Life Guardsmen's helmets, and turn away,
marvelling at the strength of the heroes of those days.

PRISMEGISTUS REDIVIVUS.

TO A TEAR.

FRAIL being ! tremulous and clear,

Oft on the cheek do'st thou appear,
To soothe despair, and give the heart relief ;

Of life how many a varied feeling,

Pure, glittering drop ! art thou revealing ?
Alternately the type of joy and grief !

Thou wer't by sin first introduced to man,

When woman's curiosity outran
Discretion, and our race from Eden hurl'd :

Great Alexander shed thee, when no state

Remain'd for his red arm to subjugate —
And his dread sceptre wav'd in triumph o'er the world !

When lovers part — perhaps for ever !

Thou mark'st the moment when they sever ;
And when fond plighted bosoms meet,

Their passion pure thou can'st express

More truly than can words confess,
For then thou'rt from the heart, and scorn'st deceit.

'Mid wasting wars, and carnage dread,

When by a hero thou art shed,
Thou add'st a jewel to his crown of fame ;

But oh ! how different the tear

That speaks the recreant coward's fear —
At once his badge of infamy and shame !

When "dew-eyed Pity" gives thee birth,

There's not a sparkling gem of earth
Can half thy lustre borrow ;

And all thy loveliness we see,

When thou art shed by Sympathy
Upon the breast of Sorrow !

THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN.

FEW persons who have not been in the country have ever heard the
extraordinary traits of individual heroism which characterized the
annals of the South American revolution. History has not yet done
justice to the memory of those brave men who have shed their best
blood for their country, and by whose sacrifices the ultimate happiness
and freedom of their posterity will be effected. But this by the way
— it is not my intention to treat the matter seriously here. There are
instances of humorous incident, and others, of a mauvaise plaisanterie,
that will suit my present purpose better.

Among the mass of men which the revolution introduced from
obscurity, were many whose sole recommendation was their daring in-
trepidity. Assisted by the influence which such a quality obtained
for them among their countrymen, they procured detached commands,
where, by dint of valour and vigilance, such extraordinary deeds were
achieved as would astonish the modern tactitian, and lead us back to
the days of our chivalric forefathers.

Distinguished from many of the minor chiefs of that day, was one
who I shall call Llanero. He was by birth a native of Porto-Rico,
but had expatriated himself on account of a slight difference he iiad
had with the alcalde of his town. In the short progress of this mis-
understanding, the alcalde was left minus a nose ; and such was the
indignation of the authorities, by this outrage upon justice, that poor
Llanero was never able to return. He was a man of no half-measures;
— therefore, seeing his proffered friendship treated with the promise
of a halter by the Spanish government, he determined on doing his
best to earn the distinction. The first proof of his conciliatory inten-
tion became manifest by his volunteering into the insurgent forces,
commanded by General Miranda, destined to act against the province
of Valencia. After the defeat of Miranda, and upon the re-establish-
ment of the royal authority, many individuals belonging to the Inde-'
pendent forces, who had private reasons of their own for not returning
into royal bondage, scattered themselves in the immense plains and
forests which lie between the Carraccas and the Orinoco, and, col-
lecting a few followers, commenced a small brigand practice on their
own account ; and really managed to carry on a very pretty stroke
of business. They had plenty of wild cattle for food, plenty of good
horses to ride, and their hammocks,, swung between trees, formed a
very comfortable and economical lodging. Their gains were princi-
pally devoted to their luxuries, and were spent in ardent spirits and
tobacco. Llanero was one of these free-traders, and managed to main-
tain himself in this respectable position in society till the arrival of
General Bolivar, who entered the province of Venezuela at the head
of an inconsiderable number of troops, and, after obtaining some suc-
cesses on the Orinoco, was joined by most of the free companies scat-
tered about. His insignificant armament thus became a formidable
corps; — it was then the deadly struggle commenced, which ended in
the expulsion of the Spaniards from the land which they had ruled
for centuries.

M. M. No. 96. 4 Q.

666 THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN.

For Bolivar, Llanero had a most profound respect, carried almost
to veneration j and he was consequently one of the first to join the
Independent standard. The great difficulty the army of the Liberator
had to struggle against was the want of provisions. The left bank of
the Orinoco had been so ravaged by former wars that little could be
expected from its miserable inhabitants. The country on the right
bank of the river had been in comparative security ; but the people,
uncertain of payment, sent such very scanty supplies to the requisi-
tions of the Liberator, that he determined to send Llanero amongst
them as a proper person to stimulate their patriotism, and persuade
them to their good.

It so happened that, a few days previous to the departure of Llanero
on his mission, a French schooner arrived, laden with all manner of
things which could not find a market elsewhere, — such as old clothes,
rancid oil, sour wine ; and, judging the march of mind was pro-
gressing at Angostura with the march of Bolivar, many books were
sent — translations from the French into the Spanish : and the cabin
was adorned with a ballad, then in great vogue among the French,
much about the same popularity as " Cherry Ripe" once enjoyed with
us. This ballad was called " La Barque a Caron," and took Llanero's
fancy very much. He was at the pains of having it translated to him
and learning it by heart. He was soon made to understand that part
of the mythology of the ancients which was the gist of the song, and
fully comprehended how old Charon was employed to ferry the souls
of deceased sinners to await the final order of the infernal judge. —
Such was the burthen of " La Barca de Caroni," as translated.

Before Llanero had been appointed to the mission, he was raised to
the rank of Major in the Independent army ; so, thinking it incum-
bent upou him to do justice to his dignity, he clothed himself from
head to foot with the cast-off French military finery, — which, to the
unsophisticated taste of the republican soldier, was the climax of
splendour ; for, it must be understood, the trifling earnings of his
former industrious pursuit had not been completely dissipated, and
now it enabled him to add lustre to a rank that he little anticpated
when his entire military wardrobe consisted of a blanket with a hole
cut in the middle, through which he could thrust his head. His ap-
pearance was much in the following fashion : — Tall and gaunt ; but
wiry and muscular. His countenance very dark, and his crispy hair
betraying a tinge of the African, or, as the sailors say, "a. dip of the
tar-brush." The expression of his features would not have been bad
had it not been sadly biassed by an irregular exhibition of muscle, ex-
tending from the right eye-brow across the eye and cheek and right
lip, which was completely separated ; this was the consequence of
being under the hands of a bungling practitioner in the likeness of a
Spanish dragoon, who wantonly dropped his instrument across
Llanero's face, just at the moment when he received a cloth-yard or so
of lance- wood through his interior : this Llanero would facetiously
observe, twisting his grisly features into something like a grin, was
the signature of his Spanish correspondent to his last will and testa-
ment. We now behold him casting off his former primitive vestments,
and clothed in a short hussar jacket of light blue, edged round with

THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN. 667

white wool, and decorated with three silver stripes on the right cuff, de-
noting the rank of its late owner, who had evidently been a small man,
as the black bony paws of Llanero protruded at considerable length
from beneath the sheep-skin cuffs. His trousers, too, originally of
white duck, were stained here and there, and reached half-way down
the calves of his legs. This deficiency, however, was pretty well con-
cealed by a pair of Wellington boots, which were coaxed into a junc-
tion with the shorts and laced up tightly round the leg. His costume
was completed by a black beaver hat, which, from the circumstance
of being distinguished by a broad gold band and buckle, must ori-
ginally have graced the tympanum of some intelligent functionary of
the hall-door or coach-box. This was further distinguished by a huge
white feather, late the pride of some French drum-major, which was
upreared directly in front, and nodded backward or forward ac-
cording to the movement of the wearer. In this warlike panoply
Llanero took his leave of the Liberator, and pressing a Flechera
into the service, set sail from Angostura up the Orinoco, to teach
the wilful inhabitants of the upper country a salutary lesson on the
duties of freemen. Shortly after, we find our friend comfortably es-
tablished in a small town, by the river's side, and had pitched his
tent at a very respectable domicile, which had heretofore owned some
Spaniard as master. But the war had caused more than one house
to change proprietors. He had hitherto succeeded wonderfully in his
mission ; perhaps, by the natural blandness and insinuating manners
peculiar to gentlemen of his class ; but, wherever he went, he per-
suaded people to forward large supplies to Angostura, for which they
received the written acknowledgment of the Liberator, and his com-
pliments on their distinguished patriotism. The only difficulty he
experienced was his entire ignorance of the country ; — it was an un-
known land to him, as his operation had been confined to the plains
and forests on the other side of the river. He was, therefore, occa-
sionally liable to mistakes, which he was often indebted to the natural
shrewdness of his character — and of which, by-the-way, he was not a,
little vain — to escape the consequences.

Late one evening he was sitting alone under his porch, in all the
dignity of power, trying the respective merits of a bottle of gin and
one of rum, which he had received that day as a present from head-
quarters, and enjoying the luxury of knowing he had nothing to do till
the next day; — most of the inhabitants had retired to rest, and nothing
was heard but the wailing melancholy cry of the Curacoa on the plains,
the hoarse croak of the bull-frog, and the tramp of the sentinel of the
lance guard that were quartered at his own residence : — Llanero was
dozing comfortably over his cigar, and visions of rank and power,
conjured up by the potent spirit of gin, were dazzling his excited
imagination, — when, suddenly, he bent forward his head, and the fume
of his cigar ceased to circulate. His mouth was half-unclosed, and
his eyes strained towards a certain point ; his attitude and manner
betrayed intense interest. The well practised ear of Llanero, culti-
vated to an extraordinary extent by his former habits of vigilance, had
detected in the distance the tramp of a horse as at full speed. He
listened until he became assured ; then, starting upon his legs, he

668

THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN.

turned out the guard, and despatched two patrols to reconnoitre : the
remainder stood with their hands on their bridles in the court-yard,
their spirited steeds stamping impatiently on the paved enclosure, and
champing their heavy bits. It was not long before the patrols re-
turned, and accompanied by another horseman bearing the lance and
flag of the Republic. They all drew up at the head-quarters — and
the stranger, leaping from his foaming horse, without preamble or
ceremony, put into Llanero's hand a sealed packet.

It proved to be an estafelte from Angostura, bringing despatches
from the Liberator himself to the Major Llanero. Eagerly did the
Major break the seal, and peruse the document, which he found to be
pretty nearly as follows :

" The Liberator is given to understand, that, at the village of San-Luis, or
somewhere in its neighbourhood, resides a Catalan Capuchin, called Brother
Juan de Dios. As this person has rendered himself obnoxious to the govern-
ment by misleading the people respecting imaginary successes obtained by
the Spanish, and is otherwise a declared enemy to the Republic, you are com-
manded, on the receipt of this, to arrest the" said Catalan Capuchin, Juan
de Dios, and cause him immediately to pass the Caroni.

" To Major Llanero,
Commandant of San-Juan."

The Caroni is a small river flowing into the Orinoco, about twenty
leagues from Angostura, and was formerly the boundary of the mis-
sions, or cultivated farms belonging to the Catalan Capuchins ; but
Llanero, as we have hinted before, knowing nothing of the geography
of this part of the country, had never heard the name of the river in his
life. But a luminous idea struck him. He had not forgotten the song he
learned at Angostura, nor the lesson he had received touching its
poetical though somewhat obscure interpretation. " So, so," thought
the major, " I am no longer a mere soldier of the state — I am a con-
fidential agent of the Liberator — he speaks to me in parables ; but he
knows his man — a word to the wise — I see it all — he wants this fel-
low to be put out of the way — the despatch might have been intercepted.
A word to the wise — yes, yes," muttered the major, quite satisfied
with his shrewd interpretation of the Liberator's wishes — " I see —
Lieutenant-Colonel — Colonel — and Aide-de-camp is certain. — Hollo !
—guard, there ! — bring me the alcalde immediately."

ft Why, major, he has been in bed these three hours," said a tall,
swarthy serjeant.

" Silence, sirrah ! — how dare you answer me ? Drag him out,
then, and bring him within five minutes."

The alcalde, a little, shrivelled old man, arrived within the time,
trembling, and pale as death, at such an unusual summons. He was
more than suspected of being a royalist himself, and now dreaded
some disclosure, perhaps, affecting his life.

" Sennor Alcalde," said the major, without thinking it necessary
to apologize to the functionary for so peremptory a summons, " you
must provide a guide to take a corporal and four men to San-Luis, to
arrest the capuchin that lives somewhere in that quarter. Let him be
here in a quarter-of-an-hour."

" But, Senor Major/' faltered the little alcalde, " I really have
so little knowledge "

THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN. 669

" Silence ! — How many leagues is it from here to San-Luis ?"

" Four leagues and better ; but, really Major "

" Silence ! — Then the people ought to be back here by the middle
of the day to-morrow. Now, look ye here, Senor Alcalde; I'm a
man of few words : if they are not back by the evening bell, I shall
look to you for a fine of three hundred dollars, and shall seize your
cattle as security. Now see that you get a safe guide/

" Valgami Dios !" shrieked the poor little functionary ; " butf
Major, you surely "

" What, dog of a Goth !" shouted the major, with a furious eleva-
tion of voice — " unmannerly vagabond ! do you dare to interrupt
me? Very well, Sir! we'll cut this matter — you shall be the guide
yourself, and if, before twelve to-morrow, you don't bring me the
monk, I'll hang you on yonder palm-tree to feed the gallinacio ! —
Now, then, to horse ! to horse ! and strap me this will-o'-the-wisp to
the saddle, lest the wind should carry him off."

The major had been accustomed to rather a rough will of his own,
and it was sometimes dangerous to tamper with him. Nobody, there-
fore, thought it prudent to hazard a remark ; so that, in less than a
quarter of an hour, the poor alcalde, well strapped and escorted, was
on his route to San-Luis.

That night, thanks to the nature of his potation, the major slept
well ; but early in the morning, on rising, the contents of the dispatch
he had received over-night flashed across his mind. He looked at it,
and read it over and over again — something staggered him — it was
not as to the actual purport of the order that he was at fault — of that
he was quite certain ; but there was a little sneaking weakness at his
heart touching the sacred office of the minister of the church. The
early impressions of his youth arose to his memory — his native village
and the church, and the kind old padre who first taught him to read
and to pray ! but that was many years ago. Had it been the disposal
of prisoners — hanging a few contumacious civilians, or any thing
else, indeed, in the plain way of business — but the church ! — that
was a different affair — it did not come within his practice.

" A thousand curses on the fiend that put this into the head of
Bolivar !" he muttered, as he strode upan d down his chamber, filling
it with smoke, which he puffed vehemently from his cigar. " I wish
to God the infernal thing was done, and it was off my mind ! They
can't be long before they are here." Here he gazed earnestly out
upon the plain. — " I would give fifty of the best horses of the savan-
nah, if an earthquake would stumble on the whole lot, and rid me of
the job." In vain he tried to persuade himself that the Capuchin was
a Spaniard, and, consequently, amenable to military law. It would
not do — his conscientious scruples set all his sophistry at defiance.
He lighted his cigar and re-lighted it — swallowed brandy, glass after
glass — swore at his men in a manner even to astonish them, and
stamped about the room like a madman — working himself into a
fearful state of excitement.

Before the middle of the day, however, the tri-colored flag of his
own lancers was seen at a distance in the plain, and, before the time
appointed, the party halted at the major's quarters, bringing with

670 THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN.

them the Capuchin and the alcalde : — it was by the merest luck in the
•world they had captured the monk ; for the alcalde had not spoken
a word since their departure — he was unmoved by entreaties and
threats, and resolved not to betray the Capuchin — he maintained an
obstinate silence. The monk, knowing they had just cause of com-
plaint against him, remained concealed at some neighbouring farm,
and not supposing but that he was safe when administering the actual
duties of his sacred office, he came forth occasionally to administer
consolation to his flock. As ill-luck would have it, Llanero's party
entered San^Luis as the Capuchin entered the church, arid the corporal
who commanded not being gifted, like his superior, with any scruple
at all, arrested him at the very altar. It was of no use to resist ; but
knowing in his own mind they dare not harm him, the monk vowed
the bitter vengeance of Heaven against Llanero and all employed in
so sacreligious an outrage.

Llanero had hitherto anxiously awaited the arrival of this Capu-
chin, but at that moment he cursed the fortune that had betrayed
him into their hands. Each moment he became more irresolute, and
had almost determined to send him a prisoner to Bolivar, to deal with
him as he pleased — when the Capuchin himself caused him to make
up his mind quicker then he expected. Dismounting from his horse
in a style not unworthy of a professed equestrian, the monk strode
haughtily up to the Independent officer : " How long is it,;,Sir, since
the brothers of the holy St. Francis have been amenable to military
authority ?" Llanero was a little taken aback ; but the monk pro-
ceeded in a higher tone than was discreet : — " Was there ever a man
in the world, except a rascally bandit like you, who would dare put his
devilish hand upon a priest at the altar ? — but hark'ye, babe of hell !
I'll make no compromise with your masters, until you are disgraced
like a rascally robber, as you are." This was touching poor Llanero
upon a tender subject, and no wonder that his amiable peculiarities
should display themselves. Still, however, with an admirable reso-
lution, he did not break out, but his inflamed visage presaged a
storm.

'* As far as regards my chief," said he, in reply to the monk's
tirade, I am quite easy : — " I act under the express order of the Li-
berator."

" The Liberator !" shouted the monk, clenching his hand in defi-
ance.— " Say, rather, the libertine — the atheist — the accursed of
God ! — Those are the titles that accord best with a traitor to his King
and the Holy Church. But I tell you, hell-dog as you are, neither
he nor his will long blind the eyes of honest men. He shall not
escape this time as he did before — I swear it — he shall hang like a
dog, with you and every brigand that has helped him !"

"• Sangre de Dios ! you shall not live to see it — spawn of the
Devil !" shouted Llanero, bursting into uncontrolable fury at this irre-
verent mention of Boliver. All the fire of the bandit gleamed from his
fearfully excited visage ; — " for this moment do I consign you to
another world !" The Capuchin, full of confidence at the protection
of his cloth, treated his threat with contempt.

" Go ! miserable wretch," said he ; " go ! you are even beneath my

THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN. 671

pity. Incarnate fiend as you are, with your hands red with innocent
blood, and your soul steeped in unmentionable crimes, you dare not
cause a hair of my head to fall ; reserve your ill-timed pleasantries for
your equals, and fall down on your vilejknees, miserable! and implore
my mercy !" Llanero was absolutely paralyzed with rage — though
fury was rending his very vitals. As the monk finished, he burst
into a loud hysteric laugh, and, throwing up his right hand, cried in
a voice scarcely human —

" Guard ! lead forth the prisoner !" The monk was roughly seized
by each arm, and led into the court yard.

" Halt ! — Prisoner, have you recommended your soul to God?" The
monk, full of an absurd confidence, shrugged his shoulders, and did
not deign even to turn his head toward Llanero, who was immediately
behind him. It was well he did not, it saved his heart a pang ; for
there he stood — his face livid as a corpse, his features convulsed, and
in his right hand trembled his naked blade, stained to the hilt in
blood !

" Father ! look to your sandals." The monk, thinking some trick
had been played him, bent his neck to see, when at that moment he
rolled a headless and bloody corpse !

The news of this barbarous execution spread like wildfire through-
out the province, where the Capuchin was much respected ; and the
excitement which it produced against the government, with whom it
was supposed to have originated, began to assume an alarming
appearance^ Numerous armed bodies rose in various parts, and fell
upon the detachments belonging to Llanero's corps, which were
quartered around, and Llanero himself narrowly escaped being torn
to pieces — he only saved himself by leaping upon the bare back of a
horse that happened to be pasturing near his dwelling. Thus
mounted, he galloped six leagues without halting — supplying the
absence of spurs by the point of his poniard, and fancying, in
every gust of wind, he heard the shouts of his pursuers.

Things would have gone rather untoward with our friend, had he
presented himself before Bolivar at that juncture. The disgrace
which he brought upon government, would, in all probability, have
been expiated by the gallant major being made to follow the monk.
He, therefore, judged it prudent to await a more favourable oppor-
tunity for an audience ; in which resolution he was quite confirmed,
by learning from a comrade, that his interpretation of passing the
Caroni was a species of wit not likely to be relished by the parties
for whose especial benefit it was intended.

Quite crest-fallen at his unfortunate mistake, and the loss of his
detachment, Llanero took refuge among his ancient haunts, only cor-
responding with one of his old comrades at Angostura, who at last
succeeded in appeasing the wrath of Bolivar, and procuring an order
for his return. On the day appointed for Llanero's appearance, he
presented himself at the palace at Angostura — a large building that
occupies one side of the great square, formerly the residence of the
Spanish governors — and found the Liberator lolling, according to his
custom, in a large white hammock, which was highly ornamented
with lace, and amusing himself by conversing with some of the

672 THE CATALAN CAPUCHIN.

favourites of his staff. On the major's introduction, the Liberator
made him recount the whole transaction, the excessive absurdity of
which, added to the sang-frnid recital, notwithstanding its tragical
denouement, convulsed them all with laughter. Llanero, mistaking
their mirth for approbation, thought he might push his success a little
further ; so, retreating to a little distance, he drew his sword,, and
holding it by the point, presented the handle to Bolivar, saying, with
as much humility as his nature would allow, " This, your Excellency,
is the humble instrument that served me to shave the poor Capu-
chin's beard. May I beg to be allowed to present to "

" Nom de Dieu ! " exclaimed Bolivar, in French ; and, vaulting
back from his hammock some two or three yards, " is the fellow
drunk, or has he lost his wits, that he takes me for a stabber, by
giving me his filthy blade ?"

" Pardon, your Excellency !" returned the Major, rather abashed
at the success of his experiment ; " but I merely meant to call your
attention to a curious circumstance connected with the affair. This
vagabond monk, you must know, General, always wore a thick
padded collar about his neck, as it was supposed, in consequence of
some disease. Now, what might your Excellency believe this collar
was stuffed with ? perhaps you will suppose some aromatic precau-
tion against infection from the sick ! No ; simply with twenty-five
good doubloons of gold, which this saintly brigand had levied upon
charity. Now, General, what I wished to say was, that this poor
contemptible blade, for which no one would give half a dollar, made
a clean sweep of neck, collar, doubloons, and all ; and see, sir, not a
single notch !"

It is said that Llanero became exceedingly quarrelsome jind trouble-
some after this event, and the least allusion to the river Caroni was
certain to excite in him the most violent anger ; indeed, he very
nearly cut the throat of a Piedmontese officer, who, not knowing the
circumstance of his disgrace, politely invited him to share in a feast
of maccaroni !

LOVE.

WHERE, shrinking, cowers detected Guilt,
Where blood for blood must soon be spilt ;
When RUTH and Mercy shuddering flee,
And Justice sounds its dread decree,
Love, like a star in cloud-stained skies,
Still keeps lone watch with weeping eyes.

Tears, nor tortures, nor dismay,

Can scare that drooping form away ; —

All unions may be torn apart

Save those that rivet heart and heart, —

Life and light — and lip and breath —

Love stands alone, defying Death !

W. G. A.

THE ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA.

IT is peculiar to the English to lavish more money upon musicians
than the whole of Europe besides,, and yet to be abused throughout
the Continent for having no music themselves, and for knowing little
or nothing about it. To be English, according to foreigners, is to be
unmusical ; and, if we compare English with foreign music, sharp
though the satire be, it would seem to be not altogether untrue.
Even the Irish and the Scotch, who for centuries have ceased to
rank as separate and independent people, have not ceased to make it
a reproach to their fellow-countrymen that they have no national
music. Friends and foes concur in the censure, and one would
suppose that, in so bad a cause, the best course were to keep still
and do nothing. Nevertheless, some " Britons bold " there are, who,
in the teeth of all disadvantages, have conceived and put forth the
project of a NATIONAL ENGLISH OPERA. Whether they have done
this because they believe that the elements of good music lie dor-
mant in the nation, and only require cultivation, arid a favourable
vent to become conspicuous ; or, whether it is that, seeing how the
English always have been, and evidently still are, determined to ex-
pend hundreds of thousands every year on music, they only think it
were just as well for their fellow-countrymen to be put in as a fair si-
tuation of obtaining a portion of the outlay, as foreigners, we care not
just now to ask : the project has been put forth, and it is our duty to
consider it. We confess, if possible, we would do something for our
own flesh and blood.

The gentlemen who have been so hardy as to propose an " English
National Opera," are Mr. G. Herbert Rodwell and Mr. J. Barnett, —
the former, favourably known to the public as the composer of much
pleasant music for the little theatre in the Adelphi ; and the latter, a
highly popular ballad writer, and the author of some successful
operas, at what are falsely called the " great" houses. The merit of
having originated the plan of a theatre for English music only, rests
with Mr. Barnett.* Last autumn, in conjunction with Mr. Bishop, he
forwarded to his Majesty, a petition on the subject ; the King re-
ferred the question to the Duke of Devonshire, and his Grace refused
the prayer. Mr. Rodwell then took the matter in hand, and laid

* " To His Most Gracious Majesty, &c., &c.
" The Memorial of John Barnett, Musical Composer.

" Humbly shows : That the cultivation of'Music, both vocal and instrumental,
has greatly increased in England of late years, but that, during such time, neither
the character or success of English Music or of English Composers have
improved.

" That up to a recent period, English singers and English composers were al-
most exclusively emploved in certain London theatres, but that latterly, the
works of foreign musicians, obtained at little or no expense, and foreign singers,
hired on very expensive terms, have nearly excluded English music, vocal and
instrumental, from the larger London theatres.

tw That the continuance of such a state of things seems to threaten the extinc-
tion of Music as an original science in England.

" That if a new theatre were to be licensed for th3 performance of operas, or
M.M. No. 96. 4R

674 THE ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA.

before the Royal Society of Musicians, the draft of a memorial (it is
rather a curious production as a specimen of reasoning and writing)
to the King, for a " New Grand National Opera, whose aim should
be science — whose end, charity." We are not informed whether any
petition founded upon this document has really been presented, and
if so, what was the answer returned. From his pamphlet* we learn,
that Mr. Rod well would form our musicians into a society, for the
purpose of obtaining a licence for a " Grand Opera," and raising
" forty thousand pounds," to build it, by " donations of any amount
down to one penny." Farther into the details of this outline it cannot
here be necessary to enter : it would avail nothing were we to explain
how Mr. Rodwell would have five directors, a treasurer, and two
auditors for this forty thousand pound donation opera ; how he would
make engagements, how regulate performances, how choose musical
pieces, make payments, and bestow all his profits by way of charity
upon the " Royal Society of Musicians," the " New Musical Fund,"
the " Choral Fund," and the " Royal Academy of Music." To ex-
plain these various details, we repeat, were idle, and for the strongest
reason possible. We have read Mrs. Glass, on Cookery, and bethink
us of the maxim — " first catch your hare/' — in other words, first get
forty thousand pounds in donations ! It is a castle in the air. In so far as
it evinces an amiable enthusiasm for the profession, which he practises
with a fair and praiseworthy reputation, and shows regard for the
distressed condition of his brother musicians, the plan does Mr. Rod-
well great credit. But here our approbation must stop ; it betrays
great weakness ; it is impracticable. The ' ' gentle public will not
give away a tithe of the sum demanded to English music in pounds
or pence.

Mr. Barnett's plan — we speak from report, and are subject to cor-
rection, for he has not favoured us by publishing a pamphlet — is more
a matter of business. He petitions for a Theatre for English music,
and English music only, and he proposes to raise a capital to build
and furnish such a theatre by joint stock shares. The great object is
to create an English school of Music, and both Mr. Barnett and Mr.
Rodwell see that the surest way, to effect that great and good end, is
to procure for English Musicians a certain market for their produc-
tions. Mr. Barnett would vest the property and net profits of this
market in those who expend their money to erect it, rightly fore-
musical dramas, the production of English composers, and if in the construction
of such theatre, care were to be had, so to arrange its accommodations and
charges as to make them suit the respective tastes and conveniences of the dif-
ferent ranks of society, which may be presumed to be likely to become the sup-
porters of such an establishment, it seems not unreasonable to suppose that an
impulse would be given to the musical abilities of Englishmen, which would ele-
vate the English school to a rank gradually approaching, and in time fully equal,
to that deservedly enjoyed by the Continental nations.

" That your Memorialist, therefore, ventures with great humility to submit
to your Majesty the propriety of having a new theatre licensed, for the culti-
vation and support of English music only, and your Memorialist solicits that
your Majesty will be graciously pleased to become the Patron of such theatre.

" And your Memorialist will ever pray."

* Letter to the Musicians of Great Britain, by G. Herbert Rodwell, &c. 8vo.
Frazer.

THE ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA. 675

seeing, that if the musician obtains employment, and the interests of
the science are secured by the limitations of the patent, under which
he performs, all will have been done that a reasonable man can pre-
tend to ask for. Mr. Rod well, more generous but less judicious,
would not only procure employment for the musician while young and
in health, but would devote all the emoluments which that employ-
ment might produce to provide charity for him when aged, decayed,
and distressed. This were a premium against economy — the conclu-
sive inducement to extravagance and dissipation, in a profession
which has always been sufficiently surrounded by temptations to im-
prudence. The English musician, we believe, will be content (we
are sure 'he ought to be), when he shall be assured of those means
and facilities for acquiring fortune and distinction, which the fo-
reigners who carry away thousands from us yearly, enjoy in their
native homes, and by which, fostered and improved, they are enabled
to surpass and overcome the unsupported Englishman beneath his
own roof. The English musician wants, and he has every title to, a
certain theatre for the exhibition of his talents: give him that, and,
like other men, he will take care of his own fortune — give him that,
and should he, notwithstanding, come a creeping beggar-man to our
doors in old age, it will at least be a consolation to reflect that he will
not have a claim upon our charity. We shall already have done our
duty to him.

In looking forward to such a state of things, our eyes are steadily
fixed upon Mr. Barnett's plan. In all the Arts and Sciences, useful
and liberal, we stand, with the exception of music alone, if not supe-
rior, at least equal, to the present generation of our fellow-men. A
theatre for the sole encouragement of English music would go far to
remove this solitary stain upon the national character, and, if pru-
dently devised, such a theatre would certainly be obtained. The ob-
ject is one for which every educated Englishman must feel an interest.
In that capacity we recommend Messrs. Barnett, and Bishop, and
Rodwell to unite together, and select a good committee to forward
their designs. But let not men of rank and influence only be sought
for. Their' s is a matter of business ; and practical men are indispensable
to its success. Let the scheme of a joint stock company, with a capital
of sixty thousand pounds, in shares of fifty pounds each, be laid before
the public. Petitions to the King may be easily obtained in its favour,
and should his Majesty be advised to reject its prayer, let the com-
mittee apply for an Act of Parliament. A cause at once so popular
and so just, could hardly fail, we should imagine, of the desired
success.

COCKNEY AND CORYDON.

CORYDON.

MARCH ! march ! Bread-street, and Cannon -street,

Alderman bury, march forward in state !
March Austin Friars ! while crooked Threadneedle- street,

Limps on her crutches thro' Temple-bar gate !

Come from the land of the brick manufactories !

Piled, like old Babylon, street over square !
Fly from the scene, where Old Nick the chief actor is I

From the Jews of St. James's, and eke of Rag Fair !

March from your Mansion House, lord of the city !

Start for the country, ye lovers of fun !
Up, Gog and Magog, for once — 'twere a pity

To live all your lives without seeing the sun !

Oh ! think, gentle Cockney, how lovely the roses,
And violets, and lilies, that perfume the air !

Oh ! rusticate instantly — follow your noses

Through Highgate and Hampstead — cut Finsbury- square !

Think, think, of the moonbeam that sleeps on the river,
Of the rock, and the ocean, the mountain, and dell —

Of the foliage so bright, and the aspens that quiver,
And the fountain that plays in its own mossy cell !

Oh ! think of these loveable sentimentalities !

Your convict-like drudging must make a man spare ;
Then quit the base scene of life's sordid realities —

Haste, haste to our hills and vales — try the fresh air 1

COCKNEY.

Truce, truce to your dreaming ! you move but my pity, —
Grave Magog e'en laughs, till he's heard by St. Paul :

'Tis the gas, not the moon, that enlightens the city,
D'ye think your Dame Nature could build our Guildhall ?

Lord love your fine sentiment ! — Utilitarians
Can't admit such false maxims on any pretence,

With Maculloch, and Mill, so completely at variance ; —
All sense is Utility ! — give me the pence !

Saving only to painters, and poets, and dreamers,
Your rocks are a nuisance that every one blames ;

Say — what were your rivers, deprived of our steamers ?
And what is your ocean, compared with our Thames?

HINTS TO SPORTSMEN. 677

Sweet, sweet bloom our bowpots, in balconies blowing !

Resplendent is Holborn, with bright gaslights starred !
Oh ! dear is Cheapside, with its human tide flowing,

And pensive the poplars in Monument-yard !

How soothing the hum of the busy crowd swarming,
Harmonious on Sunday the cry of " mack'rel !"

With its musical falls, and its cadences — charming,
And touching the tone of the deep dustman's bell !

What have you that we have not, sad sentimentalist ?

We've Short's-gardens, Field-lane--aye, and Green-yards to range,
And compare all the creatures, of which you have sent a list,

With our grasshopper gilt, on the Royal Exchange.

But what are your roses and lilies, so sickly,
Your ague-ish fountains, that cracked poets love —

Your quivering aspens, and furze-bushes prickly,
Say, chopstick philosopher ! what do they prove ?

Cease, then, somnambulist, cease your monotony !

'Twere pity, perchance, from your dreams to disturb ye !
Still dose in your cottage, and stick to your botany !

Leave me at peace in my own rus in urbe !

Penzance. H.

HINTS TO SPORTSMEN.

BY CAPTAIN CRAM, H. P. R.H. M.

I DETEST popping at partridges, and should consider it a disgrace
to gallop after even the most stinking fox that ever was cubbed : let
it stink ever so attractively to the sense of a British sportsman, it has
no charms for me. No ; I have been accustomed to a more extensive
field; I have hunted elephants and bagged buffaloes; my taste,
therefore, for such " small deer" as Britain boasts, has dwindled into
contempt. Time was, however, when I was a great man in the
" small way." Few could boast of more extrordinary leaps; and as
to bagging game — it is no use to mince the matter — I was a devil of a
shot ! I could relate some anecdotes of sporting in those days which
would amuse as well as astonish you, — but my object is now to be
serious.

During my experience in foreign countries I have been taught the
fallacy of many received rules in sporting, which are here followed
with implicit faith. As a sincere and general reformer I wish much
to alter all these, although I anticipate the difficulty ; for England is so
wedded to prejudices and old customs, that it is lucky for us our fore-
fathers did not practise walking upon their heads in a general way, or

HINTS TO SPORTSMEN.

we should certainly have contended for the propriety of it. How-
ever, I think the advantage of adopting my new rules will be so self-
evident, that the most bigoted Tory sportsman will hardly refuse to
conform. In the first place, then, contrary to the received maxim —

RULE 1. — Always load your gun when on the cock, by which you
lose no time in bringing your piece to your shoulder, a great advan-
tage ; and if you possess common caution, you run no risk of blowing
your head off while ramming down your charge.

RULE 2. — When a, covey gets up, always jire bang into the middle of
it. — It is all nonsense about singling out a particular bird ; take my
word, it is easier to rniss one bird than to miss a dozen.

RULE 3. — When you are very desirous of game, instead of shot, fire
your ramrod. — By this plan you may spit three brace at one shot. I
have known it done.

RULE 4. — When you scramble through a hedge, by all means let your
gun be at the full cock. — Caution should be the characteristic of a good
sportsman ; if you shoot your friend, you will be cautious for life.

RULE 5. — If a single bird gets up on your friend's side, shoot at it by
all means. — The old system is only to fire at those on your own side,
which I hold to be a losing game ; for if your friend brings down his
bird, he bags it ; whereas, if you fire also, you have the benefit of the
doubt, which is settled by tossing up. Never mind the old gag of it
being unfair — the ardour of a sportsman is a good excuse.

RULE 6. — When you meet with a hare on her form, kill it if you can.
— It is all stuff about being unsportsmanlike — don't attend to such
rubbish. My advice is, Jill your oag.

RULE 7- — Never brag of' being a good shot. Hold this as a maxim ;
if, for example, you have leave to shoot over a gentleman's grounds,
and are successful, which you are pretty sure to be, if you follow my
rules, and are anything of a shot, send your man home with the game,
then call at the house and leave a brace of birds, being the whole
contents of your bag — you will be condoled with, and have unlimited
leave to shoot.

RULE 8. — When you enter a Afield, holloa and bawl as loud as you
can. It will save you much trouble, for you will see at once whether
there are any birds there.

RULE 9. — Always train your dog to chop his bird from each covey.
With a good brace of dogs, so trained, and a double-barrelled gun, I
would bag more game than any man in England.

RULE 10. — Choose your dogs of the highest possible courage. By
this precaution you can gratify yourself by thrashing your dog when-
ever you miss, without fear of spoiling him.

RULE 11. — The instant a pheasant rises blaze away at him. My
reason for this innovation, is, that if you miss, you wil have time to
pitch your hat at him.

RULE 12. — Never omit to prime your piece ; this is a most important
point, and involves consequences not at first apparent. I once re-
member, in ancient days, to have accompanied two gentlemen from
the land of Cockaine, on a shooting excursion ; one was the head
clerk at Cox and Greenwood's, the army agents, and the other be-
longed to Dolan's house, the army tailor. They were both pupils of

HINTS TO SPORTSMEN. 679

mine, though from want of practice they had made but indifferent
progress. Well, up got a fine cock pheasant, and, according to my
system, both pieces were levelled, and clown came the bird, though, I
verily believe, such was the eagerness of both sportsmen to have the
start, that neither had time to bring his gun to his shoulder. Then
came on the dispute ; the tailor swore he covered the bird, while the
other declared he could tell the spot where he touched him. It was
referred to me, and without tossing up, I gave it against the tailor.
The fact was that I did not carry a gun that day, thinking I should
have enough to do to take care of myself, which, indeed, the sequel
proved, for I went home minus the skirt of my coat ; I was, there-
fore, the better enabled to watch the proceedings. The tailor de-
murred at my promptness, and proposed the toss ; I, however, re-
ferred him to the pan of his piece, which, on examination, he found
he had forgotten to prime ! He lost his chance of his friends bird :
therefore, I would say, however you manage about the charge, never
forget the priming.

I could illustrate my rules by examples ; but I intend publishing a
few sporting reminiscences soon, in which I shall embody them. Till
when, I should advise you to study what I have laid down. Before
the season closes you will have plenty of time for practice, and any
inquiries touching what I have said, the Editor of the "Monthly" will
be good enough to forward to me. My dear brother sportsmen, be-
lieve me to be your friend, CRAM.

HEAD CLERK AT CocJfS AND GREENWOOD**.

TO IZONIA.

FAIR girl — farewell! and with that word receive

All — all a heart, like mine by sorrow torn,
Can wish to thee ! Think on me ever — not to grieve

That I am tortured with a hope forlorn —
But that, by thine example led, my soul will smile

Serenely on the fate that bids us part,
And tell me in my solitude the while,

That still my memory lives within thy heart —
That pure and secret sanctuary — free

From the intrusive world's malignant eye,
To which my troubled spirit still would flee,

To woo the solace of thy gentle sigh.

Ye powers of fancy, than can still display,

To meditation's rapt and loving hour,
The living charm of beauty far away —

Oh ! cheer my musings in my leafless bower ;
Pour on mine ear the accents of her tongue,

The airy likeness of her form reveal,
With bright deceit refresh a heart unstrung,

And o'er my charmed sense illusive steal.

Izonia ! idol of a wayward breast !

Will not the fountain of thine own repay
The fitful anguish of my broken rest,

The waning hope of each desponding day ?

Lost and forsaken as my lot may seem,

I fondly woo illusion's spell, to chase
Despair and sorrow from a feverish dream,

And help inventive fancy still to trace
Tears on thy cheek — within thy pensive mind

A softened thought of all I wished to be —
A chastened captive to thy breast confined,

A soul reclaimed, and yet allured by thee.

But if a kindlier destiny should wave

One wandering ray across its cold eclipse,
And give me once again the joy it gave,

The sunny smile, the music of thy lips,
Thy young heart's gladness mantling on thy brow —

Oh ! let me find thy breast the same pure shrine !
Oh ! may I meet thee, as I leave thee now,

Free from all bonds — though never, never, mine.

Misgiving fear ! should sterner fate ordain

A long, a last farewell — should that cold doom
That withers hope and love, and staunches pain,

Decree my anxious heart a distant tomb,
Remember me ! believe that, fondly true,

Receding life was hallowed as it passed ;
Affection perished — still adoring you —

And breathed its prayer — the holiest, as the last !

THE PHENOMENA OF MAGNETISM.

IN the year 1778, Mesmer, a German physician, who had already
published some fanciful opinions, broached the doctrine of the power
of magnetism over the living body. Not finding his ideas to meet
with that support in his native country to which he conceived they
were entitled, he repaired to Paris, then considered the centre of
science and civilization, boldly relying upon the confidence of his
assertions, and the credulity of the inhabitants of the French metro-
polis. Nor was his audacity disappointed ; for he had no sooner
declared his pretensions, than he met with some zealous adherents,
if not among the most eminent men of letters, at least among some
who possessed so much reputation as to produce a great effect upon
the public mind. The object which Mesmer professed was to cure
diseases of various kinds, by a certain application of magnetism to
the human body ; or by exciting the magnetic influence which pre-
viously existed in it, although in a latent or insensible state. After
he had resided about a year in France, he published an account of
his new system. Some of the leading positions are as follows : —
Magnetism is a fluid of the greatest tensity, so as to approach to an
immaterial or ethereal nature, which pervades all the universe, and
fills all the pores or vacancies that are not occupied by grosser
matter. It is supposed to be the primary cause of many of the
active properties that we observe in the universe, and especially to
communicate to them the original impulses of motion and sensation.
The human body is capable of receiving the magnetic influence, and
the nerves appear to be the media by which it is transmitted through
the different organs. This animal magnetism, when excited or
liberated, is capable of being communicated from one body to ano-
ther, and accumulated in them, analogous to what we observe with
respect to the electric fluid. It has, however, many peculiarities in
which it differs from this agent ; of which one of the most remark-
able is, that it may be transported to a considerable distance without
the intervention of any other substance ; and it has, also, the pecu-
liarity of affecting certain individuals alone, while it has no percep-
tible effect upon others, a difference of constitution which can only
be ascertained by actual experiment. But the most important pro-
perty of animal magnetism is its power in curing diseases, which it
possesses in a degree that could not have been previously conceived,
but of the actual existence of which we have the most undoubted
evidence : its operation upon the body being through the medium of
the nervous system, it follows that what we usually style nervous
diseases are those that come more immediately under its influence.
In proof of his hypothesis, and of the power of magnetism over the
human body, Mesmer and his adherents confidently appealed to their
success in the cure of diseases ; and so great did this appear, and so
unquestionable was the evidence on which it seemed to be founded,
that for some time scarcely any opposition was made to it, and it was
regarded as the most unreasonable scepticism to doubt of its reality.
M. M. No. 96. 4 S

682 THE PHENOMENA. &C.

Mesmer, whether we consider him as an impostor or an enthusiast — a
point which is now, perhaps, not very easy to determine— did not lose
the opportunity which was offered him of improving his fortune ; so
that, in the short space of two years, he accumulated a very large
property. It was, perhaps, more to this circumstance than to the
pure love of truth, or a genuine zeal for science, that we are indebted
for the investigation which took place into the merits of the new
practice. The established faculty of Paris, finding themselves com-
pletely eclipsed by this foreign empiric, made a remonstrance on the
subject to the Court ; and this application fortunately produced the
appointment of a set of eight Commissioner, of whom the most
effective were five members of the Academy of Sciences, Bailly — Le
Noy, De Boey, Lavoiner, and Franklin. This last philosopher took
the lead in the inquiry, for which he was peculiarly adapted, by his
acute and powerful understanding ; and to him, in conjunction with
his colleagues, we are indebted for one of the most valuable speci-
mens of scientific research that is to be met with in the history of
philosophy. We cannot, at present, enter into this most interesting
report, which we may, however, be tempted to refer to upon another
occasion ; but the address drawn up by Franklin concludes with the
following just reflections : — " Man possesses the power of acting upon
his fellow-creatures, of agitating their nerves, and of even throwing
them into convulsions; but this action is not to be considered as of a
physical nature. We cannot perceive that it depends upon any com-
municated fluid; but it appears to be entirely of a moral nature, and
to operate through the medium of the imagination. It is an action
which is almost always productive of dangerous consequences, which
can never be admitted into philosophy, and which it is useful to be
acquainted with, merely for the purpose of being able to guard
against its effects. Magnetism will not, however, be without its ad-
vantages to that philosophy which condemns it, as it furnishes us
with an additional fact in the history of the errors of the human
mind, and exhibits a most interesting example of the powers of the
imagination."

The great supporters of animal magnetism have recently been
Kieser in Jena, and Wolfart in Berlin ; the former explains the phe-
nomena by the striking difference between life by day and life by
night, both in the case of animals and vegetables — the latter adopts
the mysticism of Mesmer. In 1820 the Prussian Government caused
a prize to be offered for the best treatise on the subject, but it was
subsequently withdrawn. In Germany, a country so fertile in mys-
ticism, both physical and metaphysical, animal magnetism has still
its adherents, and these not merely among the vulgar, but even
among men of learning. In some of the German universities, so re-
nowned for their indefatigable research and profound erudition,
animal magnetism takes its place with the other sciences, and has its
professors and lecturers ; journals are devoted to recording the cures
that are performed by it, and the cures stand upon the same evidence,
and are received with the same degree of confidence with other me-
dical facts. The following extracts from letters written by the Mar-
quis de Puysegur, a conscientious believer in Mesmerism, are

THE PHENOMENA, &C.

extremely curious. The translator was acquainted in Paris with this
gentleman, and the following is a brief sketch of this staunch adherent
to the doctrines of Mesmer : —

Armand de Chastenet, Marquis de Puysegur, was a General of
Artillery, before the Revolution ; he was born in 1 752 — is the grand-
son of a marshal of France. His extensive knowledge, amiable
manners, and strict probity caused him to be beloved by the whole
army. He served at the siege of Gibraltar, where he distinguished
himself, and was particularly noticed by the Comte d'Artois (Charles
X.),who gave him the command of the regiment of Strasburg. He
was kept two years in prison at Soissons, during the reign of terror,
and had a narrow escape from the guillotine. In 1799 he was ap-
pointed Mayor of Soissons, and in this situation he rendered immense
services to the poorer class of the inhabitants. In 1805 he returned
to his estate of Busancy, and has, until 1816, devoted his time to the
pursuit of his favourite study, Mesmerism. The public papers have
continually mentioned the extraordinary cures effected by him on
numerous patients. He is the author of a great number of scientific
works.

I.

Au Chateau de Busancy, near Soissons, 8th May, 1784,

WHILE pleading the cause of Animal Magnetism, I am merely pleading
that of its celebrated discoverer ; and if I attempt to impart a few notions
upon the subject you will easily perceive how enthusiastically devoted I am
to Mr. Mesmer.

I do not pretend giving you the theory of Animal Magnetism, nor enter
into a discussion respecting its analogy with the whole system of the world
— Mr. Mesmer alone can undertake so great a task ; I merely wish to in-
form you what method I pursue to cure maladies, and to relate a few sur-
prising and unexpected effects produced by a science which the world is now
beginning to appreciate.

I can scarcely flatter myself that T am sufficiently enlightened not to make
some slight errors in entering into this brief explanation ; the inferences that
I draw from facts may be called in question, and even refuted, for aught I
know, but you may place implicit reliance upon my averments respecting
the cures that have been performed — I am incapable, as all who know me
can testify, of uttering a falsehood.

My firm belief is, that there exists an universal fluid vivifying the whole
world, and that this is not an ancient error, but an ancient truth which
ignorance has caused to be rejected. My opinion is, that this fluid is conti-
nually moving about the universe, and that this fact is now upon the point
of being credited. The only palpable idea we have hitherto had respecting
the motion of this fluid, is that which electricity has given us. Mineral
magnetism had also given us an idea, less palpable, but more positive ; for
how can a magnetized needle, a body without motion, be moved by any other
power from its place. I am convinced that medical men, by making use of
these two discoveries for the relief of the sick, have evinced their ignorance
respecting the cause of these phenomena.

Animal magnetism now gives us a convincing proof of the existence of an
universal fluid continually in motion, and presents to mankind the certain
means of curing all the maladies from which we suffer.

If we admit that this universal fluid is spread through all nature, we may

684 THE PHENOMENA, &C.

thus be able to understand the phenomenon of rotatory movement ascribed
to the planetary system.

The earth, as well as all the other celestial bodies, are continually revolv-
ing in the midst of this fluid, and this perpetual rotation produces an effect
analogous to electric motion As no angle (pointe) ever disturbs this con-
tinual motion, the consequence is that the universe is absolutely charged and
saturated with the fluid. — Ccetera desunt.

(Signed) LE MARQUIS DE PUYSEGUR.

II.

Busancy.

I HASTEN to communicate to you the result of a number of experiments
I have recently been performing at this place. I am so agitated with plea-
sure, so filled with enthusiasm, that I feel I require some tranquillity of
body and mind, and this will be promoted in communicating my thoughts to
one who can understand me. I hope that by my exertions, and by those of
others who occupy themselves in the study of animal magnetism, we shall
at length succeed in tranquillizing the feelings of every individual, and de-
stroying the scepticism that still exists upon this subject.

After residing ten days at this place, having laid aside all mental occupa-
tions, and only amusing myself with horticultural pursuits, I paid a visit to
my bailiff. His daughter was suffering extreme pain from the tooth-ache ;
I asked her in a jocose manner whether she would like to be cured. You
may easily suppose that she answered in the affirmative. I immediately
magnetized her, and in less than ten minutes she was perfectly free from pain,
and has not since had any attack.

My gamekeeper's wife was, on the following day, relieved from a similar
pain, and by the same means, in as short a space of time.

This success emboldened me to proceed with my experiments, and I called
upon a peasant, a man about twenty-three years of age, who had been con-
fined to his bed for four days, in consequence of an attack of pleurisy, ac-
companied with spitting of blood ; this was last Tuesday, the fourth of this
month, at eight o'clock in the evening : his fever had in some degree sub-
sided. I desired him to get out of bed, and I magnetized him. My surprise
was extreme on beholding this man fall gently asleep in my arms within
about a quarter of an hour, without any convulsive movement. I continued
the crisis, which produced vertigo ; he began to talk, and spoke about his
affairs. When I perceived that his ideas appeared to affect him in a dis-
agreeable way, I endeavoured to divert them to a more pleasing subject, and
to produce the effect no great efforts were required on my part ; he then
began to evince great delight, fancying that he was shooting for a prize, danc-
ing at a ball, &c. &c. At the expiration of two days he was completely
restored to health.

The cure I had effected in this case induced other peasants to call at the
chateau to consult me about their complaints. In order to relieve these poor
people in a simultaneous manner, and to save great exertions on my part,
I came to the resolution of magnetizing a tree, according to the plan laid
down by Mr. Mesmer; and after attaching a rope to it, I tried its effects
upon my patients, and last night I made the experiment for the first time.
I sent for the first patient, and as soon as the rope had been put round him,
he looked up at the tree, and exclaimed, with an air of astonishment, which
I cannot describe, " What do I see yonder!" He then bent his head and
entered into a state of perfect somnambulism. At the expiration of an hour I
conducted him to his house, when I restored him the use of his senses. Several
persons told him what had happened, but he maintained that they were im-
posing upon him, that in the weak state to which he had been reduced,

THE PHENOMENA, &C. 685

scarcely being able to move about his bed-room, it was ridiculous to sup-
pose that he could walk down stairs and proceed to the tree near the foun-
tain. I desired these inquisitive people not to disturb him with questions,
and this day I repeated the operation with the same success.

A female, twenty-six years of age, residing at a short distance from my
chateau, had been labouring for nine months under an attack of fever, pains
in her loins and chest ; she came to see me while I was at the house of the
patient of whom I have been speaking, and as she expressed great confi-
dence in my power, I led her to the tree. I encircled her and the other
patient with the rope, and she received immediate relief, all her disorders
having left her with the exception of the fever. I acknowledge to you, my
friends, that my head almost turns with the delight I experience in witness-
ing the benefits my tenants and neighbours are receiving.

Madame de P., all the company who are residing at her chateau, and my
servants, are in ecstacies of admiration, which I am unable to describe, and
I can assure you that they do not feel half the satisfaction I experience. If
I had not had recourse to my tree, which enables me to get some rest, I
should be in a continual agitation. I believe that my health is improved (je
crois a V harmonic de ma sante). I have too much existence, if I may be al-
lowed to make use of such an expression. — Caetera desunt.

LE MARQUIS DE PUYSEGUR.

III.

Busancy, 17 'th May, 1784.

If you do not arrive here, my dear brother, before Sunday next, you will
not have an opportunity of seeing my extraordinary patient, as his health is
nearly re-established, and he is able" to attend to his affairs. He told me,
however, while in the crisis, that he would again require to be touched, and
indicated the days, which are Thursday, Saturday, and Monday, for the last
time ; he added, that my task was a difficult one, but, that in order to suc-
ceed, it was absolutely necessary to touch him.

I continue to make use of the power which I have acquired through Mr.
Mesmer, and I daily offer up my prayers to Heaven for his happiness, for I
am of immense service to my sick neighbours ; they flock in great numbers
around my tree, and this morning there had assembled around it as many as
a hundred and thirty. It is a continual procession throughout the country ;
they crowd around my tree, and I spend two hours near it every morning.
My tree is the best baquet* possible ; every leaf communicates health — every
individual experiences, more or less, beneficial effects from it, and you would
be delighted in witnessing these wonders. I have but one regret, and that
is, I cannot touch every body ; but my patient, or rather he from whom my
acquired knowledge proceeds, tranquillizes me with respect to the conduct I
am to pursue ; according to him, it is not necessary that I should touch every
T one — a look, a motion, a WISH is sufficient ; and it is an ignorant peasant
who teaches me that. When he is in a crisis, I do not know any body more
profound, more prudent, and more circumspect. There are several other men
and women who approach in some degree to his state, but none can be com-
pared with him ; and this is a painful reflection, for next Tuesday I must
bid farewell to my council, as this man will not require being touched any
more, and I shall not be prevailed upon, through motives of pure curiosity,
to make use of him, except to cure him and do him good. If you wish to
see and hear him, do not fail arriving here, at latest, on Sunday.

Adieu ! my dear brother : I invite you, in the most pressing manner, to
come and participate my pleasure ; when you will have seen all these worthy

* A kind of trough, around which those who were magnetized were obliged
to sit.

THE PHENOMENA, &C.

people around ray tree, filled with confidence and delight, pouring forth
prayers for my welfare, you will, I am persuaded, experience the highest
satisfaction. LE MARQUIS DE PUYSEGUR.

Another extract. — The Marquis continues to syeak of Victor, the
extraordinary patient, whom he mentions in his last letter: —

IV.

It is with this simple peasant, a tall, robust man, twenty-three years old,
at present in a state of weakness, caused by indisposition, or rather by af-
fliction, and on that very account more easily susceptible of being moved by
nalure's agent — it is through this man, I say, that I receive instruction.
When he is in a magnetic state he is no longer a silly peasant, scarcely able
to express himself in common language, but he becomes a being I am quite
unable to describe. There is no necessity for my speaking to him ; I
think in his presence, and he comprehends and answers me. Should any
one enter his room — he sees him, if such be my will ; he speaks to him, and
says what I wish him to say, not always in the way I dictate to him, but in
the way that truth requires. You will easily understand that this poor man

is penetrated with gratitude for the attentions paid to him by Madame P ,

and by me ; he would not venture to express his feelings when in his usual
state, but the moment he enters into a magnetic crisis, his mind becomes ex-
panded ; he then wishes that his very interior might be seen, and it would
become manifest how much gratitude he feels towards his benefactors. We
are absolutely moved to tears on hearing the voice of nature expressing
itself with candour : it affords me such infinite pleasure that I frequently
leave him in that state longer, perhaps, than is necessary for the benefit of
his health.

In order not to tire your patience, you must know that this poor man has
a cause of great vexation, in consequence of the ill-treatment he experiences
from a sister at whose house he is residing, and who wishes to get possession
of a sum of money bequeathed to him by his mother. This woman is the vilest
creature in the country, and she teazes him from morn till night. I have
learnt all these particulars from himself, without his recollecting any thing
about the circumstance. I endeavoured to offer him consolation, by promis-
ing to attend to his affairs, and to do every thing in my power to prevent him
suffering from his sister's injustice. This morning a woman came in just as
I had commenced magnetizing him : I wished him to know that the woman
was present, and that she entertained a feeling of friendship towards him.
He then addressed her : " Good morning, Angelique ; may I ask you to do
me a favour?" — "With great pleasure." — (I requested this woman to
answer him just as she would have done, if he had been in his natural state).
— " The Marquis," continued Victor, " has been extremely kind to me, he
visits me, and takes care of my health ; he must know that I am suffering ;
under great affliction and I trust that he will relieve me. Do you know,
Angelique, that my sister is the cause of all my misery ?" — " Only take
patience, and every thing will be settled in a comfortable manner." — " Now,
I wish you to deliver something to the Marquis ; will you undertake to place
it in his hands ? I should never think of taking so great a liberty myself." —
" What is it?" — "You will find in the cupboard, in such a drawer, a bundle
of papers of such a shape ; it is a lease of this house, which my mother gave
to me a short time before her death, in order to reward me for the care I
had taken of her in her old age." — Angelique having looked in the cupboard
finds the document mentioned, and showing it to Victor, asks him if that is
what he wishes to give me (you must remark that his eyes continued closed
during this conversation, and I took care to keep him in the crisis in order
not to fatigue his eyes), he replied, " That is the parchment ;" he then par-

THE PHENOMENA, &C, 687

ticularly enjoined her to keep the secret from her sister, who would certainly
have burnt this deed, had she known it was in his possession, and again
requests her to place it within my hands. I took the deed from the hand
of this woman, and I had no sooner obtained possession of it and put it into
my pocket, when the countenance of my patient was lighted up with ani-
mation and delight. I went out a few minutes afterwards, taking the usual
precautions, and I have not yet told him what he has done.*

I will not add any reflections concerning the fact I have just communi-
cated ; they must naturally crowd upon your mind. Here is an individual
compelled to give me a deed, the most valuable article of which he is pos-
sessed, and that because / wished, with all my soul, to render him happy : he
procured the means to enable me to effect this, as you must know that,
according to the terms of the deed, the person holding possession of it,
becomes the guardian of the old woman's son. I do not know whether it is
possible to desire to do evil as well as to do good, in a similar circumstance ;
should that be the case, how much misery would arise from the power of
animal magnetism, if made use of by wicked persons ! I have not yet been
able to solve this question, namely, whether one can wish evil to ensue, as
well as good: My uneasiness has been considerably increased upon this
subject in consequence of the remarks made by those persons who have
witnessed the above-mentioned fact. The greatest misfortunes, they assert,
may spring from the power obtained through Animal Magnetism over the
minds of rich persons. A villain may, they add, penetrate into the secrets
of families, abuse the confidence of his friends, and revenge himself with
impunity. My only answer is — that I was incapable of solving this problem
myself, for it is impossible, said T, to wish evil and good at the same time.
If I wish to obtain information by putting indiscreet questions, my con-
science tells me I am doing wrong, and the answers that would then be
returned, would not bring me to a satisfactory conclusion. All I could do
was to ask my patients (in a state of magnetic crisis) what they thought
upon this subject, and all of them assured me, that when in this state they
retained their full reason and power of discrimination, and that they would
soon perceive any bad intentions ; that their health would immediately suffer,
and that they would awake at the very moment. I cannot, however, place
much confidence in the solution of this difficulty, and unless I am borne out
in my conjectures by experiments made by other persons, I shall continue
to feel great uneasiness as to the abuse that may be made of the most
wonderful and useful science that ever existed.

However, it will be with this, as with Gunpowder, which in the hands of
villains is used for every base purpose, but in the hands of good men is
only employed for beneficial effects. There is, moreover, this advantage in
Animal Magnetism ; a person cannot be taken by surprise : you cannot be
magnetized against your will, and the confidence placed in the man who
magnetizes must always be a preliminary to the relief he is to experience.

LE MARQUIS DE PUYSEGUR.

* It was only on the following day that, rinding him worse than before, and
extremely low spirited, and as he told me that his sorrow arose from the un-
easiness he experienced concerning the deed, and that he had been looking for
it during the whole day, I informed him in what manner he had disposed of it :
he felt great pleasure on learning this circumstance, and having again been
magnetized for two hours, he is now quite well again.

AN AUTHOR'S RENT-DAY.

MY lodging is not in the most fashionable part of town, as it ap-
proximates much more closely to Fleet Street, than Mr. Croker would
deem desirable ; yet I have a partiality for it, because it was in it that
I located on my first arrival from the country ; and it is, moreover, in
the neighbourhood of some chosen friends, who, after evidencing
their capabilities in truly English fashion, by a quarterly display of
their appetites, had been deemed worthy to be permitted to advocate
and defend his Majesty's lieges. My landlady, from long intimacy,
has for many years regarded me as a familiar, and has frequently
made me the depository of her confidence. On the occasion of the
stay I am speaking of, she had been complaining to me of the pecu-
niary irregularities of one of her lodgers, a young gentleman, who had
adventured upon the perilous trade of authorship, and who seemed to
be sharing plentifully the most usual earnings of his calling.

" Seven weeks' rent of that handsome airy attic due, Sir," said Mrs.
Jones, " and nothing but promises, for he's mighty fair spoken ; but
fine words don't butter no bread, you know, Sir, as my old man, poor
dear soul, used to say. T'other day, that's a week ago, says he to me,
says he, ' Mrs. Jones, I expects daily to see a relation, what will put
me in a way to settle with you ;' and more nor that, says he, ' Mrs.
Jones, I've just got a play nigh ready, as is to be acted at Drury
Lane, and I expects a hundred pounds for it ;' and then you know,
Sir, when this here hundred pounds comes, I'm to be paid, supposing
this here relation don't give him the money ? But I an't got much
faith in any thing as depends on the players."

" Well, but, Mrs. Jones," I said " this young gentleman is very
young, and money you know, is very scarce in all quarters ; his repre-
sentations, probably, are true, and yet he may be pushed for cash ;
in the mean time — I am sure it is not your disposition to be harsh
with any body — suppose you try another week, and see what
patience will do."

" Ah !" replied Mrs. Jones, " that's exactly what he says; but, as I
said afore, you know, Sir, ' Patience don't butter no bread no more
nor fair words does,' as my poor old man used to say ; but howsom-
ever, Sir, as you advises it, I'll wait another week ; it an't in my nature
to hurt nobody ; but then I'm a lone widdy 'oman, and I don't like to
be taken advantage of."

" Certainly not, Mrs. Jones," I said ; " but, however, you'll see
what the next week will do, and, I hope, it will favour both you and
the young gentleman."

tf Well, Sir," ans veered Mrs. Jones ; " I'll tell him in the morning,
as I'll wait another week, and no longer — nor I won't, neither, Sir ;"
and after taking a thimble-full of whiskey, the old lady left me,
happy to think that I had won a respite for my fellow-lodger.

In the morning Mrs. Jones informed me that she had intimated to
her attic friend the determination she had come to, and I heard no
more of the affair until a week afterwards. I had been out late, and
came in about five in the morning. As I was entering my bed-room,

THE AUTHOR'S KENT-DAY. 689

the old lady accosted nie in great haste, and in a deshabille that
would hardly have become one of her sex of less holy years, and tlod
me in manifest trepidation that her lodger above had been stirring all
night, and that from some words spoken to himself, but overheard by
her, she thought it was his intention to bolt, as she elegantly ex-
pressed it.

" Eight weeks, Sir ; two pounds sixteen, besides four and three-
pence for postages, seven shillings for firing, and three-and-sixpence
for cleaning o' shoes ; altogether three-pun-ten and ninepence. As I'm
an honest 'oman," said Mrs. Jones, " I can't afford it, Sir — I can't —
indeed, Mister."

" But," I said, f< yon have only to look sharp after the door."

" Ah, but then them ere rumpuses, I can't abear 'em ; think o' the
other lodgers, Sir. There — there he goes again — I knows he's arter
suinmat. Just come up, Sir ; you know Sir," she added, in a coaxing
protection-seeking tone — ': you know, Sir, there an't nobody as I can
ax assistance on but you.'' There was no resisting this appeal to my
chivalry, and so I followed my fair guide to the landing-place of the
fourth story, when she disposed me and herself so that we could
overhear a portion, at least, of what passed in the room occupied by
her defaulter. We had not long remained thus sentinelled, when we
heard the youth exclaim —

" Yes ! I must try my uncle !"

" There's a villain !" cried Mrs. Jones, whom I could scarcely re-
strain— " I knowed it — he's going to pledge my property, he's got
none himself but an ink-bottle." I motioned her imperatively to be
silent, and he continued :

" These sheets will surely bring me something ?"

" A pair o' my best Russia — the swindler !" observed Mrs. J. in
agony ; " only think o' that, Sir, I'll never give them chaps in the
garrets anything nor calico again."

" But how to proceed," cried the lodger ; " the pillows have been
too often used — they are common ; — no, the blankets are the thing."

" Real Whitney !" exclaimed my companion, horror-struck — '* cost
me five-and- forty shillings last Midsummer was a twelvemonth, as
I'm a living 'oman ! "

" And then I must manage the sacking !" continued the author. ,

" Lord Almighty ! " cried the old lady, " he's going to pledge
sacking and all."

" If I should succeed," he continued, " it's three to one."

<( Ah, three to one, indeed," said Mrs. Jones, " to me ; but we'll
take care he don't get 'em to that shop, howsumever." Here some
words, spoken in a lower tone, escaped us ; the next we heard was —

" But how to manage the escape! — ay, the window — the window
— they can go through the window, and be received below, and so
borne off in safety."

" Oh, the infernal robber!" groaned Mrs. Jones; " my Whitney
blankets and Russia sheets to be pitched out o' window, like so much
rubbishing books ; but I'll have all them 'ere garret windows nailed
down arter this."

M. M. No. 96. 4 T

690 THE AUTHOR'S KENT-DAY.

" It's resolved," said the youth, " I shall have a run ; and then
how I'll astonish Mother Jones !"

'* Mother Jones ! indeed," said mine hostess, indignantly, " Mo-
ther Jones ! — but Mother Jones will put a stop to your run, young
gentleman." The soliloquy ceased — we listened, and heard the win-
dow thrown up. — " There goes my goods into the yard/' said the old
lady ; " but he shall take a voyage for it, the rascal ; I'll teach him
to call me, Mother Jones, and chuck my Whitney blankets into the
mud ! " A rustling noise was heard, and my landlady, in a guise that
would have become a great grandmama bacchante, rushed forward,
as her lodger, opening his door, exultingly exclaimed, " And now
I'm off!"

" No you a'nt, tho' — no you a'nt!" she vociferated, catching him
fast in an embrace, that her prisoner would have pitched himself
from his window to obtain from one of the sex gifted with an inverse
ratio of temptation. — " Where's my rent, mister? and where's my
bedding ? them ere good Russia sheets, and Whitney blankets ! — Oh,
you willain ! you willain ! "

" Your sheets and blankets !" cried the youngster, evidently taken
aback, and endeavouring to escape from her bear -like hug. — " What
do you mean, woman ? let me go."

" Not till I gets my property," said Mrs. Jones,

" If you mean your rent," answered her prisoner, " I promise

you "

t( Ah, I've had promises enough," replied the inexorable dame ;
" where's my property, you willain?"

" Damn your property ; let me go," rejoined the lodger, as he
shook her off. I then made my appearance — " I'm happy to see a
reasonable being," said the young gentleman, as he approached me ;
" pray, can you explain to me, what is meant by this strange con-
duct?"

" Why, sir," I said, after quieting Mrs. Jones, " this good lady has
some idea, not altogether unwarranted, it seems, that you were about
to leave her house, and in company with her bedding."

" To leave her house, and in company with her bedding I" he said,
in evident amazement, ff I don't understand you, sir — I certainly was
about to go out, as she knows I always do at this time ; but what, for
God's sake, was I to do with her bedding?"

" Do with it !" cried Mr. Jones, " why, what did we hear you just
now say about your uncle ? eh ! what, you're diskivered, are you ? "
" My uncle ! why, I believe, I said I should apply to him, to enable
me to satisfy you."

" Oh, then, you confesses it ! " said Mrs. Jones, et didn't you say,
sir, as my sheets would fetch sommat ? "

" Good God ! is it possible," cried the young man, " that you can
suppose I meant to rob you of your sheets ? I meant my own sheets,
the sheets of the work I am engaged on/'

" Oh ! ah, I dare say," answered she ; " but we knows the work
you was engaged on — didn't you say you'd take the blankets, 'cause
the pillows were too much used ? I knows they warn't new ; but they

GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER. 691

was too good for such varmint as you." The young man burst into
an immoderate fit of laughing.

<l I did say so ;" said he ; " I meant to have smothered my heroine
with the pillows; but recollecting Shakspeare had used them in two
plays, I chose the blankets."

" That won't do, mister," answered the unpoetical fair; " didn't we
hear you say you'd do summat with the sacking ? "

" Why, damn it, woman, my play ends with the sacking of a town!"

" Ah, I an't no doubt as you'd take the sacking of all the town, if
you could get it; and didn't you say, you'd have a run for it, and
astonish Mother Jones ? — There, sir !"

"Confound your stupidity!" he answered; "I meant my piece
would have a run ; in which case I should have astonished you, by
paying you your bill."

" Don't believe a word of it, as I'm a living 'oman — where's my
property?" she cried, rushing into the room ; when, to her surprise,
she found sheets, blankets, and sacking in statu quo. I now saw the
absurd mistake ; and having appeased the old woman pro tempore, I
tendered to my new acquaintance an explanation and apology for her,
which were received in good part ; and I commenced a friendship
with an amiable and talented man that has lasted now some years ;
and often, when we while away a winter's evening, under the very
roof beneath which this occurred, we laugh over our toddy, as we
drink success to Mother Jones, and safety to her sacking.

A FEW CHIRPS FROM THE GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER.

" Some meet about affairs
Of consequence and profit, bargain, sale,
And to confer with chapmen : some for pleasure,
To match their horses, wager on their dogs,
Or try their hawks ; some to no other end
But only to meet good company, discoui'se,
Dine, drink, and spend their money."

HEYWOOD'S English Traveller.

COME hither, curious reader, take thy stand with me ; I will quit
my pinnacle for once, and be thy cicerone through this golgotha. Let
us place ourselves where thou seest yon time-killer spelling over the
play-bills of the day, under the southern arch entrance to the Royal
Exchange. I will use my experience before thy eyes, and bring two
or three of these creatures in review before thee. We will pass an
hour in the heart of the busiest haunts, where Mammon sits enthroned
in tyrannic state, and deals out favours to those who grovel round
his footstool in willing, though degraded, homage. I like to watch
the countenances of the various votaries thronging round the throne of
their idol. There they go — there they go ! Their whole hearts,
hopes, wishes, powers, faculties, all — all cast upon the same object.
From the petty dealer in the pettiest article of merchandize, to the

692 GRESHAM 6KASHOPFER.

most important speculator in the greatest, all are alike — their pulses
beat to the self-same time.

We must not confound business-men with men of business, for be-
tween the two there is a very wide distinction. The latter are a most
useful and important race of men ; the former are those who give up
their whole faculties to the mere love of business, and the golden re-
sults which it brings in its train: men who cry " cui bono" to every
thing out of their daily routine. I have seen a man of this kind per-
suaded to look at a fine picture or statue, or examine some splendid
effort of human genius and invention- " Aha \" said he, " this must
have been an expensive affair. Do you know how much it cost ? Is
it a marketable commodity ? I know there is a great deal of humbug
about pictures, and statues, and such like ; for a friend of mine lost
thirty per cent, upon some he was fool enough to speculate in when
he yielded to the vagaries of his wife, in taking a trip to what is called
the land of genius — Italy."

This is the sort of man who rises in the morning before the Novem-
ber fogs have mingled their dense masses with the London smoke, to
perform his morning devotions over his ledger ! who sits down to his
hasty breakfast with a better appetite after a favourable statement of
market-prices in the morning newspaper. One would imagine that
such a man was born with a pen behind his ear, within a near view of
the Gresham grasshopper : his early food must have had gold-dust
mingled with it. If he was not born to this, surely he must have
been bitten, in his younger days, by the fangs of a greedy plodder
from t'other side of the Tweed. It is a monstrously infectious disease
under which he labours, and no medicine can stem the torrent of it.

Mark that cadaverous, wizen-faced reptile, dressed in a suit of
shabby black : you would not give him a pound for his whole ward-
robe ; — he rolls in wealth. For forty years he has sailed down the
commercial stream, with cent, per cent, swelling his sails — hope has
stowed his cargoes, and caution has swayed the helm. Observe his
stealthy step — slow — steady, —fearful " lest the very stones should
prate of his whereabout." His eye is bent upon the earth — he needs
no eyes to guide him— he moves mechanically to and from this, his
daily haunt. He bends forward to the earth, as if the weight of his
cargoes were upon his shoulders. He is a ticket-porter — a beast of
burthen to his own schemes and fancies. He was made to bear great
weights — he is a weighty man in his way. He looks like one of
those before whom the uncertificated bankrupt might cringe in vain.
Sooner would he give a drop of his heart's blood, or see the bank-
rupt's heart shed its last drop, than waste one drop of his ink in sign-
ing the necessary document of emancipation to the forlorn and broken
trader. Happy for this man if he does not hear a widow's cry
mingled with his death knell, and feel an orphan's tear mingled with
the death-dew on his forehead at his last hour. That cry would sound
keener than the loudest bell ; that tear strike colder than the touch of
death. That sallow cheek knows not the tender touch of fond emo-
tion's tear tracing its channel downwards, drawn forth from the in-
ward recesses of the heart : — his heart is dry. Thus has he lived —
thus will he live ; and when his bones shall be carried to their last

GllKSHAM GRASHOPPER. 693

home will the mourning of his followers go deeper than the colour of
the clothes they wear !

Yonder goes another : his eye wanders abroad ; he distributes a nod
to one, an how-d'ye-do to another ; a shake by the hand to a third,
which would be agreeable enough if the heart went with it, but even
that he mimics so that many would be deceived. This man is a
speculator, whose pulse beats to the tune of the present moment. He
is not content with the dull, crooked, plodding ways of ordinary
thrift, but breaks out into new channels, catches at new objects, de-
vises new schemes. Like the devil, he is always busy stirring up a
storm, and then proudly rides in the midst of it. He was in poverty
and distress a week ago; to-day he is master of every thing. He
rules the market in the commodity he buys ; he will be a beggar next
Saturday, and on Monday he will begin again, and play the golden
ass once more. Look at him : his cheek is flushed, and his eye speaks
of hope and expectation. When the 'Change bell has rung he will
go and swallow his hasty dinner with a feverish appetite, and then,
after seeing all his doings fairly registered in his diary, home he goes,
and in the delusive dreams of to-morrow consumes those hours of re-
pose in which the heart should beat tranquilly to acquire a renovated
strength for the efforts of the day that is to come.

How different from these is that man now advancing with a broken,
tremulous step ; he has been the plodding business man all his days.
He is the child of misfortune, the dupe of the designing ; he has
borne poverty's keen touch, and disappointment's destroying blow •
still he clings to the delusive scene of all he has done and all he has
been, in hopes, upon the fragment of credit which yet remains to
build up something out of the wrecks of former years. Yet he goes
on as if a spell followed him : he dreams of profits never to be
realized, and sighs for riches, but finds still that their proverbial
wings waft them from him. From day to day his mind wanders
over these things, and the hard labours of his daily round are re-
warded only by that slender pittance which barely keeps him from
the bitterest ills of poverty. His hair is white with thejjfrost of years.
The night will, ere long, close over him ; the thread of his long life
will soon be spun ; and not one record of happy feeling will be left
upon the shore of his memory (unwashed by the briny waves of sor-
row) to console him in his last days. I'll tell you a story touching
pelf.

Yew-tree Lodge is a moderate-sized, square-built erection, stand-
ing in all the majesty of white plaster, within two dozen paces of the
high road from London to Dover. I never could ascertain that it
was celebrated for any thing before it became the residence of its
present owner, Sir Crab Numberwell, knight and retired merchant —
save the trees, whence it derived its name. The fantastical shapes,
into which it had been cut, proved the unconscious cause of a re-
christening — to wit, "The Dog and Duck!" and nothing could
sooner arouse the irritability of the rich and respected citizen than
to allude, even in the most indirect manner, to this appellation.

694 GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER.

Although Yew-tree Lodge was situated within two miles of
London-bridge, our night could never be argued out of the persua-
sion that he lived in the country. And why should any one have
attempted to banish the illusion ? As he was pleased with the idea,
why not let him enjoy his harmless fancy in peace and quietness ?
But in every neighbourhood there are occupationless spirits to be
met with, who must needs intermeddle with what in no way concerns
them, and lavish on an unfortunate neighbour such a share of atten-
tion as the forest-fly bestows on the generous steed. One or two of
this class were domiciled near Yew-tree Lodge ; and, while engaged
in commercial pursuits, were the knights most intimate friends. In
fact, his country-house had been selected on account of its proximity
to these very friends. And sorely did he now repent it. They
joked the good man about his " dog and duck ;" and he understood,
not joking ; they plagued him with ill-timed complaints ; and, quiz-
zing some of his intimates, would often fairly exhaust the small por-
tion of forbearance wherewith he was gifted. A long career of pros-
perity magnifies the most trivial thwartings into unparalleled disap-
pointments. Sir Crab, however, though often urged to a display of
ungentle and un courtly bearing, was so enamoured of the charms of
divine poesy, that the muses frequently interposed a shield between
his anger and its object. In short, though abominating authors, and
all that class, he was an inveterate quoter.

Our retired merchant was blest with a wife, a son, and a
daughter, in addition to his " plum." The lady-mother, once her
lord and master's housemaid, was ' fat, fair,' and something more
than ' forty ;' and, to use Sir Crab's quotation, when once ruminating
on the charms of his better half, she was

" A ton of flesh, with gold hoops bound,
Just four feet high, and six feet round."

His son was a sickly youth, called Sensitive, much given to
the muse, consequently considered by the father a lost young man ;
but his daughter was the hope of the family ; the worthy citizen had
negotiated a marriage for her that would set all Wai worth in an
uproar, and Newington Butts to boot. Here, then, is the family
party assembled — Sir Crab, her Ladyship, and the two juniors.

But we will quit our friend Numberwell awhile, in favour of his
daughter, the bright-eyed Fanny ; wherefore it behoves us to lay
before the inquiring reader a sketch of the bridegroom.

" Only conceive, now, what may be realized from a trifle by fru-
gality and perseverance ! When I set out in life — 'tis fifty years
ago — my whole fortune did riot exceed two hundred pounds, a single
suit of clothes, and sundry old hats and aged pairs of stockings.
Add an 0 to the 200/. ! even so, 2000/. Bless me ! Well, that's
something. Two thousand pounds, snugly deposited in this house ;
twenty thousand in the firm of Sterling and Co. ; and eighty thou-
sand secured on certain entailed estates — thanks to extravagance ! —
all safe— safe as the Bank of England. Well, that makes altogether
100,000/., with an odd two thousand over— the result of my own per-
severing industry, and the fictitious wants of others. Yes, yes, my

GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER* 6(,)5

old friend Numberwell was in his right senses, -when, to the exclu-
sion of young Harrowby, he selected me for his intended son-in-law,
though I have never heard anything against the prudence of Har-
rowby, I must say that. But then he is young ; and, when we have
youthful blood to deal with, there is no answering for contingencies.
I lent Lord Creighton, the Duke of Nottingham's son, 5000/. this
very morning. Yet the clear-sighted world esteems him a prudent
young man ! Ah, ah, ah !"

In this strain soliloquized the usurer Argent, a tall, gaunt per-
sonage, in his sixty-eighth year, with a quizzical, care-worn visage,
peering from beneath a russity scratch wig, as great an antiquity as
its owner ; and very probably picked up — like that of old Elwes,
out of a rut — the disdained and despised of a beggar. His clothes
were of dark material, and seemed too large for him, and Ii2 wore a
long spencer, which appeared to lie upon him by accident.

Such was the man, appointed by the paternal solicitude of Sir
Crab to watch over and promote the happiness of a pretty girl of
eighteen,, with the endearing title of husband j and it was with the
intention of " doing a little billing and cooing," that the day after he
had enjoyed the pleasing reverie, just chronicled, he repaired, per
coach, to the seat of his friend Numberwell ; where, however, we
will take the liberty of preceding him.

As the sun yet lingered on the tops of the highest neighbouring
hills — Nnr head-hill, Dulwich-hill, and others— gilding their stately
crests, with the glories of departing day, a travelling carriage drove
up to Yew-tree Lodge ; whence descended Wilmot Bolland — Sir
Crab's nephew — and his friend, Clayton.

Heir to considerable wealth, there were not wanting rogues, and
sycophants enough to take advantage of youth. Prominent among
these worthies stood forth Mr. Philip Clayton, by whose counsel,
young Bolland, ruined by folly, plunged into crime. His fortune
was anticipated ; and, before twenty-five summers had passed over
him, his ingenuity was his only portion. Returning to Paris, after 'a
successful campaign in London, he called on his uncle, Sir Crab,
with the intention of extracting, in one way or other, some of the
contents of his strong box. But, although Sir Crab had not seen his
nephew for years, he was well acquainted with his propensities and
conduct ; and was therefore hastening into the room, where he had
been shown, with the determination of instantly dismissing the young
reprobate from his house, as his friend Argent made his usual
unceremonious entree.

" What can have brought Lord Creighton here ?" asked the
usurer, the moment he perceived Sir Crab. " I knew not you were
acquainted with him."

" Lord Creighton ! there's no Lord Creighton here."
" No Lord Creighton here ! I saw him enter but now. Perhaps,
however, his rank may have found favour with Fanny ? If so, what
need of mystery? I am neither young nor noble; yet I did

hope •"

" Ah, ah, ah \" laughed Sir Crab. " Excuse me, Argent, excuse
me. Fit for St. Luke s, eh ? where certain

« brazen, brainless brothers stand.' "

696 GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER.

And he peered up at the rigid features of his intended son-in-law.,
who replied, with more of sorrow than of anger.

" Be it so, be is so ;" and was about to take his departure, when
stopped by the knight.

" Think you I would so use an old friend, Argent ? But I could
not help smiling, when you wanted to persuade me I knew not my
own nephew — the profligate !"

Hereupon Argent began to wax wroth, and smote his thigh, as
he exclaimed —

" I can tell you one thing, Sir Crab, old friends though we be,
and in spite of the projected alliance, I will not tamely submit to be
insulted."

" Heyday ! what next ? — Insulted !"

" I now repeat, in the plainest conceivable terms, that Lord
Creighton has just entered your house. If you have reasons for con-
cealing him — so be it — I wish you good morning."

Sir Crab, after regarding the speaker for some time, in utter
amazement, muttered —

" You are mad, Sir, mad ! mad as a March hare ! by ' the immor-
tal Magog.' "

Argent's ears were sufficiently acute to transmit this startling
accusation to the seat of understanding ; and he replied —

" Such language, Sir Crab, makes this, in all probability, the last
interview we may ever have. That unhappy disposition to make the
best bargain breaks through a friendship, which the trials of thirty
years had not impaired. You call me mad ! I still assert the Duke
of Nottingham's eldest son, Lord Creighton, is under your roof; and
I will give you a proof sufficient for the satisfaction of any man.
Yesterday, no longer since than yesterday, I had some pecuniary
transactions with his lordship ; and must, therefore, of necessity, be
acquainted with his person. Now, are you satisfied ?"

Sir Crab stared, as well he might, at such positive assertion ; and,
for a moment, appeared in a state of doubt as to his conduct.

" Come, Sir Crab, come," said Argent, noting the worthy mer-
chant's hesitation, " here's my hand. Let not so long a friendship,
as ours be terminated by such a mistake. Identity is easily ascer-
tained from the parties themselves ;" and he was moving forward for
this purpose, when Lady Numberwell made her appearance.

" Only think, Numby, only think — your nephew, Bolland "

" There !" interrupted the knight ; " he will have him a lord !
what's the use of my talking. He's only fit for Bedlam," pointing
to Argent.

" Heaven preserve us !" ejaculated the lady ; " a mad friend in the
house."

" Zounds and the devil, madam !" began the now enraged Argent
— but a coughing fit suddenly put an end to the period, so elo-
quently commenced. Sir Crab seemed still undecided; while
Lady Numberwell retreated behind him.

At that instant, hearing the voice of Sir Crab, Wilmot, using the
privilege of a relation, followed the sound, and unexpectedly appeared
before the trio. Had a rattle-snake suddenly crossed his path, he
could not have rushed past the terrific object, and disappeared with

GRESHAM GRASSHOPPER.

greater velocity than he now displayed, on perceiving Argent.
Followed by his companion, with equal speed, they were, in a mo-
ment, whirling along toward Brighton with what expedition four
horses could convey them.

When the astonishment caused by this abrupt flight had partially
ceased, each eye was bent on Argent as if for explanation, since
it appeared evident that to his presence alone their hasty departure
was attributable.

" And is that really the graceless Wilmot Holland ?" said the
usurer, in fearful trepidation, as the unwelcome truth began to
glimmer upon him.

" It is, it is !" was the reluctant reply of Sir Crab ; who, from the
usurer's unwonted terror, augured something, he knew not definitely
what, of horrible.

Argent, was now convinced: and with the conviction came the
certainty, that when he fancied, he had lent Lord Creighton 50001.,
he had been the prey of an expert swindler. Of this he could no
longer doubt ; and, for the first five minutes after the fact was ascer-
tained, he seemed stupified ; then he raved loudly and bitterly for ven-
geance. Vengeance he would have: and though all manner of
noxious things beset his path — though mountains frowned before
him — though oceans intervened — though pestilence scattered the con-
tents of his phial around him. Vengeance, vengeance should lay
her soothing unction to his wounded spirit !

The hurricane subsided by degrees, and a calm succeeded, only
to be broken by a still more fearful display.

" Pursued !" continued the victim, " aye, pursue him like a whirl-
wind, even to the world's end. Mine own will I have ; and bitterly
shall he rue the day when he selected me on whom to play his infa-
mous schemes. Five thousand pounds ! and from me ! I, who have
risen early, and late retired to my pallet ; who have trudged, with
thousands in my pocket, to the poverty-smitten abode of splendour,
while my feet were weary and my stomach empty, yet expended not
sixpence for a coach or for food ; who have passed hours, days,
years, in increasing vigilance, and untiring perseverance ; whose
days have been consumed in thought, thought the most intense ; and
whose very nights have been no seasons of rest for me ! I, who
have sacrificed a life in amassing treasure — whohave enjoyed none
of the world's luxuries ; who have suffered every torture in the power
of fear to inflict ; and who have scarcely partaken of a sufficiency
to keep breath in this miserable carcass ! That such as I should
have, at last, been duped, cheated, defrauded — villanously defrauded
—is too, too much !" and the wretched old usurer sunk on a chair.
The next moment he started up ; his cheeks burning, his eyes the
seat of ungovernable fury, and every limb quivering from excess of
rage. He gasped for speech — and again he sunk down. The struggle
had been too severe — thesudden rupture of ablood-vessel released him
from the endurance of a life which, for the better part of half a cen-
tury, had been most wretched from its very prosperity.

M.M. No. 96- 4 U

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

CLAMOUR AT THE MARCH OP MORTAR. — A controversy has been
carried on, with no little acrimony, between Mr. Wilkins, the archi-
tect, and others of his brethren, respecting the projected National
Gallery. The difference apparently arises from a contemplated en-
croachment of the new building upon the open view of the front of
St. Martin's Church. Now, if the plans subjected by the architect
are really worthy to be carried into effect, the grandeur and real im-
portance of a national building is, in our opinion, of so much more
consequence than St. Martin's Church, that the objections raised
against Mr. Wilkins's plan would appear to be more the result of
party feeling, than of just and impartial criticism. It seems to us,
moreover, that the value of the church, as a specimen of architecture,
is much over-rated. It was built at a time when the architectural
dignity of our metropolis did not stand very high, in comparison with
the other nations of Europe ; it, therefore, became with us of an
undue importance ; and, not to be enraptured with its proportion, was
considered a sort of heresy in taste. Did ever architecture happen
to be the subject of conversation, thereupon the beauties of St. Mar-
tin's were held up to admiration — it was like the eternal eloquence of
Frere Jacques on the accomplishments of his cat — it wras cat ! cat !
everlastingly. One would fancy, to hear some quid nuncs, that there
is but one portico in the world, and that belongs to St. Martin's —
and that, by no possibility, can there be another, because the man is
dead that made it.

We are happy to bear testimony to the following condescension of
the dignitaries of Worthing. It is not always we find country gen-
tlemen so liberal in this encouragement of Art: —

" We understand that Mr. Hancock will probably, in the course of two
or three weeks, run his new and elegant steam -carriage, ' The Autopsy/ be-
tween Brighton and Worthing. At their meeting, on Thursday last, the
Commissioners of Worthing, in the handsomest manner, gave Mr. Hancock
permission to make use of their town pumps."

We question whether Mr. Hancock will be able to avail himself
advantageously of the offer of these town pumps. However, the in-
tention is kind, and deserves notice.

THE BLESSING OF IGNORANCE. — At a late trial in the country, an
action was brought to recover the value of a gun, which had burst,
although warranted. The principal witness proved to us the advan-
tage, when firing a strange gun, of not being blessed with the pro-
fessional expertness of a sportsman.

" Witness sent it down to a friend in the country, and it burst on the
second shot. His friend was inexperienced, and held the gun rather awkwardly,
or his hand would have been shot off."

NOTES OF THE MONTH. 699

In future commend us to inexperience in these matters. It is a real
" consolation to the tremulous" sportsman to reflect, that, though his
pride is touched, his hands are safe. They are not liable to those ex-
centric excursions to which the manipulators of a practised shot are
prone to 'take. We should prefer placing our hands rather awkwardly,
than witness their independent evolutions in a sphere for which nature
never intended them. We would, however, recommend the tyro, if
he must go upon these expeditions, to leave the glory and danger to
the ambitious marksman, and make all sure by keeping his hands in
his pockets.

CELESTIAL PECULIARITIES. — We are hardly sufficiently grateful
to Providence for having cast our lot in such " pleasant places." It
is only by the occasional receipt of foreign documents that we can, by
comparison, appreciate our own security. The decease of a crowned
head is surely sufficiently distressing, without lacerating the feelings
of a bereaved people by orders such as these : —

" On the 15th July, died at Pekin, the consort of the Emperor of China.
A general mourning has been ordered in consequence. The Mantshur em-
ployes are for 27 days to wear garments of coarse white linen, and caps with-
out tassels or buttons; during 100 days they must not shave their Heads. The
Mongolian employes are to assume the same mourning, with the exception of
the white garments. The Chinese people must leave their heads unshaved for
the same period, and are to wear no tassels on their caps for seven days/' —
Russian Paper.

Now, when we unhappily suffer a similar calamity, the people are
merely enjoined to put on decent mourning, a comprehensive term
enough, and ingeniously contrived ; but our shaving is left to our
own sense of propriety. We can fancy the consternation at court
produced by an order for the discontinuance of scissors and razors for
the space of 100 days — our Mongolian employes would be in a state
little short of frenzy. We remember the effect produced by such ,a
mandate, although on a small scale, upon a regiment of cavalry, when
the discontinuance of the growth of moustache was delicately hinted
to them. Many, who had been at great pains and expense to enter
the regiment for the privilege of wearing them, retired from the ser-
vice in disgust ; and the precincts of the Horse Guards were disquieted
for many days with the apprehension that the heroes would march
out — drums beating and colours flying — to fortify Primrose-hill,
rather than ingloriously part with their whiskers. Nothing offends
a gentleman more than interfering with the cut of his wig, or the
pointing of his whiskers ; and our independence in these particulars
makes us pity the tonsorial enthralment of those whose razors are
only sharpened by royal authority. After all, to speak seriously, if
we place the celestial order beside one from our own Chamberlain's
office, and place our bag wigs and ruffles against the buttons and tassels
of the Chinese, we shall find the distinction of absurdity pretty much
on an equality, whether in the courts of Asia or Europe.

THE COLUMNS OF ROYALTY. — We are not of that class who fancy
that loyalty to the monarch can only be proved by hollow encomium

700 NOTES OF THE MONTH.

and fulsome adulation ; who would persuade the lieges that a common
act of justice in a private individual, becomes in a king magnified
into a most exalted virtue— as though the humanities of society were
denied to that privileged class.

" Through the high sense of honour and justice on the part of his Majesty,
arrangements are in contemplation, by which all the bond fide and honest
creditors of the Duke of York are likely to receive the full amount of their
claims/'

We have not so ill an opinion of royalty as to suppose the illus-
trious individuals composing that class are entirely destitute of the
common principles of honour and correct pride, which are considered
of no great merit in persons of inferior station to possess. The Duke
of York's debts have been a positive scandal to the royal family of
England ever since his decease ; and when we consider the immense
sums of money drawn yearly by each individual of that family, our
astonishment is not at the high sense of honour and justice displayed
by his Majesty, by causing arrangements to be contemplated for paying
his illustrious brother's deficiencies, but that the same feeling did not
prompt him to do it before. It is very true that his Majesty's family
is numerous ; but his income is large ; and we sincerely hope that he
may live long to make up a tolerable purse for them. The compa-
ratively small sum required can never be better expended than in
relieving the memory of his relative from the odium which must ever
attach to the vices, however extenuated, of improvidence.

It would have been a sad mockery to have exhibited the statue of
the deceased duke to the sneers of the populace ; and the tradesman
would have sighed, as he looked over his ledger, to think that the
illustrious original had raised more columns at the expense of the
people than any man in England.

PROMOTION OF THE 3n REGIMENT OF SOUTH-DEVON ROYAL AUXI-
LIARY-SUPPLEMENTARY YEOMANRY CAVALRY ! — The gallant yeo-
manry, if they are of no other use, at least afford plenty of amuse-
ment. Their antics on horseback are ludicrous enough, excepting
occasionally where they interfere with the people's comfort, by tread-
ing upon their toes — a guacherie, which a well-bred horse of the
Guards would be ashamed to commit. —

" Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent has been pleased to command
that the South Devon shall in future be styled ' The 3d Royal Devon, or
Duchess of Kent's own Regiment of Yeomanry.' "

We are glad to hear the " South Devon" has deserved the honour
thus conferred upon it, and hope the members of the corps are some-
what more dexterous with their weapons than formerly. When they
were last called out into " active service," against some contumacious
rustics, one of the corps, who was more disposed for "business" than
his comrades, had pushed his horse in advance, which was seized by
some unceremonious chopstick by the bridle. The indignant miUtaire
aimed at him a desperate blow with his sabre, in the practice of which,
not having a veteran's experience, the gallant gentleman unfortunately
cut his charger's ear off!

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

An anecdote is related of this same distinguished regiment : — In the
earlier part of their military career, it was customary with them to
practise their evolutions without the assistance of any of their officers,
except the adjutant, who gave the command, the other ranks being
filled by Serjeants and corporals. On one occasion, the military march
of mind was rather ludicrously exhibited: on the command being
given by the adjutant, that — " the — regi — menl — mil — charge — by —
squadrons — al — ternately," — it was repeated by one of the majors to
his bewildered comrades as follows : — " the regi — ment — will — charge
by — squadrons — to — all— eternity !"

PRODIGIOUS ! — Our country friends are always on the qui vive to
astonish us. They exert their ingenuity most industriously, and, so
far as amusement is concerned, to good purpose — to wit, the follow-
ing : —

"A bullock, weighing only 26 stones Dutch, was on Thursday slaughtered
at Linlithgow, when the tallow inclosing the left kidney was observed to be
of prodigious size. On taking the kidney out, after leaving the usual propor-
tion, it weighed five stones imperial ! The bullock was three years old, and
quite healthy/'

Fancy a kidney seventy pounds I If the readers of the talented
paragraph |above, had swallows equal to alligators, they would not
find them a whit too large for this kidney. Again : —

" Last week, a sea cob, kept in the garden of J. Lloyd Williams, Esq. of
Alderbrook-hall, Cardigan, swallowed a mole alive, which after a considera-
ble time, worked its way out through the breast of the bird, and made its
escape. The bird is still alive and doing well ! "

We are quite sure that our respected friend, Captain Cram, has
lately been on a visit to Mr. Williams ; and it was he, who doubtless
forwarded the account to the Editor of the paper when we took it.
If that be the case, we are not so much surprised, as our travelled
friend has certainly witnessed more extraordinary things than any
man in England. Had it been related by any other, we should
hardly believe it.

THINGS THEATRICAL.

A great clamour has been raised about the right of Mr. BUNN to
unite the two houses under one management — a question which solely
involves the interests of manager and actors, but in which the latter
have very ingeniously contrived to inveigle the public. Now what
the public have to complain of is simply this— the high prices of
admission, and the inferiority of entertainment. And the reason ? —
Why, the enormous salaries given to actors by a ruinous competition,
precludes the possibility of encouraging first-rate dramatic talent as
it deserves — the consequence is, hashes from the French, and thread-
bare pieces, which the public are sick of seeing.

Actors and singers are paid at a higher rate, in proportion to their
talent, than any other class of the community ; and because a manager

702 THINGS THEATRICAL.

devises some means to check this evil, he naturally enough excites
their wrath. In former days, when the theatre was the resort of all
the genius and fashion of England, when the stage was graced by
talent of the first order, no such salaries where thought of; and now
when patronage is withdrawn, and every thing appears upon a me-
diocre scale, actors are dissatisfied if they do not receive the income
of princes. As genuine worth declines, greediness is on the advance ;
but of this we feel assured, that the stage never can hope to regain
its former popularity, until it ceases to be a ruinous speculation to
managers — until the salaries of actors are brought to a level with
other professions — the rent reduced with all other rent — authors pro-
perly treated— and the prices made suitable to the means of those
who would willingly go if they could afford it. Till this is done, all
the rest is patch- work. Managers may adopt temporary means of
relief, it will not ultimately avail — a thorough reform is wanting to
meet the means of the public.

A debutante for theatrical honours lately appeared at COVENT
GARDEN, in the character of Rosina — and is a very graceful pleasing
little person. We understand that she was formerly a pupil of
CRIVELLI, who, in fact, formed her voice ; but that she has latterly,
unfortunately, been receiving instruction from a gentleman who is
a flute player, or a fiddler, or some such thing, but certainly without
experience as a singing master, and altogether unfit for the task of
qualifying such a singer as Miss ATKINSON for the stage. It is to
be regretted, that the young lady did not pursue her former course
of instruction — she would, by this time, have had no reason to fear a
competitor — as it is, her talent is of first-rate order, and her success,
in the character of Rosina, was complete. Her performance of
Mandane, in " Artaxerxes" was equivocal : for the part is altogether
unfit for her voice, which is of mezzo-soprano quality. The music of
Mandane requires a soprano voice of full compass : therefore, placing
Miss ATKINSON in such a position was not only ungenerous to her
individually, but grossly unjust.

We hear she is refused an engagement, because she was not so
successful in a part where she ought never to have been placed. —
Such is theatrical justice !

The new piece of " Gustavus" at COVENT GARDEN, continues to
attract large audiences, and has been profitable to the management.
It is C( adapted from the French/' by PLANCHE, and is certainly a <
very splendid spectacle. The music, however, is by no means to be
laid to the fault of poor AUBER, who has sins enough to answer for.
It is principally got up, contrived, and worked into the piece by a
Mr. CARTER, who might have been more advantageously employed in
some other business. This opera was introduced at the VICTORIA,
and, if we except the grand scenic effects, to our mind much better.
The music was arranged and partly composed by Mr. BARNETT, a
composer of acknowledged reputation, who executed his task most
successfully. The costumes were, likewise, arranged with greater
accuracy; we were not astonished there by the appearance of Napoleon

THINGS THEATRICAL.

at the masked ball, in his well-known costume of latter days — an
anachronism at COVENT GARDEN which could only have been sug-
gested by the grossest ignorance.

The " Butterfly's Ball," at the ADELPHI, was but a poor affair.
Its attraction chiefly depended on the merits of the legfc of Mrs.
WAYLETT and Mrs. HONEY ; but whether they have been seen often
enough, or that the taste of the Adelphi audience is becoming more
pure, they failed to produce a run.

The fair widow of Wych-street has not been so successful as last
year. " The Beulah Spa" seems to be the most attractive piece hitherto
introduced ; we hope MADAME may receive great benefit from the
waters.

The French theatrical world has been in serious commotion lately
— nothing less than a rupture with Sweden is spoken of. The
descendants of the heroes of Charles XII. have threatened ven-
geance. As we have been guilty of the same impropriety, we must
leave Mr. BUNN to get the country out of the scrape as he can. It
is hard that an innocent people should suffer from the delinquency
of a manager. It appears that a diplomatic correspondence of an
angry nature has taken place between the French and Swedish
governments, in consequence of the latter having demanded the
withdrawal from the French Stage of the opera of the " Bal Masque
de Gustave," and the vaudeville of the " Camarade de Lit." The
latter piece is certainly not calculated to flatter the vanity of the
reigning monarch of Sweden. The plot of this singular dramatic
production, which is from the pens of MM. LANGLE and VANDER-
BURCK, is as follows: — Thiebault, an old grognard of the Grande
Armee, and his Majesty, Charles John (Bernadotte), had, when
simple grenadiers in the service, been bedfellows — Camarades de
Lit. Thiebault goes to Sweden after the late revolution, where he-
carries on the trade of a cabinet-maker. He there meets the king,
who, at the sight of his old comrade, feels all the force of youthful
impressions, that he puts on his old uniform of a grenadier, and
with Thiebault repairs to a cabaret. Here the latter reads the king
a lesson on politics and the art of government, who at last, under
the influence of deep potations, signs several edicts calculated com-
pletely to reorganize the political condition of the Swedish people.
The denouement is admirably managed, and the piece throughout
full of interest and gaiety. It has met with great success.

The rage in Paris for theatrical novelties is truly surprising. The
life of Napoleon made but the subject of one piece — while the ages
of Louis XIV. and XV. have been ransacked over and over again
for subjects to satisfy the greedy curiosity of La Jeune France.
During the last month thirteen new pieces were produced at the
different theatres of Paris, viz. two tragedies, two dramas, one
comic opera, and eight vaudevilles ; a number, considering what has
been, and what is expected, is thought by our neighbours to be a
monstrous meagre affair after all.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT. — ACKERMANN & Co.

THE eldest-born of annuals has always been a welcome guest at
our Christmas fire-sides, and from the pains taken to keep pace with
the fresh attraction offered by other adventurers in the most inter-
esting of literary competition, we have no doubt it will long continue
so. There are many very interesting articles in the present volume,
of which we shall extract the following : the view from an hitherto
unpublished sketch by the late Sir Walter Scott, and the tale by our
friend the Ettrick Shepherd : —

SCOTTISH HAYMAKERS.

THERE is no employment in Scotland so sweet as working in a hay-field on
a fine summer day. Indeed it is only on a fine summerday that the youths
and maidens of this northern clime can work at the hay. But then the scent
of the new hay, which of all others in the world is the most delicious and
healthful, the handsome dress of the girls, which is uniformly the same, con-
sisting of a snow-white bedgown and white or red striped petticoat — the dress
that Wilkie is so fond of, and certainly the most lovely and becoming dress
that ever was or will be worn by woman ; and then the rosy flush of health-
ful exercise on the cheeks of the maidens, with their merry jibes and smiles
of innocent delight ! Well do I know, from long and well tried experience,
that it is impossible for any man with the true feelings of a man to work with
them or even to stand and look on — both of which I have done a thousand
times, first as a servant, and afterwards as a master — I say it is impossible
to be among them and not be in love with some one or other of them.

But this simple prologue was merely meant to introduce a singular adven-
ture I met with a good many years ago. Mr. Terry, the player, his father
and brother-in-law, the two celebrated Naesmiths, and some others, among
whom was Monsieur Alexandre, the most wonderful ventriloquist that I be-
lieve ever was born, and I think Grieve and Scott, but at this distance of time
I am uncertain, were of the party. However, we met by appointment ; and,
as the weather was remarkably fine, agreed to take a walk into the country
and dine at " The Hunter's Tryste," a little, neat, cleanly, well-kept inn,
about two miles to the southward of Edinburgh. We left the city by the hills
of Braid, and there went into a hay-field. The scene certainly was quite de-
lightful, what with the scent of the hay, the beauty of the day, and the rural
group of haymakers. Some were working hard, some wooing, and some
towzling, as we call it, when Alexander Naesmith, who was always on the
look-out for any striking scene of nature, called to his son — " Come here,
Peter, and look at this scene. Did you ever see aught equal to this ? Look
at those happy haymakers on the foreground ; that fine old ash tree, and the
castle between us and the clear blue sky. I declare I have hardly ever seen
such a landscape ! And if you had not been a perfect stump as you are, you
would have noticed it before me. If you had I would have set ten times more
value on it."

" Oh, I saw it well enough," said Peter, " and have been taking a peep at it
this while past, but I hae some other thing to think of and look at just now.
Do you see that girl standing there with the hay-rake in her hand ?"

'• Ay, now, Peter, that's some sense," said the veteran artist. " I excuse
you for not looking at the scene I was sketching. Do you know, man, that is
the only sensible speech I ever heard you make in my life."

MONTHLY' REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

There were three men and a very handsome girl loading an immense cart
of hay. We walked on, and at length this moving hay-stack overtook Us.
I remember it well, with a black horse in the shafts and a fine light grey one
in the traces. We made very slow progress ; for Naesmith would never
cease either sketching or stopping us to admire the scenery of nature, and
I remember he made a remark to me that day which I think neither he nor his
most ingenious son, now no more, ever attended much to ; for they have often
drawn most extensive vistas the truest to nature of any thing I ever saw in
my uncultivated judgment, which can only discern what is accordant with
nature by looking on nature itself: but, if a hundred years hence, the pictures
of the Naesmiths are not held invaluable, I am no judge of true natural
scenery. But I have forgot myself. The remark that he made to me was
this : "It is amazing how little makes a good picture ; and frequently the less
that is taken in the better." Some of the ladies of the family seem to have
improved greatly on this hint.

But to return to my story. We made such slow progress on account of
Naesmith, that up came the great cart-load of hay o« one side of us, with a
great burly Lothian peasant sitting upon the hay, lashing on his team, and
whistling his tune. We walked on, side by side, for a while, I think about
half a mile, when, all at once, a child began to cry in the middle of the cart-
load of hay. I declare I was cheated myself; for, though I was walking
alongside of Alexandre, I thought there was a child among the hay ; for it
cried with a kind of half smothered breath, that I am sure there never was
such a deception practised in this world. Peter Naesmith was leaning on the
cart-shaft at the time, and conversing with the driver about the beautiful girl
he had seen in the hay-field. But Peter was rather deaf, and, not hearing
the screaming of the child, looked up in astonishment, when the driver of the
cart began to stare around him like a man bereaved of his senses.

" What is the meaning of this ?" said Terry. " You are smothering a
child among your hay."

The poor fellow, rough and burly as was his outer man, was so much ap-
palled at the idea of taking infant life, that he exclaimed in a half- articulate
voice : " I wonder how they could fork a bairn up to me frae the meadow,
an' me never ken I" And without taking time to descend to loose his cart-
ropes, he cut them through the middle, and turned off his hay, roll after roll,
with the utmost expedition ; and still the child kept crying almost under his
hands and feet. He was even obliged to set his feet on each side of the cart
for fear of trampling the poor infant to death. At length, when he had
turned the greater part of the hay off upon the road, the child fell a-crying
most bitterly amongst the hay ; on which the poor fellow (his name was
Sandy Burnet) jumped off the cart in the greatest trepidation. " Od ! I hae
thrawn the poor thing ower !" exclaimed he. " I's warrant it's killed" —
and he began to shake out the hay with the greatest caution. I and one of
my companions went forward to assist him. " Stand back ! stand back !"
cried he. " Ye'll may be tramp its life out. I'll look for't myselY' But,
after he had shaken out the whole of the hay, no child was to be found.
I never saw looks of such amazement as Sandy Burnet's then were. He
seemed to have lost all comprehension of every thing in this world. I was
obliged myself to go <xn to the brow of the hill and call on some of the hay-
makers to come and load the cart again.

Mr. Scott and I stripped off our coats, and assisted ; and, as we were busy
loading the cart, I said to Sandy, seeing him always turning the hay over and
over for fear of running the fork through a child, " What can hae become
o' the creature, Sandy? — for you must be sensible that there was a bairn
among this hay/'

" The Lord kens, sir," said Sandy.

M. M. No. 96. 4 X

706 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

" Think ye the lasses are a' safe enough an' to be trusted :" said I.

"For ony thing that I ken, sir."

" Then where could the bairn come frae ?"

" The Lord kens, sir. There was a bairn, or the semblance o' ane, naebody
can doubt ; but I'm thinking it was a fairy, an' that I'mhauntit"

" Did you ever murder any bairns, Sandy ?"

" Oh no ! I wadna murder a bairn for the hale workl."

" But were ye ever the cause o' any lasses murdering their bairns ?"

"Not that I keno'."

" Then where could the bairn come frae ? — for you are sensible that there
is or was a bairn among your hay. It is rather a bad-looking job, Sandy,
and I wish you were quit of it."

"I wish the same, sir,. But there can be nae doubt that the creature
among the hay was either a fairy or the ghaist of a bairn, for the hay was
a' forkit off the swathe on the meadow. An' how could ony body fork up a
bairn, an' neither him nor me ken ?"

We got the cart loaded once more, knitted the ropes firmly, and set out ;
but we had not proceeded a hundred yards before the child fell a- cry ing
again among the hay with more vehemence and with more choaking screams
than ever. " Gudeness have a care o'us ! Heard ever ony leevin the like o'
that! I declare the creature's there again!" cried Sandy, and, flinging himself
from the cart with a summerset, he ran off, and never once looked over his
shoulder as long as he was in our sight. We were very sorry to hear after-
wards that he had fled all the way to the highlands of Perthshire, where
he still lives in a deranged state of muid.

We dined at "The Hunter's Tryste/' and spent the afternoon in hilarity ;
but such a night of fun as Monsieur Alexandre made us I never witnessed
and never shall again. On the stage, where I had often seen him, his powers
were extraordinary, and altogether unequalled ; that was allowed by every
one : but the effect there was not to be compared with that which he pro-
duced in a private party. The family at the inn consisted of the landlord,
his wife, and her daughter, who was the landlord's step-daughter, a very
pretty girl, and dressed like a lady ; but, I am sure that family never spent
an afternoon of such astonishment and terror from the day they were united
until death parted them — though they may be all living yet, for any thing
that I know, for I have never been there since. But Alexandre made people
of all ages and sexes speak from every part of the house, from under the beds,
from the basin-stands, and from the garret, where a dreadful quarrel took
place. And then he placed a bottle on the top of the clock, and made a child
scream out of it, and declare that the mistress had corked it in there to murder
it. The young lady ran, opened the bottle, and looked into it, and then,
losing all power with amazement, she let it fall from her hand and smashed
it to pieces. He made a bee buz round my head and face until I struck at it
several times and had nearly felled myself. Then there was a drunken man
came to the door, and insisted in a rough obstreperous manner on being let
in to shoot Mr. Hogg ; on which the landlord ran to the door and bolted it,
and ordered the man to go about his business, for there was no room in the
house, and there he should not enter on any account. We all heard the voice of
the man going round and round the house, grumbling, swearing, and threaten-
ing andallthe while Alexandre was just standingwith his back to us at the room-
door, always holding his hand to his mouth, but nothing else. The people
ran to the windows to see the drunken man going by, and Miss Jane even
ventured to the corner of the house to look after him ; but neither drunken
man nor any other man was to be seen. At length, on calling her in to serve
us with some wine and toddy, we heard the drunken man's voice coming in
at the top of the chimney. Such a state of amazement as Jane was in I never

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

beheld. " But ye need nae be feared, gentlemen," said she, " for I'll defy him
to win down. The door's boltit an' lockit, an' the vent o' the lumb is na sae
wide as that jug.";

However, down he came, and down he came, until his voice actually
seemed to be coming out of the grate. Jane ran for it, saying, " He is winning
down, I believe, after a'. He is surely the deil."

Alexandre went to the chimney, and, in his own natural voice ordered the
fellow to go about his business, for into our party he should not be admitted,
and if he forced himself in he would shoot him through the heart. The voice
then went again grumbling and swearing up the chimney. We actually heard
him hurling down over the slates, and afterwards his voice dying away in the
distance as he vanished into Mr. Trotter's plantations. We drank freely, and
paid liberally, that afternoon ; but I am sure the family never were so glad to
get quit of a party in all their lives.

To prove the authenticity of this story, I may just mention that Peter
Naesmith and Alexander ran a race in going home for half a dozen of wine,
and, it being down the hill, Peter fell and hurt his breast very badly. I have
been told that that fall ultimately occasioned his death. I hope it was not so ;
for though a perfect simpleton, he was a great man in his art.

HOOD'S COMIC ANNUAL, 1834. TILT.

WE have received this volume too late for such an elaborate notice
as the reputation of its author justly entitles it. Upon a hasty glance
it appears to be particularly rich in its literary portion : almost every
article possesses a claim to attention. We can only at present, present
our readers with a specimen in prose, by way of whetting their ap-
petite for the remainder: —

SKETCHES ON THE ROAD.

THE DILEMMA.

" Read ! it's very easy to say read." — THE BURGOMASTER.
u I have trusted to a reed." — OLD PROVERB.

" HOY ! — Cotch ! — Co-ach ! — -Coachy !— Coachee !— hullo !— hulloo ! —
woh ! — wo-hoay? — wough-hoaeiouy !" — for the last cry was a waterman's,
and went all through the vowels.

The Portsmouth Rocket pulled up, and a middle-aged, domestic-looking
woman, just handsome enough for a plain cook at an ordinary, was deposited
on the dickey ; two trunks, three bandboxes, a bundle, and a hand- basket,
were stowed in the hind boot. " This is where I'm. to go to," she said to
the guard, putting into his hand a slip of paper. The guard took the paper,
looked hard at it, right side upwards, then upside down, and then he looked
at the back ; he in the meantime seemed to examine the consistency of the
fabric between his finger and thumb ; he approached it to his nose as if to
smell out its meaning ; I even thought that he was going to try the sense of
it by tasting, when, by a* sudden jerk, he gave the label with its direction to
the winds, and snatching up his key-bugle began to play " O where, and O
where," with all his breath.

I defy the metaphysicians to explain by what vehicle I travelled to the
conclusion that the guard could not read ; but I felt as morally sure of it as
if I had examined him in his a — b — ab. It was a prejudice not very liberal ;

708 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

but yet it clung to me, and fancy persisted in sticking a dunce's cap on his
head. Shakspeare says that "he who runs may read," and I had seen him
run a good shilling's worth after an umbrella that dropped from the coach ;
it was a presumptuous opinion, therefore, to form, but I formed it notwith-
standing— that he was a perfect stranger to all those booking-offices where
the clerks are schoolmasters. Morally speaking, I had no earthly right
to clap an ideal Saracen's Head on his shoulders ; but, for the life of me,
I could not persuade myself that he had more to do with literature than the
Blue Boar.

Women are naturally communicative : after a little while the female in
the dickey brought up, as a military man would say, her reserve, and entered
into recitative with the guard during the pauses of the key-bugle. She in-
formed him in the course of conversation, or rather dickey gossip, that she
was an invaluable servant, and, as such, had been bequeathed by a deceased
master to the care of one of his relatives at Putney, to exert her vigilance as
a housekeeper, and to overlook every thing for fifty pounds a-year. " Such
places," she remarked, " is not to be found every day in the year."

The last sentence was prophetic !

" If it's Putney," said the guard, " it's the very place we're going through.
Hold hard, Tom, the young woman wants to get down." Tom immediately
pulled up ; the young woman did get down, and her two trunks, three band-
boxes, her bundle, and her hand -basket were ranged round her. " I've had
a very pleasant ride," she said, giving the fare with a smirk and a curtsey to
the coachman, " and am very much obliged,"— dropping a second curtsey to
the guard, — " for other civilities. The boxes and things is quite correct,
and won't give further trouble, Mr. Guard, except to be as good as pint out
the house I'm going to." The guard thus appealed to, for a moment stood
all aghast ; but at last his wits came to his aid, and he gave the following
lesson in geography.

" You're all right — ourn a'n't a short stage, and can't go round setting
people down at their own doors ; but you're safe enough at Putney — don't
be alarmed, my dear — you can't go out of it. It's all Putney, from the bridge
we've just come over, to the windmill you almost can't see t'other side of
the common."

" But, Mr. Guard, I've never been in Putney before, and it seems a
scrambling sort of a place. If the coach can't go round with me to the
house, can't you stretch a pint and set me down in sight of it ?"

" It's impossible — that's the sum total ; this coach is timed to a minute,
and can't do more for outsides if they was all Kings of England."

"I see how it is," said the female, bridling up, while the coachman, out
of patience, prepared to do quite the reverse ; " some people are very civil,
while some people are setting beside 'em in dickies ; but give me the paper
again, and I'll find my own ways."

" It's chucked away," said the guard, as the coach got into motion ;
" but just ask the first man you meet — any body will tell you."

" But I don't know who or where to ask for," screamed the lost woman
after the flying Rocket ; " I can't read ; but it was all down in the paper as
is chucked away."

A loud flourish of the bugle to the tune of " My Lodging is on the Cold
Ground" was the only reply ; and as long as the road remained straight, I
could see " the Bewildered Maid" standing in the rnidst of her baggage, as
forlorn as Eve, when, according to Milton —

" The world was all before her, where to choose
Her place-"

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART.

MEMOIR OF MR. JOHN DUNGETT, OF NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, A
USEFUL CLASS-LEADER,, AND SUCCESSFUL LOCAL PREACHER IN
THE WELEYAN METHODIST CONNEXION. BY J. HEATON.

CANT — cant — cant ! " Heaven stops the nose at it."

DECISION AND INDECISION ; OR THE Two COUSINS. BY THE WIFE
OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER. MASON,, 1833.

WE "fear we must confess ourselves obnoxious to all the conse-
quences of " indecision," as respects this work ; our " decision" being
somewhat perplexed by the consideration " that a lady is in the
case:" Dr. Johnson says, in his Rambler (and we always bear this in
mind), " Just praise is only a debt, but flattery is a present ;'' and the
world is witness that our coffers are ever ready to liquidate such
debts, with the benefit of the discount of a clear conscience, as soon
as incurred. As, however, it is not in our nature to offer (nor would
it be decorous, upon so slight an acquaintance, in a lady to accept)
the present of the latter, the nature of our opinion of this work we
leave to the sagacity of the fair authoress and the public.

We may take this opportunity, perhaps, of remonstrating with the
small fry of writers, upon their very unnecessary and ridiculous in-
dulgence in the use of the italics, intended, it would seem, to
strengthen and enforce the egregious no-meaning of their awkward
sentences. One cannot get though a line without a row of these
slanting gentlemen posted in the way. It reminds us very much of
the story told of the poor artist, who, having completed something
between an ox and a hippopotamus, thought fit, for the information
of his friends, to transcribe beneath, " this is a cow ;" presenting a
sad and melancholy portraiture of that useful animal.

SOCIAL EVILS AND THEIR REMEDY. BY THE REV. CHARLES B.1
TAYLER, M. A., THE MECHANIC. SMITH, ELDER, AND Co.
"• I AM not a politician," is the preliminary admission of the Rev.
Charles Tayler. Surely, now, such a statement is quite unnecessary;
quite as much so, we should say, as though that excellent bird that
flourishes at Michaelmas, were to declare, tf I am not an eagle ;" or a
certain long-eared quadruped, " I am not a Cordovan jennet." Per-
haps Mr. Tayler means to say,, though, that he professes no particular
political creed. We beg his pardon. To become a politician, we
imagine, demands greater powers than those required to jabber in-
finite nonsense, at the full valuation of a reasonably sonorous snore
per minute.

We regret we have not time to make a barbescue of this pretender.
We may, however, advise him to cease to decorate his title-page with
the irreverent, catch-penny device he has chosen. Such symbols are
too serious to be made to serve the purposes of trade. Who, pray,
suggested this ?

POLITICAL SUMMARY.

WITH the exception of the Iberean Peninsula, Europe has, during the last
month, been in a state of political quietism. Even diplomacy appears to
have relaxed something of its wonted energies, and to be reposing from the
toils of its last campaign. In Spain, however, the aspect of affairs is becom-
ing daily more complicated. Carlism is gaining ground, rearing, hydra-like,
its heads in almost every province. The position of the Queen-Regent is, it
must be confessed, a difficult one ; if, on the one hand, she throws herself
into the arms of the Constitutionalists, she loses the support of the juste-
rnilieu party ; and, upon the other, if she demands the interference of the
French, she will, by one blow, throw the whole nation into the opposite
scale. The major part of the Spanish people, we firmly believe, care little
about political liberty ; but they are a haughty race, and the interference of
a foreign power would popularize the cause of Don Carlos, which would be
associated with that of national independence. Both the ruling government
of Spain, and that of Louis Philippe, see the danger of such a measure — be-
sides, there is no doubt that, on the crossing of the Bidossoa by the French,
the armies of Russia, Austria and Prussia, would advance upon the Rhine,
and thus would be kindled that fearful war of principles, the eruption of
which it has been the great effort of European diplomacy for the last three
years to prevent. In the mean time Spain appears destined to pass through
the same fiery ordeal that has been the fate of Portugal for the last eighteen
months. By the last accounts from that country, Miguel's, prospects look
better. He is showing an imposing front at Sartarem — recruits even flock-
ing to his standard from the Northern Provinces — in fact, if he only uses
with skill the resources he has yet at his disposition, the u Iterior success of
his niece is not so certain as many fondly imagine.

In the North, the only political event of importance is the tripartite alli-
ance between Russia, Prussia, and Austria, for preserving the statu quo in
Poland. In Germany considerable opposition is offered by the smaller States
to the Prussian tariffe system. In France, no question of importance will be
mooted until the opening of the Chambers, fixed for the 3d December ; while
in Turkey we have a continuation of the old story — internal revolt, venality,
and corruption, fostered by Russian intrigue

DOMESTIC SUMMARY.

LORD DURHAM and Mr. O'Connell have been the lions of the month.
Both have been making known to the public their aspirations after fame —
the Rent of the Irish orator has not been so productive this year as
formerly. The people are well enough pleased with patriots so long as they
keep their hands out of their breeches pockets ; but when " stump up"
is the cry, people double-lock their strong boxes — like a crowd round a
Punch-and-Judy shew, they are delighted to see the dog thumped, and the
thwacks dealt by Punch's cudgel ; but the moment the cap goes round, off
they walk.

The Tithe and Tax uproar has subsided — like the ancient Pistol, people
grumble and eat their leeks.

The Corporative Inquiry has been progressing with great effect. The
Merchant Tailors' Company, however, have been contumacious. They beg
to offer their particular respects to the king, and assure him of their duty,
but beg to deny his authority, Tailors are, proverbially, 9 pugnacious race.
Poor Sir Richard Birnie used to say, that he had more difficulty with tailors
than all the operatives of the metropolis put together. This is very repre-
hensible, and we trust the company may be brought to reason without the
aid of the treadmill or any other equally disagreeable exercise.

LITERARY NOTICES.

THE CELEBRATED WOMEN of all Countries, their Lives and Por-
traits. By the DUCHESS OF ABRANTES and COUNT STRASZEWICZ, to be
commenced on the First of January, and continued Monthly, containing
FOUR FINE PORTRAITS and MEMOIRS, in Octavo, and Folio.

In one small volume, illustrated with a Portrait of the Author, the Life of
the original Lawrie Toeld, entitled FORTY YEARS' RESIDENCE IN
AMERICA ; or the Doctrine of a particular Providence, exemplified in the
Life of Grant Thorburn, Seedsman, of New York. Written by Himself.

Will be Published in December, a BIBLIOGRAPHICAL CATALOGUE
of Works privately printed; including such as have emanated from the
Roxburghe, Bannatyne, and Maitland Clubs, and the Private Presses at Straw-
berry Hill. Auchinleck, Darlington, Lee Priory, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and
Broadway. By JOHN MARTJN, F.L.S.

RHYMES for YOUTHFUL HISTORIANS, designed to assist the Me-
mory in retaining the most important events in Ancient and English History.
Third Edition.

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

THE grand business of the autumnal season, wheat sowing, is drawing to-
wards a close, or rather may be said to have already closed, in even the
most backward parts of the country. With some exceptions, arising from
peculiar and local causes, and such must ever be expected, the wheat-seed
season of the present year may be unhesitatingly pronounced as one of the
most fortunate and successful. Indeed, a retrospect will show, that of late
years, in an especial manner, we have been fortunate in our wheat sowing,
and at the start, whatever may have resulted at the conclusion, that is to
say, at harvest. Our two last wheat harvests, indeed, have been wonder-
fully productive ; the state of the lands, of the climate, and the condition of
the generality of the farms considered. Want of money, so general among
the farmers, and according to all the reports from the country, greatly in-
creased and exaggerated at the present crisis, has hurried such quantities of
corn of every description to market, that we have now obtained satisfactory
evidence as to the various products of the late harvests, and find that our
early speculations, as to the quantities and condition of the crops, were not
very wide of the mark. Wheat, the most important, has also proved the
most plentiful crop, and is deemed a full average, the overplus on the best
lands making up the deficiency of the poor and least productive. As a draw-
back upon this piece of national good fortune, the condition of too great a
part of this splendid crop was lamentably deteriorated by the excesssive hurry
with which it was drawn from the field, in order to be turned into money ;
many who were not in distress for money, taking the same course, under
the apprehension of large imports from the Continent, which, however,
have not yet arrived. The wheat market has thus been greatly overstocked,
whilst the damp condition of the best wheat has greatly reduced the price,
the ordinary and lower samples being beat down below all proportion.
Some hopes are yet entertained in the country of a favourable rally in the
price of wheat, but that will materially depend on the quantity imported.
Oats have proved the next best crop, and clover seed, of which seed, indeed,
there is such a quantity in the country, that a resolution is announced of
petitioning Parliament to impose upon the article an additional and exclusive
duty, which will, no doubt, be stoutly opposed by the free trade party.
Barley is an average crop upon a few of the best lands only, in general far

/12 AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

below an average, but much of it fine and weighty in quality. The pulse
crops, both beans and peas, are much below an average^, being on too many
farms scarcely worth the labour and expense of harvesting. There are,
however, many fine samples to be found of both. Potatoes, on the whole,
are said not to amount to more than half a crop, but with favourable excep-
tions, and the quality often superior. Mangel wurzel, a small quantity in
the country, and the article getting out of repute. Another change in this,
our unsteady climate, since September, when the grass was burned to the
root; alternate showers and favourable growing weather have produced a fine
stock of fresh autumnal grass, which will prove a great saving of hay to the
stock-farmer. Seed-time, for the new crop, has been equally fortunate and
successful, as the harvest of the wheats never had a more beautiful green and
flourishing aspect than at the present season. They have generally shot up
early, a strong and healthy plant proving the general goodness of the seed,
but with strange accounts from a few parts, of a failure of the plant, from
the seminal virtues being destroyed by the unguarded use of arsenic in the
steeping, with the view of preventing smut, as though the perpetual sudden
variations between heat and cold, moisture and drought, were not sufficient in
themselves to produce that disease, in despite of all that could be effected by
a remedy used so many months before hand ; a case somewhat analagous to
a man's taking a medicine in October, in order to prevent a cold or rheuma-
tism which might otherwise occur in the next year's July. This is not said
to decry the custom of steeping seed, or even the prudent use of arsenic, how-
ever, with very different expectations. It is said in a few parts, that less
wheat has been sown during this than in any late season, and the reason as-
signed is the high price of barley and its ready sale, thence the most advan-
tageous crop. But this may, or must be, a mere temporary advantage, and
for the most part the old opinion prevails that the quantity of wheat in-
creases yearly. There seems to be an old dispute lately revived, as to the
proper month for sowing wheat ; one party standing up for September, the
other stifly insisting on the preference due to November. No doubt, but the
quality and situation of the soil must form an important consideration ; but,
as a general question, we have ever been the advocates and practisers of early
sowing, whether in autumn or spring. Alas ! the distress of the farmers speaks
too plainly to be either questioned or denied. The Oxfordshire newspapers lately
announced upwards of thirty sales of farming stock in one week, and nearly
thirty farms to be let ; as might be expected, the stock and farming imple-
ments were sold at ruinous prices.

The stout and fat cattle market is somewhat lower, sheep holding their
price. As to pigs, they have suffered a very sudden and heavy depreciation ;
in fact, are nearly unsaleable at any price, occasioned, in some parts, mate-
rially by Irish superabundant importations. Horses, the superior few ex-
cepted, have fallen much below the price of former days, and for very obvious
reasons, are not probable to rally.

The dead Markets, by the carcase, per stone, of 8lbs. — Beef, 2s. 2d. to

3s. 6d. Mutton, 2s. 4d. to 3s. 8d. Lamb, . Veal, 3s. 4d. to 4s. 4d.

Pork, 3s. 6d. to 4s. 4d.

Corn Exchange — 40s. to 60s. Barley, 26s. to 35s. Oats, 16s. to 25s.
Hay, 60s. 84s. Clover ditto, 75s. to lOo's. Straw, 24s. 33s.

Coal Exchange — Coals in the Port, 15s. to 21s. per ton, delivered to the
consumer at an addition of 9s. to 12s. per ton.

Game at Leadenhall Market — Grouse, 7s. to 8s. a brace. Pheasants, 7s.
to 8s. a brace. Birds, 5s. Hares, great plenty, 4s. each. Wild ducks, 8s.
Widgeons, 6s. and Teal, 3s. 6d. the couple. Woodcocks, 8s. and Snipes,
3s. 6d. a couple. Golden Plover, 3s., common. Is. 6d, a couple. Wild
Rabbits, from 8s. to 12s. per dozen.

Middlesex, Nov. 25, 1833. /£*' ~<V20pr^C

rro ncn 10/10