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BENTLEY'S

MISCELLANY.

VOL. xxin.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1848.

XABSfi.

lonhon:

CONTENTS.

A Fit* Chunini^tre in ( onettaiitinople,
Cwbd front Puns,

9Mtt

Lord Ilardinge, and thp recpnt Victories in Indiat \ . . I

Origin of the Slory of Bluebe&rd, . . 'By Dr. W. C 130

The late Isaac D'Israelij Esq. aiid the Genius of Taylor,

Judaism, .... / , , . $19

The SearcL after Truth, . . . • . .

Love'it I >e6ertion, a melancholy Fact. , * . . . 194

The Child of Genius. ...... ^itf

fbe Uelurn of the Birda, By Alfred CrowquiU, . 374

Three Nuns, . . . . .41**

The Fairy Cup . . . . - &«2

The Country Towns and Inna of Frajic«. ) ^ . ii|j._.,pi H. 1*3

A PijK) with the Dutchmen, S u) J. ^uarvei. SSG, 417

Pan ; a Narrative of Scenes and Adventures on the Banks of the

Amazon, by J E. Warren, 17, IA9. 239, :i47, 484

AoOld Man's Recollections of the Fastoral Cantons of Switxerlond.

Edited hy Mrs. Fercy IJinnett, . . *iS,S66

i By Mrs. Percy Sinoett,

The Lucky Grocer, hy Abraham Elder, ....

'ctts nt Madrid, — The Montpensier Marriage,

The Six decisive Battles of the World ; by Profeawr Creauy : —

I. Battle of Marathon, .....

II. Defeat of the Athenians at Syracuse,

III. The Metaurus, .....

IV. Arminius's Victory over the Roman Legions under Vanm,

V. Battle of Toura, .....
Vi. Battle of Vttlmy ... . .

Vint to ilia Highness Rnjah Brooke, at Sarawak, by Peter M'Quhae
A Sew Vfnr's Eve. . ) n , u i \iri.;*ii

nc.()l,IMan»n.lhi8GuMU, j By H. J. Wh.tUng,
Career of the Hero of Acre, .....

Captuin Spike; or, 1'he Islets of the Gulf ; by J. F. Cooper. 78, 193,375
My Birth-dAv Dream, hy Edward Kenealy, LL.B. . . , t>H

Government Plan of Defence for the Country, by J. A. St. John, , 89
A Visit to the liaunt of a Poetess, t hy the Author of " Pad- 102
Difficulties iu a Tour to Wiesbaden, S diaua," . , . 18^

The Reverie of Love, "] . . . . 1 10

The Water-Lily, I By Cuthbert Bede, .114

The Praises of Colonos, J . . 639

A Ramble along the old Kentish Road from Canterbury to London, 111, 266
Memoir of Beethoven, by Miss Thomasina Ross, . . IM

Song, . . . . .124

Characteristics of the Poet Gray, by E Jesse. . . . 133

Summer SketcJies in Switxerlaod, by Miss Costelio, . 150, 258

What Tom Pringle did with a £100 Note, ... 167

The Heiress of Budowa, a Tale of the Thirty Veara* War, .174

What can Sorrow do.** . . 191

The Postman, by H. R. Addison, . .201

The Two Pig", a Swinish Colloauy, by W. E. Burton, . 216

Anne lioleyn and Sir Thomaa Wyatt, .... 233

Sir Magnus and the Sea-vr itch. . . ... 246

The Two FuneraJa of Napoleon, , i u ■> i. _* i» _. 270

Battery Brown; or, The Privateer's Carousal. S **>* ^**^^ Postans, ^^^
Hoax of the Shakspeare Birth -houM!, and Relic Trade at Stratford on

Avon, by a VVarwickshire Man, .... 279

Mrs. Alfred Augustus Potts; a Tale of the Influenia, by Mrs. Frank

Elliott, ........ 289

Viata* Dinners, and Eveoingt, at the Quai D'Orsay, and at Neuilly, 2£»7

121

6^6

125

250

384

524

623

202

8^512

OOS

IV CONTENTS.

PAGE

The Yankee amongst the Mermaids, by a Capo Codder, . 303
St. George and the Dragon. The true Tale divested of its tradi-
tional Fibs, by Percy Cruikshank, . . . .311

Alival, and Sir Harry Smitii, by Charles Whitehead, . . 317

The Minstrel's Curse, ....... 321

Literarv Notices, ....... 323

KiDff Mob ; the last Days of the French Monarchy, by Mrs. Romer, 325

Kirdjali, the Bulgarian Bandit. A Tale by Thomas Shaw, . . 327
" Are there those that read the future f" by the Author of '< The Ex-
periences of a Gaol Chaplain/' .... 340,465

The Rise and Fall of Masanieiloj by the Author of " The Heiress of

Budowa," ....... 352

Narrative of the Wreck of the Archduke Charles, by a Naval Officer, 392

The eventful Days of February 1848, in Paris, by an American Lady, 408

Scenes from the last French Revolution, I . . . 422

Republican Clubs in Paris in 1848, . i By the Fl^eur in Paris, 505

I By

Republican Manners, . . J ... 512

Pnnce Metternich, ..... 431

T*he Career of M. Guizot, . ) ^ j ^^ , 435

France and her National AssembUes, 5 ^^ '^^^^ "^*™* • 615
The Isles of the Blest, . . . . . .455

Literary Statistics of France for Fifteen Years, .... 456

Robert Kmmett and Arthur Aylmer ; or, Dublin in 1803. By the

Author of " Stories of Waterloo," .... 470, 551

The Hospital of the San Spirito at Rome, a Narrative of Facts ; by

E. V. RippingiUe, . , . . . . 477

Charles Kdwara Stuart ; or. Vicissitudes in the Life of a Royal Exile ;
by the Author of " The' Military Career of the Earl of Peter-
borough ,'' ......'. 492

Welcome, sweet May < . . .514

Some Chapters of the Life of an Old Politician, . . . 515

Biographical Sketch of L. £. L. . . . . . 532

The Legend of fair Agnes, from the Danish of Ochlenschl^ger, . 535

Gaetano Donizetti, ....... 537

Memoirs and Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century . . 559
Notes of an Excursion from Lisbon to Andalusia and to the Coast of

Morocco, by Prince Lowenstein .... 568

The Career of Louis Philiupe as a Sovereign . . 590
A Journey from Shiraz to tne Persian Gulf, with an Account of Gazelle-
Hunting on the Plain of Bushire, by the Hon. Charles Stuart

Savile ........ 595

She 's gone to Bath, by Greensleevcs .... 605

The German's Fatherland ...... 634

Danish Seaman's Song ...... 640

ILLUSTRATIONS,

Portrait of the Right Hon. Visoount Hardinge,

The lucky Grocer, .....

Portrait of Beethoven, .....

Tom IVingle requested to keep his hands to himself,

Portrait of Isaac D*Israelij Esq.

The Yankee amongst the Mermaids,

POTtrait of Majoivgeneral Sir Harry G. W. Smith, Bart. G. C

„ Mods, de Lamartine,

„ Mona. Guizot, ....

n Prince Metternioh,

gg Xfc S. id,, > . . * ,

10 J)(MB!ietti

» ^llhabMn .....

1
31
115
167
219
303
317
323
425
431
532
537
615

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

LORD HARDINGE, AND THE RECENT VICTORIES
IN INDIA.

BY W. C. TATLOn, LL. D.
PORTBAIT, FROM A PICTURE BY ROBS.

Henry, Viscount Hardinge, one of the most ilistingiiishGd of
the companions of the immortal Welling^ton, is the grandson of Ni-
cholas HarJinjie, long the chief clerk to the House of Common'^,
and eminently distinguished for his attainments in constitutional law.
His father waa the late Rev. Heury Hardinge, rector of Stanhope,
Durham, a clergyman highly respected for his unaff*ectcd piety and
benevolence. As Henry was a younger son advantage waa taken of
his family connections to obtain him a commission in the array at a
very early age. But, notwithstanding the temptations that beset
youth under such circumstances, he devoted himself earnestly to
learn the duties of his profession, and acquired such proficiency that
he soon attracted the favourable notice of his superiors. His name
was first brought prominently before the public in connection with
that of the lamented General Sir Jolm Moore, on whose sUitT he
served during the memorable campai^ which ended in the disas-
trous retreat to Corunna, and the glorious victory which threw
a gleam of brilliancy over the close of a period of loss and suffering.
Captain Ilardinge was standing near Sir Jolin Moore when that ge-
neral wu struck by a cannon-shot. It was to Hardinge, who at-
tempted to remove his sword, that the dying hero addressetl the
energetic words, " It is as well as it is ; I had rather it should go out
of the field with me;" to the fiame gentleman, and to Col. Anderson,
Sir John Moore expressed his satisfaction at falling as became a sol-
dier on the field of victory, and hia pathetic hopes that his country
would do him justice.

Af\er the death of Sir John Moore, Captain Hardinge became
still more intimately connected with Sir Arthur Wellusley— the im-
mortal Wellington. He served under him during the whole of the
peninaulnr war, and at the battle of Waterloo, where Sir Henry
Hardinge. who had received the order of the Batli for his meritori-
ous career in Spain, had the misfortune to lose an arm. To write
the history of this portion of Sir Henry Hardinge's military career,
would be merely to repeat the narrative of campaigns which are or
ought to be familiar to every Englishman. During tlie entire
period Sir Henry was so identified with his illustrious chief that it
St scarcely possible to dissever his achievements from those of Wel-
lington.

Soon af\er the conclusion of the war (Nov. 1821), Sir Henry
Hardinge married Lady Emily Vane, daughter of Robert, the first
Marquis of Londonderry, and relict of John James, E«»q. About
Uie same time he entered into political life, and was known as the
sincere friend rather than the partisan of the Duke of Wellington.

VOL, XXIII.

S LORD HARDIKQE.

He has held the offices oP clerk of the ordnance and secretary- at- var.
he was also during a brief but a very troubled and important period,
secretary for Ireland. In this last-named post he displayed admi-
nistrative talents of the highest order ; uniting to firmness of pur-
pose the most conciliatory habits and demeanour, so that he won not
merely the respect but the regard of his most inveterate political
opponents, it was for thef^e qualities that he was selected to fill the
high office of governor-general of India at probably the moat critical
period in the history of our empire in that country which has occur*
red since the days of Warren Hastings.

So very little of the real state of India is known to the general
public, and particularly of the relations between tlie British govern-
ment and the independent native powers, that it will probably he
no unacceptable service if we briefly state the rise and progress of the
Sikhs from tlieir first appearance as a sect to the time when they
ventured to compete with the British for supremacy over India.

The Sikhs first appeared about the middle of the seventeenth cen-
tury as a sect professing principles of peace and submission, not un-
like those of the people called quakers; their tenets were a mixture
of Hindooism and Mohammedanism, and exposeil them to the per-
secutions of the bigots of both these creeds. In the later age of tht
empire of Delhi these persecutions were so severe that the patience
of the Sikhs was worn out ; they took up arms in their own defence,
and very soon rivalled their oppressors themselves in violence and
cruelty. As the great Alogul empire crumbled to pieces, the parta
of which it had been composed began to assume the various fi»rnit
of barbarous independence ; the Sikhs grouped under manj' differ-
ent leaders, formed a confederation of chieftaincies called Mistih in
the country, which, from being watered by the five branches ol' the
Indus, bears the name of the Pun}-dh or " land of five waters ;
other Misuls were established on the east side of the Sutlej, wh<»
were sometimes in alliance with the chiefs of the Punj-ab, but who
also sometimes formed a confederacy of their own.

About the commencement of the present century the Sikhs ofthfl
Punj.ab were united into one monarchy by Runjeet Singh, one of
the most able and enlightened despots who lias appeared in modem
Asia. His monarchy was called the kingdom of Lahore, from tht
name of its capital, but it also retained its geographical name of the
Pnnj.ab. Having established his power firmly at the west side of
the Sutlej, Runjeet Singh cast a covetous eye on the possessions of
the Sikhs at the eastern side of the river; but these had in the
meantime been taken under the protection of the British, and Hun
jeet could only gratify his ambition at the hazard of a perilous war.
The recent overthrow of the great Mahratta powers by the English
arms quite daunted him, and he entered into a treaty with the Bri
tish authorities on terms mutually advantageous to both parties.

One of the most common calumnies against the British adminis-
tration in India is that ambition has ever been its chief motive, and
that it has sought by secret, and not very honourable means, to sap
and weaken the strength of native states in order to render theni
easy of conquest. The course of policy pursued towards Runje
Singh is a triumphant refutation of thta libel. Kvery possible ai
was given him in consolidating and strengthening his kingdom at
Lahore; he was encouraged to introduce discipline into his army;

LORD HARDINGR.

D(l order into his government. It was the object of the English to
lise up a strong native state on the north-western frontier, which in
ftst ages had been the high-road for the plunderers and conquerors
iTHindastan.

Hunjeet Singh had acuteness to discover the vast superiority
rhich troops derived from European discipline ; he, therefore, en-
;i^ed in his service several officers whom the downfall of Napoleon
ttd left destitute of employment ; several of these were soldiers of
reat merit, and, under their training, the Sikhs became if not equal
t» our sepoy regiments, infinitely superior to the rude militia of the
Mtive powers.

Restricted by his dread of British power from seeking an extcn-
Bon of dominion eastwards, Runjeet Singh turned his arm^ north-
Irards and westwards, taking advantage of the distracted condition
Df Afghanistan to wrest frutn that monarchy some of its fairest pro.
rinces, including the beautiful vale of Casnmerej whose name la so
Belebrate<) in oriental poetry.

[ We do not believe that Runjeet Singh ever entertained a hope of

h time arriving when his armies would be sulficiently organized to

nneet a British force in the field, and enable him to contend for su*

nremacy in India ; but there is no doubt that such romantic visions

Boated before the imagination of some of his numerous sons, many

of his nobles, and the greater part of bis army. Such men as

^Urd, Ventura, Aventabile, and the Europeans of high character,

who had entered his service, laughed such dreams to scorn ; but

ihey were encouraged by less scrupulous adventurers, who brought

rilh them to Asia that vulgar spite with which the memory of

Vaterloo has filled certain classes of Frenchmen, and sufficient evi-

lence has oozed out to show that Runjeet Singh's friendship for the

English— the sincerity of which there is no reason to doubt— was

lot shared by all the members of his court.

Our space does not allow us to enter into any detail on the cam-
laigns of Afghanistan ; we can only say that in this war the Sikhs
Cted as allies of the English, but tnat, with the single exception of
he Alaha-rajah Runjeet Singh, there was hardly one of the Sikh
hitfaorities sincerely disposed to afford us honest co-operatiun. The
disasters of Cabul followed ; thev were calamitous in themselves,
»ut ihey were infinitely worse in their moral effect by weakening the
telief in the irresistible prowess of the British, which had spread
throughout Asia.

The death of Runjeet Singh let loose all the bad passions and
jealousies of the Sikhs, which his iron rule had repressed; but for-
tunately the distractions of a doubtful succession prevented hatred
ftf the English from becoming a predominant passion, until the
heroes of Jelallabad had been relieved, and ample vengeance taken
H>r the iniuries received at Cabul.

We believe that the hesitation for which Lord EUenborough haa

too severely censured, arose from a well-grounded fear, that, if

al Pollock too speedily advanced to rebeve Sir Robert Sale,

doubtful allies in his rear and on his flank might prove to be

gerous enemies.

Lord Ellenborough'a administration in India was marked by the

uest of Scinde, an achievement of doubtful policy and an acqui-

of very questionable value. This, however, was not the only

B 2

LORD nARDINOE.

point at issue between his lordship and the Court of Dire
■was believed in Leadenh&ll Street that Lord Ellenborough naa r>cefi
seized with an expensive passion for military glory. &"<! the pro-
prietors, with great unanimity, urged that he should be recalled,
civilian had been found anxious to provoke war; and this seems
have sugjiested the opinion that a warrior of established fame wool
be the best suited to support with firmness the policy of peace.

Few appointments have been generally more satisfactory than that
of Sir Henry Hardinge to the government of India in 1845. It was
ap]>roved unanimously by the Court of Directors, and it was not les«
loudly praised by the journals in opposition than by those which
were supposed to be under the influence of the ministry. His cha-
racter as a statesman was as well established as his fame as a soldier.
Though a conservative in politics, he was known to be a friend to
the progressive improvement of humanity, and particularly to the
extension of sound education and the diffusion of useful knowledge.
At the time of his appointment, no one believed that there was the
slightest danger of renewed hostilities in India. The Affghans were
believed, and with truth, to have received too impressive a lesson to
provoke British vengeance too hastily ; Scinde, if not a profitable,
seemed a very secure possession ; and there seemed to be almost
perfect tranquillity from the Himalayas to Cape Coroorin. Sir
Henry Hardtnge was not the dupe of these delusive appearances.
Though immediately after his landing he had devoted his attention
to the introduction of several valuable administrative reforms, and
more especially to establishing such a system of education as might
train the natives of Hindostan in a knowle<)ge of their rights anil
duties as British subjects, his provident glance foresaw elements of
coming danger in the disorganized condition of the court of Lahore,
and while almost everybody else appeared confident of calm, he
made vigorous preparations to meet a coming storm.

After a series of sanguinary but uninteresting revolutions,
crown of Lahore had devolved on Dhuleep Singh, a feeble boy, w
claims from legiiitiiacy were said to be '^a little doubtful. The B!
preme power, however, such as it was, belonged to the queen
ger^ or ranee, a woman of the most profligate habits, and who
element of policy was to obtain facilities for the indulgence of her
own depravetl appetites. To learn accurately the course likely tu
be taken by such an administration was quite impossible, for th^
simple reason that no definite course would be adopted by personi^
who were not of the same mind for an hour together. Hence the
account which news-writers gave of the perplexities and confusion
at Lahore, made many experienced men come to the conclusion that
no danger was to be dreaded from such distraction. Sir Henry
Hardinge, however, rightly divined that the distraction itself wul
the danger, 1

The court of Lahore was utterly helpless ; but, because it was so
helpless, it could neither control nor satisfy the army ; and this army
consisted of more than one hundred thousand men, well-armed, to-
lerably disciplined, and supplied with a formidable train of artillery,
amounting to more than two hundred guns. The soldiers also enter-
tained the most exaggerated notions of their own prowess : because
they had been disciplined like Europeans, they believed themselves
fully equal to £uglish soldiers, and far superior to the sepoys. Thei

LORD HARDINGE.

religious passions were stimulated by a set of fanatics called Akalees,
who promised them divine aid against unbelievers; and there were
European adventurers amongst them, who bad not forgotten the
love of plunder which they had acquired in the service of Napoleon.
The leaders of these bands were inspired by the hope of carving out
independent principalities, as had been frequently done before by
usurping generaU in India; and if any superior officer had offered
the counsels of prudence, he would in all probability have either
been assassinated by his colleagues, or torn to pieces by the multi-
tude.

It is not easy to conceive how the court of Lahore could ever have
kept this disorganized army in order and obedience. That the court
aanctioned the invasion of the British dominions has not been proved,
but neither is there eviiience that any effort was made to prevent the
movement. It is probable that the ranee and her ministers were not
anxious to impede an enterprize from which in any event they were
sure to be gainers. If the Sikhs were defeated, they would be re-
lieved from the terror of an army which they were at once unable to
support, and afraiil to disband; if the invasion succeeded, they might
not unreasonably hope for a share of the spoil.

8ir Henry Hardinge, having made himself thoroughly acquainted
with all these facts, saw that the danger of an irruption was immi-
nent; and not satisfied with issuing orders for proper measures of
precaution, he quitted Calcutta for the upper provinces, and arrived
at Umballa on the 2nd of December. Here he received information
that the protected Sikhs on the east side of the Sutlej were not un-
likely to countenance and aid the invaders, — a circumstance which
proved that the danger was more imminent and more extensive than
had previously been imagined.

Sir Henry Hardinge probably expected that the Sikh army
would have broken into marauding detachments, and assailed the
frontier at different points. No one could have anticipated the simul-
taneous movement of the entire mass; and it has been plausibly
asserted that the movement itself was not the result of any deliberate
plan, but was produced by one of those sudiJen impulses by which
multitudes are so often propelled to a course of action so united as
to have every appearance of laboured concert.

The precautions taken by Sir Henry Hardinge, although made
under the disadvantage of utter uncertainty of the enemy's move-
ments, were the best calculated to meet the crisis whicn actually
arrived. Sir John Littler was stationed with a strong division at
Ferozepore, in a position sufficiently strong to enable him to resist
the Sikhs until the main army could be brought up to his relief,
abould they cross the river in overwhelming force ; or to cut off their
straggling detachments, if the enemy only appeared in marauding
parties. In the meantitne, the main army, under Sir Hugh Gough,
was assembled at Umballa, ready to march, in whole or in part,
whenever its services were renaired.

That the march of the Sikns was an unpremeditated movementj
seems probable, from the information transmitted to head-quarters
by the political assistant. Major Broadfoot. He sent word that they
had no intention of moving, at the very moment they were about
to commence their march. It has, indeed, been said that Major
Broadfoot was deceived, and much blame has been imputed to the

LORD HARDINGE.

new9.department, for not obUuning accurate information. But
Mouton, a French adventurer then in the Sikh service, declares
that the march was unpremeditated, inconsiderate, and hurried for-
ward against the wishes and opinions of most of the officers.

The Sikhs crossed the Sutlej on the 13th of December, and formed
an intrenched camp at Fero^eshah. ^louton, who ii not, howerer,
a very trustworthy authority, intimates that this position was taken
to facilitate a junction with some discontented misitU of Sikha OD
the east bank of the Sutlej ; he adds, rather as an ascertained fact
than a random conjecture, that large masses of the native population,
from the Sutlej down to the very walls of Calcutta, were prepared
to join the Sikhs, should they succeed in penetrating into th%M
country. f

Although the French writer has greatly exaggerated the amount of
the general disaflection, there can be little doubt that the events of
the Afghan war hud produced a deep impression on the Mohamme*
dan races throughout India, and that many even among thoae sub-
ject to our sway had hailed the disasters of Cabul as a triumph of
the crescent over the cross. No Mohammedan has ever forgotten
that the supremacy of India once belonged to his creed, and many of
them believe that Islam is yet destined to acliieve another triumph,
and establish an empire more powerful than that of Delhi in iti
most glorious days.

Much exasperation, too, had been caused by Lord Ellenborough's
bombastic and most imprudent proclamation respecting the gates of
Somnath. Malimood of Ghuzni is revered as a saint by the Muft-
sulmans of India; he is considered as the greatest of their ghaaeesi
or heroes, whose lives were devoted to the extirpation of idolatry,
and the propagation of the true faith. The removal of one of his
proudest trophies from his tomb, and the proclamation of the deed
as an achievement of which the British Government ought to be
proud, was regarded as a triumph unnecessarily conceded to idola-
trous Hindooi&m, and an insult wantonly offered to the purer faith
of the Prophet of Mecca. Sir Henry Hardtnge's judicious and suc-
cessful eflorts to allay these feelings of irritation, are not less credit-
able to his character as a statesman, than the management of the
campaign, to his talents as a military commander. Mouton is pro-
bably correct in his assertion^ that the Sikhs expected a general in-
surrection of the Mohammedans throughout India, as soon a» they
appeared beyond the Sutlej ; but he is unquestionably wrong in hu
assertion, that tlie disaffection on which they relied generally existed.
Whatever discontent Lord Ellenborough's imitation of Ossian may
have produced, had been long since allayed by the discreet and con-
ciliatory course of policy which Sir Henry Hardinge had adopted^
and carried out with success. J

So soon as the news of the passing of the Sutlej reached head^
quarters. Sir Hugh Gough was directed to advance from Umballa,
and effect a junction with Sir John Littler, at Ferozepore. At Mood-
kce there was an unexpected battle ^ the Sikhs had advanced to pre-
vent the junction of the two divisions uf the British forced, and Sir
Hugh Gough, with his usual gallantry, no sooner found himself in
the presence of the enemy, than he made instant preparations for
battle.

Some of the Aoglo-Indian journais have blamed Sir Hugh Gough

LORD UARDINGB.

u imprudent in ordering thin attack, as the Sikhs were compara-
tivel}^ frcbb, while the British forces were wearied from their long
march. But it has been properly replied, that under all the circum-
stances it was a great advantage to become the a<^saiUnt4. Indepen-
dently of the great enthusiasm which attack inspires, and the chilling
tendencies of mere defence, Sir Hu^h Gough'e bold resolution had
all the effects on the Sikhs of a complete surprise ; they could hardly
believe their senses uhen they saw the lines of a wearied march
promptly formed into ardent columns of attack.

The battle of Moodkee was sanguinary and well contested; among
the brave who fell was Sir Robert Sale, the hero of Jelallabad^ whose
loss was bitterly lamented not only by the army but by the nation.
After a terrific strife, victory declared for the English ; but the
fatigue of the soldiers, and the shades of night which closed rapidly
round, prevented the success from being so decisive as it otberwise
would have been ; seventeen pieces of cannon^ however, remained
in the po«9essioa of the conquerors.

Mouton fnfonus us that the Sikhs were not intimidated by the
result of the battle of JMuodkce, and he even insinuates that the
event would have been different had not the English bribed some
unnamed commander to desert his post. Sir Henry Hardinge was
not elated with the victory ; he saw that danger could only be
averted by success the most complete, and conquest the most deci-
sive ; and though he did not interfere with the strategy of the com-
mander-in-chief, he aided in directing the movements which effected
a junction with Sir John Littler, preparatory to a decisive attack on
the entrenched camp of the enemy at Kerozepore. Laying aside bis
dignity as governor-general, he volunteered to serve under Sir Hugh
Gough, and took the command of the left wing on the memorable
21st of December. Mouton informs us that the Sikh position was
far stronger than the English had supposed; its enormous park of
artillery was directed by skilful European officers ; it was of the
heaviest calibre, and the English could only oppose it with a few
light guns. He also states the number of the Sikhs higher than
any of the English authorities, bringing it pretty nearly to the pro-
portion immortalized by the cleverest of recent puns, '* they were
lix (Sikhs) and wc one (won).*' The battle began in the evening;
the English. aAer a desperate struggle, effected a lodgment in the
hostile fortifications, but their tenure of it was uncertain, and the
iisue more than doubtful, when u tropical night, coming with more
than usual rapidity, suspended the combat. If Mouton is to be be-
Ueved, the Sikhs lay down to sleep that night in full assurance of a
decisive x'ictory on the following morning ; and so far as we can
comprehend expressions designed to be ambiguous, he and the other
Europeans shared the same confidence,

"Victory," said one of the successors of Alexander, under nearly
limilar circumstances, ''belongs to those who sleep not." That
night was spent by Sir Henry Hardinge, Sir Hugh Gough, and the
greater part of the English staff, in visiting the different posts, going
round to the soldiers in their bivouac, and preparing them for the
tremendous issue staked on the result of the following morning,
U'e have heard on excellent authority, which we regret that we are
not at liberty to name, that Sir Henry Hardinge, on his perilous
Umr of inspection during this memorable night, was accompanied

LORD HARDINQE.

by his gallant son, and that in many moments of danger there was
a. generous contest between father and son, each anxious to shield
the precious life of the other at the risk of his own. Shakspeare
haa preserved a similar instance of paternal and filial aflection in the
gallant TalboU.

The complete annihilation of the Sikh army which terminated
this contest, can only be described by military historians, because
it was the triumph of strategy and tactics over unregulated force.
Let us be just to a fallen enemy ; the Sikhs exhibited as much indi-
vidual bravery as in the old days of chivalrous warfare must have
ensured success; they were defeated by generalship rather than by
soldiery ; even Mouton confesses that the unhesitating confidence
which the sepoys placed in their leaders^ and the want of faith in
their generals felt by the Sikhs, was the chief determining cause of
the final and glorious issue.

The result of the campaign on the Sutlej w^as more than a victory
or even a conquest, — it was an utter annihilation of the enemy.
That mighty army which threatened to change the destinies of Asia,
cea&ed to exist. What Runjeet Singh had so often predicted when
urged to make war on the English, was fully accomplished — the
Punjab lay at the mercy of the conquerors. At this crisis Sir Henry
Hardingenobl^'j though unconsciously, refuted the French maligners
of England; while foreign journals were endeavouring to raise a
popular clamour against the new acquisitions of territory about to
be added to our empire. Sir Henry Hardinge was providing for the
independence of Lanore, and exerting himself to secure the future-a
prosperity of the Punjab under the rule of native sovereigns, "

So far as wc have been able to learn, the policy adopted by Eng.
land in the Punjab has been more successful than could have been
anticipated from the character of those Sikhs to whom a large share
in the administration has been necessarily delegated. The agricul-
ture and the commerce of the country were never in so flourislnng
a condition, and in concluding this rapid sketch, we cannot avoid
expressing our gratification that the successor of the warrior and
statesman whose brilliant career we have so imperfectly delineated,
is a nobleman who, ns President of the Board of Trade, exerted
himself strenuously to establish the two great principles, that indus-
try is the only true source of prosperity to a people, and commerce
the best bond of union between nations.

Before closing this brief sketch of the brilliant career of the gallant
chief, whose return to his native land, crowned with victory, is
hourly expected, it is not altogether irrelevant to draw attention to
a volume of drawings entitled "Recollections of India," by the noble
viACount's eldest son, the Hon. Charles Stewart Hardinge. It is one
of the most picturesque series of drawings of perhaps the most pic-
turesque countries in the world, and will be prized not merely by all
Anglo-Indians, but by all who can appreciate subjects so magni-
ficent, treated with such admirable taste.

LORD HARDINOE.

Ai imprudent in ordering this altacki as the Sikhs were compara-
tively fretih, while the British forces were wearied from their long
march. But it has been properly replied, that under all the circum-
stances it was u great advantage to become the assailoiitv. Indepen-
dently of the great enthusiasm which attack inspires, and the chilling
tendencies of mere defence. Sir Huffh Gough's bold resolution had
all the effects on the Sikhs of a complete surprise; they could hardly
beJieve their senses ivhen they saw the lines of a wearied marca
promptly formed into ardent columns of attack.

The battle of Moodkee was sanguinary and well contested; among
the brave who fell was Sir Robert SaJe, the hero of Jelallabad, whose
loss was bitterly lamented not only by the army but by the nation.
After a terrific strife, victory declared for the English; but the
fatigue of the soldiers, and the shades of night which closed rapidly
round, prevented the success from being so decisive aa it otherwise
would have been ; seventeen pieces of cannon, however, remained
in the possession of the conquerors.

MoutoQ informs us that the Sikhs were not intimidated by the
result of the battle of Moodkee, and he even insinuates that the
event would have been different had not the English bribed some
unnamed commander to desert his post Sir Henry Ilardinge waa
not eJated with the victory; he saw that danger could only be
averted by success the most complete, and conquest the most deci-
sive; and though he did not interfere with the strategy of the com-
mander-in-chief, he aided in directing the movements which effected
a junction with Sir John Littler, preparatory to a decisive attack on
the entrenched camp of the enemy at Ferozepore. Laying aside his
dignity as governor-general, he volunteered to serve under Sir Hu^h
Gougb, and took the command of the left wing on the memorable

21 81 of December. AIou

far stronger than the Eni

artillery was directed

heaviest caliMl^tod th

light gu

any of t

portion

nx (Si

iheE

boiti

ms us that the Sikh position was

supposed ; its enormous park of

ropean officers ; it was of the

uld only oppose it with a few

ber of the Sikhs higher than

ng it pretty nearly to the pro--

St of recent puns, " they were

er, under nearly

jeep not." That

:h Gough, and the

"ercnt posts, going

ing them for the

following morning.

'e regret that we are

.ige, on his perilous

;ht} was accompanied

THE SEARCH AFTER TRUTH,

And as he stooped to lift the latch

A loaf was hidden in the thatch ;

The pauper tlicn with canting moan

Bcwail'd hia fate to starve alune.

No bread, he said, his lips had passed

Since the day before the lust :

The sage upraised his hand and took

The loaf from out its hidden nook

And held it out before his eye

A silent prover of the lie.

Invectives deep the beggar swore.

And thrust him from hia hovel door.

Me bit his lip and took his way,

For yet of truth he 'd seen no ray.

He sought stern Justice with her scales ;

To 6nd the truth she never fails.

Wise men were there to find out lies ;

Alas 1 the scales were on hor eyes,

And all their tricks she could not see,

Lying for hire — a paltry fee,

To free great rogues who made a flaw,

And could not lie to please the law.

A patriot passed with cheering mob,

He saw 'twas an election job ;

And yet the patriot promised all

To stand with them, or with them falL

Knowing that he was bought and sold

To party, for some trifling gold,

He tied the town in sheer disgust.

And losing all his former trust

He lay upon a bank to rest,

Resolved to give up further quest.

When o'er the little sparkling brook

A brown young boy, with shepherd's crook

Approached, and standing by bis side,

With mouth and eyes both open wide,

Stared out his fill, then grinned a grin

To see the taking he was in.

Here *s one imbued with truth, no doubt,

I think I here have found it out.

So thought the sage, his heart was glad,

So, smiling on the rustic lad,

He spoke, and said, ** Cumc here, my man;

Pray answer me, I think you can ;

Do yuu know truth, and what it is ?'*

The youth looked sly, he feared a quiz.

He gnawed his thumb and scratch 'd his ear»

Then, with a most uncommon leer,

He said — the young ingenuous youth —

" Tou are a /holt and thai '« the truth f*

The sage got up and seized his staff,

The boy had fled with hearty laugh.

He said, when reaching home that night,

" Upon my »oul, that boy was right I"

THE COUNTRY TOWNS AND INNS OP PRANCE.

BY J, MABrSL.

OAJEKTTECBB. — tXVS AKO CAFCS OT LTOMS. — SBOWg OF LYONS, — THE
XESSAOCftlCS GEKEKALBS.— FRENCH KOADSIOE.— LIMOOKl.

I ALWAYS felt a Strong curiosity to learn something about those great
inland cities of France which maintain a somewhat doubtful and preca-
rious existence in the public mind, by being set down in the books of

kgraphers. I had been whipped to learn in my old school a long
'"paragraph about Lyons, I dare say, ten times over ; and yet, when
bowling down the mountains in a crazy diligence, at midnight, between
Geneva and the city of silks, I could not tell a syllable about it.

1 bad half a memory of its having been the scene of dreadful mur-
ders in the time of the Revolution, and shuddered at thought of its
rbloody and dark streets; I knew the richest silks of the West came
from Lyons, and so thought it must be full of silk-shops and factories ;
J remembered how Triatam Shandy had broke down his chaise, and
gone " higgledy-piggledy " in a cart into Lyons, and so 1 thought the
roadj must be very rough around the city; my old tutor, in his explica-
tion of the text of Tacitus,* had given me the idea that Lyons was a cold
city, tar away to the north ; and as for the tourists, if 1 had undertaken
to entertain upon the midnight in question one half of the contradictory
notions which they had put in my mind from time to time, my thoughts
about Lyons would have been more **hipgledy-pig'gledy"lhan poor Sterne's
post-chaise, and worse twisted than his papers in the curls of the
chaise-vamper's wife.

I bad predetermined to disregard all that the tourists had written, and
to find things (a very needless resolve), quite the opposite of what they
had been described to be.

I nudged F , who was dozing in the comer under the lantern, and

took his Pocket Gazetteer, and turning to the place where we were going,
read, '' Lyons is the second city of France : it is situated on the lihone,
near its junction with the Saone ; it ha^ large «ilk manufactories, and a
venerable old cathedral." We shall see, thought L What a help to
the digestion of previously acquired information, is the simple seeing
for one's self I

The whole budget of history and of fiction, whether of travel -writers
or romancers, and of geographers, fades into insignificance in compari-
son with one glance of an actual observer. Particular positions and
events may bo vivid to the mind, but they can tell no story of noise and
presence, of rivers rushing, wheels rolling, sun shining, voices talking.
And why can not these all be so pictured that a man might wake up in
a far oif cily as if it were an old story ? Simply because each observer
has his individualities, which it is as impossible to convey to the mind
of another by writing, as it would have been for me to have kept awake
that night in the diligeuce, oiXer reading so sleepy a paragraph as that
in the Gazetteer.

* Cohortem duodevioesimam Lugduni. Mlitis tibi ht/bemU, relinqui placuiL.—
Tacitus, lib. r. cap. 64.

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

1 dreamed of ailk cravats, aod gnping cut-throats, until F-

nuHgcd mc in his turn at two in the monung, and said we had goi to
Ljrona.

** I Intel du Nord," I say to the porter who has my luggage on his
back, and away I follow through the dim and silent streets to where,
opposite the Grand Thealro, with its arcades running round it, ourybc-
Uur stops, and tinkles u bell at the heavy doors opening into the court
of tb« Hotel du Nord, At first sight, it seems not unlike some of the
Urger and more substantial inns which may be met with in some of our
inland towns, but in a street narrower and dimmer by half than arc
AiDortcan slre«ts. Up four pair of stairs the waiter conducts me, in
bit shirt sImvm, to a snug bedroom» where in ten minutes I am fast
asloep. The porter goes off satisfied with a third of his demand, and I
hmvv just fallvn to dreaming again the old diligence dreams, when the
noise of the rising world, and the roll of cars over the heavy stone
pavement below, shakes roe into broad wakefulness.

A fat lady in the office does the honours of the house. Various
companies arc seated about the salon, which in most of the provincial
hotels serves also as break fast- room. Yet, altogether, the house has a
city air, and might be — saving the language, with its mon D/eut^ up the
tirti pair of tttairs, and the waxen brick tioors, and the open court, a
New- York hotel, dropped down within stone's throw of the bounding
Khone.

Wbito-Bproned waiters, like cats, aro stealing over the stone stair-
cases, Olid a fox-eyed valet is on the look-out for you at the door.
There are very few towns in Trance in which the stranger is not de-
tcctedf and made game of. But what, pray, is there worth seeing, that
an eye, though undirected, cannot see even in so great a city as
I^yons 7

Uesidet, there was always to me an infinite deal'of satisfaction in stroll*
Ing through a strange place, led only by my own vagaries ; in threading
long labyrinths of lanes, to break on a sudden upon some strange sight;
in losing myself, as in the old woods at home, in the bewilderment that
my curiosity and ignorance always led mc into.

What on eorth matters it, if you do not see this queer bit of mechan-
ism, or some old fragment of armour, or some rich mercer's shop, that
your valet would lead you to ? — do you not get a better idea of the city,
Its houses, nois«, habits, position, and extent, in tramping off with your
map and guide-book, as you would tramp over fields at home, lost in
your own dreams of comparison and analysis ?

You know, for instance, there are bridges over the river worth the
Mpoing, and with no guide but the roar of the water, you push your way
down toward the long, stately quay. The heavy, old arches of stone
waltowiug out of the stream, contrast strongly with the graceful curves
of the long bridge of iron. Steamers and barges breast to breast, three
deep, lie along the margin of the river, and huge piles of merchandise
are packed upon the quay.

The stately line of the great hospital, the Hotel Dieu, stretches near
lialf a mile, with heavy stone front along the river. Opposite is a busy
Huburb, which has won itself a name, and numbers population enough
for a city, were it not in the shadow of the greater one of Lyons.

You would have hardly looked — if you had no more correct notions

n I — for such tall, substantial warehouses, along such a noisy quay

AND INNS OF FRANCE.

deep in the country, after ao many days of hard and heavy diligence-
riding. Yet here are customs-men, with their swords hung to their beltA,
uiarcliiug along the walks, as if they were veritable coast-guard, and
wore the insignia of goTemment, instead of the authority of the city —
and were in fieArch of smugglers, instead of levying the octroi dues upon
the corn and wine of the Saone and the olives of Provence. Soldiers,
too, are visible at every turn, for the people of Lyons have ever been
disposed to question earliest the rights of the constituted authorities,
and the liberal government of the charter reckon nothing better preven-
tive of the ill effects of this prying disposition, than a full supply of the
small men in crimson breeches, who wear straight, sharp swords upon
their thigh, and man the great forti6cation upon the bill above the city,
which points its guns into every alley and street.

There ia more earnestness in faces in this town of Lyons, than one
sees upon the Boulevards, as if there was something in the world to do
beside searching for amusement. There is a half- English, business-look
grafted upon a careless French habit of life ; and blouse and broadcloth
both push by you in the street, as if each was earning the dinner of the
day. fiut the blouse has not the grace of the Paris blouse ; nor has the
broadcloth the grace of the Paris broadcloth. Both have a second-rate
air; and they seem to wear a consciousness about them of being second-
rate; whereas your Parisian, whether he be boot-black to a coal seller
of the Fanbonrg Si. Denis, or tailor in ordinary to the Count de Paris,
feels quite assured that nothing can possibly be finer in its way than his
blouse or his coat. Even the porter cannot shoulder a trunk like the
Paris porter, the waiter cannot receive you with half the grace of a
Paris waiter; and the soi-t/isaut grisettes, who are stirring in the streets,
are as much inferior to those of the Rue Vivieune, in carriage and air,
as Vulcan would have been inferior to Ganymede as cup-bearer to Jove.
Even the horses in the cabs have a dog-trot sort of jog, that would not
at all be countenanced in the Hue de la Paix ; and carters shout to
their mules in such villainous patoii Li/nmiai$, as would shock the ear
of the cavalry grooms at the School Militaire.

Yet all these have the good sense to perceive their short-commga ;
and nothing is more the object of their ambition than to approach near
as may be, to the forms and characteristics of the beautiful City. If a
carman upon the quay oP the Rhone, or the Saone, — which romps
through the other side of the city, could crack his whip with the air
and gesture of the Paris postman, he wuuld be very sure to achieve all
the honours of his profession. And if a Lyonnaise milliner woman
could hang her shawl, or arrange it in her window, like those of the
Pljcc Vend6me, or Lucy Hoquet, her bonnets would be the rage of all
tlie daughters of all the silk mercers in Lyons.

They have Paris cafes at Lyons, — not, indeed, arranged with all the
splendour of the best of the capital ; but out of it, you will find no bet-
ter, except perhaps at Marseilles. Hero you will find the same general
features that characterize the Paris caf6 ; in matters of commercial
tr&Dsaction, perhaps the exchange overrules the cafe ; and in military
affairs, probably the junto of the Caserne would supersede the discus-
sions at breakfast ; but yet, I am quite assured, that the most earnest
thinking here, as in nearly every town of France, is done at the cafe.

The society of the Lyons cafes is not so homogeneous as in their

>e9 of Paris, f lere, blouses mingle more with the red ribbon of the

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

legion of honour ; and a couple of workmen may be luxuriating at one
table over a bottle of Strasburg beer, while at another a young mer-
chant may be treating his military friend in the blue frock coat, and
everlosLing crimson pantaloons, to a piut of sparkling St. Peray.

The cafe, too, docs not preserve so strictly its generic character, and
half merges into the restaurant. At any rate, I remember seeing the
marble slabs covered with napkins at five, and stout men with towels
under their chins, eating stewed duck and peas. And later in the even-
ing, when I have dropped into the bright-lighted cafe, just on the quay
from which the Pepin steamer takes its departure for Avignon, I have
seen strong meat on half the tables.

As there is more work done in a provincial city, so we may safely
presume there is more eating done : my own observation confirms the
truth. So it is that the breakfast comes earlier, and those who loiter
till twelve in a Lyons cafe, are either strangers or playactors, or lieu-
tenants taking a dose of absinthe, or workmen dropped in for a cup of
beer, or some of those youngsters who may be found in every town of
France, who sustain a large reputation with tailors and shop-girls, by
following, closely as their means will allow, the very worst of Paris
habits.

The coffee itself is short, as every where else, of Paris excellence ;
but the nice mutton chops are done to a charm, and there is so much of
broad country about you,^ — to say nothing of the smell of the great
land-watering Rhone at the door, that you feel sure of eating the healthy
growth of the earth.

The chief of the Paris journals may be found, too, in the Lyons cafe;
and what aliment are they to poor provincials 1 It were as well to de-
prive them of the fresh air of heaven, as to deny them such food; —
even the gnr^ons would pine under the bereavement. The spiritless
provincial journals are but faint eclioes of detached paragraphs from
the capital ; they aid the digestion of the others, not from a stimului
supplied, but rather as a diluent of the exciting topics of the city. No-
thing but local accidents, and the yearly report of the mulberry crop
could ever give interest to a journal of Lyons. In consequence they
are few and read raruly. Still the provincial editor is always one of the
great men of the town ; but newspaper editing is on a very different
footing, as regards public estimation, in France, from that in America.
And in passing, I may remark further, that while our institutions are
such, from their liberality, as ought to render thf^ public journal one of
the most powerful means of induencing the popular niind, and as such,
worthy of the highest consideration, in view of the opinions promul-
gated, and the character of the writers, yet there seems to be no coun-
try in which men are less willing to give it praise for high conduct, or
reproach for what is base.

The restaurants of such a city arc not far behind those of Paris, ex-
cept in sixe and arrangements. Lyons, like Paris, has its aristocratic
dinner-places, and its two-franc tables, and its ten-sou chop-bouses. In
none, however, is anything seen illustrative of French habitude, but is
seen belter at Paris.

As in the cafes, so you will find larger eaters in the restaurants of
the provinces; and the preponderance of stewed fillets and roast meats,
over fries and comfits, is greater than at even the Grand Vatel. You
will find, too, that many of the Paris dishes, which appear upon the bill

AKD INKS OF FRAXCS.

of the dar» sre oDfortaaatelj iiwiiiMiiit ; bat cf toq oc^er
will be sore of tbe cKHspMnoaate i w giib «f tfa* oU widim 1
next uble to joa viA three bfaonng 4im^ten ; fcrif m it
smack of Pims in ever so a%lrt a JUyn, lie is leefced mdi
corner of France as one of tkc fwl B MIe boags of the earn.

It is presnxned — nay, it » ncrcr eve
&ouled Freochoun, especiaUT ivdi aa ba9*
that whoever has visited tm idk tdb ham raacked tbe aiow af aA
ly pleasures ; — that crcry otbcr city, tmd ite 1
are barbarous in the compariaoiu A IVris to*
hearts in the proriDce*, as a Paris ai^ynff w
Paris cobbler make shoes. Xooe harbosr the
as the womea of tbe provinces ; hxat onlv that ibty bar* I
Parisians, and vou make frieoda of ibreaab ImdMM^ lad
shop-girls ; — though their fttendsb^ I on aocrf to mf, is ■•
against being cheated by both.

It would be very hard if Lj<aas bad aol its abarv af
which draw the great world of lookcrv^a, — wbo tnvel to Mctbeai^
side and inside of churches and palMO^ bat wbo vaald a af tbirft, «f
walking out of their b6tel at dinner-tiiMv to try m BMal to waA taa^
restaurants, as may be found on tbe square by tbs Htel de
look the people fairlv in the face. And a ven oaiet aad '

is that, upon which the rich black tower of tbe

TiDeof LfOH

throws its shadow. Its pavement is

tall, and wearing the sober dignity of yean.

their stand in the middle, and toward

the square, and ladies are picking tbcir way before tJne fiy

at the sides.

The proud old bAtel itself is not a b yfldiii ^ to b«
clock that hammers the hoarv in its dingy, bat riA
tell strange stories, if it would, of tbe
its face, in the cruel days of the Directory. ^
rife in France than at Lyons ; and the coandl tbat oidcivd tbe
held their sittings in a little chamber of tbe ansae HIiri de ^Wh,
windows now look down upon the qniel, gmr eo«it> It
DOW I you may see a police officer, having iaj abnto tfan
at the grand entrance is always a eorps of aomem Tvn
dining figures, that would make tho fortmie of
still show tbe marks of the thumpin|^ tineB of tfan
the old story of the viper and the file, for tbe ■tatnca were of broow,
and guard yet in the vestibule, their fruits ^id flowwr*.

The fame of the cathedral will draw tbe atrnu g cr on n bn|>>bninrd
chase of half the steeples in the town ; nor will be be mndi '^^vw uiUid
in mistaking the church of N<Stre-Dame for the object of bis scanb.
And abundantly will he be rewarded, if his observation baa not ex*
tended beyond the French Gothic, to wander at length under the high
arches of the Cathedral of St, John. Shall I describe it ? — then fancy
a forest glade — (you, Mary, can do it, for you live in the midst of
woods) — a forest glade, I say, with tree-trunks huge as those which
fatten on the banks of our streams at home ; fancy the gnarled lops of
the oaks, and the lithe tops of tbe elms, all knit together by some giant
hand, and the interlacing of the boughs tied over with garlands ;— fancy
birds humming to your ear in the arbour-wrought branches, and the

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

gold sunlight streaming through the interstices, upon the flower-spotted
turf, — and the whole bearing away in long perspective to an arched spot
of blue sky, with streaks of white cloud, that seems the wicket of Ely-
sium. Then fancy the whole, — tree-trunks, branches, garlands, trans-
formed to stone— each leaf perfect, but hard as rock ; — fancy the bird-
singing the warbling of an organ — the turf turned to marble, and in
place of flowers, the speckles of light coming tlirough stained glass, — in
place of the mottled sky at the end of the view, a painted scene of glory
warmed by the sunlight slreanung through it,— and you have before you
the Cathedral of St. John. J

In front of the doors, you may climb up the dirty and steep n11ey« of ■
the working quarter of the town ; and you will hear the shuttle of the
silk-weaveri plying in the dingy houscis, six stories from the ground.
The faces one sees at the doors and windows arc pale and smutted, and
the air of the close filthy streets, reminds one of the old town of Edin*
burgh. The men, too, wear the same look of desperation in their faces,
and scowl at you, 03 if they thought you had borne a part in the niefiil
scenes of *94.

The guillotine even did not prove itself equal to the bloody work of
that date ; and men and women were tied to long cables, and shot down
in file ! A little expiatory chapel stands near the scene of this whole-
sale slaughter, where old women drop down on Ihcir knees at noon, and
say prayers for murdered husbands and murdered fathers.

The Rhone borders the city ; the Saone rolls boMly through it ami
each of its sides are bordi'red M-ilh princely buildings ; and on a fete
day the quays and bridges throng with the popuJation turned loose, —
the cafes upon the Place des Cetestins are thronged, and not a sparv
box of dominoes, or an empty billiard-table, can be found in the city.

The great Place dc Bellocour, that looked so desolate the morning of
my arrival, is bustling with moving people at noon< The great bulk of
the Post Office lies along its western edge, and the colossal statue of
Louis XIV. is riding his horac in the middla The poor king was dis-
mounted in the days of Lu LiberU; and an inscription upon the baser
commemorates what wuuld seem on unpalatable truth, that what popular
frenzy destroyed, popular repentance renews j — not single among the
strange evidences one meets with at every turn, of the versatility of the
Frtnch nation.

Lyons has its humble pretensions to antiquity ; but the Lugduneneem
aravi of Roman dale, has come to be spilled over with human blood«
instead of ink; making fourfold true the illustration of Juvenal: — •

'* Accipiat, sane raercedrm sanguinis ct sic
PnllpHt. tit nudiK pri^ftit qui calciliu.s nnft^ieni.
Aut Lugduncnscni rhetor dicttmia ad ararn.**

Jdv. All, 1, V. 42,ffiM9.

There is an island In the river, not far from the city where Ch«rl_
magnc is said to have had a country seat ; — if so, it was honourable to
the old gentleman's tafle, for the spot is as bcautiftil as a dream ; and
Sundays and fete days, the best of the Lyons population throng under
its graceful trees, and linger there to sec the ^un go down in crimson
and gold, across the hills that peep out of the further shore of the
Rhone.

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BT J. B. WASKKN.

*■ Rigioiifl iroronuw, auM'arctiiil>l&, tiukiiown,

in the iplendour of the lolu- znne." MovTOOUf KT.

CHAPTER III.

BtmoTftl to the Riktoenia de Nazere. — Curious Ktonument. — Channiog OArden,—

Oiioo Variety of Fruits. — Hinisapple* and B&iianaiu — A dreamy Siota. —

Tim Uunc in the foreat. — An old Ruin. — A Monkey Adrencurv.

A rrw days after my arrival at Para, as I was promenading the slreetn
one DDomiDg, I wa^f suddenly accosted by a familiar voice, and, locking up.
whom eliould I see but an old scboolnialp of mine, conifortAbly seated on
the balcony of a large slone house, quietly smoking his fragrant cigar.

Il was truly a pleasure thus unexpectedly to meet a fcell-kaotcn /aci*
in a strange land^ especially when lelon/fing to so generoua a friend, as
thi5 young man afterwards proved himself to be.

Shaking mc cordially by the hand, he insisted upon taking us in and
inlroduciog us to hia father, who was one of the richest and most influ-
ential men in the city. The old gentleman appeared to bo glad to see
us, and treated us with a vast deal of politeness. We talked to him about
America, and Portugal, and Brazil, and he in return told us quite a
number of interesting stories and incidenta connected with the province.
He was a Portuguese by birth, but bad been a resident of Brazil for
vpwards of twenty years.

As soou as \Ir. Darim (for this was the gentleman's name) under-
stood that we had come out to Brazil for the sake of our health, and of
pnrsuiug the study of natural history, he very kindly offered us the en-
tirtf control of a charming country-seat of his, situated within a mile of
the city, called *' The Kosccnia de Nazere." As this estate was just on
ll* borders of the forest, and therefore well located for the collection
of birds and other natural curiosities, we of course did not hesitate to
tecept Mr. Darim's noble offer.

In two or three days, havinf^ made all necessary arrangements, bought
Wr proTisions, and hired a cook, we took our departure for Nnxere.

An odd spectacle we presented in walking out to the Uoscenia. We
M chartered ten or twelve blacks to carrj' out our luggage, each of
•bom was loaded with some item of provisions or of luggage. One had
• ttck of beans, another a hamper of potatoes, while a third carried a
ltr)fe basket of farinha poised upon his head. We ourselves marched
sloQg in the rear, with our trusty guns mounted on our shoulders and
W wood-knives gleaming in our hands.

Scarcely had we proceeded beyond the limits of the city, when we
•trc encompassed by a strange and magnificent vegetation. Groups of
ptlm trees, with their tall stems and feather-like hra^ches, were waving
ni the distance, while plants of curious fonn» and bushea teeming with
fl«»ers, surrounded us on every side.

Tl)* scenery of the Largo da Polvei'u (over which we passed in our
'ttolc) was very picturesque and fine, A row of low cottages ran along
•«r side, fronted by a narrow walk. These little habitations were te-
ttated bv blacks and Indians, and hud quite a neat and pretty appear-
ow*. On the opposite side, at the distance of several hundred yarda,

VOL. XXIfl.

para; or.

ihc forest commenced, doltod here and there along its margin by hnnd-
somo little cottages peeping from amid the thick foliage around th

Having crossed the Largo, we pursued our way through a rich de-
file of shrubbery, until we finally emerged into another beautiful and ■
extensive clearing, called the ** Largo de Nazere/* I

The fifflt object that arrested our attention was an antique-looking
monument built of wood, standing at the very entrance of the Largo.
Our curiosity being excited, we inquired of a gentleman who accompa-
nied us for what purpose it was erected. In reply he told ua the follow-
ing anecdote : — Many years ago, a certain president of the province, who
was rambling in the woods in quest of game, hecamc lost in the dense
mazes of the forest. For three long days he wandered disconsolately
about, in vain seeking for some avenue by which he might effect his es-
cape. Nearly famished for want of food, hope had almost deserted him ;i
when, on the morning of the fourth day, a sound like that of the tink-
ling of a distant bell broke upon his ear. He listened— again he beard
that cheerful aoundt more clear and strong, Ue-animated by the musk
of the bell, he bent his steps la the direction from whence the vieloil^
seemed to proceed, for melody indeed it was to him. Pressing on, he
at last issued from the forebt near the spot where the monument now
stands ; honce its origin.

There was quite a number of native dwellings on the Largo, and
near the centre of it a pretty little church, with a kind of portico built
out in front. We observed that the natives, whenever they passed this
church, were accustomed to render deference to it by falling down on
their knees and crossing themselves. To such an extent, and still great-
er, is superstition rife in this sun-favoured clime.

We at length arrived at the stone-gateway of the Rosconia ; a slave
opened the iron door and we entered, A long avenue, formed by the
overhanging of the trees on either side, was before ua, through which we
saw the dwelling-house of the garden, almost concealed by the foliage^
standing at the distance of seventy-five or a hundred yards from uSu^
The mansion was large, of but onu story in height, covered with earthi^
enware tiles, and surrounded by a wide and roof-covered verandah. ■

Under the commodious verandah we rented ourselves, and regaled our
palates with rare fruit plucked fresh from the wcll-loden trees of the
garden. We then bogan to attend to domestic affairs, and much did we
feel the want of a nice little Fayaway to take charge of these important
matters for us. Just as we had swung our hammocks, stowed away our
provisions, and put our guns and ammunition in readiness for imme<Liate
use, our cook rang the bell for dinner,

" Pray, why did she not call you?" methinks I hear some one in-
quire; well, then, it was because she could not speak Lnglish nor we
Portuguese, if you must know, curious reader. We were obliged to
communicate our ideas to her by pantomime ; and it is a great wonder
to us, now that we think of it, that we ever got anything to eat at alU
Chico — this, I believe, was her name, at least, we called her so, —
was an excellent and experienced cook ; but she was a slave, and we had
hired her from her fair mistress in the city.

Under the tuition of Chico, and the absolute necessity which there
was for UB either to speak or to starve, we began to acquire the laogi
with amazing rapidity, and in the course of a few weeks wc were ak
carry on quite a conversation with the pretty Indian damsels, who

ADVETn^UBES ON THE AMAZON.

visited us at the Ro^cenia. The pounds of the Roscenia were extensive
and OS enchanting as those of Eden : the ^rdcn was well sDpplied with
the choicest fniit-trees and with the most beautiful flowers The walki
were wide and well-gravelled ; on either side of liiem were rows of treea,
bending over with the weight of their golden and crirnson fruit, thuf
forming a fairy-like arbour of green throughout the entire avenue.

The variety of fruits seemed intinite. Here was a little grove of
orange-trees clustering together; there, a collection of guavaz bacata
and ruby-tinged cushew-trees tastefully arranged along the walk.

Dt-doctabic pinc-applea also grow in the garden. This fine fruit it
called by the natives " anana," It arrives at great perfection in the pro-
vince, and is justly deemed one of the richest of all tropical fruits. Spe-
cimens of this fruit have been brought to the Para market weighing
near twenty pounds. So delicious is its natural flavour, and such its
sweetness when perfectly ripe, that no sugar is required in eating it. It
is hardly necesiiary to slate, that it grows by itself on a single stem, sur-
rounded by a bed of large and 8pear-hke leaves.

** its luKiouK fruit Anatia reura.
Amid II curoueC uf spears.**

Perhaps the most conspicuous vegetable curiosity that grew in the
garden was the far-famed banana plant. This shrub has been much ex-
tolled by travellers, and is indeed a blessing to all tropical countries.
It attainft to the height of from ten to twelve feet, and bears large clua-
tors of fruit, oftentimes weighing more than fifty pounds. The bananaa
are of a yellow colour when fully ripe, and are said to possess more nu-
triment than any other species of fruit. They are prepared in varioua
modes. Some prefer them roasted; others^ again, cut them into slicea,
and fry them with butler: but we ourselves loved them best in their
natural state, with the addition of a little port wine and sugar, as a kind
of sauce. Eaten in this manner, they arc exceedingly fine.

Having spent a considerable portion of our first afternoon in ratn-
bling about the Ruucenia, for the purpobe of making ourselves acquaint-
ed with the extent and products of our miniature kiiit/ifoni, we relumed
to the house. Supper was soon prepared for us, on a small table under
the verandah. It consisted merely of brcadj butter, and chocolate; yet
our appetites were keen, and we enjoyed the meal a:t well as if there had
beep a greater variety. After all, pleasure of every description depends
mainly on the condition and desire of the recipient ; and, as our dt^sireg
are often artificial, it necessarily follows that the pleasures which de-
pend upou them are often unnatural and artificial also.

Having concluded our evening meal, and being rather fatigued wtth
the exercise we had undergone, and excitemeut we had experienced
during the day, wc threw ourselves in our suspended hammocks, lighted
a choice cigar, and took a refreshing siesta. Dreamy visions came o'er
113. Hero we were at last, in the lovely land we had so long desired to
see, — sole tenants of an estate, which for beauty and variety surpassed
any we had ever seen before. True, we were alone, and on the very
borders of a boundless wilderness ; but, wc soon found sufficient compa-
nionship in the natural beauties by which wo were surrounded* — iu the
trees, the plants, the flowers; and, most of all, the joyous, bright-winged
birds I They chiefly were our solace and delight. Before and around
us, Nature seemed clothed in her fairest charm?. (Jav flowers bloomed

c 1

P.UIA ; OR,

Bm\A the shrubbery; birila sang and chattered among the Irces ; a soli
tary cocoa-nut was shaking its plume-Uke branches in the sweet-scented
breeze, and stood like a sentinel juat before t)ie porch. Our thoughts
wandered back to our home and friends — far — far away. Could our
parents but visit us herci but for one short hour, how truly happy woaM
we be I — with what delight would they enter the iron gateway 1 — how
fascinated would ihey be with the beauty of the garden I — how like
Paradise would everything appear I — and, with what ecstasy would we
receive them \ All this passed through our minds as we lay swinging
in our hamuiocks, under the tree-shaded verandah of Naze re.

AwakirjR- from the stupor into which we had fallen, we perceived that
the sun had jvist gone down, leaving a delicate iinge of gold along the
western horizon ; the stars were beginning io gleam in the cloudluss sky
above, and to illumine with a mellow light the. bewitching scenery uround
us. Silence reigned, giving solemnity to the beauteous scene.

On the followingmorning wo were aroused from our slumbers at least
an hour bi'fbre sunrise by the noisy chattering of the birds in the vicinity
of the iiuuse. We accoutred ourselves speedily in our shootiug cos-
tumeSf drank a strong cup of coffee, and sallied forth, in company with
an Indian guide, on our first hunting expedition in a tropical forest.

We had advanced a considerable distance in the wouds, when the sun
arose from his golden couch in the east^ and shed a flood of light over
the sylvau landscape. The dew glittered like jewels on the leaves; in-
sects began to animate the atmosphere, and gorgeous-plumagcd birds to
fiy from tree to tree. The path we had taken was extremely narrow,
and so choked up with weeds and running vines, that we were obliged to
cut a passage before us with our** tracados," or wood^knives, as we slow-
ly and cautiously proceeded. These long knives are absolutely indis-
pensable to one travelling in a Brazilian forest; in fact, everybody you
meet with, blacks, Indians, women, and children, will be found principal*
ly to be provided with them.

Stopping now and then for a moment, to shoot a toucan, or other bril-
liant bird that attracted our notice, we nt last arrived at an old and di-
lapidated estate, literaUy buried in the wilderness. Here was a vast
ruin, of solid stone, which had evidently been once a splendid building,
of superior architecture. It was overgrown with moss and creeping
vines, and tenanted only by bats and venomous reptiles ; yet it was
majestic and interesting even in its decay. Concerning the origin of
this strange building we were never able to ascertain anything of a SAtis-
factory nature. Some suppose it was the residence of a certain English
or Portuguese nobleman, by the name of Chermont; others, that it was
a kind of fortification ; while many think that it was one of the relig-ious
institutions of the Jesuits, who were tjuite numerous in the province
many years ago. But these are nothing more than surmises. The truth
is, there is a mystery hanging over ti which no one has ever been able
to unravel, and which will undoubtedly remain a mystery for ever ! Wo
spent an hour or more in examining the niin, and were rewarded for our
researches by Bnding several new and valuable shells, which we carefully
preserved, ■

Leaving this place, we next visited the Pedrara, another estate sevcru^
miles distant, situated, too, in the midst of the forest. Ilere we found a
thriving garden, and a pleasant-looking farm-house, the inmates of
which received us very hospitably. Joaquim, our Indian guide, in con-

ADVENTURKS ON THE AMAZON.

versing with the proprietor of the house, took my gun from my haod, for
the purpose of poinliDg out to him its various advantages and virtues.
Id so doing; he carcle&aly raised the bamoit^r, which immediately slipped
from hib grasp, and the gun, which was well charged at the liine with
coarse shot, exploded, lodging its contents in the side uf the building, —
fortunately, however, no one was injured. Soon after this occurreuce,
which occasioned but Uttle excitement, our kind host placed before us
several kinds of fruit, aud a bowl of refreshing beverage prepared from
the cocoa fruit, with which we heartily regaled ourselves. We then
bade our entertainer and bis pretty daughters ** adeos," and proceeded
bock towards the Uoscenia.

As we were sauntering along the arched avenues leading through the
forest, and listening attentively to tlie notes of curious birds, we heard a
loud chatteriug in one of the trees over our heads. Looking upwards,
we perceived two large monkeys on the very top of a prodigiously tall
tree. No sooner did the animals see us than they hid themselves so
completely in the thick foliage that it won impossible fur us to dii^cem
them at all. We fired several shots up into the tree, but without any
manifest effect. At last our Indian guide, perceiving that all other
means would be useless, came to the deliberate determination of chmh-
Utg the tree. Encircling the trunk, like the folds of u serpent, was au
enormous winding vine, which ran up into the topmost branches. This
species of vine has been called by travellers " The monkey's ladder."
Having stripped to the buff, Joaquim look my double-barreled gun in
h'ta band, and by means of the '* ladder " began to ascend the tree with
Ute esse and agility of a squirrel. We watched his progress with the
greatest anxiety, for it appeared to us an experiment hazardous in the
extreme; but he bravely and uiuibly continued his dangerous ascent,
uid finally waved his hand in triumph from the summit of the lofty tree.
Kew difficulties now beset him, — the branches were so closely matted
Wgether that he was severely scratched by their sharp points, and it was
Mtfne time before he could get himself and gun in manageable order for
ittacking the garrulous animals. Succeeding in securing a safe posiiiou
n a notch of the tree, he got a glimpse of the monkeys, away out on
the extremity of a long branch, almost hid from view by the thickness
of the leaves. Raising his gun, he took steady aim, and two startling
tiports, quickly succeeding each other, broke suddenly upon the stillness
of the forest- The two monkeys fell, with a heavy crash, lifeless to
the ground. They were large specimens, of a sUvery-grcy colour.
Having picked them up, wc waited until Joaquim had descended from
the tree, and then proceeded on our way.

Il was mid-day when we reached Nazere. Eagerly we sought the
cool shades of the Koscenia, and in the evening we refreshed ourselves
with a delicioiu bath in a neigbbouriug stream.

CnAPTER IV.

'incend and Blario. — Caitigation of a M'oman. — VUltors at Nner*.— Our

NtighJjoar*. — FeAihere<) rompAninni. — Tam^ Mncnw. — Dppredntinn nf die
AntA, — A nocturnal Visit from ihera. — The Largo by Moonlighi.

TaB3tx was a venerable old slave at the Kosccnia, by the name of

iti, who made himself very useful to us, and added considerably

amusi'ment, by hU ecceutricities and peculiarities. He had lived

place for more than thirty years, and was well acquainted with

para; or.

every variety of bird, inseot, and reptile, that was to be found in \U vi-
dnity. Scarcely a day passed by without his brtnj^ng' U9 several sped-
mens of lizardis, beetles, or centipedcji. The latter are quite nuroerooi
in the garden ; and I remember one evening that we caught two of tbcM
mony-lcggcd " aion:>ter8 *' crawling lei^urel) about the 6oor of our alaepk
ing-apartment* They were at least eight inches in length, and as ugly-
looking fellows of the kind as I ever saw. We succeeded in capturing
them by the nid of a long pair of pinchers, and in putting them alive into
a bottle of alcohol for preservation ; and we have them to this day in
our cabint't, " BpiritHur* mementos of the past.

But, to proceed. U seems that old Vinccnti, notwithstanding his aga
and manifold infirmitirs, had some of the fire of youth still burning in
his veins. Living with him was a very good-looking mulatto woman, bjr
the name of Maria, who could not have lived more than twenty-five
vears at most, while Vinconti himself had seen above sixty. How tba
old fellow ever prevailed on her, a free woman, to live with him, will
ever remain to us a sealed mystery. Although they had never bees
married, yet no Ausband was ever more affectionate than Vinccoti, or
wife more loving than Maria. The latter was daily accustomed to go to
the city for provisions, and sometimes she took her place among the
fruit-vendors of ihu market lu this way she made herself useful to hor
lord and master, Vincenti. One day, however, she did not return to the
Roscenia. Old Vinccuti was quite uneai^y, and tliuught somethiug se-
rious must have happened. A week passed by ; but still uo news from
Maria. At length, dreadful suspicions began to flash over the mind of
old Vuicenti, and fierce jealousy to agitate bis miud. One uioruing, as ve
were sipping our coffee under the veraodah, the shrieks of a woman, u
if iu distress, fell upon our ears. Suspecting the cause, we rushed im-
njediately to the little duelling of Vinceuti, aud there found him, *»
we had anticipated, beatlog Maria, his prodigal mistress, in a most iiu-
merciful manner. He was furious with anger; but we expostulated
with him, aud having prevailed on him to dUcontiuue the castigatioB,
we succeeded in effecting a reconciliation between the parties,— aod
all this with a scanty knowledge of the language, rendered iutelUgible
only by the pantomime with which we accompanied it. In a few houn
Vincent! and hia buxk>m consort were again in fellowship with each other,
and as happy aud contented as in days of yore. Thus do pleasant caliut
succeed the 6everc»;t storms I

TliC visitors to Nazere were numerous, therefore we had no lack of
society. At the close of every day our hmjters would come in, bringing
with them singular animals and beautiful birds, which they had killed in
the forest. Frequently they would ?pend the evening with us, giving ui
on account of the wonders and curiosities of the surrounding wild woods*
On Sundays many persons generally came out from the city, and tbi
military paraded on the Largo in front of the Hoscenia. Our neighbours
were mostly blacks and Indians. Among the latter, two pretty maidsi
Mariquiuha and Lorena, were our especial favourites. These wer«
young and charming mamelukes, or half-breeds, with dark eyes, luxuri-
ant hair, and hffht-olive complexions. To tell the truth, I believe we
were principally indebted to tht-iie lovely damaels for the rapid proficiency
which we made in the laikgunf^e.

But I must nut forget to meuijon the feathered com|>nuioiis who
shared with us the pleasures of Nnzerw. These consisted of sevur&l do-

▲DV£NTUft£S ON THE AMAZOK*

meftticated parrots, a pair of roseate spoonbills, and a solitary macaw.
The last-named bird was a very gorgeous fellow, wiih a handsome tail,
above two feet in length, boautifuUy marked with blue and red. During
the day he was accustomed to spend many of the hours in rambling
through the embowered avenues of the garnen, and in climbing sucoes-
fively the different fruit-trees, which were drooping with the weight of
their red and yellow fruit. But, whenever he heard our voices calling
him, he insLintly abandoned the sweetest orange or most delicious guana,
to make his appearance before us. He was an awkward bird in his mo-
tions, and occasioned us a great deal of merriment. It was enough to
dinturb the gravity of a confirmed misanthrope to see our macaw per-
ambulating by himself around the piazza of Nazerc.

Whenever the bell rang for either breakfast or dinner, Mr. Macaw
immediately wended bis way to the banquet-table, and having perched
himself upon the back of one of the chairs, waited patiently for the ar-
rival of us — his hnmble servants. In justice to his memory, be it said,
that be always conducted himself with |)erfect decorum while at table,
and never on any occasion made any sudden onslaught upon the viands
which were hud out in tempting array before him. Finally, our long-
tailed companion died ; and for a time we felt bereaved indeed.

One day an Indian brought us a live coral snake, the fangs of which
had been carefully extracted. The reptile was about three feet in
leugth, and was regularly banded with allernatc rings of black, scarlet,
and yellow. If the idea of ** beautiful " can be associated with a snake,
then did this one well deserve the qualification, for a more striking com*
bioation of colours I think I never saw. For the sake of security, we
put the animal in a small wooden box, and placed it in one of the cor-
ners of the room whore we slepU One night, while we were asleep, the
aoimai forced off the top of tlie box in which he was confined, and, iu
travelling about, at last found his way into the cook's room. Aroused
by her screams, we hastened to her apartment, and there discovered the
cause of her alarm. But the animal had escaped through a crevice in
the floor, and we never saw his snakeship again.

We cxperienoed a great deal of annoyance from the ants at Nazere.
The»e iu^ects swarm in myriads in the forest, and may be seen crawling
on the ground wherever yuu may happen to be. They subserve a very
useful purpose in the wise economy of nature, by preventing the natural
decav and putrefaction of vegetable matter, so particularly dangerous in
faoywal regioDs; but, al the same time, they are a serious drawback to
llie praeecutiou of agricultural pursuits, and to the cause of civilization
n the torrid zone. Flourishing plantations are sometimes entirely de-
stroyed by these insects; and we ourselves have seen a beautiful orange-
tree, one day blooming iu the greatest luxuriance, and on the next per-
fectly leafless and bare I

Nothing is more interesting than to see an army of ants engaged in
^tresting a tree of its foliage. In doing so, they manifest an intuitive
^■iem and order which is truly surprising. A regular Hie is continuaU
w ascending on one side of the trunk, while another is descending on
die opposite side, each one of the anis bearing a piece of a leaf, of the
use of a sixpence, in his mouth. A large number appear to be station-
ed among the upper branches, for ihe sole purpose of biting off the stems
of the leaves, and thus causing them to fall to the ground. At the ibot
of the tree is another department, whose busiuess is evidently that of

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

c4i(ting the fallen leaves into small pieces for transpcrtatioo. A long
proceuion is kept constantly innrching: away towards their settlernent,
laden with ibc loaves. Verily, wibdum may be Learned even from the ants !
Mr. Kidder states that, some years ago, the ants entered one of the
convents at Maranham, who not only devoured the drapery of the
altars, but also descended into the graves beneath the 6oor and brought
op several small pieces of linen from the shrouds of the dead ; for this
offence the friars commenced an ecclesiastical prosecution, the result of
which, however, we did not ascertain. Mr. Southey says, in relation to
these destructive insects, "that having been cDnvicted in a similar suit at
the Franciscan convent at Avignon, they were not only excommunicated
from the Uoman Catholic apostolic church, but were sentenced by the
friars to a place of removal, within three days, to a place assigned them
in the centre of the earth. The canonical account gravely adds, tha^
the ants obeyed, and carried away all their young and all their stores 1"^

Conc-crning the ants, however, we have a story of our own to telL
The occurrence took place at Nazcre, and was in this wise. One night,
while indulging in delightful dreams, 1 was suddenly awakened by my
amiable companion, who ai&rmed that something was biting him severe*
ly — ho knew not what. Being well wrapped up in my hammock, no
wonder that I did not feel the bites of which he complained.

In the deep silence of our loncliy apartment we beard distinctly a
sound like that of a continual dropping of something upon the Hoor. Wo
were imcertaio from what it proceeded, but I more than half suspected
the true cause, but said nothing to my companion ; on the contrary, 1
even endeavoured to convince him that the biting of which he complain-
ed was only imaginary. The reality, however, of his sufferings made
him proof agaiust any such conviction, and he forthwith arose and light-
ed a lamp. Its glimmering rayu shed a feeble light over the apartmen^^
but sufficient to disclose a spectacle Euch as we never hope to sec agaiwH
The Boor itself was literally black with ants; and our clothes, which
were hanging on a line stretched across the room, were alive with them.
It wa6 in vain for us to attempt to remove them, so we removed our<il
selves, and spent the remainder of the night swinging in our hammockll
under the verandah ! But, we will never forget that night should we
live an hundred years !

Green and golden hued lizards were also numerous at the Roscei
and we frequently saw them in the midst of the walk, basking in
warm sunshine, their glowing tiuts rivalling in lustre the bright enam«
of the flowers. They were innocent creatures, exceedingly timid, ani
we found it almost impossible to catch them alive.

On one side of the entrance gate of the garden, was a small " sum-
mer house," (as it would be called in England or America,) from which
an excellent view of the Largo was presented. Nothing could exceed
the romantic beauty of this extensive plot of ground by moonlight I A
wild forest rises up around ; tall pnUns stand like faithful scotim
watching orer the lovely scene 1 The little church, solitary and aloi
seems to fill the mind of the beholder with soti'ma associations ; the l(
dwelling!) of the natives, shaded by overhanging trees, add to the strange
ness of the landscape ; and the ** southern cross," gleaming in the clear
starry firmament above, brings to mind the immense distance of home,

^ impresses the wanderer with emotions of love and sublimity, such as
a can adequately describe I

and*

im-
lich
eed
A
lelM

AN OLD MAN'S RECOLLECTIONS

or TBE

PASTORAL CAKTONS OF BWITZERLAND.

BOITKO BT MRS. PERCY BINNBTT.

dull

It is noiiv more than fifty years since/ ^ ^

aod in a mood still duller and gloomier than the weather, I found
DiyiHflf on the shores of the lake of CoDstance. White vapours were
roiling over the heada of the enormous mosses of rock that rttse like
mighty walls round the horizon ; the waters of the lake, lathed into
fury by the gusts of wind, rushed along at their feet towards the
valley of the Rhine, where they seemed to mingle with clouds as black
•s midnight, oguiuttt which the clear green colour of the waves in the
foreground, with their crests of snuwy foam, looked indeacrihably
beautiful.

The whole aspect of nature was strange and new, and ofTected me
with a power I had never before felt from external things ; but I had
Bcaroelj time to wonder at the change, which with magic suddenncfui
seemed to operate upon my mind, when my carriage rolled over the
bridge that connects the islund of Lindau with the main land, and the
walls of the city soon hid the whole landscape frum my sight.

The castle and the wall called the Heiden Mauer, whose strength and
thickTiess bid defiance to time, ciirried me back in thought to thme dis*
taut a^es when the heavy tramp of the imn men of Home first broke
the siillneM uf the woods in which the yet unnamed lake lay buried.
But it was not &olittide» nor the gloom of boundlens forests, nor the
liellowing of the auer-ox and other mighty brutes by wliich they were
tenanted, nor the cries, scarcely less terrible, of their human inhabitaiits>
Dor rocks uor glucien;, uur the ice iuid snow of a climate thai appeared
lo severe when cum]>ared with that of their own glowing laud that
could turn buck the legions from a settled purp«ise. Under the guid-
lOce uf Drusus, they fuund their victorious way along the itbine*
leaving one fortress after another to mark their course, and on the spot
»hich is now Constance, laid the foundutionn of their Valeria; there
they built a number of galleys, with which to traverse these unknown
waters, and soon the dark oJid silent woods that closed it in were
echoing to the shouts of the first civilised men whose vessels bad
rippled its surface since its creation.

Tiberius landed on the island now called Lindau, built a fortress,
and prepared here his warlike expeditions against the natives of
Rhoetia, in the neighbourhood of the lake, who hud often rushed down
from their ujountains upon the fertile and cultivated lands of their
Italian neighbours. He conquered tliem after a six years' struggle, and
tlieoce he opened u way through the forest into the heart of Sunbiii,
where he established his extreme outpost to watch the fierce Alle-
manni. It was not, however, till the seventh century, that a few

* Xh« lap«r of fifty, we might aliiioiit say uf five hundred yeait^ hai nmde ru
Irttls chjingv in the mode of life ia tbese pastoraJ unntuus, thai we appreliend the
af tbe*e recullecliviis will detract little, if uiylhiug, frum whaterer inlemt
U

RECOLLECTiONS OF THE

famitteH begun to settle un the shores of the lake, with a view to gaio
a 8ub»i«tence by cultivicting the yet virgin soil— The people of
SchA-ytz, Unterwalden, aud the otlier pastoral cantons that conatitnte
the very heart and core of Switzerland, sprang originally from a Hhwt
thrown out by the grand old Sciuidiuavian tree. In a parchment
preserved at Ober Hasle, in tlie Canton of Berne, there is a record of
this remarkable immigration. A body of six thousand warlike men
had bet'H thrown off at a ewarm, Avbeu there was u great fumine, from
an ancient kingdom far to the nurth, in the lund of the Swedes. They
divided lhera»elves into three troops, each of which made a league
among tbemaelvcs to hold together on the land or on the sea, in good
fortune or bad fortune, in joy or sorrow, in all things great or small
which God should send them. One of those, under the guidance of
one SchwitzeruSy after many adventures, reached the upper Rhine,
" and at lengtli came to a country with high rocks and mountains full of
yalleys and lakes, which pleased them, for it was like the old country
from which they had come."

Here they settled, calling the country Schwitz, from their leader
Schwitzerua, and felled the forest, and btiilt huts, and kept flocks,
and tilled the ground, and maintained themselves honourably by the
sweat of their brow, and kejit foithfully to one another; and their
children learned Immlicrufts, and grewuji to be men ** great and strong
like giants." Onr old friend William Tell find his compeers cnme then,
it uj>|>enrs, of a good family.

The weather cleared ap hi the Bf^emoon, on the day of my arrival
fit Lindnn, and 1 crossed the bridge to the Hnvarian shore, which looked
Terv attractive with its fruitful hills and gardens and vineyards. My
guide led me to the country-seat of a Lindauer patrician, whence,
through a telescope, 1 saw plainly, across the lake, the towers of the
ancient abbey of St. Gal!, und several pretty little towna set like
gems in the opposite shore. The clouds were now floating in a higher
region of the atmosphere, and hid none but the loftiest peaks ; and at last
the sun broke through and 1 had the pleasure of beholding the monn-
tains of Appenzell, the chief object of my pilgrimage. A tremendous
storm appeared however to be niging in that elevated district. Some*
times high ragged peaks would ^eeui to thrust themselves suddenly
out from amidst the clouds, and the thick veil would sweep off and
show them covered with glittering ice and snow ; and then, again, it
would close, leaving the imagination perhaps more excited by these
stolen glimpses than if the whole of these mighty masses had been
risible.

After a long battle between ran and storm, the sun at length
obtained the mastery, and, pouring out a flood of light, took possession
of the whole vast hindscape^ turning, as he set, the surface of the
lake into a sea of crimson fire. Never bad I seen so magnificent ft
spectacle.

1 left Lindau on the following morning but the storm and wind from
the west was still rjging with such violence over the lake, that it >va8
impossible to go by water to Constance, as I had intended. The beauty
of the shore, however, along which the road lay, made me ample
amends for this change in my plun. I was going along the German
side to Morsburg, now 1 believe in Biiden, from which I could easily
cross over to Constance. The rood ran sometimes close along the
margin^ sometimes a little further ofl^, but through com fields, me»*

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

dowB, gentle hills clothed with vines, avenues of fruit treesj round
whiwe trunks the ivy twined its picturesque garlands ; groves of fir,
pretty villages, and little towns and castles in endless variety ; and
on tlie opposite bank, tlie bolder fonns of the mountains and the
distant snoivy peaks proclaimed ihe wonderful land of the Swi&s^ to
which I was bound.

I arrived at Mursburg in due time, but not a man could be found
who would put nie ucriN« the lake, as it would be scarcely possible, they
said, tu reach Cunstance in safety with this wind, so that I was fain to
amuse myself for the remainder of the day with looking at the Bi-
shop's Cabinet of shells ; the Bishop of Constance 1 mean, who has
his residence here. It is situated upon a high rocky shore which falls
precipitously to the lake,— here many hundred feet deep,— which,
while I was engaged with the shells, was dashing furiously against
the precipice, and tossing its white foam muuy fathoms high, while
the busum of the water was of a deep blue black.

From what you know of the enthusiasm n-ith which, at that time of
niy life, I regarded the form of government and the character of the free
pastoral peojile of Switzerland, you will easily believe I did not pass
without emotion the simple wooden bar that marked the frontier of
the Canton of Appenzell. Hitherto my road had lain, as I have said,
through corn fields, orchards, mid vineyards ; now there was a striking
change in the cliaracter of tlie landscape. There was no longer the
same variety of tint, but hill rose behind hill, in ever bolder outline,
but clothed in a uniform green colour, varied occasionally bv the dark
hues of the fir thickets. Single houses built of wood, but with the
utmost care and neatness, lay scattered about upon the hills, ood could
be reached by pretty winding paths; they had an air of tranquil com-
fort as they lay there in that still evening, with the beams of the
setting sun yet lingering upon them, that corresponded well with mv
anticipations, and my satisfaction was increased when, on mv arrival in
the evening twilight at Herisau, the largest and handsomest village in
the Canton, I learned, that, in a few days, would take place the
general assembly of one of these little states, with which, as you arc
aware, resides the sovereign power of the country.

The Canton of Appenzeil, though regarded us one in the confederacy,
does, in fact, consist of two separate and independent republics, called
the Outer and Inner Khudes ; this ^vo^d rhude being, it is snid, a cor-
ruption of the old German roilc, meaning troop or tribe. The man-
ner in which this topographical and political separation was effected
is. i believe, unique in history, and therefore deserves mention. In
the year 1522, Walter Gliirer, a parish priest of Appenzell, had begun
to preach openly the doctrines of Zuinglius, the Swiss reformer, and
had found many zealous supporters ; frum others, however, he met
with a no leas decided opposiiiun, and soon, in every little village in
this hitherto peaceful land, were kindled the flames of the gre«U
spiritual conHagration of the sixteenth century. Instead, however, of
cutting each other'^i throats in the name of the God of luve and mercy,
as other more civilised nations did, the^e rude shepherds bethought
them of another expedient. As soon us it became evident thut their
differences of opinion could not be reconciled, and that nothing re-
Qiaiued now but civil war. they said, ''let us divide the land," and the
proi>o6al was at once received- The Catholic communes or parishes,
chu.se the Cantons of Lucerne, Schwytz, and Unterwalden, fur arbitra-

EECOLLECTIONS OF THE

tors; the Refurmers, Zurich, Glarus, and Schaffhausen. Deputtei
from these six cantons were sent to Appt^nzell, and within a moatti
after, the Catholics had taken peaceable possession of the interior dis-
tricts called Inner Rhodes, their reforming 1)rettiren of those which
lay nuarerto the frontier^ and each little rfpublic had held its general
assembly) in which the people not only gave their consent to tlie
arraufrement, but hud even tbo forethought to introduce a clause^
stating that the agreement should not necessarily be binding for ever
on their poiiLerity* but should continue only as long us it should l>e
desired by both parties.

The calm rationality and wisdom of this proceeding at a time
when men's minds all over Europe were a prey to the transports of
fanaticism, gives these little states, in my opinion^ n claim to attention
and respect nut to be measured by their geogrunhical extent. It may
afftfrd also a fact in reply to the often repcatea assertion that a pure
demi»cracy is uniformly swayed by passion rather than by reason. It wa«
in thut same century when tlie shepherds of Switzerland gave this
example of reason and moderiition that the English nation had been
blown repeatedly backwards and forwards between Catholicism and
Protestantism, by the gusts of passion in the mind of a brutal despot.

Rejoicing at the good fortune which had led me tu Apf>enzell at the
period of the general assembly of the people, the Lamlsgemeine as it
\n cnlled, I left Herisan on a fine spring morning to take my way to
the appointed place of meeting, the little town of Appenzell, in Inner
Uhodes. Light clouds covered the sky, but a soft warm air was blow-
ing, under whose influence all nature seemed bursting into bud and
blossom. Far as the eye cnuld reach, hill and valley, and even moun*
tain, were covered with a robe of liveliest green, and, from the peculiar
conformation of the country, every step presented the landscape in a
new point of view. The hills sometimes flowing into each other,
sometimes suddenly pirting, created an incessant change of outline,
mass, and surface, which kept the attention constantly occupied. To
the south rose nuked rucks of a greyish black colour, contrasting
forcibly with the snowy horns of the Santis. To the east, ihruugh
breaks in the mountains, r>ccasional enchanting peeps could l>e obt^uned,
across the bright mirror uf the Lake of Constance to the distant fertile
fields of Suabia, tioutingin an atmosphere of tender blue, and on all sides
the view w&s framed in by the shLjrp bold outliue of mountains of
every variety of shape.

The road along which I was journeying could onlv be traversed by
passengers on foot or on horseback, but showed on either side manifold
traces of the cleanliness, order, industry, and prosperity of the people.
From time to time, when I was stopping to admire a pretty wooden
house, or a bright crystal spring that came dancing across a green
slope^ groups of men would pass with hasty steps, some of whom wore
a most singular costume, the colour of the right half of every garment
being white, and of the left black. The composed demeanour of these
men seemed, however, to indicate that this strange attire was no
masquerade habit, but had some peculiar significance, and on making
enquiry, I learned that they were otlicial personages belonging to
Outer Rhodes, who were going to A])penzen to be present at the Inner
Rhodes parliament. These are the state colours, the Ap[)enzell arms
being a black bear in a white 6eld.

All at once the road, or rather path, made a ateep descent iuto

tea

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the clear rapid stream of the
Urnasch, which rises in the mountnins ou the Tuggeiiburg, aiidfruah-
inf^ ahtng between very high banks, pours itself into the Sitter. Like
must niounuin alream8, it sometimes swells tu a torrent, and is conti-
nually wearing itself a deept^r and deeper bed, which in this part was
overhung, when I saw it, with broken masses of sand-stone, fringed with
dark pines ; and I could not help liugt'ring for f^onu' time on the bridge
tfirawn across the narrow valleys to gaxe upon its picturesque beauty.

On reaching the right bank, I cuuie in sight of the village of
Hundwyl, and, from the small numher of whose houses, one could
litlie imagine to be the largest parish of Outer Rhodes ; but through-
out the Swiss cantons, wiib very few exceptions, the villages are all
small, from its being the custom for families of this pastoral people to
live on their own property ; and to have their house in the midst of
their Innd, so that the inhabitants of a single parish are sumetimes
fuund scattered all over a circle of from ten to twenty miles.

After passing IIundwyI> the way led along the dde of mountains,
covered with furests, thickets, and meadows, and very sot»n, witliout
being acquainted with the precise limit between Outer and Inner
Rhmles, it was easy fur me to perceive that I had passed it. The
country, the people, and their occupations remained the same, yet it
was impossible to overlook the dilfercnce between Protestant and
Catholic Appenzi-U. The fields of the hiiter were not so neat, the
crops were le^s abundant, the meadows no luuf^er showed that fresh deli-
cious grctfU which enchanttrd me in tb^ Outer Rhodes ; the houses
were smaller, pmirer, and I missed everywhere those evidences of in-
dustry, order, and prosperity so beautifully conspicuous in the little
twin reimblic, and 1 should soaietinies almost have felt the way tedi-
ous but for the views which were continually opening to the east,
where the mountains were sprinkled over with en incredible number
of habitations giving to the landscape u quite peculiar character.

As I came nearer to the capital of Inner Rhodes, I met a great
number of the people going to the general assembly, and on all sides
I could dtstinguiHli them coming dowu the slopes uf the mountains
towards the same point ; here a man alone, — there, a father with his
sons ; from another point a whole troop of uld and young, all hastening
to AppenxelL Every one carried a sword, for, curiously enough, it is
the law that the men shall come armed. Some carried the weapon in
the right hand, grasping it by the middle like a stick, und nut one
made a single step to move out of the way of my horse, so that 1 had
often to stop and wait till I could tind room enough to ride by. I
nolictd this as a little trait, marking the ditFerence of character be-
tween these mountaineers, and any country pe(»ple L had ever seen,
who were always ready to take off their hats and stand respectfully
aside to make room for a carriage or a gentleman on horseback. In
the entire deportment and bearing of these Appeuzellers, in their (irm
step and free erect carriage, there was an expression of manly self-reli-
ftnce. — The road, as I approached the scene of action, wns of course
more and more thronged, and as I gazed with interest at the groups
of athletic figures which surrounded me, I seemed to see revived
their valiant forefathers, when they rose up and burst the chains that
had been laid on them, atid drove the oppressor from their land.

The open village of Appenzell \va» swarming with people, and
everywhere was a movement, a thronging busy Ufe, a hua\ \.vV.«£ sXvftX

PAflTORAt CMfTinVS OP SVTTZEaLAKD,

^« pcit Cmt; «i4 «M of tke ImiM twta aT Ac
«Be«tt«it 9jffmtm to tfce bn wWre 1 wm to ato^

i-Sifi^ ^?*."^ "^ ^* '" ' *""T» "^ gWa, were all eridenlly-i
toth rirgdid ayctoibca; but the cattvae af & ma ww «• pecalUr^
**?*. *^*"^ • ■•* **■* deacripdao- IVy wuv m ahott >cket bdA.
»«««, aod tmraen rachuig to the aakl^ btt av abort above^
H^a larKe portioo of tbeir linen banc •■&, Md i^ead bad it
•••■w tbcir broad braoea, tbere vaoJd bava been isuninriit daa^er-«
<«»« ttppcariag aa true «a« cmieiUs, Sane people, I tun told^
imiilu' tbk practice of aUovriog tbe abirt to bug out as a mer^
F*^ of dandriam, but I hare aeea it in men m* uld aod cteati)v'
tbat thia caa hardly be Uie caae^-Wben I entered tlie public rwna.
<rf U** ino, ttad iaw, aittiag with their hacks lo me. a whole row-
^ "g*" «s appareotiy in w strange a dishabille, I could bardlT^
!■•■*■'• "■> gfarity. Tbe room waa full of womtm and girU, bat
«• "J*^ ** ••* hit myaelf appeared to regard it a^ ttiilitj peculiaa"
•^•'•"•i "ay. Ott the contrary, to my fcorprite and murti£cation, I
^HM that tbe indecorum, or at all ereais the absuxdily^ waa (hougbt
|i^ ^ ** My aide. I had uftexi noticed aa I rude along {bat a bead luJ
P*Mitd oat «f a window to Ictok at me, and that immediate!/'
Uriollvvcd a bant vi laughter. Here, as 1 sat in the apart-
*f tbe JQti, I p^ceived »ereral of the women and girh glancing
g^ MM and titt4:ring, v> tlut at Uat I was piqued to enquire tbe cau«e
i//'lWftr mirths W which one of tbe damaeJa replied with great murete,
ibtfl H waa " beoauae I looked ao funny ."

WtMim in Ap{»enz4-ll, itaeems, commanded, that, instead of wearing
tfn/ilBditpeoaahieft tightlj-buttoned above the hips, one shuold pre-
■fflt OM'a Mlf in a atate that will re&Uy not bear to be too faithfully

re&Uy not bear to be too faithfully

Tbia eoatume ia perba^u the more striking frnin the bright showy
isobNtf diktdayed in ita rarious parts. The waistcoat is genendly
aflsrlrt, tiio decorated with many white metal buttons; Uie jacket of
«Mkje other colour, both contrasting strongly witli the snow-white shirt
«»d yellow trousers. Many of the gentlemen wore no jacketj and had
(bair abirt aleeres rolled up above their elbows, displaying to much
adriBtaip their fine development of muscle. Some of their stalwart
arms hung down, looking Uke sledge hammers, and it seemed to me
that those who were possessed of such advantages, had the same seif-
eanplacent consciousness of them, as our young men sometimes have
of cravataandmiistachios; and their manner of presenting themselves to
tbe ladiaa, showed the same easy confidence of nleasiug, that I have seen
in elided aaloona, on the basis of stars and orders.

The 6ne snow-white shirt was evidently un article in which they
laok great pride; it wma only worn, 1 was told, on high days and
boHdaya, the ordinary one being made of chocked linen ; and tbe fine
jtBaw tint of tbe trousers is often enhanced by being rubbed over
with tbe yolks of eggs. Stockings are seldom worn in summer, and
evm shoes are by nu means " d^ ngueur"

Tbe women wore fed petticoats and little cKksely fitting bodices of
dark bloe ot red, nnd puffed out sleeves tied with ribbon bows. The
■uiority of the peirple were fair, but there were some, whose htiir and
camplexion, as u ell as their dark sparkling eves spoke of a southern
^viciB, and tbe whole expresMon of face and 6gure was of quickness,

Ivity, and iutelligejice.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

BY ABRAHAM EI.DXR.

WITn AN ILLCBTRATION BY LEBCB.

Every one who knows anything of London knows where Barbi-
can is — of course he does. At the end of Barbican is Long Lane,
din which street there is a Bniull grocer's shop, with its window well
Ifarnished with bunches of candles, retl herrings, yellow soap^ and
tobacco. One evening, Mr. Sims, the proprietor, his wife, son,
daughter, and their man Joe, were regaling themselves in their tiule
back parlour upon their daily allowance of tea, when, through their
glass window tuey espied the postman entering the shop.

" There's somebody wanting immediate payment fur somethingj"
said Mr. Sims, shrugging his shoulders. ** They always come when
the till is low- See what it is, Joe." Joe returned wiih a letter,
" I'll just finish my cup, and take another slice of bread and buttCTj
before I open it. Them kind of letters take away my appetite."

At length, with slow and unwilling hands, he took up the letter,
looked at the direction, and then turned up the seal. ** T and M,
Yes, a shop seal,— I thought so."

With a lone countenance he opened it and began to read. As his
eye glanced auwn the page, his features brightened, and before he
came to the bottom of the page, a pleasant smile revealed his inward
satisfaction.

" Son^ebody has ordered a whole ham, and promises to pay ready
money f*" said his son Sam, offering a guess.

JMr. Sims took no notice of him, but sat thoughtful for a moment,
and then said, •* Tain't the first of April, is it? No; 'taint dated
tJie first of April either." He then read the letter over again, and a
broader grin adorned his countenance. When he had finished it,
he then deliberately took his wig off his head, and threw it up to
the cieling, catching it again as it fell.

" It's very easy,*' said Mrs. Sims, who was not of a very excitable
temperament, " to throw your wig up to the cieling, as it is only
seven foot high ; but I really do not see the reason for it/'

" Read that," said Mr. Sims, throwing her the letter.

JMrp. Sims read the letter, smiled, and only said " My high !" in a
tone of astonishment.

" 1 know what it is," said her daughter Sally : *' cousin Bess has
got a baby."

" Fiddlestick !'* said Mrs. Sims.

" Do you think it can possibly be true?" said Mr. Sims.

" Read the letter, ma," said young Sam.

" Read the letter, ma," said Sally.

'* Please to read the letter, ma'am/' said Joe.

"i^Iessrs. Tompkins and Muggins beg to inform Mr. Samuel Simi
that their correspondent in Calcutta has remitted to them the sum of
eighty thousand pounds, on account oV Mr. Samuel Sims, grocer,
No. L53, Long Lane, London, being the sum to which he is entitled
by the will of Mr. Obediah Sims, lately deceased. Messrs. T. and
M. would be obliged to JVIr. Sims by his calling at their office at his
earliest convenience."

*' Mdoey ! money ! BOB^ r cried Mr. 9m, nAfa^ hu luuidi with
glee, aim] Aeo m uj^y i ng fcn fiagen ^ he maie tWm csack tgam*

''Iilock't befierea wordoT it," ssid Alrv Son. pnttiiy ber led
■pon the fi-nder, and nt&ily pehing tlie fire * I m ua S a tbey did
not tend ;ou a draft fisr the — ww i H nHm the ^BBip <* AMjtate;"

" WeU, I don't ksiowr n>d Mr. ^hh, acttliiv h» vig straight
npon hi« bead, *' perfaapa I have bcea makmg ■ fool of lajrself ; but
bow tboold anj one aboat bere knov that I had a coasn called
Obediah > If k€ had quite forgotten hixn« I Kipfpoae other people
have too."

** Well, if jou think yoa have got a prize,* said Mrs. Sims, incre-
dolou«lyj *' you bad better go and look aAer it."

" It 's worth looking aAer," said Mr. Sims ; '* and. though I may
be laughed at, I won't lose it for want of asking for it'*

Air. Sims put on his hat, and went to the door of the shop, then
stopped as if in doubt. He then returned^ hung up his hat, and sst
down again.

" Xo/' said he, " I could not stand iL There will be four-and-
twenty clerks at their desks all of a row ; and when I ask for my
monej, they will all begin a-laiighing, and say, ' Here 's Sammy Sims*
who sells red herrings, cume to a^k for eighty thousand pounds !"*

" I wish I was in your shoes," 6aid Joe ; " nobody should laugh
at me. I would first show them the seal. — * In that the seal of
the 6rm, eh ? If they said ' yes,' I would show them the direction.
* Is that the writing of any of the firm, eh?' If they said 'yes/ 1
would show them the signature. * Is that signature correct, eh ?'
If they said * yes' again, I would say, • Then I will trouble you tor
the small amount. "

Mr. Sims cUpned Joe on the back, and said, "Joe, you ares
trump ! Come along with me/'

They sallied forth together. The seal waa correct, the hand-writ
ing correct, the signature all right.

" I will give you a draft for the amount directly," said one of ihe^
partners. " It will, however, be necessary that some one should iden-
tify you. It's rather a considerable sum.

" A consideralile sum ! " said Joe. " I should rather say it wai."

" I can identify him," snid mie of the clerks: "that's Jemmi
Hiras. I have of\rn been in hU shop, when I was at school.
waA a notpd hoimr for olicitmpnne."

Thr pnrtnt'r took n iminll ulip of |^>aper, and wrote something on
and gave it to Kims, and then turned to his other business, agaii
adding up figuri'N in n huge book.

Mr. Sims slooii ull astonishment for some lime, with his paper iiJ
his hand ; for he wnn not awnre of the facility with which large]
»uni» ehiinge ownem in the city. At length he said to Joe in ij
whisper, " It's a rum go."

•' Wrrry rum." siiid Jih*.

^'resenllv otm of the clerks, seeing their distress, explained
A tiiat ihe jispcr was a (Ira*\ upon their bankers, who, upon
'ntNlion ol ihr urtlcr, would hand ihtm over the money.
Irtntl us <iver the m(intf> I" re|>c«teil Mr, Sims, with a smile ;
•ui' time he gave Joe a private dig in the ribs with his thi

THE LUCKY GSOCCS.

They went to the bankers, and presented the check. The banker
Jooked at the check, and said^ " How would you like to have it ? "
If it had been a dral\ for thirty shillings, he could not have treated
it with ^ealcr indifTerence.

Mr. Sims stared at him for a moment, for he almost thouglit that
he was in a dream, and then said, " Gold, — in gold; I would like to
take it in gold !"
" Have the goodness to step this way/* said the banker.
They followed him up stairs to a little dingy-looking room, with
an old table in it and two chairs; and producing a large key. he
opened an iron door in the wall which opened into a small vaulted
room with chests upon the floor, and some bundles of papers and
odd-looking tin boxes upon the shelves round the wall ; and taking
out another key, he opened an iron chest that stood in the corner.

"Lord have mercy on us !" said Joe, involuntarily, " it 's full of
sovereigns*"

"That's only twenty thousand," said the banker, smiling. "It
occupies too much time to count them: we will weigh them out to
you," pointing to a copper shovel and a pair of scales,

" Joe took up one handle of the box, and lifted it, to try the
weight, shook his head, and looked at Sims. Sims tried a handle,
shook his head, and looked at itye.

" A rum go/' said Joe, " to be carrying this home through the
streeta."

"Anxious furniture for our bsck-parlour, Joe."
" And, besides/' said Joe, " you would be awaking some fine
morning with your throat cut. There are fellows in London that
can smell out gold through a brick wall."
Sims scratched his head, and looked serious.

" We shall be happy to take charge of it for you," said the banker,
"and you can draw for any amount you like whenever it suits you/*
" An ! that would be a prime way of doing it/* said Joe, who ap-
peared to be struck by the novelty of the contrivance.

Sims assented, but observed that he would like to take a small
sample home to show Missis.

"What think you of fifty pounds ?" said Joe; "to take it home

a/i in one lump— Goshins ! how it would make them open their eyes."

The banker drew out a draft for Sims to sign, and then counted

Mit the money, which Sims deposited in the pocket of his small

hea, carefully buttoning it up.

Now, Joe/' said Sims, in a whisper, as they emerged into the
street, " keep carefully on my money side." And thus they threaded
Uicir way homewards, keeping carefully in the centre of the road-
wmy, and avoiding the contact of every foot passenger as if he had
the plague.

*• I never was afraid of having my pocket picked before this day,"
MMxd old Sims.

Street after street they passed, Sims looking anxious and serious.
At length he broke silence, thus moralizing :

" Joe/' said he, " there is a great deal of anxiety attending the
■oa>rtai"n of money."

"When they arrived safely in the back parlour, his affectionate
GscpUy received them with a shout of laughter. Sims laughed too,
^ar bia heart was full of joy.
m^roiM uciif.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

"WeU!" said Mrs. Sims.

"Well!" saiil old Sims.

"And did yoii really go to the lawyers?"

" I did/' said old Sims.

" And did you show them the seal?" sjud his son and heir.

" I did," said old Sims ; " and they said that it was very like
seal oi' the firm."

" And what did they say to the signature?"

" They said that it was very like the signature of the firm."

" Well," said Mt6. Siuis, her eye brightening up, " what happened
next ?"

"One of the partners wrote something on a bit of paper, and
showed me the door."

" That 's just what I expected/' said Mrs. Sims ; however, she did
not laugh. "And so you just put your tail between your legs, and
sneaked home." «

"No, I didn't/* said old Sims: " I just went to the banker whoseV
name was on the pnper.

" Well/' said Mrs. Sims, again brightening up, "and what did Ac^
say?" m

" He axed me how 1 would have it/' said old Sims, ^

"What J" said Mrs. Sims, taking her feet from off the fender, and
starting up,— " you don *t mean to say thai there really is any money?"

" Don't I tJiough !" said old Sims, taking out his small canvas hi
of money, and pouring it out upon the table.

" Them 's the boys/' said Joe, as they rolled about in different di-J
rections.

" You 're a darling of a man!" said Mrs. Situs, as she gave hi
husband a kiss in the overflowing of her heart.

" We *11 not be aCraid now of them wholesale fellows bills/* i
old Sims, thrusting his hands into his pocket.

" / should think not/' said Joe.

Here a loud knocking in the shop interrupted the rejoicing family.

"Them *s customers waiting in the shop," said Joe.

*' D the Customers," said young Sims, separating his

tails before the fire.

Old Sims, however, went to attend them. "Widow Brown, hoi
are you ? how i» the sick child? What is it to-day ? — a pound
bacon, eh?" Old Sims cut off about a pound nnd a half, and
bacon scale came down on the counter with a whack.

" I can't afford to take more than a pound/' said the widoiv.

" I only call it a pountl," saiil old Sims ; — " widow woman — lar|^
family, you know — all quite right," ns he put a piece of paper rounc
the bacon. The widow turned up her eyes as she thanked hii
There was a blessing in her thanks.

'• What do you want?"

"A halfpenny candle," said an old woman.

Sims gave her a penny one, and put the halfpenny in the till.

The honest old woman returned with the candle, asking whethi
it was not a mistake.

'* No mistake at all/' said Sims. "I thought that you would
better with the penny one, and I can afford the difference/'

The old woman raised her withered liand, an«l prayed that Goit
might prosper him.

THE LUCKY GROCKR.

0]<1 Sims returned to his back thop with the inward satisfaction of
having perfortned a good action. " Surely/* said he,'^ there is a bless-
ing attending riches. What a life of happiness I have before me !"

Now, Siros's proceedings was much at variance with the custo-
mary mode of doing business in Long Lane; and the fame of it got
noised abroad in the course of tlie evening. When the shutters
were taken down on the following morning, there was a manifest
increase in the number of customers.

" Here 's money for a pound of bacon/' said one woman ; " I 've
got ten children."

" I want two halfpenny candles/* said another ; '* my mother's
older than t'other one."

Another wanted soap, and another herrings. Old Sims, how-
ever, not approving of this mode of taking his charity by storm, just
served them in the old fashioned way. In return for which he met
with abuse. " Why ain't I to get as big a bit of bacon as widow
Brown?"

•• Why aint I to get as good a candle, (for my money is as good
as other folks) I should like to know p"

Old Sims leaving liis customers to the care of Joe, retired into
bis back shop, moralizing as he went. "Surely," he said, "richei
bring with them trouble as well as blessings."

"Why should not we retire from business?" asked Mrs. Sims,
as he entered.

" Bui where shall we retire to ? " demanded old Sims, whose know-
ledge of geography was confined to the neighbourhood of Long Lane,

" However," said young SimSj pulling up his shirt collar, " catch
me cutting soap again."

"How nice it would be," said Miss Sims, "to keep a four-
wheeled chay, dress fine, and give balls and parties, like old Clark
th« butcher."

"A note, ma'am/' said Joe.

31 rs. Sims opened it. '* JMrs. Figgins hopes to see Mr. and Mrs,,
M&stcr and Miss Sims to tea to-morrow."

** Ho! ho f " said Mrs. Sims, bridling up, "the wholesales would
Dot visit her because she kept a retail shop, and she would not visit
us because we were small retail. I won t have none of her nasty
tea now that we are rich."

" There 's a gentleman come into the shop/' said young Sims.

" 1 see/' said Sims, " it 's just little six-and-eightpenny Craggs, let
him wait a bit, Joe, we ain't afraid of lawyers now."

The little man, however, fimltng no one in the shop, crept up to
the gUse-door and opening it a little, popped in his head, " Ha ! how
do you do, Mr. Sims? I saw such a. beautiful bit of bacon in the
shop, that I could not help calling in to buy a pound of it. A
" r of «ich bacon as that cut thin and broiled for breakfast, is a
tt delicacy, Mr. Sims. Pray am I to congratulate you, Mr. Sims,

in Toor having a large accession of property ?"
Why, yes," said old Sims, *' we are pretty snug now,"
« It was a very large sum ?" said the lawyer, inquiringly.
•• I should rayther think it was/' said the grocer.

I presume you have taken the necessary steps to have it safely
ted > "
« We left it in CootUs bank,"

D 1

THE LUCKY GROCER.

" Dear I dear ! dear 1" said the lawyer, "there really is a risk in
leavini; such a sum as that at a banker's, the best of them are liable
to break at times, and what a loss such a sum as that would be.

" We tried to take it out in gold/* said Joe, "but we found that
we could not carry it."

*' Could not carry it I ha! ha! ha! could not carry it." Very
pretty innocents these, thought he to himself.

" You don't think Coutts's bank unpafe, I hope," said old Sims.

" Its credit is good at presentt certainly, but I must confess that 1
should not like to leave any larpe sum of money of my own there." M

" I think I shall put it in the funds," said old Sims. 1

"Oh! — the funds — ha! to be sure the funds are well enough
now, if there comes no war or anything of that sort, it may last our
time. My dear sir," said the lawyer, taking old Sims by the but-
ton, "as long as a country thinks it likely that they may want to
borrow more, they pay the interest as regularly as quarter-diy
comes ; but whenever it suits their convenience, they repudiate it
the Yankcys do. When you go to ask for your interest, they say
' much obliged to you for lending us the money, but we don't want
any more; we're not going to pay any money, only to keep up oor
creilit — credit is a very pretty thmg in its way, but it is not worth
what we're paying for it/ A friend of mine, Smith, of the firm of |
Smith, Jones, and Co., who held some Pennsylvania bonds, deter-
mined to come to a clear understanding with the head of the firm*
so he wrote a letter to the Governorof Pennsylvania himself, and ex-
plained to him how the money was fairly lent, and payment of
capital and interest guaranteed. Now there was plenty of means of
paying the money, and yet the interest remaine*! unpayed, and con-
cluded by civilly requesting some explanation upon the subject.
Well, and what answer do you suppose he got r "

" I should not wonder if he got rather a short answer," said old Sims.

" A short answer ; why it was rather a short answer, ha ! ha ! It
was one sentence."

•* Do you happen to remember what that sentence was?"

"Oh, yes, the letter contained just these words, * Don't you rvisk
ifou way get it, — Yours Gov. Pen."'

*' How very ungenteel I" said Mrs. Sims.

"It's a very vulgar unbusiness like way of writing," said Sil
'* But you don't suppose that if I was to put my money in the En|
lish funds, I shoula ever get a letter like that from the Chancellor
the Exchequer?"

"Mr. Sims," said the lawyer, taking him by the button
" you have been in business for some years, I dare say that you na)
met with customers who run up accounts at your shop, and inst
of paying for what they have had before, order more goods,
when you wont serve them anv longer, they just cut their stick.^

Old Sims sighed and shook his head, *' I know that too well, sir/'

"Now Ifiok here, Mr. Sims, £n|;land is just one of these; si
keeps borrowing and borrowing and never thinks at all about paj
ing. It was only a year or two ago when they borrowed tweal
millions to give to West India proprietors ; I should like to km
how much of that they have paid or thought about paying. I wool
venture to bet a new hat that if this year or next year they shoul
happen to want six or eight millions more for any odd job, th(
would just put it down to the account, and never trouble their hi

TUB LUCKY GROCEU.

1 1 about anv payment I think, Mr. Sims that no good can come of
1 1 that kincf of [lealing."

kl Mr Sims lifted up the corner of hia wig and scratched bit head.
I "Indeed. I can't tell where to put my money,**
Hi ** 1 can tell you/' said the lawyer.
LI "Where?"

ri *' Put it in a good railway. Look here, Mr. Sims," holding him
[| ^S^^ l>y the buttoHt ** people subscribe to make a railway — hills
cut — valleys filled, tunnels made, and rails laid down ; there it is
...(pointing down to the drugget on the floor,) nobody can steal it, run
'^#iray with it, break it. or injure it. There it is. But when a natiun
has borrowed your money and spent it, where is it P I say, Mr.
Sims, where is it? The chief difference between a nation and an
individual, is, that a nation has got no conscience."

** I have a great mind to try a railroad," said old Sims, jingling his
sovereigns in his pocket.

" I think it, however, right to state," said the lawyer, " that there
IS one objection to railways, which is, that the government will not
allow the uroprielors to get more than ten per cent for their money."

Nevertheless, old Sims became a railway proprietor, and invested
his money in the grand Middlesex direct railway company, to which
his fn'end Craggs was solicitor. He also purchased Primrose Hall,
about forty miles from London, and thus became a landed pro*
prietor. A carnage was bought upon Craggs's recommendation.

Joey was oifered the shop, with the stock in it to set up with, but
be would have nothing to do with it. He had been accustomed to
^ what he was bid, but not to think for himself. The thing that
be woold like, would be to ride behind Mr. Sims's carriage as foot-
man, in red breeches. So the shop was let for a }'ear, and Joey
splendidly arrayed as flunkey.

Craggs was consulted about what arms or crest ought to be put
upon the carriage. Mrs. Sims observed, that the thing she fancied
was a half lion stuck upright, a-clawing away. She had seen one
upon a very genteel carriage, and she admiretl it at the time.
Craggs replied, that the proper arms and crest for the name of
Sims could be obtained, rightly emblazoned, at the Heralds' Col-
lege, and for ten pound he could get the whole properly dune for
them. So Sims paid his ten pounds, and his crest, a dexter hand
carrying a herring gules, was painted upon his carriage panel.

VVbile all this was going on, although Sims had disposed of his
biiMoe«s and let his shop fur a year, he still quietly occupied his back
partoar, and made his appearance in the shop occasionally^ so that the
neuhbours were hardly aware of any real change having taken place.
Neither the carriage, Joe's new livery, nor any of the ladies' grand
purchases, were ever exhibited in Long Lane, but were forwarded,
jtf procured, to Primrose Hall, together with Sam's shooting-jacket,
to^boots, and double-barrelled gun.

M^hen all things were finally arranged for their migration, the

Gunily went down by the rail to the station nearest to the scene of

their new magnificence, where their carriage was waiting for them,

Joe attending in a light-green livery, with yellow collar and scarlet

udl clothes.

•Joe opened the door, trying to subdue his broad grin into a re-
r MCtful demeanour, but it was too much for him. Sam pinched
I Uiy'a elbow, who set off iato a convulsive titter. Sam went off at

THE LUCKY OROCBR.

once into a horse laugh ; Mrs. Sims caught the infection ; old Sims
tried at first to Trown, for the laugh, he knew, would be destructive
to his dignity, but he was obliged to give way, and the whole party
at length laughed in grand chorus, very much to the astonishment
of the railway porters.

At length they arrived at the hall, where Craggs awaited them,
and handed Airs. Sims out of the carriage, with as much deference
and ceremony as if she had been the Queen of England. The gar-
dener, the groom, the housemaid, the housekeeper, the cook, and
the ladies' maid, bowed and curtseyed to the lady of the house as she j
entered her new mansion. Mrs. Sims pursed up her mouth and bit ■
her lip to prevent her self-satisfied smile from injuring her dignity. ^
Old Sirasj however, could not make up his mind to attempt any dig-
nity at all, but, with a broad grin adorning his rosy countenance, he
shouk hands with his servants all round.

Neither did young Sam, as he emerged from the carriage, attempt
to subdue his emotion, for, as his foot touched the ground, he
pitched his hat up into the air, and shouted " hurra !" and, as he
entered the house, he turned round and said, *'onc of you fellows,
bring in my hat."

Miss Sally emerged, fanning herself with a carved ivory fan, and
saying, " Lauk, how nice!"

The drawing-room and its furniture next attracted the attention
of the happy family ; for, as in the purchase, everything in the house
was to be taken in valuation, everything was new to tnem ; indeed,
Craggs had negotiated the whole affair, and old Sims had only slip-
ped down once, for a few hours, to see his purchase.

" Look here, Sims," said his lady, " what a nice chair this is. It
feels as if it went upon springs. It actually hobbles about under
me when I move."

" You are quite right, madam," said Craggs ; " it is a spring
cushion.'*

" I say, father, a capital sophy this to cock one's legs up upon,"
said Sam, suiting the action to the word.

*' Oh my ! " said Sally, " here is n piany ; how I should like to
play just one tune upon it ; Just, ' I *d be a butterfly.' "

Sims heeded not the furniture* but looked out of the window upon
the land. lie was now a landed proprietor. It was ///> fields, ftia
treej, his gate, AiV pond, /rrV ducks. He swelled out with his own
importance as he surveyed his extensive possessions.

The door opened wide, and Jucy entered in full costume. He made
a low bow, and gave u scrape of his foot behind. " If it please your
Udynhip, the cook wants to have a bit of talk with you about dinner/'

" Joey/* said Craggs, " that won't do/*

" Teach your granny to suck eggs," said Joey. " How shuul
you know anything about it?"

*' Joey/' said Mrs. Sims, " I 'II go into the kitchen and see abou
it myself/'

*' You will excuse me, Mrs. Sims," said Craggs ; " the genteel tbin
is to have the cook up into the parlour, and give her your orders."

" Odds boddikin ! Mr. Craggs, mayn't a woman go into her oW
kitchen and see what 'a a-doing there?"

Cruggs twirled his thumbs, and cast his eyes to the ceiling,
much as to say, culch me ever doing a good-natured thing again.

*' I s4iy, CraggSy" said Sam, " when you have quite done twiilin,

THE LUCKY GROCER.

S[>

yuur tltuinU?, pt^rhaps you will come with me to tbe stable, and
shew me the saddle-horse that you bought tor me."

" What would you like to have for dinner, Sims? " vaid bis wife.

" A roa>t leg of mutton."

*' What do you say, Sara ? "

"A boiled leg of mutton, with turnips."

•' Well, well," said Mra. Sims, "wecanuJfbrd to have both; we'll have
roa.st le^ at top, and boiled at the bottom. What do you say, Sally ?'

" Tripe, marama."

** Vou shall have itj my dear, and any little pitty patties the cook
can think of."

Sam and the attorney now went out to examine the new horse.
Sam patted it, and admired it, and then took his friend aside, and
said, "There is one thing bothers me very much, 1 don't know
how to ride. Never had a ride but once in my life, that was when
I was hoisted on a boy's back at school to be flogged. Awkward,
ain't it? now I am grown a gentleman."

" 1 should strongly recommend you," said Craggs, " to take Tom,
the groom, into your confidence, and let him give you lessons."

While they were thus discoursing, the arrival of a visitor was an-
nounced, and Sam's prei^ence required in the drawing-room. The
visitor was Mr. Jonea, the secretary of the county hunt, who had
called to see whether any subscription was to be got out of the new
coiners, and to offer to father and son the privilege of l>ecoming a
member of the aforesaid hunt, which would entitle tliem to ride out
in a scarlet coat, with gulden fox galloping down its green cullur.
Old Sam considered the costume to be too fanciful for a man of his
time of life, but young Sam was greatly delighted at the proposi-
tion, and sent off Tom, the groom, express for the tailor, without
farther loss of time.

Soon after this the hunt-ball took place. Sammy appeared in the
evening costume of the county hunt; Mrs. Sims in a magniHcent
turban, with tremendous ostrich feathers, which had the effect of
frightening away many who might otherwise have made her ac*
quaintance ; Miss Sally was arrayed in brilliant, and not very judi-
dously contruste<l, colours ; while old Sims was modestly dressed in
■ new snuff.coloured coat."

'* What is the meaning of that, mamma ? " asked Sally, " Ab we
passed through the door, one young lady said to another,' Did you
ever?* and the other answered, * No, I never.' "

" It 's some genteel way of speaking, I suppose," said her mother;
•*wc ought to learn it. Ask Craggs about it."

On the whole, the lucky fimiily were grievously disappointed at not
receiving a more hearty welcome in this the country of their adoption.
One of the stewards, it is true, did find a very young gentleman
to dance with Sallv. and young Sammy danced with a IMiss (lorgon,
one of a family ol many sisters, who were possessed of small per-
»onal attractions, youth, or worldly endowments, who had danced
away pertinuciously for many a long year in search of a partner for
life, but danced in vain.

*• Well, Mrs. Sims, what do you think of this here genteel con-
■ani ' " asked old Sims, when liiey had got into their carriage. ** I
V we bhnll come to it in time."
m't come to

THE LUCKY OROCEB.

Meanwhile lime went on, and Sammy made great progress tn hb
education with Tom. He had learned which aide to get upoo^
horse, to turn in his toea, to walk the horse, to bob up and down la
hia trot, to canter, to gallop, to leap a small ditch, to hold on be-
hind instead of by the pommel of his saddle, and, loat of all, be hnl
ridden repeatedly over a leapinj^-bar, boiind with furze bashes
" Now, master," said Torn, '* I think we might venture to shew tht
red coat out with the hounds."

" Do you really think so, Tom. Oh Tom ! I have seen auch pi^
tures of five-barred gates, ox fences, and horses leaping over brook^
that it almost makes my blood run cold to look at them."

"Them 'li only pictures," said Tom.encouragingly. '* Most folks only
look at Uiem kind of fences, and then rides round and opens a gate*

" There 's another thing I want to learn, Tom. How do youcrj
< taUyko ! * " Tom gave him a specimen.

" And what sort of a thing is a * view hollar ? * "

When he had also given him a specimen of this, Samniy remark-
ed, that he thought he should do.

It was arranged that the next hunting day Tom was to rMe
Sammy's horse quietly on to cover, and inat Sammy was to arrive
there in the carriage, in his full hunting costume, accompanied by
his father, mother, and sister, who were anxious to see the start
Sam's turn-oat at the cover side was unexceptionable, and his gold
fox glistened in the sun. As he took the reins out of Tom's hand,
however, his courage altogether failed.

" What in the 'varsal world am I to do now, Tom ? Could not
you contrive to run a little with us on foot? "

" Do you see that elderly thin gentleman there, in a very staintd
coat, and a bay horse? just follow him, and you will be all right.'*

" He 's a ipoony looking chap, I think, with a werry sleepy horse."

" If you follow him, you will be all right," repeated Tom.

The fox was found, and hounds went away. Sammy stuck to
his friend the elderly thin gentleman, who led him first through one
gate, through a second, and then through a third, rather to the right
of tlie rest of the field. " I said the feUow was a spoon, and don't
know how to leap," thought Sam to himself. Next came a large
grass field, divided in the centre by a post and rail. " That chap's
blind," thought Sam ; '* he don't see the rail." The elderly gentle-
man's horee took in his stride, as a thing not worth noticing, and
over went Sammy's nag too, in spite of all his rider could do to re-
strain him. The horse alighted on his legs, but Sammy alighted
on his head. " There's one of the green collars spilt" said a far-
mer, who rode over the rail near him. Up jumped Sammy, none
the worse, and the air resounded with " Stop my horse ! stop my
horse ! Pray, sir, atop my horse ! " But the observation about the
green collar being apilt, was the only notice that anybody took of
him. Sam ran on till he was well blown. At length he saw in the
distance a man wiiii a smock frock holding his horse. Now, mount*
ed again, he I'aUowed the track of the horses. At length he came
within siglit of his fellow-sportsmen, now standing, now cantering
across half u field, and stopping again. Sam's blood was now up.
He passed them all in the full gallop, and rode right in among the
hounds, shouting " tallyho ! " and giving the " view hollow " in the
manner that Tom had instructed.

'* Hold hard ; hold hard," cried cverybo<ly.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

'^ I on ride without holding, you snobs," wss Sam's r^ly*

The master of the hounds now rode up to Sam, and treated him
to such a specimen of the English language as surprised him amaz-
ingly. In due course of time the fox was killed, and Sam had the
fortune to be in at the death. He saw some whispering, and people
looking at him. At length one of the green collars approached him,
— " I think, sir, this is the first time that you ever was out hunting K

" It is, sir," said Sam.

Instantly the inside of the fox was rubbed on his face.

Sam swore, and kicked, and rushed after the offending green
collar with his hunting whip, but the rest of the sportsmen threw
themselves between tnem, saying, "It's all fair; everybody is
blooded to the fox the first time he comes out hunting. We were
all blooded ourselves."

Sam rode home, pondering to himself the peculiar language used
by masters of hounds, and the singular manner that fox-hunters
have of welcoming a new member of their fraternity. When he
got home, he threw himself in an arm-chair, saying, *' Mother, tins
genteel society is a werry rum thing. Genteel people swear a goo<l
deal more than they do about Barbican, only they uses rather diffe-
rent words." After a pause, he added," I wonder, mother, whether
it would be werry difficult to learn. They have some very nasty
tricks among them too." But he made no farther allusion to the
initiatory process.

After tea, Uiat evening, a sort of cabinet council was held, which
tAd Sims opened in the following set speech : —

" I am a gentleman, I knows wery well that it '» not on account of

my family or of my edication. It 's all along of my money, that '»

what it is. Now I'm thinking, if we were to give these genteel

folks a regular good feed, in the money-no-objcet fashion, these

fellers would treat us with more respect and attention, particular

when tliey seed that them as weren't civil would not get no feed.

ybll advertize the bill of fare as is to be, in the county paper, a

^■nigbt before the time, same as the Lord Mayor advertizes his W

^^Mwyer Craggs shook his head.

"Well, Mr. Craggs, if it ain't the genteel thing to put it in the
pAper, Sam can drop hints out hunting about turtle, and venison,
and champagne, and peacocks, and guinea fowls, and salmon, and all
that sort of thing/*

" 1 'm ajraid that vour scheme wont succeed," said Mrs. Sims,
■ Wljen folks hears of the dainties, they '11 all be wanting to come,

gtre shall make more enemies by those we leave out, than wc
caake &iends, by feeding those that we ax."
d Sims, however, overruled this objection by observing, "then
I only have to give them another tuck out."
The landlord of the "Cock and Bottle" was written to to tend
liloivn A London cook.

Craggs undertook to provide all the delicacies, which he knew
liow to provide cheaper and better than anybody else.

I^etters of invitation were sent to the aristocracy of the county,
ifod in due time the answers came in. " Lord Woodland presents
l^l^oopLimentSj and regrets that a previous engagement must pre-
^^bliis having the honour of waiting," &c.

u C21_ U.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

** Dare^y tliey Jine together/' said Sam.

" Mr. and Mrs. Iluuard are both indisposed. Just the influenza/'
aaid Sally.

*'HcTe*B a rum 'un. What's the meaning of thia: ••Captain
Pratt baa not the honour of Mr. Sims' acquaintance."

** What a silly man," said Mrs. Sima, we do not want to know
about hisac(]uaintiince,but whether he will help us to eat our dinner
or not. Acquaintance is easy enough made."

"The letter signifies/' said Craggs, with a legal air, ** that Captain
Pratt won't come."

" Here 's another letter. I suppose that it is another * can 't come/
No. ' Mrs. Gorgon, Miss Gorgon, and Miss Julia Gorgon, will hate
the honour of waiting upon Mr. and IMrs. Sims to dinner/ "

Mrs. Sims then threw herself back in her chair, convulsed with
laughter. "Waiting upon us! ha! ha! Wailing^ ha! wait, ha!
ha ! why, we wanted her lo eat.'*

Croggs had great difficulty in explaining to the grocer's family
that Mrt). Gorgon had only adopted the usual form of accepting an
invitation.

" My ! what a queer thing genteel society is surely."
"What's to be done now, missis?" said old Sims to his wife;
" we've nobody coming but that she dragon ; we want a whole lot
of people to eat buch n dinner as I have ordered. We must have
some of our iJarbican folks down by the rail, that's what it is."

" There's Uutcher Swiggins ; he'd eat enough for two, and a tole-
rable genteel -looking man besides, and Drown and Tomkins both
genteel-looking people."

" I should like to ask some of my young friends/' said Sammy;
" just Jack Tippens and Blue Benjamin."

" They'll do nicely," said Mrs. Sims. " We'll just think of one or
two more ; they can come down by the rail in time for dinner, and
those that are obliged to be in shop in the morning may go back
by tlie mail train/'

** Madam/' said Craggs, respectfully, " I am afraid — but I really
don't think that all the friends you have mentioned have got a sin-
gle pair of silk stockings among them.'*

" Body of me I" said Mr. Sims, " and is it absolutely impossible
to eat a dinner without ailk stockingti/'

*' In genteel society, absolutely impossible."

** Hung me, mother !" said Sammy, " if I do not think that there
is nearly as much sour as sweet in this genteel society/'

*' Stockings or no stockings," said old Sims, " I will ax my par^.**
And what is more, the party all arrived ; and a very nice set Mr*.
Gorgon, Miss Gorgon, and iMi^s Julia Gorgon found u]ion their
arrival. Well, dinner parsed off very joyously with the majority of
the guests, many of whom when asked to drink wine, preferred gin.
Old Sims and a steady old friend of his, Joe Brown, followed soon
al\cr the ladies into the drawing-room. This, however, was only a
signal for the others to proceed to business. Gin and punch was
generally preferred to wine. Sam produced a box of cigars, with
pipes for thotte that preferre<l them. They had promised old Sims
not to sit long, and they kept their word : but, making the best of
tJu'ir lime, thoy contrived to make themselves royally drunk before
tbey got into the drawing-room, where Mrs. and the Misaes Uurgon
>*«ro very much astonished at the broadness of the jukes thai were

THE LUCKY GROCER.

sported by Sims's metropolitan friends. As soon sm their carriage
was aiiMuuncetl, Mrs. Gorgon rose to depart.

Swi/^gins, Sam, and Blue Benjamin insisted on helping them on
with their shawls ; and, according to the custom of Barbican and
Long Lane, each embraced his lady, and gave her a spanking kiss.
iVIiss Julia g.ive a screech as if the world was coming to an end.
ISliss Gorgon clawed a piece out of her admirer's cheek, while the
old lady hallooed out murder.

*' There "s a spree for you, old six-and-eightpenny !" said Sammy,
clapping Craggs on the bag.

Mrs. Sims expressed to Craggs a fear that they had, in some par*
ticular, transgressed the customary usages of genteel society.

Craggs said it was nothing; — folks were always opt to be a little
merry after a good dinner. Not so, however, Blra. Gorgon, who
went open-mouthed through the county, complaining uf the com-
pany that she was asked to meet at Primrose Hall, and the horrid
and indelicate treatment that she had met with.

The Simses were in consequence cut by their tieighbours, and
tliey saw no visitors but those that came down from Barbican or
Long Lane. Meanwhile Old Sims was buying shares in one railway,
and selling them in another, according to the direction of Craggs,
who told him that he would double his fortune in a few months'
time.

At length came the railway crash, — down went shares to nothing.
Old Sims was ruined. He wrote to Craggs for an explanation.
Craggs in reply sent in his own bill for fifteen hundred pound. All
the time he had spent with the Simses he had charged at the highest
rate of professional attendance. The ma^k was of no further use to
him, so he threw it down.

Sims then went to another attorneVf whose character for integrity
stood high, and begged him to look mto his accounts.

" I fear you 're ruined," said Mr. Vellum, after he had gone
through the paper.

'* And pray, jVIr. Vellum, what do people generally do in my cir-
cumstances?"

" They go abroad, sir, — universally go abroad, — generally to
Boulogne, — indeed, always go to Boulogne; — very agreeable place,
I hear — provisional directors club there» for which you are qualified
— very agreeable — view of the sea — billiard-room, and all that sort
of thing. Everything is very genteel there."

" I hate and detest all genteel things," said Sims.

Vellum at length wound up the accounts, and found a small resi-
due. Sims had enough left to yield him sixty pounds a year when
invested in the futids, besides two hundred pounds to stuck his shop
with again. Everything he had was sold, exce])t one bottle of
champagne that he took with him to town. His shop had been let
for a year. When the lease was at an end, Sims purchased the
stock of his tenant, and the next day appeared behind the counter;
and everything appeared the same as if he had never left it.

When dinner-time came, he opened his bottle of champagne, and
alt his family drank success to the old shop. When the bottle was
empty, he pitched it through his back window, and laughed joyously
as he heard it crash upon the pavement.

•' There's the last of our genteel life, and I'm glad of it."

" Amen, " ^Nuid his family.

FETES AT MADRID.*

TH8 U0NTPBN81SR MARBIAOS.

We have been leadint; such a iife of

and

gaiety and excitement^
drid, that I fiud I have actually allowed forty-ei^ht bours to pw
without writing to you, and telling you as usual all that has happM
here. These forty-eiglit hours have passed like a perpetual mirop,
I can scarcely say that I have seen, yet I believe that I hare se«o/^a,
illuminations, bull-Hghts and ballets, and a host of other extraordimrr
things, all succeeding each other with as much rapidity as the soeoa
of a theatre, which are changed at the whistle of the sceii»-sliifta-
When you last heard of us. we were pushing our way along one 4
those gloomy corridors of that modern tower of Babel cmlleH a circnt
At the end of this curridor a light burst upon us so suddenly that fori
moment ive drew back quite dazzled; those who have never lived uxiiirr
the burning skies of Spain cannot imagine how intenKely brilliant the
light of the sun is here, nor can those who have never heard tlie tumuli
or a circus, form any conception of the uproar and disturbaiice whici
reign there. Picture to yourself an amphitheatre in the style of t^
hippodrome, but capable of containing twenty thousand persona, iuKtafl
of fifteen thousancl, who are all disposed upon benches one above u*
other, fur which different prices ore asked as they are more or less sfatt
lered from the sun.

Spectators wlio take what are called sun-tickets, are exposed to its fall
heat during the whole time the bull-fight lasts. Those who can alfcid
to purchase sun and shade tickets, have such a position given theni,fl
that by the daily movement of the earth they must be sheltered psrtdf
the time frum the burning rays of the sun. I'he shade-tickets are of
course those which ore generally sought after, for they ensure complete

frotecliun from the heat from the beginning to the end of the spectade.
need scarcely say that we took care to secure the last description of
tickets. It would Eumost be impossible for you to imagine the extraordin-
ary sensation which we experienced on entering this glittering circus, our
firdt impulse was to start back a step or two, so completely dazzled and
bewildered did we find ourselves; never had we seen so many parosolst
fans, and pocket-handkerchiefs in agitation at the same moment, never
had we heard the hum of so many voices ; the scene presented to us wai
certainly one of the most curious we hud ever witnessed. I will en-
deavour to give you some idea of the appearance of the arena at the
trecise instant we arrived. We were exactly opposite the ioril; %
oy belonging to the circus, decorated from head to foot with ribbons*
had just received from the hands of the alguuzil the key of this dooTj
which he was preparing to open. The piccadops already seated in
their Arabian saddles, with their lances couched, had placed themselvti
on the left of the bull, which seemed eager to rush out; the rest of the
quadrille, that is to say, the chulos, the bunderilleros, and the torero
stood on the right hand side, dis]>er8ed about the arena like pawns upon
a cliesa board. First I must explain to you what the office of the picco-
dor is, next that of the chuio, the banderillero, and the torero, and.
as for as possible, I will bring before your eyes the theatre up<)n which
they were going to perform their different porta. The piccador, wb

* from the Freuch uf Alcxiuidcr Dumas.

FfiXES AT MADRID.

according to mv idea, runs the greatest risk of any of the combatants,
IS mounted on horselmck, bearing his lance in his hand ready to receive
the bull's attack. This hmce is not a regular weapon of war, but
merely a sort of spur, the steel point at the end being of only sufficient
length to enter the depth of the animal's skin ; its use ia to increase
the bull's fury> in order to expose the piccador to a more 6erce attack on
account of the agony which the unimal endures. The piccador runs a
double dauf^er, the chance of being crushed by hiti horfle> or gored by
the bull. His lance ia his only offensive weapon, and by way of defence,
he wears leggings of steel, mounting nearly to the thigh, covered with
pantaloons of skin. The olHce of the chulo ia to draw otf the animal's at-
tention to himself whenever it is on the point of exhausting its fury upon
a fallen hnrse, or upon an unhorsed piccador. The bandenllero takes
care that the rage of tlie bull does not cool, it is his business, when he
perceives that the animal is about to shrink from further exertion, worn
out by the torment it endure^i, to drive the banderillas into its shoulders.
The banderillas are formed of little rings through which are drawn
paper of different colours, cut out in the same form as that which adorns
a boy's kite; these rings are driven into the flesh by means of a piece of
iron resembling a fish-hook. But the torero is the principal actor in
the 6cene> to him the circus belongs he is the general who directs the
combat, the rest instinctively obey his least gesture, even the bull is
Huhjeci:ed to his power; the torero can lead him where he desires, and
when the moment arrives for the lost struggle between himself and
the bull, it is upon the spot that he has chosen, reserving to himself
all the advantages of sun or shade, that the exhausted animal receives
the death-blow from the fatal spada, and expires at his feet. If the
fair mistress uf the torero be in the circus, it is always in that
part of the arena nearest to his lady-love, that the bull receives his
death-blow. There is to every combat two or three more piccadors
than are required to take part in the conflict, in case the piccadors are
woundedir there are as many banderilleros, and as many chulos. The
number of toreros Is not fixed ; in this bull-fight there were thrce^
Cuchares, Lucas Blanco, and 8alanmnchinn. Piccadors, chulos, ban-
derilleros, and toreros were ntl richly attired, they wore short jackets
of blue, green, or rose-colour, embroioered with goild and silver, waist-
coats similarly embroidered of the most brilliant colours, but still blend-
ing harmoniously with the rest of their dress, their small-clothes were
knitted, and they wore silk stockings and satin shoes; a girdle of the
brightest hue, and a little laced black hat completed their elegant cos-
tume.

From the actors let us turn oar attention to the theatre. Bound the
arena, which is as magnificent as a circus in the time of Titus or Vespa-
sian, is a partition of thick boards six feet high, forming a circle in which
are enclosed ntl the persons I have been describing, from the piccador to
the torero. This partition, called the olivo, is painted red in the upper
part and black in the lower. These two divisions are of unequal height,
and separated by a plank painted white, which forms a projecting edge,
and serves as a stirrup to the chulos, banderilleros, and toreros, when
pursued by the bull, on this they place their foot, and by the aid of
their hands they are able to spring over the barrier. This is culled
tmrtar el olivo, that is " to take the olive." It ia very seldom that
the torero has recourse to this shelter, he may turn away from the bull,
but he would cou&ider it a disgrace to fly from him. On the other side

rfeTES AT MADRID.

of this first partition is a second barrier, this pertition And this barrier
form a passage; into this passage the chulivs and hnnderilleros jiimji
when pursued by the bull ; here the algunzil holds in readine5u3 the
three piccadors and the cachetern , here too are amateurs who have
a free entrance. I have not yet told you wliat the business of the
ciichetero is in the combftl, he has the cowardly part of the work to
perform, his office may almost be considered degrading. When tlie
bull is beaten down by the spada of the torero, but still has life enough
left to toss up his foaming and bloody head, the cacbetero leaps oFer
the barrier, and steals slyly like the cat or the wolf till he reaches the
fallen animal, and then traitorouslv passing behind him gives him the
finishing stroke. This is done with a stiletto in the form of a heart,
which generally separates the second vertebra of the neck from the
third, and the bull falls as if struck by a thunderbolt. Having accom-
plished this, the cachetero creeps back to the barrier with the same
steidthy step as before, springs over it, and disappears. This first har-
rier, over which as I have before mentioned, the chulos, the banderille-
ro8| and the cachetero climb, is nut always a phice of safety, bulls have
been known to leap it with ns much case as our race horses spring over
B hedge. An engraxnng of Goya represents the alcalde of Terrassona,
miserably gored and trodden under foot by a bull who had sprung over
the barrier after him. I have seen a bull leap three successive lime*
from the arena into the passage. The chulos and the banderillcros
jump with as much ease from the passage into the arena as they had
previously done from the arena into the passage; the boy belonging to
the Circus opens a door for the bull to pass through, who become*
funous on beholding the little space left to him, and darts back into
the lists where his enemies await him. Sometimes the arena is divided
jjito two parts, this is always the case when it is very large. Upon
0tie occasion, at the Place IVIayor, wliere two combats take place
0t the same lime, two bulls sprang togetlier from the lists into ll
pO-ssage, the consequence was, that they literally tore each other
pieces. The outer partition has four doors situated at the four cordini
fYoints, through two of these doors the live bulls enter the arena, an
^)ie dead bulls are carried out. Behind tlie second barrier rises th<
pTttphitheatre filled with benches, which are thronged with spectatoi
»jlie music stand is immediately above the toril, the place in which tl
\ya\\s are shut up. The bulls intended for the combat are genera]||
tftken from the most solitary pastures, brought during the night to Ma-
drid, and conveyed to the turil .where each has its separate stall. To rei
der the bull additionally fierce, no food is given it during the ten
twelve hours that it is shut up in its prison, and just before they let
out into the arena, in order to make it quite mad with rage, they dri'
o bunch of ribbons into its left shoulder by means of n sort of fish-hool
which I have already described; the colours of the ribbon are generall]
those of its owner. To obtain this bunch of ribbon is the height
the chulos' and piccadors' ambition, it is considered the most chamiii
offering they can possibly make their fair mistress.

I have endeavoured to bring the scene before vou, and I sliall pi
ceed to give you a description of the bull-fight- We were exactly o]
mwite the toril, as I before mentioned, on our right was the queen'
box, and on our left the ayuntamiento, somebody answering to oi»
oinyor and the orticers of the municipality. We looked on the arena '
agony of susi^ense, our faces were as white as » sheet, and our;

pfeTKS AT MADRTP.

llmost started out of our heads with fright. Rocca de Togorea sat on
my left side, tliat elegant poet of whom I spoke to yon, nnd on mv
right side were Alexandre, Maquetf and Boulangpr Crirand. and Dcs-
baroUea stood on the second I)ench, dressed in an Andaluiiian costume.
They bad seen ten bull-fights before, und looked u\wn us with that air
of Mvereign contempt with which the old grumblers of the empire
Ic^rded the conscripts.

The boy opened the door of the toril, and drew back liehind it ;
the bull made its appeamncei advanced a few Rteps* then stopped
niddenly, dazzled by the light and bewildered by the noine. It
Iras a black bull Itearing tlie colours of 0;i»una, and of V'eragnn
(the Duke de Ventgna is the last descendant uf Christopher Co-
uimbus), his mouth wax white with foam, und bis eyes seemed posi-
kireiv to flash lightning. I honestly confess to you, that my heart beat
as if I was going to take part in a dnel. "Look, look," said Rocca,
"he is a Capital bull." Scarcely had Rocca pronounced his opinion
when the bull, as if anxious to confirm it, sprang upon the first piccndor.
Vainly did the piccador try to arrest his progress with the lance, the
bull threw himself upon the steel point, and attacking the horse in
bis chest, drove his horns into the poor animul's heart, and lifted it
entire!/ from the ground, so that its four feet were kicking in the air.
rhe piccador knew that his horse was lost, in an instant he grappled
in'th the edge of the barrier, and, extricating himself from his stirrups,
dimbed over it just as his horse fell on the other side. The horse tried
te> raise itself, but the blood flowed through two wounds in its chest ns
ttirough a waterspout; he struggled n moment and then fell, and the
kxU rented his rage upon him, wounding him in a dozen other places.

tBraro," cried Hocca; " he is a firstrate bull, and the combat will be
glorious one." I turned towards my companions: Bouhinger had
konie this spectacle pretty well, but Alexandre was as pale ns death, and
tfaquet wiped the damp from his forehead. The second picc:idor, per-
tei%-ing that the bull was exhausting his fury upon the horse in its lost
igony, left the harrier, and came up to him. Though his horse had its
ryes bandaged, it reared up ns if it felt instinctively that its master was
leading it to certain death.

When the bull beheld bis new antagonist, he rushed upon him,
lad what happened was the work of an instant, the horse was
thrown backwurdft, and fell with all its weight upon tltc breast of
U rider, we could almost declare that we heard his bones crack.
Ka universal huzza burst forth, twenty thousand voices shouted at
%t same lime, " Bravo, toro! bravo, toro!" Rocca joined with the
Rest, and upon my word I could not help following his example.
'Bravo, bravo!" cried I; and certainly at that moment the animal
hiked magnificent, the whole of its body was jet black, and the blood
f hi two adversaries streamed over its head, upon its shoulders, like n
MTiBg pur])le head-dress. "Humph !" said Rocca, "did I not tell
m that he was a capital bull? c'esi w« laurenu colUint" Un ttiurean
tUami IS one that after having overthrown his victim turns again and
nts his fury upon him. This bull not only fell upon the horse, hut
voured to drag the piccador from underneath it. Cuchares, who
the torero of this conflict made a sign to the chulos and banderille-
ftnd tliey immediately surrounded the bull. In the middle of this
vra* Lucas Blanco, another torero whom I have already named, a
c yoQDg man about four or five and twenty, who has only been

AT MADRID.

rean.

:htlT ft

For m mamcBt ha enth\

ftlmost carried

torero the Issttwo

bim awftTf he Uigntlj ftrgot Us dignitr and mixed with the chulos.
By waring their cloakt before the bull, tLe chaloa aft length succeeded
in drawing it away frooi the piocador mod tlie kane; it lifted up its
head, stared at this freah paity of eneiniaa, aad ai the gandy cloaks
which iher waved, and then sprang opoa Loess Blanco, who waa
nearest to it. Locas contented him^lf with making a alight piroveUf
on hia heeU ^itfa the most perfect grace, and the ntmoet compo-
mn, and the boll passed hy him. The chaloa, pursaed hf it, mabed
towards the barrier, the last must actually bare felt the aniDnal's
breath scorching his akonlders, they seemed really tn By oy&[ the bar-
rier, for their flowing green, blue, and roae-coloared mantles made
them look like birds with their wings spread. The bull drove bis
horns into the barrier, and completely nailed the last chulo's cloak to
it, who, on springing over to the other side, threw his mantle over the
bull's head. The animal managed to extricate his horns from the
planks, but be could not succeed in disembarrassing himself of the
cloak, which in a few seconds became stained with large purple spots
from the bluod which Bowed over his shoulders; he stamped impatient-
ly on the edge of the cloak, but the centre was pinned by his horns to
his head. One moment be turned furiously upon himself, and the
next he bad rent the mantle into a thousand pieces, one shred of it
alone remained fixed to his right horn like a streamer. As soon as he
had disengaged himself and could see, he embraced with a sullen and
rapid glance the whole arena. The beads of the fugitive chulns and
banderilleros now began to make their appearance above the barrier,
they were preparing to leap again into the circus as soon us the bull
should have withdrawn himself to some distance. Lucas Blanco
Cucbares stood in the same pan of the arena calmly gazing at each
other ; while three men were removing the wounded piccador from
underneath the horse, and trying to place him on his feet, he sta^ered
on his leg9, which were encumbered with steel, he was as pale as ocathi
and the blood oozed from bis lips. Of the two horses, one was quite
dead, the other still lived, but bv his violent plunging he was evidently
in his last agony. The third piccadur, the only one of them who *
kept his position, sat motionless on his horse like a bronze stath
After wavering an instant, the bull seemed to furm a sudden resolu-
tion ; his eye rested upon the group which was carrying off the wound
piccador; he scratched up the band impatiently and spurted it
such height that it reached the benches of the amphitheatre; th
lowering his nose to the level of the furrow which lie had just made i
the sand, he tossed up his head, bellowed loudly mid darted upon t'
group. The three men who were supporting the wounded piccad
abandoned him, and ran towards the barrier. Tht> piccador, thong
nearly fainting, w&a still conscious of his danger, he moved forward t
steps, struck his hands wildly in the air, and then fell in trying
make another step. The bull rushed towards him, but in its way
met with an obstacle.

Tiie last piccador had by this time left his position, and attemp
to throw himself between his wounded companion and the furioi
animal, but the bull bent his lance like a reed, and only gave him
blow with his horns in passing. The horse, however, which was se
ously wounded, nuddcnly wheeled round and started off with his m
tcr to the further end of the arena. Now, the hull appeared to h

"icri

buU J
anilA
iach T

F&TES AT MADRID.

tate between the liorjie. which was yet alive, and the pircoHor whti
leemed dead. Ho fell upon the horse, and having trodden him under
f*»ol, and wounded him desperately in several places, left the streamer
which had decorated hia horn, in one of the wounds, and darted upon
the wounded man. whom Lucas Blanco was endcuvourinf? to support
upon one knee. The circus mn^ with applause ; the cries of " Bravo,
loro !" seemed as if they would never cease. The bull sprang upon
Lucas Blanco and the piccadur; Lucas step[>ed atiide, and spread his
mantle between the wounded man and the bull; the bull was de-
ceived, and darted upon the waring cluak. iMeanwhile the chulox and
binderilleros had leaped into the arena, and the valets of the circus
had come to the assistance of the wounded piccador, who, supported by
them, managed to reach the barrier. The whole party now surround-
ed the bull with their Hoatin*; mantles, but the bull gazed only upon
Lucas Blanco ; it was plainly a strufsgle between this man and the furi-
ous animal, and no other attack wuuld draw off its attention.

" Back, Lucas t back 1" shouted all the chulos and banderilleros at
the «ime moment; "back! back, Lucas!" cried Cuchares- Luca«
gazed scornfully at the bull, which was tearing onwards towards him
with its head lowered ; he placiMi his foot with the most perfect
ease between the two horns, and jumped over its head. The circus
flctuaJ/y shook with applause; the spectators did not shmit, they
roared f.rth their apprubation. " Bravo, Lucas !" cried twenty thou-
luid voices; '* Viva, Lucas I viva! viva!" the men threw their hota
■nd petacas into the arena, while the women showered bouquets and
Cans upon him. Lucas bowed and smiled, as if he were playing with
s kid. But these tumuliuoiis shouts did not turn the bull from the
object of hi» vengeance; he kept his eye stedfastly fixed upon Lucoh,
snd none of the streaming mantles could make nim forget the pale
blue cloak, against which he had before vainly struck. He darted
again upon Lucas, but this time he ctdculated his spring that he might
Dut fail to reach him ; Lucas avoided him by a dexterous bound, but
the animal was only four paces from him, and he turned upon Lucas
without giving him a moment s pause. Lucas threw his cloak over its
bead, and began stepping backwards towards the barrier. The bull's
viiion was obscured for an instant, and his adversary gained a few
MepA in advance ; but the cloak was soon torn to ribbons, and the bull
darted once more upon his enemy. It was now a question of agility;
Would Lucas reach the barrier before the bull, or would the bull guin
»pon Lucas before he could climb the barrier ? As ill-luck would have
it, LocaK stepped ujion a bouquet of flowers and fell : a piercing scream
»*i uttered by all the spectators, and then profound silence succeeded.
Acluud seemed to pass before my eyes, but amidst itj I saw a man
n tifteen feet high ; and, the most curious circumstance was, that
ite of the extreme agitation which I felt, I remembt?r perfectly the
t detaiU of fwor Lucas's dress ; his little blue jacket, embroi-
witb silver, his rose-cohmred waistcoat with cbaced buttons, and
hit* slashed small clothes. He fell flat upon the ground ; the

II awaited him. but another adversary also awaited the bull. The

iccador mounted upon a fresh horse reentered the arena, and

the animal at tne very moment he was about to gore Lucas

bis horns. The bull felt himself wounded, and lifted up his

if he was sure of finding Lucas were he left him, and thus

upon the piccador. Scarcely had be released Lucas, before

roL. xxrii. R

rt'TES AT MADRID.

Lucas raised himself upon liis feet and smiled, as he gracefolly bo«M
to the public. By a perfect miracle the horns had not touched hk
body, it was only the fore part of the nnimal's head which bad tooedl
him into the air, and by a second miracle, too, he fell to the grooDd
without meeting with the slightest injury. Shouts of joy now bunt
from the spcctdtors, nnd everybody seemed able to breathe again.

At this moment a general disturbance arose, the trumpets sounded;
announcing some new and unforeseen event. This was the arrital
of the queen-mother, that beautiful and elegant woman whom yim
have seen in Paris. She really looks like the eldest sister of hvt
daughter ; and appears to take as much pleasure in llie faull-fif^hu
as a simple marquise. On this occasion she had contrived to steal
awuy from the fetes of the day, that she might pass an hour in thn
agitating scene, which we found so infatuating. Scarcely had iLe
trumpets announced her arrival— scarcely had she made her appear*
ance in the penumbra of her box, when, as if by magic, the whole i
drama in the circus was suspended. The quadrille left the piccador,
the horse, and the bull, to get out of the affair as best they could, and
drew themselves up In procession opposite to the toril. Cuchttur^.
Salamanchino, aud Lucas Blanco, wulked 6rst; and behind them casv
the three piccadors. The wounded piccador whom we had tbou^t
dead, had mounted a fresh horse, and, but for his extreme pallor,
we should uut have imagined anything hud happened to him. Tbc
piccador who was attacked by the bull, succeeded in throwing him
off, and resumed his proper position in the arena. Behind tbr
piccadors came the four chulos ; behind the chulos, the banderilleroc,
and lust of all cnme the valets of the circus ; the cachetero alone djd
not form part of the cortege. The bull liad retired to a comer of the
arena near the ayuntamiento, and was gazing on the proco^on witfa^H
bewildered stare ; the persons forming the procession seemed to «c<fl
py themselves us little about the bull as if he had never existt^
They walked slowly forwards in time to the music, till they came in
front of the queen's hox, and then they gracefully bent iheir knee.
The queen allowed them to remain sometime in this position, by way
of shewing that she accepted their homage, and then made a si^al fa
them to rise; they did stt immediately, bowing profoundly as tber
moved away. At a second signal the procession was broken up, ana
each returned to take his projter part in the combat. The piccadart
bent their lances, the chulos waved their mantles, and the baiideril-
leros ran to prepare their handerillas. Meanwhile the bull, in order
to lose no time, I suppose, employed himself in wounding a poor
horse, which we had believed dead, but had diT^covered to be alive;
he hud lifted the poor animal from the ground with his burns, and wa4
walking af>out with him on his neck. By a last struggle the horM
erected his head, and sent forth a deep groan. But when the bull saw
his enemies return to the attack, he shook off the horse us he would
have done a plume of feathers; the horse fell ; but, in n spring of
agony, raised himself on his four feet, and staggered forwards toward^
the toril to fall once agoin; the bull fixed his eye stedfastly on him M
he moved away. V

The bull had already killed three horses, and wounded two, so the
alguiail made a sign to the piccadors to withdraw themselves ; thej
moved to the extremity of the circus, opposite the toril, all three
them leaned against the olivo with their faces turned towards tl

F^TES AT MADRID.

!SI

llie arcnn. The cliulos played uith tlieir cloaks, the hull

move about aguin, and the comhat went on witli as much

tfore. Three or fuur times the bull iiursued his adver&iirieA

le barrier, chuK affording us the graceful spectacle of the light

;s of these men, who appeared actually to float along with

ing mantles. A hauderillero soon entered the arena with a

in each hand ; his three companions followed him armed

he was. To drire the banderillas into the bull's shoulders is

an agreeable office ; they must he planted precisely at

moment, and the more straightly they can be placed, the

ir is the business accomplished. The chulos directed the

ran the bnnderillero, who drove the two darts into his shoulders;

Teb^mnd of each of the darts a Hight of five or six little birds,

B. linnets, and canaries, started above the arena; these un-

litlle creatures were so completely bewildered by the shocks

be immediately able to fly. and they fell quite flat upon the

circus ; Ave or six persons leaped in consequence from tlie

to pick them up. at the imminent risk of being gored to death

bull. But he was evidently beginning to lose bis head ; he

have abandoned that desperate plan of attack whicli renders

so formidable: he darted from one chulo to another, giving

hjs horns to all, but allowing himself to be drawn from one

another. A second banderillero made his appearance; the

e suddenly calm nn perceiving him, but this cdm was only

his more certain vengeance ; he recognised in this man's

be instruments of torture which be bore in his shoulders, fur

OB upon him without allowing any obstacle to oppose him.

KTillero awaited his attack with the banderillas, hut he could

one of these in the bull's shoulder; and the next moment a

Bam was heard ; the roee-coloured sleeve of the bunderillero

tly stained witli purple, and his hand was covered witli

ich streamed through his Angers ; the horn had completely

e upper part of his arm. He reached the barrier by himself,

■ould not accept any support; but when he attempted to

r it be fainted away ; and wc saw him lifted into the pas-

his head drooping, and in a state of unconsciousness. One

done enough mischief, so the trumpet sounded for the death.

the combatants withdrew, fur the lists now belonged tu the

Cudiarea, who was the torero in this combat, came forward ;

ed to be between thirty*six and forty years of age ; he was of

teigbt, thin, with a shrivelled skin and tawny complexion. If

neof the mutit skilful toreros, fur 1 believe theSpumurds prefer

ad Chiclanero to him, he is certainly one of the most daring

geons ; lie performs all sorts of audacious tricks directly in

he bull, which proves that he has a thorough knowledge of

il's nature. One day, when he was contesting with Montes,

nrried otf the largest share of the public applause, he did

exactly how to gain a portion of the bravos which were so

y bestowed upon his rival ; so he knelt down before the in-

)ull. The bull gazed at him a few seconds in astonishment,

as if intimidated by such an act of boldness, abandoned him

led a chulo.

ru to the combat which I am describing; Cuchares came

sword in bis left band, which was concealed

FfcTES AT MADRID,

by the muleta, a piece of red cloth set on a little stick, which senvt
as a shield to the torero ; he walked across the circus till he came it
front of the queen's 1k>x, when he bent one knee to the p'ound, «fi4
taking off his hat, asked permiiiiiion of its august occupant to kill tU
bull. Permission was immediately granted him, by a sign aod t
gracious smile. On retiring he threw his hat away from faim, with t
certain gesture of pride, which belongs only to a man who knows he it
ubout to struggle with death, and then prepared to meet the bu
The quadrille was now entirely at his Uispottul ; it surrounded hii^
awaiting his orders; from this time forth nothing is done without ''
torero's leare. He has chusen the part of the arena upon which
desires the conflict to take place, the exuct spot upon which be intcodi
to give the death blow ; thebuhiness of the whole purty, therefore, 'm»
attract the buH towards this point of the circus. The spot chosen m
this occasion was just underneath the queen's box, but the chuloawen
determined to display a little coquetry in directing the bull thither,
for tliey naturally wished to have their triumph. They cau*ed the
animal to make a complete circuit, obliging him to puss in front of thf
ayantiinitento, by the toril, and from thence to the spot where Cu-
chares n^vaited him, with sword in one hand, and niuleta in the otb^.
In passing the horse which he had lifted on his head, the bull gave
him two or three more blows with his horns. When Cuchares «a*
the bull nearly opposite to him, he made a sign, and everrbodf
moved away; the man and the animal were now face to fac^
Cucharea had only u long thin sword, and the animal possessed ter-
riHc Iiorns, enormous power, and his movements were more rupiJ
than those of the swiftest horse; the man appeared nothing by iIm
side of thiM tremendous monster; but the light of intelligence sboM
forth in the man's eyes, while the sole expre?tsion in the bull's look
WHS the wild ghire of ferocity* It was clear, however, that »il
the advantage was on the man's side, and that in this seeminglf
unequal conllict, the strong would be cimipelled to yield, and the weak
would be the conqueror. Cuchiires waved bis muleta before the bniri
eyes; the hull darted upon him, but he turned on his heel and re-
ceived only a slight graze from one of the horns; but the stroke
maf>nllicently given, and the wliole circus rang with applause. T
shouts seemed only to increase the bull's fury, for he sprang agsiQ
upon Cuchures, who this time met him with bis sword. The shock
was frightful, the sword bent Hke a hoop, and flew into the air, the
point had touched the shoulder bone, but, in rebounding, caused the
hilt to quit the torero's hand. The spectators would have hooted Cu-
chares, hut by a dexterous volt he escaped the atinck of his enemy.
The rhiiloN now advanced and endeavoured to distract the bull's atten-
tion ; but Cuchares, disarmed as he was, made a signal to them to
remain in their place, fur he still had his muleta.

Now foUuwed the most astonishing proofs of this man's profbnn
knowledge «f the animal, so essential to liim in a conflict which las
full five minutes, during which time his sole weapon was his in
Jetn. He drove the bull wherever he desired, bewildering him
completely us almost to make him lose his instinct. Twenty times tbB
hull sprang upon him. darting from the right aide to the Ml; he
gruxed him re|>eutedly with his horn, but never really tvounded him.
At length Cuchures picked up his sword, wiped it com{M)sedly, and
presented it, amidst the deafening applause of the spectators : thtt

en-

thai

FETES AT MADRID.

f tuU lengUi of the blade was buned between the buH'ti sboul-

e quivered with agony, luid \vii6 cuinpletety loiited to the spot:

^y clear that the cold ui the steel had struck into hia heart, if

1 itself, — the hilt uf the sword alune could l»e seen above the

ithe neck ; Cuchares did not occupy hiniself any longer with

but proceeded to offer his homnge to the queen. The hull

~1y wounded ; he gazed around him, when his eye lighted

upun the dead horse, and with a Irot rendered heavy by the

endured, he moved towards it. When the bull reached the dead

:he horse, he fell upon his two knees by the aide of it, uttered a

w, lowered liis hinder quarters as he had previously bent his

laid himself down. The cachetero leaped from the passage,

y up to the bull, drew forth his stiletto, and, when he bad

faia aim, gave the final stroke. Lightning could nut have

ore instantaneous effect ; the head dropped without a strug-

e animal expired withuut u single groan.

of music announced the death ; a door opened, and four

(rawing a sort of truck entered the arena. The mules weru

bidden by their trappingn ; these were covered with brilliant

'ribbon and tinkling belis : the dead horses were fasteneii to

jhj one after the other, and borne away with the lupidity of

K Next came the bull's turn, and he soon disappeared like

ftbruugh the door destined fur the dead bodies to pass out.

i eluded behiud him ; four large streaks of blood crimsoned
this was the blood of the dead horses and the bull ; here and
, might t>e discovered a few other red spots, but in less than
les all traces of the last ctunbat had vanished. The valets of
li brought their rakes and two large baskets full of gaud, with
liey freiib strewed the arena. The piccadors resumed their
m the left of the toril, and the chnlus and bunderilleros on
I Lucas Blauco, who succeeded Cuchares, placed himself a
iie rear. The band announced that the second conriict Wiis
pomraence ; the dtwr of the turil burst opeUj and another bull
appearance.

is really time that I should bid you adieu; a bull-light is a
i nerer tirt^s of seeing, and when I tell you that I have been
successively to all the bull-lights wliich have taken place in
u will readily UDderstand what au infatuating soenc it is.

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OP THE WORLD.

ntUUy ruial tk

BY PROFESSOR CREASY.

"" Those few battles of which a contrary event would have
drama of the world in all its subsequent scenes.'* — Uallam.

No. I.— MARATHON.

*' Quibui actus ut^rqite
Eiimpin atque Asiie fatis concurrent orlits.^'

Two thousand three hundred and thirty-seven years ago, a coaDcil
of Greek officers was summoned on the slope of one of the mountainf
that look over the plain of iSIarathon, on the eastern coast of Attica.
The immedinte subject of their meeting was to consider whetbff
they should give battle to an enemy that lay encamped on the shore
beneath them; but on the result of their deliberations dependid,
not merely the fate of two armies, but the whole future progrenol
human ctvilization.

The ten Athenian generals who, with the Archon entitled the
AV'ar-Ruler, formetl the council, had deep matter for anxiety, thougti
little aware how momentous to mankind were the votes they wwv
about to give, or how the generations to come would re«d witi
interest the record of their discussions. They saw before them the
invading forces of a mighty power, which had in the last Bfty
years shattered and enslaved nearly all the kingdoms and principili-
ties of the then known world. They knew that all the resourn*
of their own country were comprised in the little army entrusted to
their guidance. They saw before them a chosen host of the Grwi
King, sent to wreak his special wrath on that country, and on the
other insolent little Greek community, which had dared to aid hii
rebels and burn the capital of one of his provinces. That victorious
host had already fiilfille<l half its mission of vengeance. Eretria, llw
confederate of Athens in the bold triarch against Sardis nine yean
before, had fallen in the last few days; and the Athenians could
discern from their heights the island, in which the Persiana had de-
posited their Eretrian prisoners, whom they had reserved to be led
Bway captives into Upper Asia, there to hear their doom from the
lips of King Darius himself. Moreover, the men of Athens knew
that in the camp before them was their own banished tyrant, who
was seeking to be reinstated by foreign scymitars in despotic swav
over any remnant of his countrymen, thai might survive the sack o(
their town, and might be lef^ behind as too worthless for leading
away into Median bondage.

The numerical disparity between the force which the Athenian
commanders had under them and that which they were called on to
encounter, was hopelessly apparent to some of the council. The
historians who wrote nearest to the time of the battle do not pretend
to give any detailed statements of the niiml)er» engaged, but there
are sufficient data for our making a general estimate. The rauMer-
roll of free Athenian citizens of an age fit for military service never
exceeded 30,(K>0, and at this epoch probably did not amount to two-
thirds of that iitunber. Moreover, the poorer portion of these were

THE BATTLE OP MARATHON.

unproviilecl with the equipments and untrainetl to the operutioiis of
the reguUr infantry. Some tletachraentfi ot* the bcst-arriie<l troops
would l>e required to garrison the city itself, and mann the various
iortifie<l po&ts in the territory ; so that it is impossible to reckon the
fully equipped force that marched from Athens to JMarathon. wlien
the news of the Persian hmding arrived, at higher than 14.0()0. The
^IJant little Allied state of Plata?a had sent its contingent of IfMX) of
its best men ; so that the Athenian commanders must have had under
tbeoi about 15,000 fuliy-armed and disciplined infantry, and pro-
bably a larger number of irregular light-armed troops ; as, besides
the poorer citizens who went to the field armed with javelins, cut-
(toses, and targets, each regular heavy-armed soldier was attended
in the camp by one or more slaves, who were armed like the inferior
freerncn. Cavalry or archers the Athenians (on this occasion) had
none; and the use in the field of military engines was not at that
penod introduced into ancient warfare.

Contrasted with their own scanty forces, the Greek commanders
Mw stretched before them^ along the shores of the winding bay, the
tents and shipping of the varied nations who marched to do the
bidding of the king of the eastern world. The didiculty of finding
transports and of securing provisions would form tlieonly limit to the
numbers of a Persian army. Nor is there any reason to suppose the
estimate of Justin exaggerated, who rates at lOO.lKH) the force which
on this occasion had sailed, under the Satraps Datis and Artaphemes,
from the Cilician shores against the devoted coasts of Eulwa and
Attica. And af^er largely deducting from this total, ao as to allow
for mere mariners and camp-followers, there must still have remained
leirful odds against the national levies of the Athenians. Nor
eoold Greek generals then feel that confidence in the superior qua-
lity of their troops, which ever since the battle of Alarathon has
uiimated Europeans in conflicts with Asiatics; as, for instance, in
the aAer struggles between Greece and Persia, or when the Roman
Wgions encountered the myriads of Mithridates and Tigrnncs, or as
is the case in the Indian campaigns of our own regiments. On the
contrary, up to the day of Marathon the Medes and Persians were
rrpuied invincible. They had more than once met Greek troops in
Asia AJinnr and htid invariably beaten them. Nothing can be
Mronger than the expressions used by the early Greek writers
respecting the terror which the name of the Medes inspired,
snd the prostration of men's spirits before the apparently resist-
ico csLTcer of the Persian arms.* It is, therefore, little to be
WmKlered at. that five of the ten Athenian generals shrank from the
prospect of fighting a pitched battle against an enemy so vastly
Mperior in numbers, and so formidable in military renown. Their
9«n |>o«ition on the heights was strong, and offered great advan-
tages to a «m.ill defending force against assailing masses. They
dMned it mere foolhardiness to descend into the plain to be trampled
ilo«u by the Asiatic horse, overwhelmed with the archery, or cut to
piece ■ by the invincible veterans of Cautbyses and Cyrus. Morc-
Sparto, the great war-state of Greece, had been applied to

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

and had promLoed succour to Athens, though the religious observutcc
which the Dorians paid to certain times and seasons had for Uie
present delayed their march. Was it not wise, at any rate, to vut
till the Spartans caine up, and to have the help of the best troops in
Greece, beiore they exposed themselves to the shock of the dreideii
AJedes?

Specious as these reasons might appear, the other five genenli
were for speedier and bolder operations. And, fortunately for
Athens and for the world, one of them was a man, not only of ih«
highest military geniusi, but also of that energetic character wbid
impresses its own types and ideas upon spirits feebler in conception.
I^Iiltiades, and his ancestors before nim, besides bein^ of one of the
nuble^t families at Athens, had ruled a large principality in tb<
TJiracian Chersonese; and when the Persian empire extended itself
in that directitin, I^liUiades had been obliged, like many other small
potentates of the time, to acknowledge the authority of the Great
King, and to lead his contingent of men to serve in the Pcrsiia
armies. He had, however, incurred the enmity of the Persiioi
during thtir Scythian campaign ; his Thracian principality had been
8ei7,ed ; mid he himttell', in hi& flight to Athens, had narmwly cscapnl
the liol pursuit of the Pha-nician galleys in the Peri^ian nervire.
which actually took the vessel in which part of his family saileJ,
and the firstborn of Miltiades was at this moment a captive in \he
court uf King Darius. Practically acquainted with the organizatiuo
of the Persian armies, Miltiades felt convinced of the superiority of
the Greek troops, if properly handled: he saw with the military eye of
a great general the advantage which the position of the forces gave
him fur a sudilen attack, and as a profound politician he felt the
perils of remaining inactive^ and of giving treachery time to nUD
the Athenian cause.

One officer in the council of war had not yet voted, TTiis w«
CallimachuF, the War-Ruler. The votes of the generals were five
and five, so that the voice of Callimachus would be decisive. On
that vote, iiiaU human prnbAbility,the destiny of all the nations of tbe
world depended. I^liliiades turned to him, and in simple soldierly
eloquence, which we probably read faithfully reported in Herodotus,
who may have conversed with the veterans of Marathon, the great
Athenian adjured his countrymnn to vote for giving battle. He
told him that it rested with him either to enslave Athens, or to
make her the greatest oi' all the Greek states, and to leave behind
him a memory of unrivalled glory among all generations of mankind.
He warned him that the banished tyrant had partizans in Athens;
and that, if time for intrigue was allowed, the city would be given
up to the Medes ; but that if the armies fought at once before there
was anything rotten in the state of Athens, they were able, if the
gods would give them fair play, to beat the JMedes.'

The vote of the brave War-Huler was gained, the council deter-
mined to give battle; and such was the ascendency and acknow-
ledged military eminence of Miltiades, that his brother generals one
and all gave up their days of command to him, and cheerfully acted
under his orders. Fearful, however, of creatitig any jealousy, and
of so fajhng to obtain the vigorous co-operation of all parts uf his

* 'llv }i fVftfiMXt'ftt*, v^iv r4 MM fM^(t* 'Ai'ni'CJvr ^ri|(fi^M«^j i^^(m#/av, h^t r* Urn.

T. — THE BATTLE OF MARATHOK.

army, jMilti»iles waited till the day when the chief comniaml
1 have cotue round to hiia Ju regular ruUtlon, before be led
the troops a^ain^t the enemy.

The inaction of the Asiatic commanders during thi« interval ap-
pears strange at first sight; but Hippias was with them, and they
and he were aware of their chance of a bloodless conquest through
the machinations of his panizans among the Athenians. The nature
of the ground also explaiiiti in many points the tactics of the oppo-
site generals before the battle, as well as the operations of the troops
during the encasement.

The plain of Alitraihrin, which is about twenty-two miles distant
Prom Athens, lies alon^ the bay of the same name on the north-east-
em coast of Attica. The plain id nearly in the form of a crescent,
tnd about six miles in length. It is about two miles broad in
the centre, where the space between the mountains and the sea
it greatest, but it narrows towards either extremity, the mounlaina
ooming close down to the water at the burns of the bay. There is a
valley trending inwards from the middle of the plain, and a ravine
coroe* down to it to the southward. Elsewhere it is closely girt
round on the land side by rugged limestone mountains, which arc
thickly studded with pines, olive-trees, and cedars, and overgrown
with the myrtle, arbutus, and the other low odoriferous shrubs that
everywhere perfume the Attic air. The level of the ground is now
varietl by the mound raised over those who fell in the battle, but it
was an unbroken plain when the Per.sians encamped on it. There
■re marshes at each end, which are dry in spring and summer, and
then offer no obstruction to the horseman, but are commonly flooded
with rain and so rendered impracticable for cavalry in the autumn,
the time of year at which the action took place.

The Greeks, lying encamped on the mountains, could watch every
movement of the Persians on the plain below, while they were ena-
bled completely to mask their own. Aliltiadea also had, from hia
position, the jwwer of giving battle whenever he pleased, or of dc-
Lying it at his discretion, unless Datis were to attempt the perilous
operation of storming the heights.

If we turn to the map of the old world, to test the comparative
territorial resources of the two stales whose armies were now about
to come into conflict, the immense prepoiulerance of the material
power of the Persian king over that of the Athenian republic, is
more striking than any similar contrast which history can supply.
It has been truly remarked, that, in estimating mere areas, Attica,
containing on its whole surface only 'Ji)0 square miles, shrinks into
insignificance if compared with many a baronial fief of the middle
iges, or many a colonial alluiment of modern times. Its anta;r(v>
nirt, the Persian empire, comprised the whole of modern Asiatic and
much of modern European Turkey, the muclern kingdom of Ptrt^ia,
ami tlie countries of modern Georgia, Armenia, Balkh, the Punjaub^
Aflghanidtan, Beloochistan, Egypt, and Tripoli.

Nor could an European, in the beginning of the fifth century be-
fore our era, look upon this huge accumulation of power beneath the
•ceptre of a single Asiatic ruler, with the indifference with which
wcnow observe on the map the extensive dominions of modern Ori-
ental sovereigns. For, as has been already remarked, before iVlara-
prestige of bu^^^m^ of suppobcd superiority

'WK

I5S THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

of race was on the side of the Asiatic against the European. Asia
was the originHl seat of human societies, and long before any trace
can be found of the inhabitants of tlie rest of the worUl having
emerged from the rudest barbarism, we can perreive that mighty
and brilliant empires flourished in the Asiatic continent. They ap-
pear before us through the twilight of primeval history, dim and in-
distinct, but massive and majestic, like mountains in the early
dawn.

Instead, however, of the in6nite variety and restless change which
has characterised the institutions and fortunes of European states
ever since the commencement of the civilization of our continent,
a monotonous uniformity pervades the histories of nearly all Orien*
tal empires, from the most ancient down to the most recent times.
They are characterized by the rapidity of their early conquests,
by the immense extent of the dominions conipriaed in them, by
the establishment of a satrap or pacha system of governing the
provinces, by an invariable and speedy degeneracy in the princes
of the royal house, the effeminate nurslings of the seraglio suc-
ceeding to the warrior-sovereigns reared in the ramp, and by the
internal anarchy and insurrections which indicate and accelerate the
decline and fall of these unwieldy and ill-organized fabrics of power.
It is also a striking fact that the governments of all the great Asiatic
empires have in all ages been absolute despotisms. And Heeren is
right in connecting this with another great fact, which is important
from its influence both on the political and the social life of Asiatics.
" Among all the considerable nations of Inner Asia the paternal go-
vernment of every household was corrupted by polygamy : where
that custom exists, a good political constitution is impossible. Fa-
thers, being converted into domestic despots, are ready to pay the
same abject obedience to their sovereign which they exact from their
family and dependants in their domestic economy." We should
bear in mind also the inseparable connexion between the state reli-
gion and all legislation which has always prevailed in the East, and
the constant existence of a powerful sacerdotal body, exercising
some check, though precarious and irregular, over the throne itself
grasping at all civil administration, claiming the supreme control
of education, stereotyping the lines in which literature and science
must move, and limiting the extent to which it shall be lawful for
the human mind to promote its enquiries.

With these general characteristics rightly felt and understood, it
becomes a comparatively easy task to investigate and appreciate the
origin, progress, and principles of Oriental empire in general, as well
as of the Persian monarchy in particular. And we are thus better
enabled to appreciate the repulse winch Greece gave to the arms of
the East, and to judge of the probable consequences to human
civilization, if the Persians hail succeeded in bringing Europe under
their yoke, as they had already subjugated the fairest portions of the
rest of the then known world.

The Greeks, from their geographical position, formed the natural
vanguard of European liberty against Persian ambition ; and they pre-
eminently displayed the salient points of distinctive national character
which have rendered European civilisation so far superior to Asia-
tic. The nations that dwelt in ancient times around and near the
shores of the JMeditcrranean sea, were the first in our continent to

1. — THE BATTLe OF HAEATBOIL

lad.EcTrS

receive frnm the East the nidimcnU «/ Ml

germs of social and political or^
Greeks, through their vicinity to Ana 3li
were umonf^ the very foremost ia
habits of civilized life, and they also
wholly original atamp on all which they receiT*
religion they received from foreign lUUii tbe
deities and many of their rites, but th ey
monstrosities of'the Nile, the Orootcs^ nd the
tionttlised their creed ; and their own poeu created their beaatiffll
mythology. No sacerdotal caste ever exicted in Greece. 80, Mi
their governments, they lived long under kings, bat nerer ^admnd
the establishment of absolute monarchy. Their eariy kJmgB were
constitutional rulers, governing with defined prcm^ttvoL AdiI
long before the Persian invasion the kingly form of goremiBaBK had
given way in almost all the Greek states to republican in«citatMMw,
presenting infinite varieties of the blending or the aUemate predo-
minance of the oligarchical and democratical principlci. In litera*
ture and science the Greek intellect followed no boten trade, and
acknowledged no limitary rules. The Greeks thought their aob-
jects boldly out ; and the novelty of a fpeculatioa inveiCed H in
their minds with interest and not with criminality. Vcnntilc^ mt-
less, enterprising and self-confident, the Greeks presented the raoA
striking contrast to the habitual quietude and submissiveoess of the
Orientals. And, of all the Greeks, the Athenians ezfaitntcd ihtae
national characteristics in the strongest degree. This spirit of aciivitv
and daring, joined to a generous sympathy for tbe fiite of their ftL
low-Greeks in Asia, had led them tu join in tbe last Ionian war;
and now mingling with their abhorrence of an usurping Gnnily of
their own citizens, which for a period had forcibly seized on and
exercised despotic power at Athens, nerved them to defy the wnth
of King Darius, and to refuse to receive hack at his bidding the
tyrant whom they had some years before driven out-

The enterprise and genius of an Kngliahman have lately confirmed
by fresh evidence, and invested with fresh interest, the might of the
Persian Monarch who sent his troops to combat at Marathon. In-
scriptions in a character termed the arrow-headed, or cuneiform,
had long been known to exist on the marble monuments at Persepo-
lis, near the site of the ancient Susa, and on the faces of rocks in
other places formerly ruled over by the early Persian kings. But
for thousands of years they had been mere unintelligible enigmas to
the curious but baffled beholder ; and they were often referred to as
instances of the folly of human pride, which could indeed write
its own prai.^es in the solid rock, but only for the rock to outlive the
language as well as the memory of the vainglorious inscribers. The
elder Niebuhr, Grotefend, and Lassen had made some guesses at the
meaning of the cuneiform letters ; hut jMajor Rawlinson, of the
East India Company's service, after years of labour, has at last
accomplished the glorious achievement of fully reve.iling the alpha-
bet and the grammar of this long unknown tongue. He has, in par-
ticular, fully deciphered and expounded the inscription on the
sacred rock of Behistun, on tiie western frontiers of Media. These
records of the Achiemenida; have at length found their imer^)rclcr ;
^«nd Darius himself speaks to us from the consecrated mounuim, and

THE SIX DECISIVE BATfLES OF THE WOELD.

Ulls us the names of the nations that obeyed him, the revolts thai he
»uppres3e<i, his victories, his piety, and his glory.*

Kin*^s who thus seek the admiration of posterity are little likely
to dim the record of their successes by the mention of their occa-
siunal defeats; and it throws no suspicion on the narrative of the
Greek historians, that we find these inscriptions silent respecting the
defeat of Datis and Artaphernes, as well as respecting the reverses
which Darius sustained in person during his Scythian campaigns.
But these indisputable monuments of Persian fame confirm, and
even incrcafie the opinion with which Herodotus inspires us of the
vast power which Cyrus founded, Cambyses increased; which Darius
augmented by Indian and ArabiBii cunctucbts, and seemed likely,
when he directed his arms against Kuropc, to make the prt;dominaut
noonnrchy of ihe world.

With the exception of the Chinese empire, in which, throughout
all ages down to the last few years, one third of the human race has
dwelt almost unconnected with the other portions, all the great king-
doms which we know to have existed in ancient Asia, were, in Da-
rius's time, blended into the Persian. The Northern Indians, the
Assyrians, the Syrians, the Babylonians, the Chatdees. the Phceni-
cians, the nations of Pale.stine, the Armenians, the Bactrians. the
Lydians, the Phrygians, the Parlhian«f, and the JMedes, — all obeyed
the sceptre of the Great Kitig : the Medes standing next to tlie na-
tive Persians in honour, and the empire being frequently spoken of
as that of the Medes, or as that of the Medes and Persians. Kgypt
and Cyrene were Persian provinces; the Greek colonists in Asia
Minor and the islands of the -^giEjn were Darius'a subjects; and
their gallant but unsuccessful attempts to throw off the Persian yoke
had only served to rivet it more strongly, and to increase the general
belief that the Greeks could not stand before the Persians in a field
of battle. Darius*6 Scythian war, though unsuccessful in its imme-
diate object, had brought about the subjugation of Thrace, and the
submission of Macedonia. From the Indus to the Peneus, all was
his. Greece was to be his next acquisition. His heralds were sent
round to the various Greek states to demand the emblem of homage,
which all the islanders and many of the dwellers on the continent
submitted to give.

Over those who had the apparent rashness to refuse, the Persian
authority was to be now enforced by the array that, under Datis, an
experienced Median general, and Artaphernes, a young Persian no-
ble, lay encamped by the coast of M;irathon.

When Aliliiades arrayed his men for action, he staked on the ar-
bitrament of one battle not only the fate of Athens, but that of all
Greece; for if Athens had fallen, no other Greek state except Lace-
dwmon would have had the courage to resist ; and the Lacedwmo-
nians, though they would probably have died in their ranks t«i the
last man, never could have successfully resisted the victorious Per-
sians and the numerous Greek troops which would have soon inarched
under the Persian banner, had it previiiled over Athens.

Nor was there any power to the westward of Greece that could
have offered an effectual opposition to Persia, had she once conquer-
ed Greece, and made that country a basis for future military opera-

* i$ee the lust nuiubt;rftoflbeJourniil of the Royal Asiatic Society.

I.— THE BATTLE OP MARATHON.

tionsL Rome was at thi3 time in her season of utmost weakness.
Uer ilyna&ty of powerful EtruscAn kin^s had been driven out,
am] her infant commouweulth was reeling un<ler the attacks of the
Etruscans and Volscians from without, and the Bcrce dissensions
between the patricians and plebeians within. Ktniria, with her
Lucumos and serfs w.t« no match for Persia. Samnium had not
^own into the might which she afterwards put forth : nor could the
Greek colonies in South Italy and Sicily hope to conquer when their
parent states had perished. Carthage had escaped the Persian yoke
m the time of Cambysee through the reluctance of the Phoenician
mariners to serve against their kinsmen. But such forbearance could
not long have been relied on. and the future rival of Uome would
have become as submissive a minister of the Persian power as were
llie Phufnician cities themselves. If we turn to Spain, or if we pass
the ffTCflt mountain chain, which, prolonged through the Pyrenees,
the Cevennes, the Alps, and the Balkan, divides Northern from
Southern £urope, we shall 6nd nothing at that period but mere
savage Finns, Celts, and Teutons. Had Persia beat Athens at
Marathon, she could have found no obstacle to Darius, the chosen
servant of Ormuzd, advancing his sway over all the known Western
races of mankinil. The infant energies of Europe would have I>een
trodden out beneath the hoof of universal conque&t ; and the history
of the world, like the history of Asia, have become a mere record of
the nse and fall of despotic dynasties, of the incursions of barbarous
hordes, and of the mental and political prostration of millions be-
neath the diadem, the tiara, and the sword.

Great as the preponderance of the Persian over the Athenian
power at that crisis seems to have been, it would be unjust to im-
pute wild rashness to the policy of Miltiades, and those who voted
vith him in the Athenian council of war, or to look on the after-
current of events as the mere fortunate result of successful folly.
As before has been remarkeJ, Miltiades, wtiilst prince of the Cherso-
nese, had seen service in the Persian armies; and he knew by per-
son^ observation how many elements of weakness lurked beneath
their imposing aspect of strength. He knew that the bulk of their
troops no longer consisted of the hardy shepherds and mountaineers
from Persia Proper and Kurdistan, who won Cyrus's battles; but
that unwilling contingents from conquered nations now filled up the
Per&ian muster-rolls, 6ghting more from compuliiiion than from any
xeal in the cause of their masters. He had also the sagacity and the
spirit to appreciate the superiority of the Greek armour and organ-
isation over the Asiatic, notwithstanding former reverses. Above
lit, he felt and worthily trusted the enthusiasui of those whom he
led. The Athenians under him were republicans who had but a
few years before shaken off their tyrants. They were flushed by re-
cent successes in wars against some of the neighbouring states. They
knew that the despot whom they had driven out wa^ in the foemen's
cmmp, seeking to be reinstated by foreign arms in his plenitude of
oppression. They were zealous champions of the liberty and equality
wbich as Citizens tliey had recently acquired. And Miltiades tniglit
be suret that whatever treachery might lurk among some of the
higher-born and wealthier Athenians, the rank and Hie whom he led
were ready to do their utmost in his and their oun cause. As fur
future attacks from Asia, he might reasonably hope that une victory

TOE SIX DECISIVE BATTI.EK OP THE WORLD.

would inspirit all Greece to combine against the common foe ; and
that the latent seeds of revolt and disunion in the Persian empire
would soon burst forth and paralyze its energies, »o as to leave
Greek independence secure.

With these hopes and risks, Miltiadcs. on a September day, 400
B. c, gave the word for the Athenian army to prepare for battle.
There were many local associations connected with those mountain
heiglits, which were calculated powerfully to excite the spirit!* of the
men, and of which the commanders well knew how to avail them-
selves in their exhortations to their troops before the encounter.
Marathon itself was a region sacred to Hercules. Close to ihem waa
the fountain of Macaria, who had in days of yore devoted herself to
death for the liberty of her people. The very plain on which they
were to fight was the scene of the exploits of their national hero,
Theseus ; and there, too, as old legends told, the Athenians and the
Heraclitlaj had routed the invader, Eurystheus. These traditions
were not mere cloudy myths, or idle fictions, but matters of implicit
earnest faith to the men of ihnt day, and many a fervent prayer
arose from the Athenian ranks to the heroic spirits who while on
earth had striven and suffered on that very spot, and who were be-
lieved to be now heavenly powers, looking down with interest on,
and capable of interposing with effect in the fortunes of their still M
beloved country. f

According to old national custom the warriors of each tribe were
arrayed together ; neighbour thus fighting by llie side of neighbour,
friend by friend, and the spirit of emulation and the consciousness of
responsibility excited to the verv utmost. The VV^ar-Ruler, Calli-
machus, had the leading of the right wing; the Pkta^ans formed the
extreme left ; and Themistocles and Aristides commanded the cen-
tre. The iianoply of the regular infantry consisted of a long »pear,
of a shield, hclraet, breast-plate, greaves, and shortsword. Thus
equipped, the troops usually advanced slowly ami steadily into action
in an uniform phalanx of about four spears deep. But the military
genius of Miltiaiies led him to deviate on this occasion from the com-
mon-place tactics of his countrymen. It was essential for him to
extend his line so as to cover alt the practicable ground, and to se-
cure himself from being outflanked and charged in the rear by the
Persian horse. This extension involved the weakening of his line.
Instead of an uniform reduction of its strength, he determined on
detaching principally from his centre, which, from the nature of the
ground, would have the be^st opportunities for rallying, if broken,
and on strengthening his wings so as to insure advantage at those
points; and he trusted to his own skill, and to his soldiers* disci-

filine, for the improvement of that advantage into decisive victory,
n this order, and avaiUnu; himself probably of the inequalities of the h
ground so as to conceal his preparations from the enemy till the lactH
possible moment, Miltiades drew up the fifteen thousand infantry
whose spears were to decide this crisis in the struggle between the ,
European and the Asiatic worlds. The sacrifices, by which the fa*
vour of heaven wo-s sought, and its will consulted, were annuunced
to shew propitious omens. The trumpet sounded for action, and,
chanting the hymn of battle, the little army bore down upon ths
host of the foe. Then, too, along the mountain slopes of Marathon
must have resoundcJ the mutual exhortation, which ^l^schylus, whaj

T. — THE BATTLE OF MARATHON.

fouf^ht in both battles, telU us was afterwards heard over the waves of
SBlamis,— " On^sons of the Greeks ! Strike for the treedora of your
country, — strike for the freedom of your children, your wive«, — for
the shrines of your fathers' goda, and for the sepulchres of your
sires. All — all are now staked upon the strife."

Q, waictc EWi/»'wi', (re
£A<v9epovre irnrpt^, iXtvOipovTi ct

Gr;i:ac Te vpoyovuv. Nuk wir«p wayTtav ayttty,*

I Instea<1 of Rdvsncing at the usual slow pace of the phalanx^ Mil-
tiades brought his men on at a run. They were all trained in the
I exercises of the palaestra, so that there was no fear of their ending
the charge in breathless exhaustion ; and it was of the deepest im-
portance for him to traverse as rapidly as possible the mile or so of
level ground that lay between the mountain foot and the Persian
oatposls, and so to get his troops into close action before the Asiatic
cavalry could mount, form, and mancpuvre against him, or their
archers keep him long under fire, and before the enemy's generals
could fairly deploy their masses.

" When the Persians," says Herodotus, " saw the Athenians run-
ning down on them, without horse or bowmen, and scanty in num-
bers, they ihouj^ht them a set of madmen rushing upon certain de-
struction." They began, however, to prepare to receive them, and
the Eastern chiefs arrayed, as quickly as lime and place allowed, the
varied races who served in their motley ranks. ^Mountaineers from
Hyrcania and Affghanistan, wild horsemen from the steppes of
Khorassan, the black archers of Ethiopia, swordsmen from the
banks of the Indus, the Oxus, the Euphrates, and the Nile, made
readv against the enemies of the Great King. But no national CAu»ie
inspired them, except the division of native Persians ; and in the
large host there was no uniformity of language, creed, race, or mili-
tary system. Still, among them there were many gallant men,
under a veteran general; they were familiarized with victory, and
in contemptuous confidence their infantry, which alone had time
to form* awaited the Athenian charge. On came the Greeks, with
one unwavering line of levelled spears, against which the light
trmour, the short lances and sabres of the Orientals offered weak
defence. Their front rank must have gone down to a man at the
first shock. Still they recoiled not. but strove by individual gal-
lantry, and by the weight of numbers, to make up for the di»-
idvantages of weapons and tactics, and to bear back the shallow
line of the Europeans. In the centre, where the native Persians and
the Sacce fought, they succeeded in breaking through the weakened
part of the Athenian phalanx ; and the tribes led by Aristides and
Phemistocles were, after a brave resistance, driven back over the
plain, and chased by the Persians up the valley towards the in-
tier countr}'. There the nature of the ground gave the opportunity
of rallying and renewing the struggle: and, meanwhile, the Greek
wines, where Miltiades hud concentrated his chief t^trength, had rout-
eii the Asiatics opposed to them, and the Athenian officers, instead
of pursuing the fugitives, kept their troops well in hand, and wheeU

• Penie.

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OE THE WORLD.

ing round, a.osniled on ench flank the hitherto victorious Persian cen-
tre. Arixtides and Themistocles charged it a^ain in^front with their
re-orpjanized troops. The Persians strove hard lo keep their ^ronnd.
£ventii^ came on, and the rays of the setting-sun darted full into the
eyes of the Asiatic combntants, while the Greeks fought with in-
creasing advantage with the light at their bncka. At last the hither-
to unvanqnished lords of A^a broke and fle<U and the Greeks fol-
lowed, striking them down, to the water's edge, where the invaders
were now hastily launching their galleys, and seeking to re-emhark
and fly. Flushed with success, the Athenians attacked and strove
to 6re the fleet. But here the Asiatics resisted desperately, and the
principal loss sustaineil by the Greeks was in the assault on the ships.
Here fell the brave War-Ruler CalHmachus, the general Stesilaus,
and other Athenians of note. Seven galleys were fired ; but the Per-
sians succeeded in saving the rest. They pushed off" from the fatal
shore ; but even here the skill of Datis did not desert him, and he
sailed round to the western coast of Auica, in hopes to find the city
unprotected, and to gain possession of it from some of Ilippias' par-
tizans. Miltiades^ however, saw and counteracted his manoeuvre.
Leaving Aristidrs, and the troops of hia tribe, to guard the spoil and
the slain, the Athenian commander led his conquering army by a
rapid nighl-niarch back across the country to Athens. And when
the Persian fleet had doubled the Cape of Sunium and sailed up to
the Athenian harbour in the morning, Datts saw arrayed on the
heights above the city the troops before whom his men had fled on
the preceding evening. All hope of further conquest in £urope for
the time was abandoned, and the baffled armada returned to the
Asiatic coasts.

It was not by one defeat, however signal, that the pride of Persia
could be broken, and her dreams of universal empire dispelled.
Ten veara afterwards she renewed her attempts upon Europe on a
granaer scale of enterprise, and was repulsed by Greece with greater
and reiterated loss. Larger forces and heavier slaughter, than had
been seen at Marathon, signalised the conHicis of Greeks and Per-
sians at Artemisium, Salamis, Plattra, and the Euryniedon, and the
after triumphs of the Macedonian King at theGranicus.at Issus, and
Arbela. But mighty an<l momentous as these battles were, tbejr
rank not with Marathon in importance. They originated no new
impulse. They turned back no current of fate. They were merely
confirmatnry of tlje ralre.tdy existing bias which Alurathon had
created. The day of JMurathon is the critical epoch in ttie history
of the two nations. It broke for ever the spcU of Persian invinci-
bility, which had previously paralyzed men's minds. It generated
among the (ireeks the spirit which beat back Xerxes, and after-
wards led on Xenophon, Agesilaua, aitd Alexander, in terrible reta-
liation through their Asiatic campaigns. It secured for mankind
the intellectual treasures of Athens, the growth of free histitution
the liberal enlightenntent of the western world, and the gradu
ascendancy for many ages of the great principles of European civi-
lization.

fi5

VISIT TO HIS HIGHNESS RAJAH BROOKE
I AT SARAWAK.

[ Osil
battle 8

BY PGTSR M*=QUaAX,
CAfTAIV OF HEM KAJCITT's IBTT DAOALVS.

^iTB AN BNOBAVIKO OF TUB BDNOALOW OF TBB RAJAH.

On the 18th July, 1843, 11. M. squadron, consisting of one line-of*
battle ship, two frigates, three brigs, and one steamer, under the com-
mand of Admiral Sir Thomas Cochrane, got under weigh, formed order
of sailing in two columns, and proceeded to beat down the Straits of
Malacca* After several days' sailing, a fierce Sumatra squall wai
encountered, which brought the squadron in two compact lines to
BD anchor off* the Buffalo rocks in very deep water. Some cause
prevented the commander-in-chief from approaching nearer to the
town of Singapore. Supplies of bread and water having been brought
out by an iron steamer, the Pluto, — Mr. Brooke, Rajah of Sarawak,
aad Capt. Bethune, the commissioners for the affairs of Borneo, hav-
ing embarked in the flag-ship, a brig of war detached to New Zealand
—once more the order of sailing was formed, and the force proceeded
down the straits of Singapore eii route for Borneo.

That immense, unexplored, and little-known island haa, since the
occupation of Singapore bv the British, as a natural consequence be-
come of daily increasing importance, and the settlement on that fine
and navigable river, the SarAwak, under the rajahship of Mr. Brooke,
bids fair to produce results, which, even in his must sanguine mo-
ments, he could scarcely have anticipated.

It is hardly possible to speak of this gentleman in terms of suffi-
cient force to convey an idea of what has already been accomplished
by his talents, courage, perseverance, judgment, and integrity. It
required moral courage of a high order, in the face of difficulties to
tlie miudfi of most men insurmountable, to bring the wild, piratical,
tnd treacherous Malay, and the still more savage race, the Dyalc
tribes, not only to lit^ten to the voice of reason, but to become amen-
able to its laws under his government. His perseverance was great
under trials, disap^xtintments, and provocations of a nature to damp
ibe energy of the most enthusiastic philanthropist that ever under-
took to ameliorate the condition of his fellow man. His judgment
lias been rarely excelled in discovering the secret motives of the differ-
eot chiefs with whom his innumerable negotiations had to be conduct-
ed ; and in an extraordinary decree ho possessed the power of discri-
minating between the wish to be honest and that to deceive, betray,
and plunder. He evinced the most unimpeachable integrity, Uie
most rigid justice in protecting the poor man from the tyranny and
exactions of the more powerful chief; and he showed his little
kingdom that the administration of law was as indexible in its oper-
iijon towards the great men of the country as towards the more
Gamble of his aubjecta; — and all this he carried into effect by mild-
■tas of manner and gentleness of rule.

TOIi. XXI II. V

VISIT TO SARAWAK,

He has gained the love and affection of many ; be baa incurred the
haired of some, and is hourly exposed to the sanguinary vengeance
of the leaders, wliose riches were gathered amidst murder and plun-
der from the unfortunate crew of some betrayed or shipwrecked ves-
sel, and who have foresight sufficient to jrcrccive that if seitlenietiii
similar to that on the SurawaU should he extended along the north-
west coast of the island, their bloody occupation is gone. They
therefore endeavour to hinder, us fur us in them lies^ the good which
is flowing from the noble and brilliant example of bis highness the
rajah of Sarkwak, of whom Great iiritain has reason to be proud.
It is for the British government to afford that countenance and
protection wliich shall be necessary to prevent the interference of
others, wlio from jealousy may wisli by intrigues to interrupt, if not
to destroy the great moral lesson now fust exhibited amongst iheM
ytWd people, and in regions hitherto shrouded in the darkest cloudi
of heathenism and barbarity, amongst a people by whom piracy,
murder, and plunder are not considered as crimes, but as the common
acts of a profession which their forefathers followed, which they have
been tuugbt to look upon from their earliest days as the only true
occupation, in which they may rise according to the number and
atrocity of their cruelties.

Not long since several wretches were convicted at Singapore,
on the clearest evidence, and condemned to death for deeds of the
most revolting and sanguinary barbarity. At the foot of the gallowi
rather a fine-looking young man, a Malay, justified liirnself on the
principles above stated, and died declaring iiimself an innocent and
very ill-used man, since alt he hiicl done was in the regular way of
his business. It is not to he wondered at then, that, entertaining
such doctrines and sentiments, tiie whole Malay population of the
great and numerous islands of ilie East, have been regarded by the
European commerciiil world and navigators in these seas as a mcc
of treacherous and bluud-thirsty miscreants. How admirable, then,
in our countryman to have commenced the good work of regeneration
amongst many millions of such men. not by the power of the sword,
but by demonstrating practically the eternal and immutable rules
equity and truth I

On the arrival of the squadron off the Sarawak, a party accompanied
the adTniral in the Pluto to the liouse and csiabli^hment of Mr. Brooke
at Kulchidg, about eighteen miles above the mouth of the river.
The house, although not large, is airy and commodious for the
climate, and stands on the left bank of the river on undulating
ground of the richest quality, capable of producing in abundance
every article comihuju to the tropics; clearance was progressing on
both sides of the river, and will doubtless rapidly increase when the
perfect security of property which exists is more generally under-
stood and appreciated. Some years ogo a small colony of indus-
trious Chinese located themselves on the banks of the river, under
the protection of the rajah of the day: their little settlement became
flourishing and prosperous, and was rapidly increasing in wealth
and importance, when at one fell swoop the villanous Malays seized,
plundered, and murdered them ; and the more fortunate Chinese
who escaped home spread the report of their treatment so widel

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

that it will Loke some time to remove the impression^ But I feci
convinced tliat emigration from China under British protection
might be carried to any extent, and a race truly agricultural and
industrious introduced, to the great benefit of this rich but neg-
lected portion of (he world. It may be mentioned as a singular fact,
that mi no part of this coast was the cocoa-nut, thul invariable type
of a tropical region, found, having been giadually destroyed by
pirates, until introduced by Mr. Brooke, who tias used every exertion
to extend the planting of trees, by having the seedlings brought in
great qunntities from Singapore ; and by convincing his people that
every tree, at the end of a few years, is worth a dollar from the oil it
will producCj which meets a ready sale at all times, many thousands
have alrendy been [ilunted, and the number is Increasing. It is by
such suKill beginnings that the minds of these people must be dis-
tracted from the thoughts of robbery and plunder; and it is by prac-
tically shewing them that dollars are to be had without the shedding
of blood, that tlie rajah of Sai^wak is entleavouring to sow the seeds
of industry and of civilization, and sfep by step to change their
ideas, their habits, their hearts. That an all-wise Providence may
prosper his undertuking, must be the prayer of those who may have
visited his selttement, and who, like myself, have witnessed his disin-
terested and unceasing thoughts for the peace, happiness, and comfort
of the community of wliich he may truly be designated the "father,"
The town of Kutching stands on both sides of the river, here about
200 yards across ; the liouses are of very slight construction, with
open bamboo floors and mat pariitions, best adapted for the cliraatej
although those occupied by the Europeans are ofa better description,
— still of the same material— ull raided some feet from the ground to
admit a free circulation of air from underneath.

The night passed by the admiral and party was rendered very agree-
able by cool refreshing breezes from some high, insulated, granitic
mountains at a distance in the interior; and even during the day the
heat was not unbearable: thermometer Fahr. about 8C'. The canoes
on the river are of the slightest conslruclion, and are apparently
unsafe; yet the passengers crossing the creeks and the river invaria-
bly stand up in iheni, — but woe to the unpractised or unsteady I Ac-
cidents, although rare, do sometimes occur, attended with loss of life.
Mr. Brooke had been absent some six or seven weeks when the
admiral accompanied him on his return to the settlement. He was
not expected, but the news of his arrival spread with wonderful ve-
locity, and the various cliiefs were speedily assembled to greet him
with a cordial and hearty welcome. The reunion uf the oldest of his
swarthy counscltors, as well as of the youngest, who dropped in after
dinner bad been removed, and took their places on the benches by the
sides of the walls, according to their modes, customs, and privileges,
together with the naval otficers and European civilians, with the
rajati in his chair, and two of hts most worthy native friends, entitled
by birth to the distinction, seated beside him, presented a picture doC
destitute of interest, certainly of great variety ; for some of the
Dyaks, with rovmd heads, high cheek bones, and large jaws, remark-
ably differing from the Malay race, were there to complete the back-
ground. All were most attentively listening to the conversation of the
rajah with his Malay neighbours, enjoying a cheroot oGcu&\n^^\^

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

given to them by the visitors, and quietly making their owi
tions. Mr. Williamson, the interpreter, a native of Mah
speaks the language as a Malay, had another group around him,
eagerly putting questions on tlie various little subjects interestineto
themselves ; and without the least approach to obtrusive faoiitiaritT,
the evening was passed, I dare say, very much to the satisfaction ^
all parties. ^

The principal exports, at this period, consist of antimony ore. of
great richness, producing 7i> per cent, of pure metal. It is found is
great quantities, at a distance of ten miles up, in the river and by
excavations from the base of some hills, in the manner of washing
the mines. It is brought down the river by the natives, carried iott
a wharf, where it is accurately weighed, and then shipped for Sing»-
pore, by the rajah, who pays for the whole brought from the mines
a stipulated price per picue to the chiefs, who pay the labour*
boatmen^ and all other expenses. In former days, his highness
rajah took the lion's share; but the arrangements of Mr. Brooke
on the most liberal scale, his first and only object being to en^
industry, and to shew how greatly the comfort and happiness of
are promoted by a rigid and just appreciation of the rights of propertj,
and by a foithful and honourable adherence to every agreement and
bargain. The result has been a vast increase in the quantity of ore
exported, and an extending desire to be interebted in the business.

A passing visit does not enable one to speak geologically of a couo-
try; and as there is a gentleman of practical science at present nuk-
ing his observations, it would be presumptuous in me to offer a reroarl
on the formations of this great country. But a single glance at tbf
beautifiilly undulating hills, at the gorgeous verdure, and growth of
every branch of the vegetable kingdom, at once points out the inei-
haustible capabilities of the soil for the cultivation of sugar, coffee,
spices, and every fruit of the tropics, many of which already flourith
as specimen!^ in the rajah's garden and grounds, and invite the indiMg
trious to avail themselves of such a country and of such a river, tnU
become proprietors on the banks of the Sarikwak. British capital attP
protection and Chinese Coolies, would very soon change the north aod
north-west coast of Borneo into one of the richest countries in
world.

The admiral proceeded in the morning some short distance up
river to return the visit of the chiefs, and was every where receii
with the royal salute of three guns; the whole party, accompanied
the rajah and Mr. Williamson, the interpreter, at eleven a. m.
embarked on board the Fluto, which had been in a very hazarddi
situation during the night, having unfortunately grounded on a \edg9r
of rocks close to the bank, by which she sustained considerable
damage ; and proceeded down the river to regain the squadron «
anchor off Tanjay Po, the western part of the Maratabes branch m
the Sarawak ; and* here it was found that the steamer must be laid i9P
the beach, as it was with difficulty the whole power of the engines
applied to the pumps could keep her afloat ; she was accordingly
placed on the mud flat at the entrance of the river. A frigate and an-
other steamer were leU behind to assist in her rcBt, and the admi
moved onwards towards Borneo Proper, wliere, in the course of a
days, all were re-osseoiblcd, but in consequenc^e of the flag-ship.

SDO

VISIT TO SARAWAK,

mistaking the chaDnel, haring struck the ground on the Moarno
shore in going in, the ships were moved outwards some considerable
distance. Mr. Brooke, accompanied by an officer from the Agincourt,
vifiited the sultan at the city of Bruni; and, on the following day.
ihe sultun's nephew, hcir-presuroptive to the throne, with a suite of
some twelve or fifteen Pangeran and chiefs of the blood-royal, under
the " yellow canopy," came down to return the compliment, and to
communicate with the admiral on affairs of state; they were received
with every mark of distinction and kindness by the commander-in-chief,
and certainly there never was exhibited a more perfect sample of
innate nobility and natural good manners, than was presented by
Buddruden, to the observation of those who had the pleasure of
witnessing bis reception on the quarter deck of a British ship of
the line by a crowd of oHiccrs, and amidst the noise and smoke of a
salute; the whole of this party were the intimate friends of Mr.
Brooke and firmly attached to British interests. Buddruden, in reply
to some question to him as to his ever having seen so large a ship
before, said that, altliough descended from a very ancient and
long line of ancestors, he had the proud satisfaction of being the
first who had ever embarked on board a vessel of such wonderful
magnitude and power, and £0 much beyond any idea he had formed
of a ship of war. The most marked attention was paid by those
who accompanied him to the privileges and etiquette of the country ;
none below a certain rank presuming to sit down in his highness's
presence; indeed, only those indisputably of the blood-royal were ad-
mitted to that honour; every part of the ship was visited, and the
prahu, with the yellow umbrella-shaped canopy, once more received
her royal party, who proceeded to render an account of their visit to
tlie sultan in his regal palace at Bruni, accompanied by the Pluto
steamer.

On the following morning, the admiral hoisted his Hag on board tlio
Vixen, and, accompanied by the Pluto and Nemesis, also steamers,
and taking with him a considerable force of seamen and marines, and
an armed boat from each ship, proceeded up the river, with the in«
tention of compelling Pang^ran YussufFto return to his obedience and
duty to the sultan, and Co give an account of himself for being im-
plicated in piratical transactions.

On the arrival of the armament opposite the town, the sultan held
a grand levee for the rcctjption, and in honour of the admiral's visit,
and the Pongi^ran was summoned to present himself in submission
to the mandate of the sultan. This he refused to do, and had even
the hardihood to approach the palace, and when at last threatened to
have his house blown about his ears, coolly answered, that the ships
might begin to fire whenever they pleased, that he was ready for them;
and sure enough, on the Vixen firing a sixty-eight pounder over his
house to show the fellow how completely he was at the mercy oi'^ the
squadron, lie fired his guns in return. A few rounds from the
Steamers drove him from bis bamboo fortress. The marines took pos-
session, and his magazine was emptied of its contents of gunpowder,
which was started into the river, and all his brass guns were delivered
over to the sultan, with the exception of two, which were retained, to
be sold for the benefit of two Manilla Spaniards, who hud been pirat-
ically seized as slaves, and who were now taken on board the squad-

TO SARAWAK.

TOO to be restored to their home. Hit hoow beiog throvB open to
the tcfider nerciet of his umuUjiMta , was ■pcciiy gattad of all hii
31-£oUefi wcahh, aad left in Afiinhriiw TWre were so killed or
womded. Pa p g^M YuKoff retreated lo the iaierior, conrtnaed in
rebeHioov raised a force vtth vbkfa be attadred the tovn and Muda
HsMin'c party, bat was defeatrd, paraoed, aid killed by Pang^ran
Duddniden*

The squadron proceeded to I^abooao, cut wood with the tbenno-
aseter at 9i\ for the sieamers, filled theni ; and on the morning of
the 15th of Anjwt, a new order of sailing aod battle wa« given out
per ** buntin,** and the noveltT of two £rigBtea towing two steamers,
was exhibited to the wondering eyes of those present, called upon to
keep their appointed station, work to windward, tack in succession,
and perform every erolution with the neatest precision, in spite of
light winds, bearT squalls, and most variable weather

The force intended to attack the stockade and fortiBed port of
that arch-pirate Schcrriff Posman on the Malloodoo RiTcr, pro-
ceeded under tlie immediate command of the admiral, who took the
brigs and steamers wiih him to the entrance of the river, and here it
was found that the iron steamers, which had caused snch trouble,
were not of the slightest use, there not being water sufficient even
for them over the bar. The whole flotilla was placed under the
command of Captain Talbot, of the Vesta, the senior captain present,
who, on the morning of the 19th of August, attacked with great
gallantry, and carried the very strong position of the pirutes, with the
lots of eight killed and thirteen wounded. The iron ordnance was
broken, the fortiScation destroyed, and the town burned to the
ground. It was reported the day after the action, that the Arab
chief had been mortally wounded, but the squadron quitted the
before this was continued.

I cannot leave Borneo without giving a brief description of ll
coast from the mouth of the Sarawak to this splendid bay* more
ticularly as its features are so widely different from those general!]
attributed to it. From the Sarawak to Tanjong Sirik, the land
tow, and for some miles from the beach covered with roaogroi
jungle, but from chat point to Borneo river, undulating ground, m(
derate hills, and occasionally red-sand cliffs, mark the nature of tt
country to be dry and susceptible of cultivation; and, as these V
are clothed in perpetual verdure, there is nothing imaginary in
supposition that the soil is salubrious and productive. From Bor
river, north-eastward, a range of hills, of considerable altitude,
the whole length of the coast, the sea, the greater part of the li
washing their base; and immediately inland, in latitude 6"
most magnificent and striking of all eastern mountains, Keen<
Balloo, towers to the heavens to the height of l4,f>0U feet, cuttii
the clear grey sky before sunrise with a sharp distinctness never
cccded. and marking the primitive nature of its formation beyoi
controversy. It may be culled an "island mountain/' for, with ll
exception of the range of tiills above alluded to, and with which
has no continuity, it rises abruptly from the plain, alone in its glorj
and giant of tiic eastern stars—

** Wich iDvteor itAndsrd to the breeu unfurPd,
Looks from hii throne of iquolli o*er bilf ibe world.*'

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

TbeBay of Mallooduo is extensive, with safe anchorage everywhere;

the coast-range of hills terminates on its western Bhores, and round to
the south-east the land is of nioderate lieighl, with a range of greater
altitude at some distance inland^ and Kceney Biilloo bounds the view
at about thirty-five miles distance in the soulh-west. The land on ihe
eastern side is low, but on the vvliole a more e)i^il)le position to plant
and protect a settlement is not to be found on the whole coast, and
it stands so pre-eminently superior to Labooan or Baiambargan, and
would so effectually destroy piracy in the nciglibuuring seas, that the
British government ought to have no hesitation in taking possession
oCthis bay, with sufficient breadth of territory to secure supplies and
support for a colony. It is quite evident, from the manner in which
this pirate Arab has held possession with impunity, and, from hts
stronghold, had carried on his depredations for years, eittier that the
Sultan of Borneo acted in coHusion with him, and was a willing wit-
ness to his atrocities, or tliat he had not the power to clear his terri-
tory of such a miscreant. I have no doubt of the ibrmer being the
case, as much of the property acquired by blood and rapine has fre-
quently been sold publicly in Borneo ; perhaps some of it is to be found
in the palace of the sultan. There ought to be no delicacy in this
matter. Great Britain's claim to the country is scarcely disputed.
One well fortified post would, with the presence of a brig-of-war or
two, secure the obedience of the whole district. As for Balambar-
gan, it is an arid, sandy island, with scanty supply of water» and an
unproductive soil. It has two harbours, both small and intricate^and
must always depend upon foreign supply for its sustenance. Labooan
may be somewhat better, but its geographical position is not eligible
as a station for vessels of war intended to suppress piracy* being too
far to leeward in the north-cast monsoon, and too distant from the
Sooloo seas and acljacent straits, noiv much frequented by the nume-
rous vessels trading to China, to afford them that protection which a
settlement at Malloodoo would at once accomplish. Merchant ves-
sels using the Palawan passage from India and the Straits of Malacca,
would find in Malloodoo Hay, during the strength of the north-east
monsoon, a wide and extensive anchorage in which to take temporary
■helter, and muke any refit which might become necessary from
working against the monsoon, as weU as easy access, equally conve-
nient for vessels taking the Balabac Straits, coming from thence and
Macassar.

Stone may be had in abundance in nny part of the bay ; excellent
stone-cutters from Hong Kong in any numbers might be procured,
Bnd Coolies in thousands would be found to accompany them. A
week's run thence, in the north-cast monsoon, would land a wing of a
Madras regiment on the ground, and a few Junks would convi^y all
the living and dead material necessary to place them in comfort and
security in a very short time. The climate is good, the land is rich,
Biid water abundant; the countless acres would soon attract the in-
dustry of the CInnese, when once assured of protection to their lives,
and undisturbed possession of their property.

The admiral, accompanied by the Borneo Commissioners, went over
on board the Vixen steamer, to the island Balambargan, on the after-
noon of the 21st, and the ships of the squadron followed in the course
of the night, taking up their anchorage outside the shoals of the south-

■^ bibtt

t U tke nKtbern

ac daj-davn oo

iaoK&ey for the

by the Eut India

dnvcB br the Sooloo

in 1809, and

acuietneot. The

daar right to thii

MhMba^ Uberatad

ukcK fagr Sir WOliav

aBritiA kmad, aod part

dcarij traced by
«fer a canaaderable sur-
al' awck/Kry and gla» give
tbe bouses, boiUtiogir
aD are mom nlent and for-
covered wHh san^

anty indicatiocis cf
«■ tbe hea cb , ia u>e directioa of

tike

free, aad tlte

iteridenoe ibat

CRClcdbTtfae
bibtt 4rj9amm ite
t^ btttfaoT a vctT
be^oMcted. A
tbe aeatbcfftt baibov* led to aa ftnber ducentrj than that
rsdpea of daj cvoaKd tbe ■bB^tcrviaao^g at tbe tbore in coodenie
altiXttdc^ ma covered vttb treca oT rniidMihlj Urgicr dimensiov
than tboae acar the site of the town. A uom^Il dicmr of the htf*
hour was mMle by cbe VUao^ htm tbe puddle horrt of which, tbt
aurroiDiding oouatry beiag abuoM levd mtb tbe tea, ooold be dearly
distingimbed as of tbe mne mndj aatare, but which, in all proba-
bility, is in the rainy leieon, a lagonn eaoraly covered with water. It
had a poor and uninviting ayy c aiaiKe . Several large h aboo na can*
to the beach, and, takii^ op uietr ant oa aooe bUen tnmk of a treci
gazed with great traiiiqittllity at the Pinto as she passed along.
Many tracks of the wdd bog were seen oo tbe beach, but on tbe
whole, Balambargan is the iM i^and I should select as my ** Bart"
taria."

A short visit was made to tbe adjacent island of Bangney, and *
boat went up a river oo the south-wesi quarter, running for scvi
miles through low, flat, manfroTe jungle, but descending in clear
cades from tbe hilly port oi the inland, which ranges entirely ali
tho north-wefltern division, and terminates at the north point inj
very remarkable and beautiful cooical peak* 2000 feet high, covi
to the apex with evergreen wood. Tbe south-eastern division is
and probably of the same mangrove jungle through which tbe
ascended the river, after having with ditiiculty got over a flat bar
its entrance. On this expedition not a living animal was seen,
even a bird, but the elevated part of Bangney presented a far
inviting aspect than anything to be seen in Balambargan. Ti
tliere is no harbour, and, with the exception of the river alli
to. it is said to want water. The piratical prahus sometimes

LdeKvous here, in readiness to pounce on any unwary vessel
through the Balabac Straits.
Let me express a hope that tbe British government will s[
alter the face of affairs in these seas, by supporting Mr Brooke
Ssrjtwak, and. without loss of time, planting a similar colony
ores of the buy of Malloodoo.

NEW YEARS EVE.

PaOlf TBS OERUAN OK FBEO£RlCH BICHTBB.

BY H

WHITLIM

It was the last night of the year ; and from his lattice an old man
gazed with a look of despair upwards to the bright and blue heaven,
and downwards upon the tranquil, white-mantled earth, on which
no human being was so jobless and sleepless as he.

His grave seemed to stand near him^ covered, not with the green
of youth, but with the snow of age. Nothing had he brought with
him out of his whole Hfe^ nothing save his sins, follies, and diseases,
a wasted body, a desolate soul, a heart iilled with poison, and an
old age of remorse and wretchedness.

And now, like spectres of the past, the beautiful days of his
youth passed in review before him, and saddened memory was
there, and drew him back again to that bright morning when his
father first placed him at the opening paths of life, which, on the
right, led by the sun-illumined track of virtue, into a pure and
peaceful land, full of angels and harmony, of recompense and light,
— and on the left, descended by the darkling mole-ways of vice,
into a black cavern, dropping poison, full of deadly serpents, and of
gloomy sultry vapours.

Those serpents were abeady coiled about his breast. — the poison
was on hia tongue^ and he knew notv where he was ! Fairy meteors
danced before him, extinguishing themselves in the churchyard^
and he knew them to be C/tc daj/s of' his folly.

He saw a star fly from heaven, and fall oimmed and dissolving to
the earth. " That," said he, "is myself," and the serpent fangs of
remorse pierced still more deeply his bleeding heart.

His excited fancy now showed him sleep-walkers gliding away
from house-tops, and the arms of a giant wint3mill threatened to
destroy him. He turned, — he tried to escape, — but a mask from the
neighbouring charnel-house lay before him, and gradually assumed
his own features.

While in this paroxysm, the music of the opening year flowed
down from the steeples — falling upon his ear like distant anthems —
his troubled soul was soothed with gentler emotions. He looked at
the horizon, and then abroad on the wide world, and he thought on
the friends of his youth, who, better and more blest than himself,
were now teachers on the earth, parents of families, and I'ftpp^ vtcn!

In this dreamy retrospect of the days of his youth, the fantastic
features o^ the mask seemed to change; it raised itself up in the
charnel-house, — and his weepine spirit beheld his former blooming
6gure placed thus in bitter mockery before him.

He could endure it no longer, — he covered his eyes, — a flood of
scalding tearf^ streamed into the snow, — bis bosom was relieved, and
he sighed softly, unconsciously, inconsolably — " Only come again,
youth, — come only once again !"

And it came again ! for he had only dreamt so fearfully on that
new year's night. He was still a youth. His errors alone had been
no dream, and he thanked God that while yet young he could turn
from the foul paths of vice into the sun-track which conducts to th.e
pure land of blessedness and peace.

CAREER OF THE HERO OP ACRE.

WITH A PORTRAIT OF SIR 8IDNEV 8MITB.

Sir Sidney Smith was one of ibose heroes whose iropulsire charac*
ter seems to identify them with romance rather ihan history. Sent to
sea at an unusually early period, he had only received as much educa-
tion as served to stimulate his fei^lings vrithout maturing his judgment,
and the desultory course of reading he chose for his own instruction,
exalted his imagination beyond the due proportion of that attribute to
the reasoning powers. He entered the navy in 1775, being then little
more than eleven years of age, and was barely fourteen when he waj
wounded in an action between Rritifth and American frigates. Among
his companions as a midahipmau, was the late William IV ; they
both served under Sir George Rodney in the battle off Cape St. Vin-
cent, and Smith was a Ueutenant in the still more memorable engage-
ment of the 12th of April 1 78S, when Rodney achieved a conquest,
rather than a victory, over Count de Grasse, in the West Indian Seas.

In 1789 Captain Smith, whose promotion had been very rapid, ob'
tained leave of absence for the purpose of making a tour to the north-
ern courts, but he does not appear to have gone farther than Stock-
holm, Here similarity of disposition procured him the friendship of
the chivalrous King of Sweden, Gustavus 111., then engaged in a var
with Russia, and in a far more dangerous elnigg^e against hia own feu-
dal aristocracy. Though unable to obtain permission from his own go-
vernment to enter into the Swedish service, Captain Smith accompanied
Gustavus through the campaign of 1700, acting more as a confidential
adviser than a disinterested spectator. Ho saw the plans which Gus-
tavus had judiciously formed, and \^hich, if acted upon, would have been
completely successful, utterly frustrated by the disafft'ction and inca-
pacity of the Swedish naval officers. Never was there a more signal
instance of men allowing the feelings of party to triumph over those of h
patriotism ; adequately supported, Gustavus might have seized St*l
Petersburg; deserted and betrayed, he had to tremble for Slockholm.
Even thus he concluded no inglorious peace, and he shewed his grali*
tude for the services of Sidney Smith, by sending him the Swedish
Order of the Sword, at lUe close of the war. The Engliijh court sanc-
tioned the honour, and the ceremonial of investiture was performed by
George lU. at Su James's.

Sir Sidney Smith was sent on a special raisF^ion to Constantinople,
apparently to examine the adequacy of the Turkish power to resist a
Russian invasion. He was summoned home in consetpirnce of the
breaking out of the war with revolutionary France ; and observing at
Smyrna a number of British seamen wandering about, he engaged them
as volunteers, ond having purchased a small vessel, hasted to join Lord
Hood, who had just taken possession of Toulon. The unhappy result
of that occupation is known to history ; it is only necessary to state that
the burning of the ships, store*, and arsenal, which had unaccountably
been neglected to the latest moment, was the work of Sir Sidney Smith,
%fao volunteered it under the disadvantage of there licing no previoua
preparation for it wliatcver. As he was at this time an officer on half-

CAREER OF THE HERO OP ACRE.

pay, the French pretended to regard his interference &■ an act of piracy,
and this laid the foundatiou of the personal hatred with which he was
regarded by Napoleon.

The service to which he was next appointed was one calculated to in-
crease the hatred of the French gainst Sir Sidney personally. He waa
sent in command of the Diamond frigate, to clear the channel of French
privateers and cruisers, and lo keep in alarm by repeated attacks the
various points and ports of the coast. AAcr having performed several
dashing exploits, he was unfortunately captured off the port of Havre
in a lugger, and instead of being treated as a prisoner of war, he was
sent as a state criminal to Paris, and confined in the Temple. After
two years of close, but not very severe captivity, he succeeded in making
his efcayte, and returned safely to Kugland.

Napoleon soon after sailed with an immense armament for Egypt ;
and Sir Sidney Smith, who had been appointed to the command of the
Tigre, was sent to join the Mediterranean fleet, then under the com-
mand of Earl St. Vincent ; hut he also received a commission appoint-
ing him joint minister plenipotentiary with his brother, at the court of
Coustai)tmop1e ; and as this commission was distinct from any orders
of the Board of Admiralty, it seemed to give him an independence
of his superiors in command, which was very offensive to Earl St.
Vincent and Admiral Nelson. Fortunately his diplomatic mission en-
abled him to reach St. Jean d'Acre two days before Buonaparte arrived
before that town, which, though wretchedly provided with the means of
defencCj was the key of Syria, and perhaps of the Ottoman Empire.
The little British squadron infused such courage into the Turks, both
by their presence and example, that Napoleon was stopped in the full
career of victory. The siege lasted sixty days, and there was hardly
one of those days in which the seamen and marines of the three British
ibips, led by their gallant commander, did not perform some brilliant
and dashing achievement. His own graphic but modest record of his
Jenrices, published iu Mr. Barrow's volumes, is one of the most interest-
lag narratives of war to be found in any language.

Wc shall not attempt to abridge it ; our readers will be far more
grateful to us if they take our advice and read the story in the hero's
ioiroitable words. Among the numerous tributes of honour paid hira
by a grateful coimlry not the least pleasing to his feelings, was a warm
Irtter of congralulatiou from Nelson, which showed that the great
admiral forgot all personal feelings of jealousy when the glory of his
country was concerned.

After the departure of Buonaparte from his army, Kleber, who suc-
ceeded to the command, was anxious to make a convention nith the
English and Turkish authorities for the evacuation of Egypt. The
British goverument disapproved of the terms which Sir Siduey Smith
was disposed to grant, and this involved him in some painful discus-
sions with the Earl of Elgin, who had superseded him in the embassy
lo Constantinople. A cry was raised that Sir Sidney Smith waa
too much disposed to favour the French ; and though Sir Ralph
Abercrorabie cheerfully availed himself of his assistance in landing
the British expedition at Alexandria ; yet, on the death of that gene-
ra). Lord Hutchinson, who succeeded lo the command, removed Sir
Sidney Smith froui the command of the gun-boats attached to the
tnny, a slight which was felt very keenly. Admiral Lord Keith

CABEEB OF THE HERO OF ACRE.

soothed Sir Sidney's feelings by sending- him home with the despai
announcing the victorious progress of the British arms in Egypt,
was received at home with rapturous enthusiasm ; congratulatory ad-
dreMes pouted in upon him from all sides, and he was elected to parlia
ment for the city.

The treaty of Amiens was a suspension of arms rather than a peace.
Soon after the renewal of hostilities. Sir Sidney Smith was appointed to
the command of a small squadron in the north seas, with the rauk
of commodore. Repeated vexations induced him to resign, but to-
wards the close of 1 805, he was promoted to the rank of rear-admirali
and sent to join Lord Collingwood tn the Mediterranean.

The duty which now devolved on Sir Sidney Smith was to protect
Sicily ana recover the kingdom of Naples from the French. As ibe
latter object was soon found unattaiuable, he was ordered to join Sir
John Duckworth in the memorable and unfortunate expedition to the
DardaDL'lles. We deem it fortunate that our limited space precloda.
the possibility of our criticising an expcdiuon badly planned and won*
executed ; and we have just as little regret at being compelled to psa
over the employment of such a hero as Sir Sidney Smith in escorting
the Prince Kcgcnt of Portugal to the Brazils. It is useless to disguise
the fact that the name of Sir Sidney Smith had appeared in what was called
the ** Delicate Investigation** into the conduct of the Princess of Wales,
and that thenceforth^ he was doomed to feel the coldness and almost
hostility of the cabinet. After a harassing and thankless service in the
Mediterranean, he returned to England in 1S14, and hauled down his
flag which was never again hoisted.

Impatient of idleness, Sir S'.dney Smith devoted his energies to the
formation of a general society for the abolition of Christian Slavoy,
carried on by the Barbary States ; he contrived to interest the Congren
of European Sovereigns assembled at Vienna, in this project, and fonsMl
a society of knights and liberators. 'Hie brilliant exploits of Lord Ex*
mouth, at Algiers, soon rendered the association useless, and its objects
were always too limited to allow of its acquiring general interest.

Until the publication of Mr. Barrow's book, we were not aware thit
Sir Sidney Smith was actually present at the battle of Waterloo. He
was at Brussels with his family when intuUigence of the probability of tn
engagement arrived ; his love of adventure induced him to hasten to the
fleld, but merely as a spectator. When, however, " the red field was won,"
he honourably exerted himself to alleviate the sufferings of the woundvd.
and spared neither his purse nor his labour in this generous service, ll
was probably through the exertions of the Duke of Wellington that he
was soon aher created a Knight Commander of the Bath, an honour
tardily and^ wo belinvei reluctantly conceded by the Prince Regent.

Sir Sidney Smith's acceptance of the office of the Regent of the
Knights Ten]|)lars, and his pertinacious efforts to restore that order to
something of its ancient dignity are clear proofs that the chivalry of his
choracter had a tendency to degenerate into quixotism ; and this was
prohably the reason why he continued to be neglected after the acces-
sion of his old comrade, William IV., to the throne. In 1838, he
received from her present Majesty the Grand Cross of the Order of
the Bath. He diL^l at Paris, May 2Cth, 1840, and was followed to the
grave by the most distinguished foreign officers then assembled in the
French capital.

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

OR, TBB ISI^ETS OF THE GULF.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " THB PILOT," "RED ROVBR," ETC,

The screams of ra^re, the f^oan, tlie strife,

The lilow, ilie gmitp, tli« horrid cry,
Th« panting, throttled prayer far life,
The dying's heaving Hgh,
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed^ sHlI glare.
And fear^ii aud death's cold swest^they all are there.

Matthew Lec.

OHAPTBB XV.

It was high time that Capt. Spike shoult! arrive when his fool
loucbetl (he bottom of the yawl. The men were getting impatient
and anxious to the last degreei and the power of Setior Muntefulderon
to control them, was lessening each instant. They heard the rending
of timber, ami the grinding on the coral, even more distinctly than
the captain himself, and feared that the brig would break up while
they Ifly alongside of her, and crush them amid the ruins. Then the
spray of the seas t!mt broke over the wealhcr-side of the brig, fell
like rain upon them; and every body in the boat was already as wet
as if exposetl to a violent shower. It was well, therefore, for Spike,
that he descended into the boat as he did^ for another minute's delay
might have brought about his own destruction.

Spike felt a chill at bis heart when be looked about him and saw
the condition of the yawl. So crowded were the stern-sheets into
which he had descended, that it was with difficulty he found room to
place his feet ; it being his intention to steer, Jack was orilered to get
into the eyes of the bout, in order to give him a seaU The thwarts
were crowded, and three or four of the people had placed themselves
in the very bottom of the little cralY, in order to be as much as pos*
sible out of the way, as well os in readiness to bale out water, ^o
seriously, indeed, were all the seamen impressed with the gravity of
this last duty, that nearly every man had taken with him some vessel
fit for such a purpose. Rowing was entirely out of the question, there
being no space for the movement of the arms. The yawl was too low
in the water, moreover, for such an operation in so heavy a sea. In
all, eighteen persons were squeezed into a little crafl that would have
been sufficiently loaded, for moderate weather at sea, with its four
oarijmen and as many sitters in the stern-sheets, with, perhaps, one in
the eyes to bring her more on an even keel. In other words, she had
just twice the weight in her, in living freight, that it would have been
thought prudent to receive in so small a craft, in an ordinary time, in
or out of a port. In addition to the human beings enumerated, there
was a good deal of baggage, nearly every individual having had the
forethought to provide a few clothes for a change. The food and
water did not amount to much, no more having been provided than
enough for the purposes of the captain, together with the four men
with whom it had been his intention to abandon the brig. The effect
of all this cargo was to bring the yawl quite low in the water; and

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

arery seafaring man in her had the greatest apprehensions about her
being able to float at all when she got out from under (he lee of the
Swash, or into the troubled water. Try it slie must, however^ and
Spike, in a reluctant and hesitating manner, gave the final order to^
"shove off!"

Hie yawl carried a lugg, as is usually the case with boats at Be%'
and the tirst bloat of the breeze upon it satisfied Spike that his pre-
sent enter|>rise was one of the most danf^^erous of any in which he had
ever been engaged. The pu0s of wind were quite as much as the
boat would bear; but this he did not mind, as he was running off
before it, and there was little danger of the yawl capsizing with &uch
a weight in licr. It was also an advantage to have swiii way on, to
prevent the combing waves from shooting into the boat, though the
wind itself scarce outstrips the send of the sea in a stiff blow. As
the yawl cleared the brig and began to feel the united power of the
wind and waves, the following short dialogue occurred between the
boatswain and Spike.

"I dare not keep my eyes off the breakers ahead," the captain
commenced, "and must trust to you. Strand, to rejwrt what is going
on among the man-of-wur's men. What is the ship about?**

" Reefing her top-sails just now, sir. All three are on the caps, and
the vessel is Inying-to, in a manner."

*• And her boats?"

" I see none, sir — ay, ay, there they come from alongside of her in
a little fleet I Tlierc are four of them, sir, and all are coming dowa
before the wind, wing and wing, carrying their luggs reefed."

** Ours ought to be reefed by rights, too, but we dare not stop to
do it; and these infernal combing seas seem ready to glance aboard
us with all the way we can gather. Stand by to bale, men ; we must
pass through a strip of white wati'r — there is no help for it. God
send that we go cleur of the rocks ] "

All this was fearfully true. The adventurers were not yet more
than a cable's length from the brig, and they found themselves sA
completely environed with the breakers, as to be compelled to go
through them. No man in his sunses would ever have come into such
a place at all, except in the most unavoidable circumstances ; and it
was with a species oa" desfmrr that the seamen of the yawl now saw
their little croft go plunging into the foam.

but Spike neglected no preciiution that experience or skill could
suggest. He had chosen his spot with coolness and judgment. As
the boat rose on the seas, he looked eagurly ahead, and by giving it
a timely sheer, he hit a sort of channel, where there was sufficient
water to carry them clear of the rock» and where the breakers were
less dangerous than in the shoaler places. The passage lasted about
a minute ; and so serious was it, that scarce an itidividuul breathed
until it was effected. No human skill could prevent the water from
combing in over the gunwales; and when the danger was passed,
the yawl was a third HUed with water. There was no time or
place to pause, but on the little cralt was dragged almost gunwale tO| <
the breeze coming against the lugg in puffs that tlireotened to tak«|fl
the mast out of her. Alt Imnds were baling; and even Biddy usedV

her hands to aid in throwing out the water.
*' This is no time to hesitate, men " said

Spike, sternly.

'ery

OR, THE ISLETS OF THiS GULF.

thing must gQ overboard but the ibod and water. Away with them
at once, and with a will." ,

It was a proof how completely all hands were alarmed by this, the
first experiment in the breukcrs, that not a man stayed his tuind a
single moment, but each threw into the eea, without an inslunt of
hesitation, every article he had brought with l»im, and had hoped lo
save. Biddy parted with the carpet-ba{^, and Seiior Montefalderon,
feeling the importance of example, committed to the deep a small
wriliiip-desk that he had placed on his knees. The doubloons alone
remained sai'e in a little locker where Spike had deposited theui along
villi his own.

" What news astern, boatswain ? " demanded the captain, as soon
as this imminent danger was passed, absolutely afraid to turn his eyes
off the dangers ahead for a single instant. ** How come on the man-
of-war's men ? "

** They are running down in a body toward the wrecks though one
of their boats does seem to be sheering out of the line, as if getting
into our wake. It is hard to say, sir, fur they are still a good bit to
windward of the wreck."
•'And the Molly, Strand?"

■* Why, sir, the Molly seems to be breaking up fast ; as well as I
can seCf she has broke in two just abatt the fore-chains, and cannot
hold together in any shape at all many minutes longer."

This information drew a deep groan from Spike, and the eye of
every seaman in the boat was turned in melancholy on the object they
were so fast leaving behind them. The yawl could not be said to be
uiiing very rapidly, considering the power of the wind, which was
i little gale, for she was much too deep for that; but she left the
irreck so fast as already to render objects on board tier indistinct.
Everybody saw that, like an overburdened steed, she had more to get
ilong with than she could well bear; and, dependent as seamen
usually are on the judgment and orders of their superiors, even in
the direst emergencies, the least experienced man in her saw that
their chances of final escape from drowning were of the most doubt-
iiil nature. The men looked at each otiier in a way to express their
filings; and the moment seemed favourable to Spike to confer with
liis confidential sea-dogs in private ; but more white water was ahead,
tod it was necessary to pass through it, since no opening was visible
by which to avoid ic He deferred his purpose, consequently, until
this danger was escaped.

On this occasion Spike saw but little opportunity to select a place
to gel through the breakers, though the s[)0t, as a whole, was not of
the most dangerous kind. The reader will understand that the pre-
Krvution nf the boat at all, in white water, was owing to the ciroum-
ilAoce that the rocks all round it lay so near the surface of the sea,
as lo prevent the possibility of agitating the element very seriously,
and to the fact that she was near the lee side of the reef. Had the
breakers been of the magnitude of tliose which are seen where the
deep rolling billuws of the ocean first met the weather side of the
ibodls or rocks, a crafl of that size, and so loaded, could not possibly
have passed the first line of white water witliout filling. As it was,
however, the breakers site had to contend with were sufficiently
formidable, and ihcy brought with them the certainty that the boat

CAPTAIN SPnCE;

was in imminent danger of striking the bottom at any moment
Places like those in which Mulford had waded on the reef, while it
was calm, would now have proved fatal to the strongest frame, since
human powers were insufficient long to withstand the force of such
waves as did glance over even these shallows.

" Look out T*' cried Spike, as the boat again plunged in among the
white water. " Keep baling, men — keep baling."

The men did bate, and the danger was over almost as soon a« ea-
countered, Something like a cheer burst out of the chest of Spike,
when he saw deeper water around him, and fancied he could now trace
a channel that would carry him quite beyond the extent of the reef.
It was arrested, only half uttered, however, by a communication from
the boatswain, who sat on a midship thwart, his arms folded, and his
eye on the brig and the boats.

"There goes the Molly's masts, sir! Both have gone togetherj.
and as good sticks was they, before them bomb-shells passed through'
our rigging, as was ever stepped in a keelson,"

The cheer was changed to something like a groan, while a murtnuf'
of regret passed through the boat.

" What news from the man-of-war's men, boatswain ? Do thej
still stand down on a mere wreck?"

"No, sir; they seem to give it up, and are getting out their oarfl'
to pull back to their ship. A pretty time they 'II have of it, too.
The cutter that gets to windward halfa mile in an hour, ag'in such a
sea, and such a breeze, must be well pulled and better steered. Oof
chap, however, sir, seems to hold on."

Spike now ventured to look behind him, commanding an expe*
ricnced hand to take the helm. In order to do this he was obtigeiftl
to change places with the man he had selected to come aft, whtcb
brought him on a thwart alongside of the boatswain and one or two
other of his confidants. Here a whispered conference took place,
which lasted several minutes. Spike appearing to be giving instruc-
tions to the men.

By this time the yawl was more than a mile from the wreck, all
the man-of-war boats but one had lowered their sails, and were pull-
ing slowly and with great labour back toward the ship, the cutter that
kept on evidently laying her course after the yawl, instead of stand-
ing on toward the wreck. The brig was breaking up fast, with every
probability that nothing would be left of her in a few more minutes.
As for the yawl, while clear of the white water, it got along without
receiving many seas aboard, though the men in its bottom were kept
baling without intermission. It appeared to Spike that so long as
ihey remained on the reef, and could keep clear of breakers — a most
difficult thing, however — they should fare better than if in deeper
woter, where the swell of the sea, and the combing of the waves,
menaced so small and so deep-loaded a craft with serious danger.
As it was, two or three men could barely keep the boat clear, work-
ing inccssantlyi and most of the time with a foot or two of water in
her.

Josh and Simon bad taken their seats, side by side, with that sort
of dependence and submission that causes the American black to abs-
tain from mingling with the whites more than might appear seemly.
Tliey were squeezed on to one end of the thwart by a couplu of ro*^

OR, THE ISLETS OF TOE GULP.

bust old sea-dogs, who were two of the very men with whom Spike
had been in consultation. Beneath that very thwart was stowed
another confidant, to whom comuiunicatioiis had slUo been made.
These men had sailed long in tlic Swash, and having been picked up
in various ports, from time to time, us the brig had wanted hands,
they were of nearly as many difl'erent nations as they were persons.
Spike lifid obtained a great ascendency over them by habit and au-
thority, and his suggestions were now received ns a sort of law. As
soon us ttie conference was ended, the captain returned to the helm.

A minute more passed, during which the captain was anxiously
surveying the reef ahead, and the state of tilings astern. Ahead was
more white water— the last before they should get clear of the reef;
and astern it was now settled that the cutter, that held on through
thu dangers of the place, was in chase of the yawl. That Mulford
was in her. Spike made no doubt ; and the thought embittered even
hts present calamities, But the moment had arrived for some-
thing decided. 'I'hc white water nhead was much more formidable
thnii any they had passed ; and the boldest seaman there gazed at it
with dread. Spike made a sign to the boatswain, and commenced the
execution of his dire project.

" I say, you Josh," calletlout the captain, in the authoritative tones
ttiat are so familiar to all on board a ship, '* pull iti that fender that is
dragging alongside.**

Josh leaned over the gunwale, and reported that there was no fen-
der uut« A malediction followed, also so familiar to those acquainted
with ships, and the black was told to look again. This time, as had
been expected, the negro leaned with his head and body far over the
aide of the yawl, to look for that which had no existence, when two of
the men beneath the thwart shoved his legs after them. Josh
screamed, as he found himself going into the water, with a sort of
confused consciousness of the truth ; and Spike called out to Simon
to " catch bold of his brother nigger." The cook bent forward to
obey^ when a similar nflsault on Am legs from beneath the thwart .sent
him headlong after Josh. One of the younger seamen, who was not
in the secret, sprang up to rescue Simon, who grasped his extended
hand, when the too generous fellow was pitched headlong from the boat.

All this occurred in less than ten seconds of time, and so unexpect-
edly and naturally, that not a soul, beyond those who were in the
secret, had the least suspicion it was anything but an accident. Some
water was shipped, of necessity, but the boat was soon baled free.
As for the victims of this vile conspiracy, they disappeared amid the
troubled waters of the reef, stniggliny with each other, t^ach and
all met the common fate so much the sooner, from the maimer in
which they impeded (heir own efforts.

The yawl was now relieved from abuut five hundred pounds of the
weight it had carried — Simon weighing two hundred alone, and the
youngish seaman being large and full. So intense does human self-
ishness get to be, in moments of great emergency, that it is to be
feared most of those who remained secretly rejoiced that they were
ao far benefited by the loss of their fellows. The Sciior Montefal-
deron was seated on the aftermost thwart, with his legs in the stern-
•heets, and consequently with his back toward the negroes; and he
fully believed that what had happened was purely accidental.

VOL. xxiii. Q

CAPTAIN SPIKE ;

"Let us lower our sail, Don Esteban,** he cried, eagerly, "
save the poor fellows."

Something very like a sneer gleamed on ihc dark countenance oT
the captain, but it suddenly changed to a look of assent.

** Good I" he said, hastily ; " spring forward, Don Wan, and lower
tlie sail — stand by the oars, men !"

Without pausing to reflect, the generous-hearted Mexican stepped
on a thwart, and began to walk rapidly forward, steadying himself
by placing his hands on the heads of the men. He was sutTered to
get as far as the second thwart, or past most of the conspirators,
when his legs were seized from behind. The truth now flaithed od
him, and grasping two of the men in his front, who knew nothing
of Spike's dire scheme, he endeavoured to save himself by holding to
their jackets. Thus assailed, those men seized others with like in-
tent, and an awful struggle lulled alt that jiart of the crat>. At ihii
dread instant the boat glanced into the white water, shipping so much
of the element as nearly to swamp her, and taking so wild a sheer,
as nearly to broach-to. This last circumstance probably saved her,
fearful as was the danger for the moment. Everybody in the middle
of the yawl was rendered desperate by the amount and nature of the
danger incurred, and the men from the bottom rose in thuir might,
underneath the combatants, when a common plunge was made by til
who stood erect, one dragging overboard another, each a good deil
hastened by the assault from beneath, until no less than six were
gone. Spike got his helm up, the boat fell off, and away from the spitt
it flew, clearing the breakers, and reaching the northern wall-like mar-
gin of the reef at the next instant. There was now a moment when
those who remained could breathe, and dared to look behind them.

The great plunge had been made in water so shoal, that the boat
bad barely escaped being dashed to pieces on the coral. Had it
not been so suddenly relieved from the pressure of near a thousanil
pounds ill weight, it is probable that this calamity would have he-
fallen it, the water received on board contributing so much to weigh
it down. The struggle between these victims ceased, however, the
moment they went over. Finding bottom for their feet, they re-
leased each other, in a desperate hope of prolonging life by wading.
Two or tJiree held out their arms, and shouted to Spike to return
and pick them up. This dreadful scene lasted but a single instant.
for the waves dashed one after another from his feet, continually
forcing them all, as they occasionally regained their footing, toward
the margin of the reef, and Anally washing them off it into deep wa*
tcr. No human power could enable a man to swim back to the
rocks, once to leeward of them, in the face of such seas, and so heavy
a blow ; and the miserable wretches disappeared in succession* as
their strength became exhausted, in the depths of the gulf.

Not a word had been uttered while this terrific scene was in the
course of occurrence ; not a word was uttered for sometime after-
ward. Gleams of grim satisfaction had been seen on the counten-
ances of the boatswain and his associates, when the success of their
uetarious project was first assured ; but they soon di&api>eared in
looks of horror as they witnessed the struggles of the drowning men.
Nevertheless, human sel/iahness was strong witliin them all, and none
there was so ignorant as not to perceive how mucli better were the
chances of the yawl nuw than it had been on quitting the wreck.

OH, THE ISLETS OF THK GULP.

The weight of a large ox liad been taken from it, counting that of all
the eight men drowned; and as for the water shipped, it was soon
baled back again into the Kea. Not only, therefore, was the yawl in a
better coocUtion to resist the waves, but it sailed materially faster
than it bad done befure. Ten persons btill remained in it, however,
which brought it down in the water below its pro[>cr load-line; and
the speed of a craft so small was necessarily a good deal lessened by
the least deviation from its best sailing or rowing trim. But Spikes
projects were not yet completed.

All this time the man-of-war's cutter had been rushing as madly
through the breakers, in chase, as the yawl had done in the attempt
to escape. Mulford was, in fact, on board it ; and hts now fast friend,
Wallace, was in command. The latter wished to seize a traitor, the
former to save the aunt of his weeping bride. Both believed that
they might follow wherever Spike dared to lead. Tliis reasoning was
more bold than judicious, notwithstanding, since the cutter was much
larger, and drew twice as much wnier as the yawl. On it came, ne-
vertheless, ^ing much better in the white water than the little cral't
it pursued, but necessarily running a much more considerable risk of
hitting the coral, over which It was glancing almost as swiftly as the
wares themselves ; still it had thus far escaped — and little did uny in
lit think of the danger. This cutter pulled ten oars, was an excellent
•ea-boati had four armed marines in it, in addition to its crew, but
carried all tiirough the breakers, scarcely receiving a drop of water
dOn board, on account of the height of its wasli-baards» and the gene-
ral qualities of the crafl. It may be well to add here, that the
Poughkeepsie had shaken nut her reefs, aod was betraying the im-
patience of Cupt. Mull to make sail in chase, by Bring signal guns
to his boats to bear a hand and return. These signals the three boats
'under their oars were endeavouring to obey, but Wallace had got so
far to leeward as now to render the course ne was pursuing the wisesL

IVfrs. Budd and Hiddy had seen the struggle in which the Senor
Montefaldcron had been lost, in a sort of stupid horror. Both had
tcreamed, as was their wont, though neither probably suspected the
truth. But the fell designs of Spike extended to them as well as to
tiiose whom he had already destroyed. Now the boat was in deep
««ter, running along tlie margin of tiie reef, the waves were much
facreased io magnitude, and the comb of the seu was far more me-
naciatg lo the boat. This would not have been the case had the
rocks formed a lee; but they did not, running too near the direction
of the trades to prevent the billows that got up a mile or so in the
ffffing, from sending their swell quite home to the reef. It was this
avelly indeed, which caused the line of white water along the north-
am margin of the coral, washing on the rocks by a sort of lateral

isrt, and breaking, as a matter of course. In many places no boat
have lived to pass through it.

Another consideration influenced Spike to persevere. The cutter

been overhauling him, hand over hand ; but since the yawl waa

ved of the weight of no less than eight men, the difference in

rate of sailing was manifestly diminished. The man-of-war*!

i drew nearer, but by no means as fast as it had previously done.

pCHOt was now reached in the trim of the yawl, when a very few

niireds in weight might make the most important change in her

o 2

CAPTAIN SPIKE ;

favour; and this cliangc l)ic captain was determined to produce. %$]
this time the cutter was in deep water as well as liitnseUj safe throo^i
all the dangers of the reef, and she was less than a quarter of a n^l
astern. On the whole, she was gaining, though so slowly as to reqoin
the most experienced eye to ascertain the facL

"Madame Budd," said Spike, in a hypocritical tone, " we are in grett
danger, and 1 shall have to aak you to change your seat, llie bottli
too much by the starn, now we've got into deep water, and y«ur
weight amidships would be a great relief to us. Just give your hAnd
to the boatswain, and he will help you to step from thwart to UivirLj
until you reach the right place, when Biddy shall follow."

Now Mrs. Budd had witnessed the tremendous struggle in which
so many had gone overboard, but so dull was she of npprehenuon,
and so little disposed to suspect any thing one-half so monstrous tf
the truth, that she did not hesitate to comply. She was profoundly
awed by the horrors of the scene through which she was passing, iht
raging billows of the gulf, as seen from so small a craft, producing &'
deep impression on her; still a lingering of her most inveterate affecta-
tion was to be found in her air and language, which presented a straoge |
medley of besetting weakness, and strong, natural, womanly atfectioL

" Certainly, Cap!. Spike," she answered, rising. ** A crafi shouU
never go astern, and I am quite willing to ballast the boat. V\'e hiU '
seen such terrible accidents to-day, that all should lend their aid is
endeavouring to got under way, and in averting all possible hamper. |
Only take me to my poor, dear Uosy, Capt Spike, and every tiling <
shall be forgotten that hag passed between us. This is not a momtnii
to bear malice; and I freely pardon you all and every thing. The
fate of our unfortunate friend Mr. Nlontefalderon should teach ui
charily, and cause us to prepare for untimely ends." |

All the time the good widow was making this speech, which sbf '
uttered in a solemn and oracular sort of manner, she was moving
slowly toward the seat the men had prepared for her, in the middle
of the boat, assisted with the greatest care and attention by the boat-
swain and another of Spike's confidants. When on the second thwart
from aft, and about to take her seat, the boatswain cast a look behind
him, and Spike put the helm down. The boat luOed and lurched, of
course, and Mrs. Budd would probably have gone overboard to lee-
ward, by so sudden and violent a change, had not the impetus thus
received been aided by the arms of the men who held her two hands.
Tlie plunge she made into the water was deep, for she was a woman
of great weight for her stature. Still, she was not immediately gotten
rid of. Even at that dread instant, it is probable that the miserable
woman did not suspect the truth, for she grasped the hand of the
boatswain with the tenacity of a vice, and, thus dragged on the sur-
face of the boiling surges, she screamed aloud for Spike to save her.
Of all who had yet been sacriHced to the captain's selfish wish to save
himself, this was the Brst instance in which any had been heard to
utter a sound, af^er falling into the sea. The appeal shocked even
the rude beings around her, and Biddy chiming in with a powerful
appeal to " save the missus ! " added to the piteous nature of the scene.

"Cast olF her hand," said Spike reproachfully, "she'll swamp the
boat by her struggles — get rid of her at once ! Cut her fingers off if
she wont let go."

The iustant these brutal orders were given, and that in a fierce,

OB, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

inipaiient tone, the voice of Biddy was heard no more. The truth
/breed iisciron her dull imugination, and she sat a witness of the ter-
rible scene, in mute despair. The struggle did not lust long. The
luatsnain drew his knife across the wrist of the hand that grasped
his own, one shriek wqr heard, and the boat plunged into tlie troujih
of a sea, leaving the form of poor Mrs. Budd struggling with the wave
on its summit, and amid the fonm of its crest. This was the last that
was ever seen of the unfortunate rehct-

*' Tlie boat has gained a good deal by that last discharge of cargo/'
said Spike to the boatswain, a minute afVer they had gotten rid of the
struggling woman — "she is much more lively, and is getting nearer
to her loud-lioe. If we can bring her to tAatj I shall have no fear of
the man-of-war's men ; for this yawl is one of the fastest boats that
ever floated."

'• A very little note, sir, would bring us to our true trim."
" Ay, we must get rid of more cargo. Come, good woman/' turn-
ing to Biddy, wiih whom he did not think it worth his while to use
much circumlocution, "^our turn is next. It's the maid's duty to
follow her mistress."

"I kaow*d it mtts( come/' said Biddy, meekly. " If there was no
mercy for the missus, little could I look for. But ye '11 not take the
life of a Christian woman without giving her so much as one minute
to aay her prayers?"

" Ay, pray away/* answered Spike, his throat becoming dry and
husky; for, strange to say, the submissive quiet of the Irish woman,
so different from the struggle he had anticipated with fter, rendered
htm more reluctant to proceed than he had hitherto been in all ot
that terrible day. As Biddy kneeled in the bottom of the stcrn-
iheets, Spike looked behind him, for the double purpose of escaping
the painful spectacle at his feet, and that of ascertaining how his pur-
suers came on. The last still gained, though very slowly, and doubts
began to come over the captain's mind whether he could escape such
taemies at all. He was too deeply committed, however, to recede,
and it was most desirable to gel rid of poor Biddy, if it were for no
other motive than to shut her mouth. Spike even fancied that some
idea of what had passed was entertained by tliose in the cutter.
There was evidently a stir in that boat, and two forms that he had
M difficulty, now, in recognizing as those of Wallace and Mulford,
•tre standing on the grating in the eyes of cutter, or forward of Vhe
fciesail. The former appeared to have a munket in his hand, and the
Mftcr a glass. The last circumstance admunishcd him that all that
WIS now done would be done before dangerous witnesses. It was too
Jite to draw back, however, and the captain turned to look for the
Irish woman.

Biddy arose from her knees, just as Spike withdrew his eyes from
h'n pursuers. The boatswain and another confidant were in rendino»s
ta cast the poor creature into the sea, the moment their leader gave
the sj^ah The intended victim saw and understood the arrange-
ment, and she spoke earnestly and piieously to her murderers.

** It's not wanting will be violence/' said Biddy, in a quiet tone, but
with « sa<Idened countenance. " I know- it's my turn, and I will save

Srr souls from a part of the burden of this great sin. Gud, and Ilia
iTitic Son, and the Blessed Mother of Jesus have mercy on me if it
bp wrong; but I would far rudder jump into the sua widoul \\Qb>f'u\^

CAPTAIN spike;

the ruJe hands of man on me, than have the dreadful light of ik

missus done over ag*in. It's o fearful thing is wather, iinil iiiiinri—
we have too little of it, and sometimes more than we want — **

*' Bear a hand, hear a hand, good woman," interrupted the bo*
swain, impatienlljr. " We must clear the boat of you, and tbeMooff
it is done the better it will be for all of us."

"Don't grudge a poor morthal half-a-minutc of life, at the lift
moment/* answered Biddy. ** It's not long that I '11 throuble je, mk
so no more need be said."

The poor creature then got on the quarter of the boat, without m
one's touching her; there she placed herself with her legs outbovi
while she sat on the gunwale. She gave one moment to the thoogbl
of arranging her clothes with womanly decency, and tlien she ymmti
to gaze with a fixed eye, and pallid cheek, on the foaming wakttint
marked the rapid course of the boat. The troughs of the sea 9teiati
less terrible to her than their combing crests, and she u-aited fbrthe
boat to descend into the next.

"God forgive ye all this deed, as 1 dot" said Biddy, eamestlft
and bending her person forward, she fell, as it might be ■' witlioai
hands," into the gulf of eternity. Though all strained their ejo.
none of the men, Jack Tier excepted, ever saw more of Biddy Noon-
Nor did Jack see much. He got a frightful glimpse of an vs.
however, on the summit of a wave, but the motion of the boat was tM
swift, and the surface of the ocean too troubled, to admit of aught tht

A long pause succeeded this event Biddy's quiet submission to Iwr
fate had produced more impression on her murderers than the dc»p^
rate, but unavailing^ struggles of those who had preceded her. Thuiil
is ever with men. When opposed, the demon within blinds them 10
consequences as well as to their duties; but, unresisted, the silent lO'
fluence of the image of God makes itself felt, and a better spiril
begins to prevail. There was not one in that boat who did not, fori
brief space, wish that poor Biddy had been spared. With rnoet thsi
feeling, the last of human kindness they ever knew, lingered until
the occurrence of the dread catastrophe which, so shortly af^er, closed
the scene of this state of being on their eyes.

"Jack Tier," called out Spike, some live minutes after Biddy was
drowned, hut not until another observation had made it plainly apparent
to him that the man-of-war's men still continued to draw nearer,
being now nut more than fair musket shot astern.

" Ay, ay» sir," answered Jack, coming quietly out of his hole, from
forward of the mast, and moving aft as if indifferent to the danger, by
stepping liglitly from thwart to thwart, until be reached the stero-
sheets.

** It is your turn, little Jack/' said Spike, as if iu a sort of sorrow-
ful submission to a necessity that knew no taw, ** we cannot sparea
you the room." I

" I have expected this, and am ready. Let me have my own way,
and I will cause you no trouble. Poor Biddy has taught me how to
die. Before I go, however, Stephen Spike, I must leave you ibis
letter. It is written by myself, and addressed to you. Wlien I am
gone, read it, and think well of what it contoins. And now, may a
merciful God pardon the sins of both, through love for his Divine
Son. I forgive you, Stephen; and should you live to escape from
those who arc now bent on hunting you to the death, let this day cause

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULP.

you no grief on my account. Give me but a moment of time, and I
will cause you no trouble.'*

Jack now stood upon the seat of the stem-sheets, balancing him-
self with one foot on the stern oC tlie boat. He waited until the
yBw\ had risen to the summit of a wave, when he looked eagerly
for the man-of-war's culler- At that moment she was lost to view in
the trough of the sea. Instead oi' springing overboard, as all ex-
pected, he asked another instant of delay. The yawl sunk into the
trough itself, and rose on the succeeding billow. Then he saw the
cutter, and Wallace and Mulford standing in its bows. He waved
his hat to them, and sprang htgh into the air, with the intent to make
himself seen ; when he came down, the boat had shot her length away
from the place, leaving him to buffet with the waves. Jack now
managed admirably, swimming lightly and easily, but keeping his
eyes on the crest^j of the waves, with a view to meet the cutter.
Spike now saw this well planned project to avoid death, and regretted
his own remiBsncsG in not making sure of Jack. Every body in the
yawl was eagerly looking after the form of Tier.

"There he is on the comb of that sea, rolling over like a keg I"
cried the boatswainr

"He's through it," answered Spike, "and swimming with great
strength and coolness/*

Several of the men started up involuntarily and simultaneously to
look, hitting iheir shoulders and bodies together. Distrust was at its
most painful height ; and bull-dogs do not spring at the ox's muzzle
more fiercely than those six men throttled each other. Oaths, curses,
and Appeals for help succeeded, each man endeavouring, in his fren-
zied efforts, to throw all the others overboard, as the only means of
saving himself. Plunge succeeded plunge; and when that combat of
demons ended, no one remained of them all but the boatswain. Spike
hod taken no share in the struggle, looking on in grim satisfaction, as
the Father of Lies maybe supposed to regard al! human strife, hoping
good to himself, let the result be what it might to others. Of the
five men who thus went overboard not one escaped. They drowned
each other by continuing their maddened conflict in an element un-
suited to their natures.

Not so with Jack Tier. His leap had been seen, and a dozen eyes
in the cutler watched for his person^ as that boat came foaming down
before the wind. A shout of " There he is I" from Mulford suc-
ceeded ; and the little fellow wa.1 caught by the hair, secured^ and
then hauled into the boat by the second lieutenant of the Pough-
keepsic and our young mate.

Others in the cutter had noted the incident of the hellish fight.
The fact was communicated to WaSlace, and Mutford said, "That
yawl will outsail this loaded cutter, with only two men in ii "

"Then it is time to try what virtue there is in lead," answered
Wallace. " Marines, come forward, and give the rascal a volley."

The volley was fired : one ball passed through the head of the
boatswain, killing him dead on the spot. Another went through the
body of Spike. Tlie captain fell in the stern-sheets, and the boat in-
stantly broached to.

The water that came on board apprized Spike fully of the state in
which he was now placed, and, by a desperate effort, he clutched the
tiller, und got the yawl again before the wind. This could not Idst,

^^^ 8S KT BIRTn-DAY DREAK.

^H however. Little by little his hand

relaxed, until his hand relinqui^ B

^H ed its grasp altogether, and the wounded ^nan sunk into the botua ^

^H of the stcru-sheeta, uuable to raUe even his bead. Again the Uc H

^H broached-to. £very sea now sent

its water aboard, and the jsm ■

^H would soon have SUed, had not the

cutter come CElaocins down Hi ^|

^H it, and rounding-to under its lee, secured tlie prize. H

^^^H MV BIRTH-DAY DREAM. H

^^^^ BT SDVABJ} KCVEALY. ■

^H Tme golden Julian morn was gleaming

ThU I can give lhe«, on thy to^ H

^^m uVr roe,

wrealliing, ^|

^^B Tbe diarnood stan were waning one

Immortkl honour, glory ne'er ta«i(H

^H liy

Renown, uotoall future limes beqi^H^I

^H Mlien, \o i methouglit a riiion rose be-

^^^H

^^B fure me.

A bright cxaxnplct, gtiidii^ ^''^^^^l

^H Two maidens, beauteous as tlie rising

j^^^l

^^M On the pule lirowi of one were towers

A shining plat.'e in hi^cory — k "Hlifl

■

Out-dazEling kin^ — tha >ajl

^^m ftbining,

drowns the star — ^^B^l

^^B A glory burst like Here's from her

A name to which all tiioe iu meed 9^1

^H eyes

render, ^|

^^^^H Hut round the othcrS forehead I saw

Whidi Change c&u ne'er dastrnhM^I

^^^^H

FoUy mar." ^^H

^^^^V Lnurula mud roses bright as brightest

^^f

She ceased, and I was left alone na- 1

^^1 Then, quoih Che Hrst, *'Myname, b»-

guidc-d, H

^H hivfNl, is Power :

A Uttlc cnulled child to choow t» 1

^K^^ 1 c*ntie tu theo, and woo thee for mine

tween H

^^^^K

Power and Fame ! — alas! alas! diviM 1

^^^^B UValth, »cn»ndeur, titles^-these shall be
^^^^^ thy (lower,

Why should theee golden goddcM ■
be tieen ? ■

^H^ lint tliMU must seek, ooun, worship

Why should not Fame and Power, liki 1

^^B me

smiling (iraces,

^^B Tlio mnrlilp pnlnce gliUeriuff in itsf^lory.

Wander along the earth to woo ai^

^^B Tiir iHtitip, ihii |K)wor, tlto attributes

^^H of KtNKW,

win ?

Why Hhould not he who seeks the mA

^^B Thtst 1 uaii give tliee, with a name in

embraces

^H story :—

Of Powur, gain them but by atdsf

Sin ?•

^H Canst thoii for these put forth thine

^H vaglo wings?*'

^H Then, quoth tite second, '* Pomp, and

I know not—care not. Virgin Faar

^^B |Hiwer, and ptiljioe,

immortal^

^H And ntyn) wealth and grandeur are

To thee, and not to Power 1 yieU

^^B

my soul •

^H / cHiMHH glvti th«e garden, bowery ur

Guide her, oh, g\)ide her throogfa thy

^^H

crystal portal.

^^B Kps|iIi<iuI(mU wiih its goms, nnd

Blazon her name upon thy bannerol

^^H I'ltiti'ii'il uith wine.

What care I for tbe lures of proud do*

^^B Tilli'ti 1 I'AUUoi vaunt, away cannot

minion 1

^^B

Dominion is of earth, and scenu of

^H hi stKiili, wliat I can give, I scarce

crime ;

^^B mil iinmi*

Oivc me, sweet Fame, to soar, with

^H Thy blight soul tHki not gaud, nor

boavenly pinion

^H gnuily iM>ir«>r,—

Above the paltry pride of earth sub-

^H^ 1 know M/r,— know (f— what thou

Hme.

^^^^- lovVi Is l*'amo.

^^^H • « ll v»ry rarely Impiwns," sftyn Mnclilavclli, •* or perhaps, never otscura. that

^^^^^B a piltwt >iiihs hlumiU fmtn a huiiiUe stutlun to Rreat dignity without employtug

^^^H tllW/iMVi'r/r.iHif.*' HfjUcthnt on l.i

•y« Uh. ii, tap. 13.

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE DEFENCE OF THE
[ COUNTRY.

[ BY .fAIUKS AUOUSTUa BT. JOHN,

AUTHOR OP "THE MANNKHS, KTC., OF ANCIBNT GREECE.''

Wb are the only people in the civilized world who, though intent on
the accumulation of wealth, Di?^lcct alt precautions for its defence. We
have an army no way proportioned to our political power, or the extent of
our (dominions ; and, if in itself our navy be large, it is so widely scat-
tered over the surface of the globe, that the force we can at a short no-
tice bring to bear on any particular point 19 much less considerable than
might be at first expected. This state of things is traceable to many
causei«, of which the principal are, our jealous attachment to freedom,
and unwilliDgDess to be taxed for the support of great military establish-
ments. But, like uU other nations, we must accoramodale our practice to
the necessities of the times in which we live. There is no political com-
munity aiming at greatness^ or ambitioub of taLin;^: a lead in the affairs of
the world, wliich does not train a larger number of its citizens to the use
of arms than we have ever done. The United States, though much given,
like our:<C'lvcs, to comoierce and iudustry, have an organized and disci-
plined militia of nearly one million of men ; France has eight hundred
thousand of national guards ; Austria has likewise her mililia ; Prujtsia her
land-wehr ; and Russia maintains a far more numerous, though less com-
pletely disciplined domestic force. Great Britain alone, though standing
foremost in the career of civilization, though by far the most powerful^
from the energy of her population, the amount of her wealth, the magni-
tude and number of her colonies and dependencies, is content to rely on
the undisciplined valour of her people for protection and security at home.
Qur arrayt including the troops of the East India Company, does not ex-
ceed four hundred and Hfty thousaud men, though our empire is now the
most widely spread which the world has ever seen ; though we have
belted round the globe with settlements, and arc still actively engaged
in founding new colonies, and reducing fresh millions to obedience.

In reviewing the events of these times, hintory will regard with extreme
surprise the extent of our self-reliance, inspired though it be by the tra-
ditions of victory and the sentiment uf indomitable courage. We j»er-
suade ourselves that no enemy will be hardy enough to make a descent
on these islands, and attack us in our homes, because the thing has never
happened since the conquest. London, indeed, can make a prouder boast
than Sparta, and say, that for eight hundred years her women have never
beheld the smoke of an enemy's camp. To preserve this traditional glory
untarnished is obviously, therefore, one of our chief duties as English-
men. To say that we have for so many centuries been placed by our
virtues beyond the reach of au iusuU so galling, and a calamity so terri-
ble as invasion, ia to put forward the strongest of all arguments for using
our utmost exertion to transmit this legacy of glory untarnished to our
children.

For some time past the journals of this country, as well as those of
France, and, indeed, of most other states in Europe, have been filled

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

with disquisitions on the practicability of disembarking a bovtile nrmm
the coasts of Kent or Sussex, and marching upon and sacking Losda.
The French press, conducted for the most part by youn^ writer* <tf
ardour than knowledge, labours to give currency to the idea
would be no difficulty whatever in the enterprize. It confiden
cipates the defeat of our fleets at sea, the almost unopposed de
of the French army, the utter rout or destruction of the few
could oppose to the invaders, the captore and plunder of London, al
the commission of all those crimes and excesses, which among tut
neighbours have always been regarded as the best fruits of Tictory,

Even in our own country several journalists have written in th« am
spirit, actuated, no doubt, by the patriotic desire to rouse the ulMi
from its lethargy by showing it the danger in its worst shape^ If thai
has been some exaggeration, the error is lens mischievous than unfbaDil>
ed conBdcnce. The best thing, however, is to state, as far as
the exact truth, and neither to overrate the power of France, nor to
derrate our own: Supposing our military strength to be equal to on
population, and the extent of our territories, France would be a mm
pigmy in comparison with us. Her population does not exceed tfaim-
live millions, while our's falls little short of two hundred oiillions, tbats
to say, comprises one-fifth of the population of the globe. But oo idM
of our military strength can be gathered from this view of the nattff.
Our empiro is scattered in patches over both hemispheres, dividad ^
oceans, and improKsed in different places with a ditferent character bydi*
combined influences of climate, race, language, and religion, Francpii
one compact unity, or nearly so, for all she possesses e^ctemal to bcr
own shores is of comparatively little value, and would inevitably be sbon
away by the first stroke of the sword of war. Her military establisk-
ments, therefore, lie nearly all within a moderate distance of the capit^
and may easily be wielded by the central government, whether for ofen*
sivc or defensive purposes. And what, then, is the real force of France;
It has confidently been stated in the newspapers that it amounts to thrtc
hundre^l and fifty thousand men, in the highest state of discipline, ani*
mated by the worst feelings of rancour and hatred against this countrvi
and inured to the most merciless cruelly in the wars of Africa, TbU
view of the matter may suggest erroneous conclusions. The Frendi
army actually consists of about three hundred and twenty-fire thousaa^
men, of which from 1 1 to 1 20,000 arc required for the pacification and
defence of Algeria. Twenty or twenty-five thousand men are distribul^l
through the other French colonies in Western Africa, the Antilles, aod
the Pacific, so that a large reduction must be made from the formidable
round numbers with which our popular speculators have hitherto dealt.
Still the force of France is very great, and, in the estimation of military
men, more than siifBcient to invade England in her present state of com-
parative defencelessness.

Much stress has, moreover, been very properly laid on the character of
the French soldiers. They are not what they were in former days, the
representatives of the cirilisuition of the kingdom, but a fierce, immoral^
reckless horde, approximating more nearly to savages tlian any other
troops in the world. This has been rendered indubitable by the history
of their campaigns in Algeria, where they have been guilty of more and
worse crimes against humanity than any other army whose exploits are
on record. Burning villages, massacring tbo inhabitants, shutting m

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

Sap in cares, and roasting them there alive, with every other excess which
▼lUany can conceive and brutality can execute, have been their habitual
|r achievements. And yet they had nothing to retaliate on the Africanfi.

[Neither the Kabyles, nor the Arabs, nor the Moors had humiliated them
at Waterloo. Abd-el-Kader had not marched to Paris, or transported
( Napoleon to St. Helena, and kept him there in imprisonment till his

I death. Consoquonily, what they have done in Africa must have pro-
ceeded from the natural promptings of their character. It would be al-
ii together different la England. They would here have much to revenge,
I since they could not fail to discover at every step trophies snatched from
them on the field of battle, bitter mementos of defeat, the flags of their
ships of war, magnificent pieces of artillery^ and statues and monuments
' erected to celebrate victories over them. In our public records they
would find the proofs of a thousand other facts and circumstances calcu-
lated to excite their fury. What, therefore, the weak and defenceless
portion of the population of this empire might expect to meet with at
their hands, can scarcely be imagined even from reflecting on the myste-
ries of the caves of Dara, or the infamies of Tahiti. Whatever the most
degraded passions, lust, cupidity, or revenge, could conceive or perpe-
trate, would unquestionably be accomplished. On this point there can
be no mistake.

The Duke of Wellington is said, in his letter to Sir John Burgoyne,
to have demonstrated the practicability of France's landing fifty thou-
sand men on the coast of England in less than a week afler the de-
parture of our ambassador from Paris. On such points, his Grace's
authority is the greatest that could be adduced. But his letter is not
before the public, and the extracts which have found their way to the
press, should probably be regarded rather as a weak version of the
Duke's language than as the clear and powerful words he has actually
employed. At least, there seems good reason to believe that the full
force of his expressions is not to be gathered from anything with which
the public have yet been made acquainted. Not, however, to insist
on this, it appears to be generally admitted that France has now at her
disposal an army of one hundred thousand men for offensive purposes,
and that she possesses the means of transporting nparly half that force
by steam from her own shores to ours iu the course of a single night,
An officer of the highest rank, who visited the camp at Compiegne.
and carefully examined the conditions of the French army, confirms the
popular report that it is in the completest possible state of eflBciency ;
that its artillery practice is most exact and admirable, that it is familiar
with all our most recent improvements in gunnery, and that, in spite of
an external varnish of politeness, the spirit by which it is universally
pervaded is that of the most deadly hatred towards this country. For
a long lime, the French Government has been moving up its forces
towards the north, where they arc kept in formidable masses, almost
within sight as it were of the shores of England, at Cherbourg, St.
Malo, Brest, and other ports, where an ample supply of war steamers
IB in constant readiness to transport them wherever their services may
be required.

On the subject of the steam navies of France and England, much too
hlile infonnation is [Hjpularly possessed. If collected together, our
steamers would no doubl suffice to defend our shores from the attacks
of the whole world. But in point of fact, where arc they ? Scattered

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

over every ocean and every ecu, protccUufr tlie trucks of commerce, or
overawinf^ the pirAtc and the slaver. Comparatively few are retained
at home, while those of France constructed and maintained purely for
purpotes of a^resniuu, are kept perpetually within ciiU. Amoog
those, there are nixtcen immensie atcamcr^, each capable of serrinj^ at
transport to fifteen hundred soldiers durinjf a short voyage. Other
and Bmaller war Hteamers^ acting as the baielUtcs of these, would divide
the remainder of the invading army between them, so ihat a vast
Hulilla, witli artillery, horses, and men on board, might be pu&hcnl over
in twelve hours from the coast of France to our own.

When Napoleon, in 1 803. meditated the invasion of Great Britain,
he accustomed his cavalry horses Co exercises which would enable them
to dispcnae, when necessary, with flat-bottomed boats. They were
thrown into the sea and taught to swim to the beach. Heavy guns
were likewise cast overboard with ropes attached, and afierwards drawn
aahorc by men. To lure away our fleet, that of France was to have
been dispatched ostensibly for the West Indies, with orders to take all
our colonicH, burn the towns, and commit all practicable ravages in the
interior of the islands ; but in reality, its orders were to double about
in the Atlantic, and return to the channel, in order to facilitate and pro-
tect the passage of the army. Similar mancouvres are probably now in
contemplation, and will be put in practice tthould our negligence or
avarice ever enable our vindictive ULM^hbuurs to realise their dreams.

Let the country reflect on the dilemma in which we should be
placed, were the Frcuch, immediately on the breaking out of a war, to
imitate the policy of Napuleon. Unable to recoucilo ourselves to tbc
capture or deatilulimi of the Elritish West Indies, and not being certain
of the destruction of tbc enemy, we should be compelled to full on it
with our own fleet. If it pursued its course towards the Gulpb of
Mexico, we might possibly come up with, and destroy it there; but, 00
the other hand, if it should escape our observation at sea, and make
ita appearance off our coast at the same lime with the steamers; what
would be the situation of tliis country ? To abandon our eulonies,
would be dishonourable enough, but in the endeavour to protect theiSi
to expose our own country to the horrors of invasion, would be some-
thing infinitely worse.

At the period to which I have referred above, Enghind, though iofh
nitety h'sM powerful and wealthy than it ia now, was animated by an
wdour and enthusiasm which we might possibly, under similar circum*
atancea, display again, but like which, there is nothing existing among
UN at preitcnt. The youth of ihe kingdom might literally be said to
ruah to arms. At the beginning of the year, we liad a hundred and
fiiYy thouiand men, before the end of it, six hundred and thirteen thou-
»aniJ, of whuin four hundred and thirty thousand were volunteers.
Againct such a population, Napuleou clearly jwrceived that nothing was
lo he eflucted, and the breaking out of the Austrian war opportuoely
relieved him from tlie necessity he would soon have been under, of re-
linquishing his design of invasion, obviously from the conviction thai it
was absurd and impossible. As it was events covered his retreat, and
he enjoyed the honour of having projected the comjuest of England, as
Vijf project the reduction of an empire in a dream.

At prevent ihts country is pervaded by a very different apirit Etw

aiuco the peace we have ncdulously applied ourselves to the arts of com-

nercc and indudtry, to the improvement of manufacturc^t, to the found-

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

iug of colooies, to the emancipation of trade, and to the aaiolioration ge-
nerally of our civil and political institutions. And these things we,
doubtless, should have done ; bvit there are other things which we should
not have le^ undone, and among these must be reckoned a continuous
application and study of the arts and processes of war. After the hard
lessons we bad received from experience, we ought not to have required
to be taught that in this world there is uo trauquilliiy or peace for man
unless under the shadow of the sword, and that there Is" and should be
no music so grateful to the ear of a civilized man as the roar of ar-
tillery proclaiming to all whom it may concern that be is prepart-d to
defend his freedom and independence at the hazard, and, if need be, at
the sacrifice of his life.

But war having been the cause to us of much calamity, of an immense
national debt, and of great private sorrow and suffering, we hastily and
credulously adopted the belief that it was the last of our great trials as
a nation, nnd that we should thenceforward be able to play the cpiou*
reans, and indulge in all the fantastic tricks of luxury and eflfeminacy.
Were sailors to reason thus during a calm, they woutd most assurcHlly
never be prepared to meet the hurricane. The wise course is to enjoy
peace and dae weather while they last, but never to be lulled into forget-
fulness of the truth, that vicisHitiide is the great fundamental law of nature,
and that tenipesls are begotten in the bosom of calm and peace, as well
in the moral as in the physical world. For want of reflecting on this,
we arc now taken by surprise at the first mutterings of the storm in the
distance. Happily, however, there is still leisure for preparation ; and
happily, too* we now possess ministers who are fully alive to Ibe danger,
and resolved to lake every necessary step towards meetinj^ it in a man-
ner becoming the character of this great people, whose honour for the
time is committed to their keeping.

I desire it to be distinctly understood, that in what I am about to say
I am only offering my own opinion respecting the plan formed by minis-
ters for the defence of the country. That it will he found substantially
correct, however, I make no doubt ; nor can it prove in any way injurious
that the press should anticipate the designs of government^ because by
developing a wise and moderate scheme of policy^ it must inevitably, to a
certain extent, predispose the country to receive it favourably when it
shall be hereafter announced in parliament. Meanwhile, it is satisfactory
to believe, what is unquestionably true, that our rulers interpret accu-
rately the signs of the tiuies, and comprehend the whole extent of their
duties as ministers of this great empire. From a detached passage of
the Duke of Wellington's letter, it might be inferred that Lord John
HusHel was one of three ministers to whom His Grace had made his
prudent representations in vain. But this is not the case. The
present cabinet is obviously as fully alive to the necessity of making pre-
parations to meet any assault from without as His Grace himself can be,
as the public will bo thoroughly convinced, when, after the holidays, the
government pbn comes to be explained in the House of Commons,

It is reasonable to suppose, that when ministers took this important
subject into consideration, they hesitated long before they could deter-
mine whether it would be most desirable to make a large addition to the
regular army, or to organise an immense miliiin, or to adopt the middle
course of relying partly on the soldiers of the line and partly on what
may be strictly denominated a domestic force. After mature delibera-
tion, they would seem to have given the preference to the course last

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THK

mentioned. For this many cogent reasons might be assigned. Th<
militia is a constiluiional force, the very nature of which tends to
strengthen our attachment to the institutions of the country, while il
gives us confidence in our ability to defeud them. According to the
fundamental laws of this realm, every Englishman should not only be
permitted the use of arms, but expected to understand it ; that, in cttm
of emergency, he may be able to enroll himself in the list of our national
defenders. The mere soldier too frequently learns to look with iudiffer-
ence on the land of his birtli^ from which, by the vicissitudes of war, bt
is oflen kept in almost per[>etual estrangement. By passing constantly
from place to place, he contracts a contempt for local associations ; and
by leading the better ]>art of his life abroad, ceases to be actuated by the
sympathies and feelings of home. The camp in the long run contes,
therefore, to be regarded as hU country, and his fellow -soldiers as hit
only fellow-citizens.

The militia-man lives under totally different influences. He is only
a soldier so far as discipline and the defence of the hearth and the altar
are concemed. He enlarges his conception of home, without weakening
the love of it. His patriotism is not confined to Lancashire, or Cumber-
land, or Kent, but expanding with his experience, includes in its embrace
our whole group of islands. He ceases to be the citizen of one (own or
county, but becomes a citizen of Great Britain, equally devoted to the
whole, having, perhaps, formed for himself personal friends in almost
every part of it. This, of course, can be the case only when the
militia is so far organised and maintained on the footing of a regular
army, that it merely differs from il in never being called upon to serrv
abroad. In ordinary circumstances the militia is strictly a local force,
raised in a distant neighbourhood, constituted chicfiy of persons who
know each other, and are oflen knit closely together by the ties of blood
and friendship. Such men in the day of difficulty would fight gallantly
side by side, knowing, as they must, that defeat would be fatal, not merely
to that abstract existence called the state, but also to themselves, their
wives and families, and all their hopes and prospects in this world.

Consequently no service could possibly be more popular than that d
the militia, when rendered aecessary by the exigencies of the times ; and
these considerations, there is every reason to believe, wilt induce ministers
immediately to organise a force of one hundred and forty thousand meo,
of whom one hundred thousand will be raised in Great Britain and fortv
thousand in Ireland. This may jar upon the ears of many as the first
note of approaching war ; but we have deceived ourselves egregiously if
we have been led to imagine, that because there has been a protracted
cessation of hostilities, therefore we may be said to have entered on the
period in which the swords of nmukind are to be converted into plougfa-
sliares, and their spears into pruning- hooks. No such period of halycon
calm is to be expected in our days. Our lot has been cast in the iron
age of the world, and it is with iron that we must defend ourselves from
the mischiefs with which we are menaced by the unbridled passions and
profligate principles of our neighbours.

One of the greatest reeomniendutions of a militia force is the compa-
ratively small cost at which it may be kept up. Experience, I believe,
has shown that with the strictest regard to economy a soldier cannot
be maintained in this country at a smaller cost than forty pounds ster-
ling per annum, whereas a militia-uiau may be supported for one-tenth
of that sum, or four pounds sterling per annum, I mean when he is

DEFENCE OP THE COUNTUY.

required to do duty only during uue mouth of tl>e year. At the first
bituh it might aeem that the expense should only bo one-twelfth, but
when we caosidcr that a niaoliine once put in motion is much more
cmsIt Aod cheaply kept going perpetually, than it can with irregular
fareaks nud interruptions be put in action occo&iouaUy, we bhall be able
to flcooant to ourBelv^es for the factii of a calculation which, at first, a^i-
pears unaatisfactory. Thus, however, it in evident that a hundred
thousand niilitia-men would cost the country uo more than ten thou-
sand troofis of the Uue, while in case of invasion we might reckon oa
thrm with infinitely greater confidence, the dificipliue of a militia
being qnite sutiicient to teach them to ftdl into their places on the
field of bftttle, trusting to their inherent courage to enable them to
stand their ground.

Such a force could, moreover, be encamped as it were both in the
interior and along the coast in every ctmnty in the kingdom. There
cooid be no touching on the shore anywhere without meeting with a
military population ; and if to the uaual regiments of infantry were
added a corresponding strength of cavalry and artillery* every mile of
our »ea-front might be regarded hs impregnable. The elTectf more-
over, of these exercises on the humbler clasiies would be in ftll respects
beneficial. They would bring them together, teach tbem to act in
ooucert, lead to the cultivution of friendly feelings among neighbours,
excite their appetite for knowledge, and give rise among them to a
proper appreciation of foreigners which would lead generally to a
rooted repugnance for their character and manners. It may be all very
well in a few vagabond philosophers to cultivate coHniopolituu tenden-
cies, and endeavour to break down the limits which separate the seve-
ral commnnities of the earth ; but it would be absurd to cultivate the
«une philosophy of indifference among the great musses of the popula-
tion. Universal empire is an impracticable chimera. It is evidently
the de«tiny of the numan race, and very fortunately, as their happi*
nesi depends on it, to live in distinct political communities as long as
the world endures. This, properly understood, signifies that from
time to time there must inevitably be wars, because it is altogether
impoaaible that the interests of different states should not sometimes
chuh ; and if this be the case, it follows that, according to the irresist-
ible laws of nature, the subjects of one state will always entertain cer-
tain prejudices against the subjects of every other, and, in reality,
ihould do so to enable them to contend manfully when the hour of
Strife arrives.

Whoever has lived among the French peasantry umst be thoroughly
convinced that nothing is less cosmopolitan than their sentiments.
They regard with unbounded prejudice, amounting in most cases to a
tooted difilike, the inhabitants of all the surrounding countries, wbile^
vith respect to the English, this ditilike degenerates into a rancorous
nd nnappeasablc hatred. If we were constructing an universal
Utopia we might btipulute for the eradication of these feelings. But
H, after all our speculations, we are compelled to take the world as it
xtands, our wisest course, apparently, is to moke the best of our actual
ntnation and work with the materials we possess till it shall please
Providence to supply lis with better. Now, by the organization of a
militia we should draw forth and give a proper shape and tendency to
the boEtile feelingft of the British population against France. Know-
ing tbe cause which forced them from their homes and interfered more
or less with the processes of industry in which they are habitually en*

OOVEUNMENT PLAN FOB THE

gaged, ibey would learn to regard that cause with a proper def»re« of
BTersion, and, in case of any attempt at invasion, would be animatal
by Uie disposition to receive the enemy as he deserved. Popular
KODgs> originating in the circumstances of the hour, would xpHng into
existence and make the circuit of the militia-ljarracks, rousing tb«
warlike propensity and strengthening the inherent passion of humin
nature for steel. This, I know, is a doctrine which will be deprecated
by Diony. But it is the doctrine of all patriotic nations, it is the doc-
trine which has placed us foremost in the rank of civilised communities;
which has given us a prodigious empire in Asia, which has rendered
us masters of a hundreu colonies, and bestowed on us the power, if ve
knew how to exert it wisely, to regulate the destinies of the world.
When we reject it, therefore, and adopt its opposite, farewell to our
greatness ! We may be very benevolent, very philanthropic, very
cosmopolitan, but we shall be subdued and enslaved by the firf.t bar-
barian who has the courage to land a well-organized and powerful
army on our shores, and, with his foot on our necks, shall enjoy ample
leisure to regret that we ever sufi'ered ourselves to be turned aside
from the path of duty by a frivolous, vain, and maudlin philosophv,
engendered by the firesides of dreamers, and tit only to obtain circula>
tion among anchorites and old women.

It will be a proud day for Englautt when she beholds one hundred
thousand of her sons drawn out in battle array on her beloved s^jil,
with arms in their hands, ready to protect its inviolability. The music
of such a host will be sweet to the ear of freedom, sweet to the ear of
peace, sweet to the ear of justice* and honour, and putriotisnfi. and
whatever else is venerable in this world. It is conaequentl? to be
hoped that, instead of throwing impediments in the way of gorern^
ment when it ])roceeds to develope the plans which it has formed for
the protection of our coasts from invasion, the whole country wili en-
tcr into its designs with enthusiasm and compel parliament at once to
moke the necessary grants for our national defences. Taxation, in it-
self an evil, will, in these circumstances, be tlie greatest of blessings.
To secure us the possession of what we have we must consent to sacri-
fice some small portion of it in creating the moans of security. Who-
ever has a home or hearth worth defending, whoever has a beloved fa-
milv or dear friends, whoever cherishes an uttacliment for our old be*
rcditftry itif^tttnttons, for the familiar associations of town or countrVi
for our literature, for our religion, will, instead of obstructing minis-
ters in the execution of their wise plans, rather urge upon Parliament
the necessity of giving them a wider range and loftier scope, and be
ready to make all needful sacrifices for the purpose.

In addition to the ordinary objections against organising a militia in
England, a fresh set of arguments may be anticipated against the
carrying out of the same plau in Ireland. Persons who know nothing
of the Irish character, and are readier to consult their prejudices than
their reason, will, probably, contend that it would be highly perilous to
entrust forty thousand Irishmen with arms, more especially at a mo-
ment like the present, when, as they conceive, disaffection reigns pa-
ramount through the island, and the rage for the repeal of the Union is
unbounded. It will do honour tuthe courage and sagacity of ministers
if, despising these vulgar apprehensions, they determine, as I trust they
will, to confide us frankly in the people of Ireland as in the |>eople
of this country. No libel can be more injurious or unjust than
that which accuses the Irish generally of disaflection. I'liat they

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

1*7

are fur from l>eing content with their condition I admit, and they
would be deserving of little respect if they were. Ireland ifi not
in a state to nourish contentment ; for to give existence to this feeling,
\ve must greatly ameliorate the condition of the people, or, which will
answer the purpose still better, must enable them to perform this great
duty themselves. But between the absence of social contentment and
political disuffection there is a wide interval.

Besides^ considering the mntcriuls of the Irish character, it would b«
perfectly reasonable to contend that, even if disaffection did exten-
sively prevail to raise a large body of militia in Ireland, and to arm.
equip, and discipline it, would be one of the readiest means that could
be devised of dissipating that feeling. The Irish arc a religions people,
who sincerely believe in the sanctity of oaths. Having sworn alle-
giance, therefore, to the crown, they would feel themselves to be re-
moved, by the very act, out of the catagory of disaffection, und bound
rather to assist the law in eradicating it. That in cose of iuvnsion they
would favour the enemvi is what no man in his senses believes. The
threat was a sort of rhetorical clap-trap iu the mouth of Mr. O'Con-
nell, and many of his unfortunate imitators occasionally venture to
repeat it, but it is obvious that while doing so they are haunted by the
consciousness that they are playing with two edged tools, and that they
run quite as much risk of wounding themselves, as of inflicting injury
<in Great Britain ; in fact, they l<now very well that the Irish would
do no such thing. Ireland and England are, in this respect, like man
and wife ; they may quarrel between themselves, and Imndy luick-
wards and forwards innumerable menaces and recriminatiuns, but the
invader w ho should Hti*p in between them in the very worst paroxysm of
their domestic resentments, would be apt to meet with a reception
which would scarcely encourage him to repeat the experiment. The
Irish are somewhat fond of noise, and take a sort of malicious pleasure
in abusing the Saxons, but when circumstances have placed them side
by side on the field of battle, they have never been behind the bravest
or those Saxons in upholding the honour of old England, and hearing
her flag through blood and danger to conquest or victory. 1 should
like to know where the Irish ever turned tail, where or when they de-
serted their colours, or deserved the name of traitors and cowards. I
should be very sorry, in the wildest districts of Tipperary, to make such
a charge. The truth is, that the Irish know we are united together by
destiny, and, in spite of all the declamations of their mob orators, they
love us, because we hare fought with them, because they have shared
the dangers of our campaigns, because they partake of the glory of our
conquests, and of all the prestige which belongs to imperial sway.
Give them arms, therefore, and they will not dishonour them. Your
musket will be as safe in the Irish hovel as in the Castle of Dublin or
in the Tower, when it is guarded by the sanctity of an oath, and by
that military enthusiasm with which no men are more deeply imbued
than our llourishers of shellaluhs over the ^vatcr.

In addition to the hundred and forty thousand militia which minis-
ters should immediately organise, a small addition to the regular army,
say ten thousand men, will be absolutely necessary, partly for the for-
mation of artillery corps, and partly for the strengthening of the
cavalry. Kxperience may now be said to have demonstrated that the
possession of a powerful artillery invests even a small st^te with
strength. It was this that gave the Sikha their renown in Asia, and

VOL. XXIIT. a

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

rendered tbem formidable antagonisttt even to us* The same o1
tion may be opplied to the petty Alahratta state of G walior. Of wUI
enormous advantage, therefore, would not such a force be io the hi
of a people like the English ? As it is, we are merely weak ht
we are negligent. We possess more resources, more materials of}
more means of conquest and self-aggrandisement, than aiiT
people in the world. But we make no account of them, and are
obstinate in our remissness, that wc mav almost be said to ioTite
French, or any other half-barbarous people, to make a descent nj
our coasts for plunder. Ifftiornnt as tliey are of foreign countries,
know very well they would find a golden harvest here, which
tempt whole swarms of half-naked vagabonds to slip out of
wooden shoes, and itkip over to England, in the hope of clothing
selves, and living respectably for the rest of their lives at oar
pense.

Why, therefore, are we insensible to the danger we incur?
Boman empiie was rendered accessible to the barbarians of the ni
only through the sloth and inactivity of the provinces. People tb(
as now, would think of nothing but amassing wealth and addicl
themselves to luxury and pleasure, and the empire almundecl witfc
pigmy sophists who defended their licentiousness in their declamatioii
agdiuBt war. Confounding debauchery with humanity, they pretauM
it was better to rcvt'l within the walls of to^vns, than bear arms amii
the snows and swamps of the frontier. They» therefore, incesssntlf
laboured to corrupt the youth, by drawing fearful pictures of the boi-
rort) of war. Mars aitd Belluna were thrust from the temples of Rome,
and a dastardly spawn of epicurean divinities installed in their pitoa
We have entered upon the same career ; have paralysed the energia
of government and parliament by an odious outcry about economy sod
peace, as though there could exist a doubt in the mind of any mai
that the only way to ward off hostilities is to be always preparedii
enter upon them with vigour at the call of our country.

It is not pusillanimity but prudence that counsels attention at tlic
present moment to our natiurml defences. Properly prepared tni
armed, we could easily defend these islands against the whole world, and.
if need were, conduct retaliatory expeditions against every capital af
Europe in succession, and more especially storm Paris, and give tht
French one lesson more in the process of nntiunnl humiliation. But
if wc persist in the neglect of the most obvious duties, what con poi-
siljly come of it hut dis^nster? The government is manfully doing iti
part. In addition to the thirty thou&and troops we possess scattered
over England and Wales, fifteen thousand pensioners have been organ-
ised, together with nine or ten thousand dockyard labourers. But
this is not enough, Besides these and the militia, we must create a
pttwerfiil artillery force, and greatly augment the strength of our navy,
especially with steamers of large calibre, capable of playing a promi-
nent ptu-t in the next struggle that ensues.

Other precautions must likewise be taken, rendered necessary by the
peculiar circumstances of the age. In some sense we have ceased to be
islanders, the channel having, as it were, been filled up by steam. Our
coasts, therefore, are little less accessible than the frontier of a continental
counlry,8otiiatthenece«sityoflhrowing up fortifications on certain points
has become unquestionable. Much in this way has already been done*
Sheerness, Dover, Portsmouth, Plymouth, are defended by formidable
batteries, and orders have just been issued for strengthening all those

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY,

fB»

works. But tlie system must be extended. There are other large
towns and cities on the shore which c»innot with prudence l>e left
naked, to excite the cupidity of a hungry enemy, proverbially nddicled
to plunder, aa well aa to every other excess of vice, cruelty, and bru-
tality. Whatever sums, therefore, ministers may expend in judicious
fortifications, — and it is to be hoped they will not in this respect be
sparing, — parliament should grant with alacrity, while the public
should be ready to applaud the grant. We must be possessed by a
feeling of security at home, while we are engaged in aeveloping our
design of colonizing and civilizing the world.

One point, however, it seems necessary to insist upon now. If
government take the steps which it may at this moment be fairly pre-
sumed to meditate, no attempt at invasion will be made; and then
certain economists M-ill inquire into the utility of our preparutions>
ridicule our fears, and triumphantly argue that there was no nece&aity
whatever for apprehension or expenditure- But it is to prevent, not
to court invasion that we desire to see a militia organised, our navy
augmented, aud our coasts fortified. We are not anxious to behold
the enemy amongst us, we would much rather he should stay at home,
nnd it is precisely in order to keep him there that we should apply
ourselves diligently to the strengthening and multiplying of our na-
tional defences. The sums of money will not be ill-spent which may
preserve us from the calamities of war. Economy is good, but that is
the wisest economy which saves us from the waste of miUions by the
expenditure of a few hundred thousand pounds. Supposing the issue
to be ever so fortunate, supposing we utterly annihilated the invading
army, supposing we captured the Iteets, seized upon the colonies, and
destroyed utterly the commerce of France, aa m all likelihood we
should, let the economists consider at what prodigious cost we should
effect all this, and take likewise into the account that, by a moderate
expenditure now we may escape that prodigal waste of the national
treasures.

It is upon these views and principles that the whole system of Lord
Pulmerston's foreign policy has been ba^ed. Instead of being as
superficial persons have supposed, a warlike minister, his lordship is
the most pacific of all statesmen ; but, thoroughly understanding hu-
man nature as he does, he never dreams of preserving the tranquillity
of the world by exposing the wealth and possessions of this empire as a
bait to excite the ambition and cupidity of our neighbours. He has
caused to be fell throughout Christendom the just influence of Great
Britain, but, together with his colleagues, has hitherto failed to excite
in the people of this country a proper consciousness of their own weak-
ness. What views he takes of our present position we shall soon learn,
and when he has delivered his opinion in Parliament the country will
be in possession of all that humsin prudence and forethought can sug*
gest. Meanwhile it is iufiuitely satisfactory to observe that public
opinion is gradually adjusting itself to square with Lord PoJmerston's
policy. Hash and ignorant persons prompted by vanity, or under the
influence of still worse motives, laboured incessantly a short time ago
to excite an universal prejudice against his views and character. The
period of that delusion is past. We have now made the discovery
that our intcrcfstsas a nation could be in no safer hands; and» reasoning
from the past to the future, it will, in my opinion, be our wisest course
to place the fullest confidence in his wisdom and genius.

It i» universally admitted, at least here in Great Britain, that bis

100

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

Grace the Duke of Wellington 19, in whatever relates to mili
fairfi, the highest authority to whom we could appeal. The couoin
ia already in possesBioD of his opinion. He has stated, in langutg!
the most emphatic and solemn that could be employed by tnaD» dot
our condition at this moment is unsafe, that an invasion would bi
practicable, and that an enemy's army might even reach and uet
the capital. This is the opinion of the greatest military commander nov
living. Arguing from all the antecedents of Lord Palmerston's lilt
carefully considering his views and sentiments, and comparing iM
examining his speeches and his policy, I think I am fully justified ii
concluding that his judgment entirely coincides with that of his Grace
We have, therefore, the greatest of contemporary statesmen agreeii^
with the greatest general in recommending us to attend to the d^
fences of the empire. It cannot surely be, that any weight will, aftcf
this, be attached to the advice of those who inconsiderately muDtais
that great reductions arc practicable in the army, navy, and ordnaDC6
Every man must have read with pain the declaration made the other
doy, at Stockport, by Mr. Cobden, to this effect, He did not, m
seems to be generally supposed, go the length of contending, thatvt
may dispense at once with all our forces by sea and land, but suggest-
ed, that out of the seventeen millions which we now appropriate to tltf
defences of the empire, a considerable portion might be saved.

As Mr. Cobden's opinion was received with applause by his oU
constituents, and is far too prevalent among the people generally, it
may, perhaps, be worth while to point out the untrustworthy founds
tion on which it is based. During his tour on the continent, he chiefll
associated with commercial men and political economists^ personl
who, in at] countries, are addicted to peace, and inclined to attributl
to others their own unwarlike predilections. It may be possible, aln^
to detect in Mr Cobden's declarations, the vanity of putting forwaid
bold views, which he may suppose to be in advance of the age- Ud»
fortunately, however, there is no novelty in them. Towards the de>
dine of states they have been invariably advanced by all who set It
higher value un the accumulation of wealth to preserving the inte|p'it|:
of the national virtue by the predecessors of our political econorois
by sophists and declaimers, by all, in short, who prefer ease and
luxury to the painful and laborious exertion of energy.

POSTSCRIPT.

A letter on the subject of this article has just appeared from tite
pen of Lord Ellcsmere, pervaded almost throughout by the true old
English spirit. 1 say aimost, because there is one passage in which
his lordship advocates a course which, should our country be invaded,
1 most earnestly trust we shall never pursue. Should the enemy,
taking us by surprise, throw a force of filty thousand men into Eng-
land, his lordship thinks that, with the few regular troops at our com-
mand, we ought not to hazard a battle; and that if the French were
entering Loudon at one end, the guards should march out at the
other. The advice is probably ironical, and designed to rouse us
a sense of our danger. But if the event to which he thus all
should ever occur, I trust the enemy will never be allowed to see
back of an English soldier. Few or many, it will be the duty of our
troops to present their breasts to the foe, and to perish to a man, ra-
ther than suffer the capital to be entered unopposed.

were
the
js to J
udet^
;theV

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

101

On nearly all other points it afTords me great satiBfaction to 6ad
iBt the observations I have ventured lo make are supported by the
opinion of Lord Ellesmere. He may possibly be led by peculiar cir-
cumstances to take at times a too sombre view of our condition. But
to err on this side is far butter than to run into the opposite extreme,
"'c ought to be awakened, however rudely, out of the slumber into
p'hich we have fallen, and shall hereafter confess that we owe a deep
debt of gratitude to those who now unite together for the purpose of
rousing us. Hts lordship, in his excellent letter, discusses the ques-
tion whether it be better to augment the regular army, or to organise
f a militia force. The demands of government will probably be limited
* by the disposition of parliament, while thts again will depend very
much on the state of public opinion. If the nation can be made
sensible of its danger, if men of station and influence like Lord Elles-
imere will come forward in time, and by their judicious warnings give
I an impetus to the sentiment of apprehension; if the press view the
matter in the proper light, and heartily cooperate in accomplishing
the good work, whatever is wanting will be done; the navy will be
strengthenedt the army increased, a new artillery force will be created,
and an immense body of militia will be called out. The question of
expense may be easily disposed of. War with France, sooner or
later, is inevitable, invasion is highly probable ; and should it take
place, no one can be so stupid as to doubt the enormous expenditure of
blood and treasure which it would occasion, not to hint at anything
worse. By being armed in time, we may escape this. It is no matter
of speculation, but an undoubted fact, that we possess the means of
defending ourselves against the whole world, provided we will only
make up our minds to use them. No one denies this ; our worst
enemies are better aware of it than ourselves. They would never
dream of assailing us, if they saw us on our guard. They merely
hope to be able to take advantage of our sloth or heedlessnesfi, to land
on our sliores by surprise, while we are thinking of money-making, of
railway shares, of bills and discount, of Invoices and ledgers. They
have felt how heavy our hand is when we think proper to use it. But
coming now they would Bnd us asleep, and might easily seize and
bind us in fetters which we could not speedily shake off.

Lord Ellesmere seems to doubt the prudence of the writer in the
"Morning Chronicle" who first drew attention to this subject; but I
applaud Ins frankness, and think the country deeply indebted to
bim for the startling disclosures he made. We are much loo apt
to oppose a sort of m ineriiie to the exertions of Government in our
behalf, and to fancy that all is well, because, immersed in other pur-
suits, we do not perceive the dangers which are visible to them. Our
attention has now been directed to the peril iu which we are placed,
ond if we persist in being indifferent to it, we may fancy ourselves
wise and magnanimous if we please, but posterity will pass a very
different judgment on our proceedings, and be apt to stigmatize us as
a base and slothful race, who would not devote a small portion of
our wealth to preserve our country from invasion, our wives and
daughters from violence, and ourselves from that infamy which ever-
lastingly clings to those who prefer mere worldly coasidcrations to
the preservation of their honour.

A VISIT TO THE '• HAUNT" OF A POETESS.

BY TBS AUTHOR OP *' FASDIANA/* BTC

I HAVE rather a leaning to old times and customg, in spite of their
inconveniences: the very rubs*' that make the rough road long" are
not without their charm, and from devouring the way to Gloucetter
by the Great Western express at B(\y naileit an hour, I take very
kmdly to nibbling on to Ross upon the Mazeppa, at the rate of seveo.
And the comfort is, that this Mazeppa is lililt Hkely to be run away
with. The Hereford Hetnian is horsed with a style of cuttle qutie
different from him of the Ukraine, — is, indeed, altogether a glower
coach, as well as far more respectable; but, as chatty and pleasant a
conveyance as any one would desire to be connected with.

** On we dftah !—
Tcnrents leu rapid and leu ra*b,'^

IB not the way to describe his progress at all ; and, if the word ** head-
long " be used with reference to him, it must be understood to applj
to the possible proneness of the leader.

The reader at once convicts me of a fellow-feeling for glow coaches,
— and I admit it. I love the gossip of the road, and the private his-
tory that travels about in parcels; trace out my rural Apicius by hii
London oysters; and muse over 'Mouble-barrellcd dilcttantyism"
over a hamper of pheasants. I watch, not obtrusively, the flirtations-
of the coachman, — his imparted and received confidences, — his mys*
teries with the turnpike-man or woman, — his oracular nods, and jeii^
and winks, and the eloquence of his elbow. I see into his tricks, too;
his passenger set down short of the town, — his little breast-pocket
parcels delivered with his own hand, — his haggling with the seedy
ones, and his basket of glass with a hare's fur sticking through the
wicker, He is best without a guard; for when his own guards he it
off his guard, and you see deeper through the millstone of his Chester
field. Then, his judgment of character is a thing to study. Hit
banter is irrespective of dress; chains, and breastpins, flaming waist
cDuts, and flaunting bonnets hove no weight with him. iHs eye pen
trates to the gentleman through the oldest boat-cloak, and he recoj
nises respectability under a sixpenny cotton. To say that,

<* The Uau idtai which the mind auppmes,
It one who dreues in the clothes of Mosfl*,*'

may go down very well in the Minorics ; but will never do with
He dreams of something deeper in his clothes philosophy.

** Nice day, sir," — " for the time of^ year, — very nice day," " A little
wet wouldn't do ua no horm." — " We wants rain very bnd up our way.**
(This from a farmer who must throw in his protest : Dissentient, b
cause a fine season brings good crops, and good crops promise m
drawback, so he practises croaking all the year, to be perfect on ren
day.)

How should we ever establish our little casual acquaintances with
out an atmosphere? and how on earth^-or rather on moon — do they

A VISIT TO THE HAUNT OP A POETESS.

103

manage in the neigbbouring planet? How entirely obstructed they
must be in their little intercourse by having all nice days, a tort-
night long. No "growing day for the turnips," — no thinking "as we
ebuJl liave a shower " long after it has begun, — no '* roughish day for
them as be obliged to be out in it," — no '• what dreadful changeable
weather, sure-lyl nothing but rain, rain, rain!" — no ''nioistish, ain't
it ?" (when we are quite wet through.) Of what use is it for a man
in the moon to " look out for squnlls," or ** to have an eye to wind-
ward," or to " keep his weather-eye open," when he has neither wind
nor weather (so to speak); and how helpless for a man of fashion to
have no clouds to look up to when he meets a country friend in a
lunar Pall Mall.

We make but an indifferent start of it, for there is rather a defici-
ency of tegs amongst the team, and a strong disposition to keep as
many as possible off the ground ; and the road into the city might be
improved with a little corduroying. We stop for a gossip at '* The
Bell," (slightly altered since Tom Jones and Partridge ate their beef
and greens in the bar with the landlady,) get a summit to the moun-
tain of luggage, and, finding it is ** a nice day," from another passen-
ger, bowl on to the Boothall.

•' Here *s a young 'ooman for ye, mister," observes an elderly labour-
ing man, in his Sunday clothes, proffering in the kindest manner a
chubby girl and her box to the coachman.

'* Going far, my dear ?"

"If you please, sir, I 'm going to Mrs. Jenkins's of the Close."

"Ay, ay; her '11 tell you all about it."

*' Well, jump up. Nice day, ain't it ? Here, sit in the middle."

" You '11 be sure, if you please, to put me down at Mrs. Jenkins's,
at the Close, by Longhope, you know, at the corner of the lane.
Ttiere '11 be one as will meet me there, 1 expect. You 'U be sure not
to please to forget."

•• I know. You live at Mrs. Jenkins's ?"

** I 'm in a situation there. Mother lives at Painswick. Father
brought me to Gloucester. Mother have been a'most dead with the
influenzy ; wos obliged to have the doctor, however, for above a fort-
Dight ; but a's better now."

Soh I she 's determined not to be lost for want of n label. She has
read in some railway-bill, "Passengers are requested to have their
trunl'iK properly directed, as the company cannot, otherwise, be an-
fwerablc," &c., — an admirable bit of caution, when people's trunks are
difficult to identify after a smash ; but surely unnecessary in the case
of a living young woman, knowing the road, and able to stop the
coachman herself. But she can't trust to herself, with her thoughts
far away at the old cottage at Painswick, — or, perhaps, with Bill.
She is, no doubt, set in for a reverie.

What a Ane old street is that down by the Boothall, in spite of the
modem smug brick-houses thrusting themselves amongst the old
ttagers. Poor old fellows ! they are getting rather shaky, and some of
them seem to have dropped otf into a dose, and arc leaning their heads
OB their neighbours' shoulders, and almost droppii\g their chins upon
the passengers. I can't bear the thoughts of parting with them, not-
vithstanding, or to think of their crazy insides being rummaged by
impertinent commissioners, and their poor old drains bored into, and

lOi

A VISIT TO THE

about; and tbeauelve*, perhaps* lacriSced U» MNn

I can't, uooMnred, look at the vooden old fiKca that ooe^
kaev in the glorioui d^yt of peashooter* and pofrt-cbaises, what ve
wed 1^; our pocket-atoney to add leaden to the teaoi ; aod ratlJed
damn aoMmgat tbem after the drunken poatboya, aa if the very atooca
were OBad, and tlieir old beads shook with the palsy. 1 eaon ideaiify
the dd doors with the wondering iaces that came out to aee tlie fl*gB
rrocn the chaise-windows, and the ribbons in the postboys* hats» and
doubling whether it was a wedding or an expreta. Nay, I recogniie
the very window where sat in mellow sumoier radiance the iat« red-
uced old lady, attracted a little forward by the row, and who reoet:vcd
on her inflamed features such a shower of hard marrow-lata that she
yelled with rage and pain. And remember well how, looking from
the small window behind, we saw her excited form protruding into the
street, with shaking fiats and cap awry ; furnishing merriment for the
whole half-year, and giving rise to the roost anxious wishes that we
might renew the acquaintance at the next trip. And who that saw
him can ever forget the well-mounted gentleman farmer, — surly with
excess of dignity, — rich, no question, — a little lord in his village, — hit
m the very eyes, and bending down with the smart ; then galloping
furiously nfier the chaise, and lashing at the niodows till his hone,
unable to face the punishment, bolts with his rider, and we sec him
tearing up the street at full speed, in spite of every effort to pull him
up.

And associated with this old street was tliat extraordinary porter,
— built upon the most conflicting principles, — whose legs, without their
owner's leave, itraddled, like Apollyon, *' across the whole breadtli of
the way ;*' and wbosa eyes were of such peculiar constructioa, that,
wishing to identify a parcel on the ground, he was obliged to rzi:^
his face towards the sky. Such a fixture was this fellow for ihi:i\
years or so, that one can hardly believe in the possibility of his bt '.
extinct. Coming from the ends of this earth, this roan never faiii'i
us; looking, it would seem, towards the roof of the coach, while bii
eycB were rolling about amongst the packages at his feet.

In such old musings we come out upon the c*auscway, and see s
young railway — offspring of tlie Great Western— just started on hi#
travels towards South Wales. He sets out bravely enough, like man^
another young fellow ; coming over the flats with an imposing air st
flrst, but soon sticking fast in the mud. and ending in a long score
that we see no limit to. It would be wise in his parent to stop bio)
before he gets into further mischief.

We stop a moment at tlie turnpike. —

** Nice day, missis."

" Iss, us."

" You haven't heard no more o' that paasle, have ye?"

" No."

" Didn't a call ?"

- No."

" Never said notlting to me."

"Well to be sure."

" Ah."

*' Hum."

•' Well."

HAUNT OF A POETESS.

105

*• A' got Ihc fish, did aV*

« Well."
•'Hum."

"Wish ye good day* missis.**
" Wish ye good day, sir."

Then on by tlie great square red house, that was said to liave as
many windows as days in the year; and presently old May Hill is
before us, with his scalp unsbavL'd as of yore. The legs are all down
now, and we make up for lost time across the commoo. At Huntley
we change horses.
" Nice day, ain't it?"
"How's the mare?"
" Don't see no difference in her."
" Have him seen her ?'*
" Iss, — see her last night."
" What did a' say r
"Didn't say nothing."
" What did a' do?'*
" Didn'l do nothing."
"What did a' think?"

'* Didn't seem to think as a was much difference in her,"
*' Did a' have a mash f"
- No/'

"Well, you give her a mash, and'* — (trhigpers).
Tlie deuce is in the mares. I never travelled any road in my
life that there wasn't a mare ill. "Him" has generally seen her.
Sometimes '* a's getting on nicely \' but nine timei in ten '* a' don't
iee no difference in her." " Him" keeps his own counsel as to the
treatment, and the consultation ends in a mash and a whisper.

" 7*he old man didn't say nothing to you about sending down no
oats with you ?"
"No, a' didn't"

'* We be shocking bad off for 'em."

This is the wav with all the old men : they never do send down no
oats. Why persist in keeping these worthless old fellows, instead of
potting yomig stuff in their place ?

A window opens. '' Won't you please to have sometliing to take,
Mr. Williams?"
" No, ma'am, thank ye, nothing to-day,"

"Think you'd better, Mr. Williams. Won't you please to walk in?"
" Xo, Tm obleeged to ye, ma'am. I must be gomg."
" Better please to take a glass of ale, Mr. Williams."
** Not to-day, ma'am, 1 thank you."

"Well, vxf}ild you just step this way, Mr. Williams? I won't de-
lain you a monent."
How's the reverie getting on, I wonder? She looks awake.
You are almost at your journey's end, now ?*'
Very near now, sir."
"And so you are not in your reverie, after all ?"
"Ko, sir; mother said as it was such n very nice day, 6ir, she
ibought as I shouldn't want it, sir."
"Oh 1 and so you Icfl it behind ?"

A VISIT TO THE

"Oh, no, sir; I brought it along with mc in my box."

•' Well, that was right ; but I suppose you showed it first to ^
sweetheart at Painswick ?"

" Well, siTf I wore it o' Sunday ; but I haven't got no sweetheart,
sir. I don't think o' such things as them, sir."

« That's right— stick to that,"

" What did you please to say, sir?"

" I didn't think you could have got such a thing in Painswick."

"Oh, there's very good drapers in Painswick, sir: Willis and Mor-
gan have as good a shop ns any I sec in Gloucester, however; and
they have all the new things down from London, regular. All the
gentlefolks conies to them, sir, for miles and miles. Mother lived in
service with old Mr. Morgan, sir, before a' died — "

*' Not afterwards, I suppose."

** What did you please to say, sir?"

** I suppose your mother got it cheaper on that account?"

•' No, sir, a' didn't, — not a farthing. They never makes two prices
to nobody ; and what they has marked in their window, they always
gives, if you insist upon it, — that's the best o' them. They do have
beautiful things down as ever you see in your life; not a bit dearer
than Jones's, and twice the choice. Mother got a bonnet there, and
I'm sure, if you was to go all over Gloucester, you couldn't find no-
thing better nor cheaper, nor so cheap neither. Oh, no, there ben'l
no belter shops nowhere than Willis and Morgan's."

The coachman comes out with a short cough, and wiping his h'ps,
and stuffs a paper parcel into his breast pocket.

" You '11 be sure to please not to forget the whoats ?"

*' I'll bring 'em down to-morrow, Jem. Now then, sir, if you
please."

Just beyond Huntley we pass the little dull red house in whtck
used to live a Catholic family, which, in those old days, before eman-
cipation bills were thought pussibks ur go much as dreamed of in the
wildest fancy, gave an air of mystery to the place. You expected to
see stalely forms counting beads as Ihcy walked about the garden,
and cowled monks and friars stealing through the laurestinu^. with a
whiff of incense coming out of the chimney. Then we get towards a
wild and Welshy country, and presently pull up at a corner, where
stands a man witli a smiling face, and his hand held up, that t}i«
coachman may stop in time.

"Well, Thomas!"

" Well, Sally I"

"How 6tf you?"

" How be f/ou }'* And the owner of the reverie prepares to dis-
mount.

"Thank ye, sir; don't you trouble yourself. I can lean upon tltis
young man, sir."

(Perhaps it is Thomas at Longliope, not Bill at Painswick.)

" Well, Sally, you've had a nice day for travelling."

"Iss, 'tis. Be you pooty well ? You don't look but poorly,'*

(Heally, very probably Thomas.)

** You havn't nothing but this here box, have you, miss?**

" Only that, sir."

'■ Here^ just you blip it down a bit, and I'll take it."

HAUNT OF A POETESS.

107

of yourself. Him *11

down.

^Now, don't you go a straining
y Thomas.)
'* Ah I take care of that, Thomas ; there's a reverie in that."
" Don*t you be afeared, sir; 1'!! take care on it"
" Let it come on the wheel, can't ye, and 111 help you down with
it."
(Positively Thomas.)

"Now you be all right, miss. Thank you, miss.'*
" Wiih you good day, sir. Wish you a good day, sir. Now, you
shan't do it all yourself, Dl be hanged if you shall I So you put it
down, now, will ye, and give me hold of the handle.*^
(Happy Thomas .')

Some floundering and puffing to get over the hill, A little way
down is the place where the young railway is to quit his tunnel,
— marked out by Dags and sticks ; and then we plunge into the deep
despondency of the Lee. Do people survive to middle age in this
dreary village \ There are always two men standing outside the pub-
lic house, but they never speak. It is not even a nice day in the Lee
— they have not the heart to say it. No sound is ever heard there
hut the clank of the blacksmith s hammer, which never ceases. Oh,
for some flaxen-headed ploughboy to whistle over such a Lee as this I
We soon pass the church, and turning to the right, a tall solitary
Scotch 6r-tree, more like a palm, comes in view. Up this branchless
tronkj seventy feet long without a knot, it was once proposed by a
sweet poetess that I should swarm in nankeens. But I anticipate.

A few yards beyond this palm-like 6r is the house of Castle-End ;
a modest, quiet, substantial edifice of grey stone, standing a little re-
tired from the road, a small lawn interposing, with flower-bedsi ever-
greens, and a paling. On the Icfl is a kitchen-garden and more
shrubbery ; and behind, a farm-house, and barn, and outbuildings, and
s dirty fold full of pigs, and cows, and poultry. Dull, many people
would thiuk it; but it is better than the Lee; for here you have a
riew of the Bailey (not the Old Bailey, though with hanging woods
enough,) and the road is the great thoroughfare into South VVales.

In this house, about this lawn and kitchen-garden and fold, and
under this old fir-tree, 1 passed one long summer-day with L.E.L.,
not then a poetess, but a romping, black-eyed girl, in the earliest
dawn of womanhood: she was comely, rather than handsome, but
viih a play of intelligence upon her features more attractive than
beauty.

This was the residence of her aunt, a hospitable, kind-hearted
Miden lady; and associated with her was another maiden lady of sin-
|ttlar eccentricity, — if not mad, certainly next door to it; and the
partition that separated the premises of the craziest scantling. Miss
C. wns perfectly harmless ; and this fact being well known to visitors
■I well as inmates, she was admitted to the family circle, notwith-
standing her odd ways. One of her peculiarities was a way of break-
ing in upon the conversation with a most rapid repetition of the
words, " My lords and my ladies — my lords and my ladies — my lords
sad my ladies," continued fur minutes together; and then she varied
^tfa another strain of" Cabbage and carrots and cabbage and carrots
snd cabbage and carrots" — -for an equally indefinite period. Any
silusious to garden-stulT or the aristocracy was sure tu set her ufF; a

108

A VISIT TO THE

single word would do it. The grace at dinner was framed with a view
to tins peculiarii}', for it was said that on one occasioo a cIcrgyraaD,
not previously cautioned, was taken up very shortly at the word
"Lord" by Miss C. with ** Make us truly thankful, my lords and my
ladies,^ Sec. Another strange way she had of stealing quietly about
the room, under pretence of examining books, or other articles upon
the tables, till she could arrive unnoticed behind a stranger's chair.
This feat she usually contrived with consummate skill, tacking about
as if she was waiting for a slant of wind; and when the victim was
earnestly engaged in conversation or otherwise, she ran silently down
upon himj and commenced operations. Drawing an imaginary carving-
knife and fork, she proceeded to cut up the ^ji-nce cU nsUtartct ; and,
as her lips were moving ail the time, no doubt she was helping a large
party of my lords and my ladies to your primest cuts. Seated opposite
to a mirror, it was not unpleasant to watch this process, and see the
impartiality with which you were helped to the company ; first a slice
or two of lean, then a bit of fat, with a just proportion of stuffing and
gravy. Vou were even disposed to assist her researches with the
light of your own local knowledge; as, for example, *< My dear madam,
allow me to suggest that you are now in the wrong place for fat ; and
the seasoning, I am disposed to think, is not thereabouts. Perhaps
you will permit me to express a hope that you will cut mc handsome,
in case 1 should come up cold another day. I hope his lordship finds
me done brown ; but, if 1 should be a little raw in places, have no
scruple in sending out a slice of me to be grilled. I trust her lady-
ship relished the part you sent her, and may be induced to come
again. There are parts of mc tender enough ; but, upon the whole,
I am disposed to think I might be improved by a little hanging. I
have a fancy that sweet sauce would go well with me. At any rate,
1 must protest against being served up d to Tartwre," The poor
lady would get quite hot in the process, and more off her guard every
moment; so that I am convinced, with a little management she might
have been led into an amicable conversation with the joint she wai
carving; but any attempt of this kind was discountenanced.

Under the old fir-tree. ** You see that bunch of hay and featberf
in the fork of the branches ?"

•* Yes ; a sparrow's nest, no doubt."

" Oh \ I should so like a young sparrow. Dear little thing I I
should pet it so much. Everybody has canaries and goldfinches
screaming and giving one the headache. I want a bird that does not
sing. I should so like a young sparrow. I should teach him nil sorts
of tricks. I hardly know how to ask such a thing, but — if you would
just climb up, and bring me a young sparrow, I should feel so much
obliged.*'

*' I fear that you really must excuse me. Not anticipating a plea-
sure of this kind, I perhaps am not so well equipped. You perceive
that this tree is entirely without branches, except at the top. This
would be a trifling consideration under other circumstances — to the
country boy, for instance; but 1 rather fear that 1 am not exactly
dressed for this/' feeling the sharp edges oi the Hakes of bark which
it was apparent would be most inimical to the Indian fabric.

" I do assure you it's not rough; it is not, indeed ; — look here,
how very smootli it is all the way up ;— there 's a kind of knot, you

nAUNTS OF A POETESS.

109

see, about half waj, where you coulil rest as long as you please;
and you could put the sparrow (dear little thing !) in your hat, and
rest tliere again aa you came down ; but coming down would be no-
thing!"

" Oh dear no, less than notliing, I am afraid. But here is a boy,
perhaps we can persuade him."

'' Oh yes I lie 11 go, I *m sure. Here^ young mao ; would you step
iMrc a morocot. Yuu sec that round thing of hay up there?"

" Iss ; that 's a sparrow's nisL I see the old 'un a guing in."

*• Well, what 1 want you to do is, — I'm sure you '11 do it, — don't
you call it swarming up a tree? Well. I *m sure you know how to
swarm, and what nice thick boots you have. If i was a young man,
I should be so proud if 1 could swarm up a tree. Tell me how you
do it,"

" Do it? why, I takes hold o' the tree a this *n, and I grips Iiira
with my knees, and turns my right foot back'nrds a that *n, and then
I shores myself up ; that 's the way 1 does it."

** WJiat a capital way T How long do you think it would take yoa
to go up this tree? I dare say not more than a minute?"

'* Should n't oonder. And wliat d'ye want when 1 gets tliere ?'*

'* Do you know I 're set my heart upon having a young sparrow, 1
should so much like to have one, if you would have the kindness to go
up and bring me one, — a cock ifyou please, — dear little thing I Vou can
drop it if you like, and we 11 hold the handkerchief. 1 'm sure you
will, won*t you?"

" A young sparra 1 1 Hoo, hoc, boo ! (walking off and turning
again). A' wants a cock sparra 1 ! Hoo, hoo, hoo I (ten yards fur-
ther). A* wants a — hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!"

Presently another boy came. ** Young man, did you ever climb up
a tree?"

" Iss, many on 'em."

" Do you think you could climb up this one ?"

"IsB, think I could."

" So you say, but I think you are afraid to try."

'* No, I bean't, not a bit on it. I ha' got up harder timn that
•un.'*

'* Well, ifyou are not afraid, I wish you would go up and bring me
down a young bird out of that nest, 13ut you are sure you would not
fall and hurt yourself? "

"^ 1 bean't afeard o' that. I could bring down nist and all if t
liked"

'•Then go up, ifyou are not afraid."

But he was a calculating boy, and began by measuring the trunk
carefully with his eye, before committing himself. Then he got out
his mental scales, and weighed the matter carefully. On the one
side was u probable small gratuity, and a feather weight of fame; on
(be other, labour, risk, abraded leathers, and a possible walloping for
wearing out the stockings,

" No, 1 '11 be daz/d if 1 do ! '* said the boy, walking smartly down
the road.

Still we must have a sparrow. '* In the ricks, perhaps, under the
ihaich? that will be the place, of course 1 There's a ladder in the
You go and get the ladder, and I 'II beat round the ricks with

THE REVERIE OF LOVE.

this long stick. The old one will be sure to fly ouL Never micul
the gate. I 'tl come and help you to carry the ladder if you can't da
it yourself."

*' Well, as I 'm a living sinner, if somebody haven't been and left
the rick-yard gate open, and all the pigs be got out, and they 're u
Micheldean by this time, I 'II lay a guinea I Jack ! Jack ! there 'i
Jem a-bcen and left the rick-yard gate open, and all the pigs be ^t
out I Do 'ee mn down the road and see if you can see anything oo
'em. Od rot 'un I if I could catch 'un I 'd thump 'un well I "

I never saw her but this ooce, and as she tlien appeared, so does
my recollection follow her through life, even to the last scene in that
damp, hot, steaming house at Cape Coast, from whose mysteries the
veil will never be lifted.

Castle End is now to be let, as I see by a small modest annouDc^
ment upon the palings. It appears sadly shrunk and gone down
in the world from what it used to be, as all old places do wben
we revisit them. But excepting that the garden and the evergreeiu
look a little rougher than formerly, for want of a tenant to look aAer
them, there is very little difference in the place. The house, to bt
sure, will never again witness such jolly doings with my lords and mj
ladies, but the garden, in reality, may contain about the same quan-
tity of cabbage and carrots as it dicl in Miss C.'s time, and the old
fir tree seems to have about as large a head for the wind to whecxe
and moan through, as it had when the cajolery failed upon the
climbing boys. Landlord ! spare that tree ; for with it you would
cut down some pleasant associations, not unmixed with serious and
sad thoughts. Our reveries must, in the nature of things, partake
of this piebald character; and yet, notwithstanding, 1 should be sorrj
to pack up mine in a box, like Mrs. Jenkins's maid of The Close.

THE REVERIE OF LOVE.

" Like n dream
or what our soul has Inretl, aiid KhI for ercr.
Thy vision dwells with me.*'

Mas. BCTLER.

Ob ! that inch bliss were mine ! Bjr thj dear side
To pAM one live-long summer's day uf love ;
To know that thou wert mine — to call thi.>e bride,
And feel that word was rati6ed above !
How wuulil ] look into thy dark blue eyes
Anil read the very secreti of thy soul,
And watch the light of love that in them lies.
Which proudly brooks nor thraldom nor oontral.
How would I nold thee in a Kraap of bliss,
Armmd thy nt-ck how lovingly entwine.
And press thy darlinff lips, and kiu— and kisS|
And sip to madness their ambrosial wine,
*Til) drowsily I sank to blissful rest
Upon the soft, white pillow of thy bridal breast !

Univ. CoU. Durham.

Cdthbeiit Beoc.

A RAMBLE ALONG THE OLD KENTISH ROAD FROM
CANTERBURY TO LONDON:

ITS CUBI081TIB8 AND ANTIQUITIKS.

Br HBNRY CURLING.

*' Kent, tn the Oimmentanes Ca»ar writ,
I* termed the civirst placAi of all this inle : —
Sweet ii the country, iiecause full of richea." — Henry T/.

In the present time, and under the present system, when all men
rush through the country by rail-road, a perambulation or a quiet
ride along the old beaten highway, is almuitt as rare a circumstance
as an excursion through the centre of Africa.

The old road from Canterbury to London was, in former days, a
well-known route, and so full of interest, from its various associa-
tions, that every stage was classic ground. A man could no more
pass through the woodland scenery on the London side of Rochester,
without thinking of Gadshill and his minions of the moon lurking
about in the gloaming, and listening for the tread of travellers, than
he could stop at one of the Chaucer-like hostels at Canterbury with-
out being reminded of pilgrims, fat-paunched abbots, lusty bache-
lors^ and merry-eyed wives of Bath.

In such scenes, divested as they are of the pestilerous vapour and
the squalor of the mining and manufacturing districts, the spectator,
as he gazes over the undulating woodland, with here and there
some old square flint tower of a village church peeping out, and the
road seen w^inding over each wooded ascent, — might almost imagine
himself looking upon England when tuck of drum startled the ham-
lets around, and the York and Lancastrian factions beat up for men
to feed their ranks. Nay, the old English landscape becomes peopled
with the peasantry of those Shaksperian days, clad in one sort of
rural coaturac — the broad high-crowned castor, the leathern doublet,
or the loose smock gathered in with the broad belt at the waist.

Aa I lay one fine morning in an old, rickety, square-topped, red-
curtained bed, in a venerable room of one of the antique hostels at
Canterbury, whilst the morning sun streanietl through the casement
upon the uneven flooring, and shone brightly upon the oak panels of
the wainscot, it struck me that, instead being whisked up to Lon-
don by train, I should like to box the road, and observe its varieties,
and look up its points of interest en route. After breakfast, there-
fore, I hired a rough and ready pony, and, with the bridle under
my arm, commenced my pilgrimage along the once well-known and
well-frequented high road towards Sittingbourne.

The first place I made a short halt at, after clearing the suburbs
and ascending the hill without the city, was the ancient village of
Harbledown. In this small place, and in the hospital built by Lan-
franc in the year 1084, a precious relic was lormerly deposited,
which was kept there as a sort of preparatory initiation to tlic wor-
shipful^ on their pilgrimage to the shrine of Thomas a Becket,—
the relic being neither more nor less than Thomas's old slipper,
which "all pilgrims, poor devils, and wayfarers were enjoined mid

112

CANTCRBintr TO LOXDOX.

expected to lust, prerions to their visit to tbe reritaUe tomb of
saint binueif."*

From this point the travcUer rontina« to aacend through a bcau-
tifally wooded covntrj, till he reaches Boogfaton Hill. This bill
and the track of grmUMl jiut traTersed, for about four milea, was in
ancicDt daya a tfaid and aliaoai ijf C MHia bW forest, in which the
boar, the gridj bcMr* and aa^r echcr MrfHsb of die chase, were to
be foutul. And here the knightly aiMi the noble, with their attend-
ant trains, were wont to pursae their tpott, with hound and horn
and spear, in a somewhat more rode and dangerous fa&hion than the
hunt is at present conducted.

After passing the long street of Boaghton, on the rising ground
somewhat to the right of the road, and standing in a fine green pad-
dock or park, an antiquated-looking mansion or manor-house maj
be observed. The appearance of this house, and its magnificent .
stabling and offices, — its dilapidated look, and its desolate and de»fl
serted state, had often, in former years, interested me. fl

Passing on, I now saw Faversham on ray right, and stopped for a
moment to glance at the chapel of Darington, formerly a Benedictine
priory, consisting of twenty-six nuns and their superior.—caUed,
from the poverty of their revenue, "the poor nuns of Davington.*
A short walk further, and the pleasant village of Ospringe was
gained, a stream of clear water running across iL On the north
side are yet to be seen the remains of the once famous Maison Dim
founded by Lucas de Viennes for the Templars ; whilst on the oppo-
site side was the hospital for lepers, part of which may also be
observed.

A mile or two further on, and we come to another long village, of
one street, called Green Street. Here formerly the famous knight,
Apuldorf, kept his state, amongst his numerous vassals and men-st-
arms. He was the friend and boa camaradu of Richard Cocur-de-
Lion. They were fralrcM jurati, — and the very name of Apuldorf,
like that of his royal companion, was terrible to the ears of the
Saracen. Castle Grove, as it is still called, has even yet some green
mounds, to point out the site of the stronghold where he kept was-
sail. The armour of this Kentish champion formerly hung in Leyn-
ham Church.

Passing Green Street, the eye now traverses a charming country,
— woodland and meadow on the left, and to the right the Thame*
and Mcdway arc seen emptying themselves into the main of waters.

A short walk further brought me to Tong. Here I found the re-
mains of ft very ancient fortress, built (saith tradition) by Hengist
and Ilorsa in *50. A large moat would seem to have surroMnde<1 the
stronghold ; but a mill has choked up n portion of it for upwanU of
two hundred years. The miller, I was informed, whilst digging
within the castle, discovered a brass helmet, and a number of stnafi
urns.

As 1 prenared to mount my pony in order to pursue my way, it
■truck me that he looked hungry. Perhaps some slight feeling of the
sort which I began to experience myself might have been father to
the thought. I tlicrcforc resolved to look up a quaint hostel in the

• It wu tkia »li]ii»er wliich KrMmui ihc learned ft«iuinl«f1 uiK>n with coutempt »r>d
dcriftioit, cm nccjuiun of bit viiii. deu-rilting it a* neither mure unr le» tlmu ibf
uppwr Imthrr of an vid thofi, garni»bcd with one or two f rystnli Mt in copprr.

CANTERDURY TO LOtTDON,

113

iwn or village I came to, and m«kc n halt there for the impor*
Lrpo»e of dining. A mile further^ and Sittingbourne appeared
me.

ingbourne, like all the stages on this road, a Tew years back.
Tore railoadfl monopolized all travel, was a lively village. How
lo we remember it in the palmy days of posting. Its inn-
[lall live, and merry as the painting which describes the stable-
the hostel in the days of Chaucer. What queer-looking
on, knowing postboys, pimple-faced hostlers, and rapscallion
lounged about the livelong day, in waiting for the nuuie-
6rst-turns and stages that came tiring on. What shoutings for
^n boj^s up, and first and second tnrns down we used to hear f
I crackings of whips and startings of teams, and what knowing
|b-hand coaches we used to see in those days. Then, what bril-
[equipages, trunked and imperialed, and radiant witti female

fiess, came whirling up to the inn doors every hour of the day.
sprightly waiters flew about, napkin in hand, in attendance
lithe various dinners, and what blooming chambermaids hurried
land thither, their rooms filled with guests for the night, and
w knowing where to accommodate fresh arrivals continually

fe"P.

|b for Sittingbourne ! Like all the old towns on this and every

kroad, thy glory hath departed from thee, — thy hostlers are

p fallen," — thy inns shut up, — thy landlords have slunk away,

beaked and pined for lack of guests. The very helpers and

Bogs, who used to hang on, and take their life and being from

lected grandeur of the portly coachman who drove the teams

ided, are no more. The hostlers have wandered away no one

where, to die of grief and chagrin no one knows how. The

»f the numerous stables have long been tenantless. The signs

the inn-doors no longer promise good entertainment for man

l^t, and the railroad and the station have superseded Sitting-

t a mile from Milton church, which is the next place the
[er comes to, is a good-sized field called Campsley Down. This
spot on which the Danes encamped under Hastings. The re-
of ft moat point out the place where these robbers erected a
' old.

Alfred had a palace at Milton, which caused it to be called
royal town of Alilton."

ort walk further, and we come to a slight ascent called Caicol*
On this spot the Kentish Britons were encountered by Caius
nius, who had been detached by Cxej>ar with three legions and
I cavalry for forage, on which occasion the Britons were beaten,
ling over Standard Hill, we come to the ancient town of New-
U Here are the very slight remains of the nunnery of New-
I. By whom it was founded no record remains. Tradition, how-
^ves its Gothic walls and cloistered seclusion an evil repute,
ons of Newington strangled their prioreas in her bed, and, to
be deed, cast her body into a deep pit. The crime was, how-
scovered, and Henry the Third delivered the unscrupulous
d who were guilty over to the secular power, to be dealt
'according to their deserts. After this he filled their cloister
en secular canons. This fraternity, however, seem to have

XXIII. I

114

THE WATER-ULY.

been as bad a lot m the sisterhood they succeeded, for four of
shavelings, very soon after their admission, murdered one of thi
own brother canons, and they were ousted and executed in turn,
much for the nunnery of Newington.

We now left this neighbourhood of monkish misdeed, and. gird*
ing up our loins, proceeded through the village of Rainham, p&ued
over the old Roman road, the famous Walling Street, and stood upon
Chatham Hill. Here we reined up for a time ; and. as vre pau»erl
to regard the magnificent s|>ccimen of castellated grandeur which it
here first seen towering over the neighbouring town, we reflected,
for a moment, upon the fierce contentions of the Norman peril
during which this old road mu&t have been the constant witness
battle and slaughter, flight and pursuit.

Descending the chalky hill, we come to Chatham, a town w«
known to the united services. Here the traveller quickly forgets
" o'ertaken past" in the bustle and stir of objects of present inten
In the crowded streets of Chatham we fall in, at every step, withtl
soldiers of the latest fields in which the British flag has been unfui
ed. Every fourth man one meets in Chatham wears the uniform
the unwearied, indefatigable infantry of the line. As we past
into Rochester, a regiment just disembarked was marching into I
town. Their medals told of the last-fought fltlds in India, and the
came on in all the delight of again reaching homo, absolutely dandi
and singing through the streets.

THE WATER LILY.

** She that purifips die light,
The virgin Lily« rsithful tu her u-hite.
Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her Blinroe.*'

Boon.

Tuc earth lay dreaming tn ft gnldon light,
The tall trees cast their shadows in the pool
Where lay the water* lily glnanung tiright
Amid the sedgy umbrage dun and cool.
All rlad in fairent white like saintly nun,
Or, like some veiled hride* in miptial dress.
Who (evh anothur> heart in her*s is wound,
Aiioihcr life of duty is begun.
And trLMiiMeR iu Irt lovt- and lovelinesa,—
Amid its shining leaves it Iny ut rest
Iln:liiiod upon tlie water*s throbbing breast,
Answering its ev'ry moiion, cv'ry bound,
As though some mystic love lo them was given :
The Vestal of the Wave, it lay and look'd to hearen !

Unlf . CoU. Durhnm.

CUTHBCRT BE2>C.

* Njfmjthma (9¥f^ ** ■ bride") aWa is iia boioolcal name.

115

MEMOIR OF BEETHOVEN.

BY MIS8 THOMASINA BOSS.

WITH A PORTKAIT.'

An eminent composer of the Mxteenth century, Claudio Monte-
verde of Cremona, wns the first who ventured to break through the
orthodox rules of counterpoint, which before hid time had been re-
^rded as sacred and invioUble. Throwing nsidc the fetters imposed
on him by the composers of earlier days, Alonteverde boldly struck
out a path for himself. In like manner did Beethoven daringly
break through pre-established rules, and, the consequence was,
that in the early part of his career he was exposed to the same
sort of censure which two centuries previously had assailed the
contrapuntist of Cremona. His innovations far outstripped tho^e
of ilavdn and Mozart, who, in their turn had deviated from
the still more rigid laws observed by Handel and iSebastian
Bach. But Beethoven was happily endowed with an independ-
eoce of mind which enabled him to pursue his course heedless
of critical reproof, and the miphty power of his genius soon tri-
umphed over alt opposition. At the commencement of the present
century Beethoven's grand orchestral compositions would scarcely
have been listened to anywhere but in Germany ; and now no com-
poser can be sai<l to enjoy mure universal admiration. He disdained
lo copy his predecessors in the most distant manner, and, by his
bold, energetic, and <n'iginal style, he carried off the prize of musical
Oiympus.

Ludwig van Beethoven was born on the IJlh of December, 1770, at
Bonn. His father was a singer attached to the Electoral Chapel, and
his grandfather, who is said to have been a native of Maestricht,i
van music-director at Bonn in the time of the Elector Clemens. It
liu been alleged that Beethoven was u natural son of Frederick the
Great. This story, which is entirely devoid of foundation, occasioned
great annoyance to Beethoven, who, however, satisfactorily refuted
it. In a letter on the subject, addressed to his friend, Dr. Wegcler.
(Utcd \H26f he, very much to his honour, requests the doctor ** will
mike known to the world the unblemished character of his mother."
fieethoven received elementary instruction at a public school,
whilst his father taught him mui>ic at home, where he studied the
pianoforte and violin. When practising the latter instrument, he
*a» accustomed to retire to a closet in a remote part of the house ;
>nd it is related, that, as soon as he began to play, a spider used to let
itwlf down from the ceiliug, and alight upon the instrument. The
young musician became interested in watching this spider, and in
endeavouring to discover how its movements might be influenced by
*iu«c. One day his mother happened lo enter the closet when the
•pider had settled itself on the violin. Casting her eye on what Hhe
supposed to be an un]>leasant intruder, she whisked it away with her
Wlkerchief, and killed it. This incident is said to have priHluted
« rnost powerful effect on the sensitive mind of Beethoven, and it was

* Tb« Bnuexed ponrkit, enf^nretl hy purmtbsion of McKitrx. H. Cot'-ki and Co., is
mvidrrrd hy Mr. Uharlifti C-Mriiy to be ibe miMt cnrrcct likeneft* of ilie tflclirtitrd
cvttpQMr.

f Thr prepMitinn ran attoolied to De«dioveti's iiAme denolM hit Kleminb

VOL. XXIII. K

116 MEMOIK OE

some time before be recovered from the mclflDcfaoly into wfaidi t

plunged him.

At the age oC 15, Beethoven having attained great pro6c>ennr«

the organ, was appointed organist to the chapel of th* Elector a C*>
logncj and the emperor, Joseph II., settled upon him a Mnall p«-
•ion. Being desirous of proGting by the instruction of Ha}^, la
obtained the elector's permission to reside in Vieuna for a few yrwn;
and in 1792 he left Horni for that purpose. All the talent ot'tamidi
Germany was at that time congregated in the Austrian capital, mi
I:ieethoven| then in his twenty-second year, was so chanoed withtfe
congenial society by which he found himself surrounded, that belt*
solved to make Vienna his permanent place of abode. *' Here wiQI
stay," said he to himself, " even though the emperor should cot ef
my pension." He carried this resolution into effect, and. wilhtkt
exception of one or two visits to Leip^ic and Berlin^ be apent tfaei^
maindcr of hit life in or near Vienna. But he did not loo^ coBtin ^
the pupil of llaydn, witli whom he soon became dissatiafied. EvA
at that early period of his life his temper was marked by capsiceal
sintrularity, and a determined resolution to follow his own taste siA
opinions in alt questions relating to composition and scoring, rcA-
dered him r most refractory and wayward pupil.* He wo
acknowledge himself to have been the pupil of Haydn, becau
affirmed, he had never learned anything from him.t HTien
\ti\ Vienna on his second visit to England, Beethoven rejotcMi at
opportunity thus afforded fur their separation. He then begin
take lessons from the celebrated Albrechtsberger, who^ like Ha;
found him thoroughly untractable.

Among the many distinguished acquaintance formed by IWd-
hoven soon after his arrival in Vienna, may be numbered the priDet>
ly family of Lichnowsky. Prince Karl I^ichnowsky, who had brrni
pupil of Moxart, was the Maecenas uf the musical professors then is
Vienna. The prince assigned to Beethoven a yearly fiension of ox
hundred floriii». and he became the paternal friend of the voai|^
C(mipo«er. The princess, also a most accomplished musician, fS*
tended to him theafi'eclion of a mother. The attentions lavished aa
him by this illustrious couple were almost ludicrous; and, trulv, tbs
eccentricities, and the strange temper of their />ro/<'^c, must frequcatly
have taxed their indulgence to the utmost. Taking a retrospect of
this period of his life, he observes, in a letter to a friend : **lht

* IliH uiiwllllD^nPKx to cnnAirm to nilen ik FxempliBLMl in die following anwdtfto
rnUtiMl liy Uiun, In liin ^'\olizrn uehfr Jirlhovcn," •' Onw ilav, ilurinir a walk. I
WHH tnlkinic to liUn tif twonmiiectJtiTe Hrtli» whii-.Ii occur In nncof his eiu-1tf«t vinlli
(jimrtitili In V nilnur, nnil wliiiJi, to my Hurpriflc. Baunil most haroinniDUBlv, B<a-
tiovpii iliti nut knuw wlint I rapanc, and would not Iwlieve the interval ixmi1<1 br
ItlUift. \\v M>nn firitdimi'.) tlin |iiec(< of niu»ic paper which he was in the liabitdt
rarryiiiu ftlwut ivlih Kim, anil I wr«ne down cho passagt' with itA four parts. m)SB
I hud lliiu pnivp.l niyn'ir m Iwrl^'ht, h*? luiid, ' Well, mid who forbidn them ?' Not
kiiinrln^ whnt itimrikc (if thifi qiitstion. I was ulleni. nnd he rrpeAted it several lioMl.
until I at hmj^th rvpllrU, • Why, it In one of the very fir»i rules.' He, hovever, stil

repeuliNl hi* i|U««tittn, and I utLBwered, * AJarpiirf;. Kirnher^r, Fuchs. &c itifsiH

nil out th<*iiUl«.' * WrII, then, / piTinit thviit,* u-a* liis final annwcr.''

f At thin un(n*a''io«« trt-atment, Haydn very nkiiimlly felt offended ; but btfif'
pvpr tntP it ndKht Ih* ihnt he hiid harntH nothing from his mastrr, rat traort b4
Huvdn's olaaslo aUgancc of style are rlenrly di»o»rniMe in tome o( ber
•arly works.

BEETHOVEN.

117

frincess treate<l me with g:rnHdmotherijf fondness, and sometimes
could well-nigh have j>ersH«ded myself that she woiiUl have a
I glass shade put over me, lest I should be touclied or breathed on
I by persona whom she deemed unworthy to approach me."

In this brightest interval of the great composer's existence, whilst
he was mingling in the gayest and most intellectual circles of Viennese
society, he conceived an ardent and romantic attachment for a lady
of noble family. This affair is alluded to by some of his bio^a-

Iphcrs, but in a manner sufficiently vague to warrant the inference
that it was clouded in mystery. Beethoven's correspondence con-
tains several letters to this lady. They are addressed to ''Julia."
and from their tenor it is obvious that an obstacle more formidable
than dittcrence of rank rendered n union with the object of his af-
fections impossible. A paper, in his own handwriting, contains the
following passage, evidently referring to this subject:

'* Love — love alone is capable of conferring on me a happier state
of existence. Oh, heaven ! let me at length 6nd her, — she who may
strengthen me in virtue — who may hnvfulltf be mine,"

But, whatever may be the facts connected with this unfortunate
attachment, it furnished inspiration for one of Beethoven's most ex-
quisite productions, viz. the Sonata Op. 27- This composition is
known throuj^^hout Austria by the name of the " Aloonlight Sonata"
— a name intended merely to indicate the tender and romantic an-
louring with which it is imbued. In the published copies, the title
and dedication diff*er, from the style in which they appear in the
composer's MS., where the following words are written at the head
of the composition : '' Sonata quasi Fantasia dedicata alia Madama-
zella Contessa Giulietta di Guicciardi."

During an interval of ten or twelve years, the first performances
of all Beethoven's works regularly took place at Prince Lichnowsky's
musical parties. On the occasion on which the celebrated Razu-
mowsky Quartett was first placed, the performers were, Schuppinzigh
(first violin), Sina (second), Weiss (viola), and Kraft alternately with
Linke (violoncello). In the frequent rehearsals of the quartett, Beet-
hoven seemed to have infused into the souls of the performers some
portion of his own Hublime spirit, and the result was a d^ree of
perfection which enraptured the assembled cognoscenti.

Beethoven's quartett mu§ic, which may be said to have opened a
new world of art full of sublime conceptions and revelations, found
worthy interpreters in the four great instrumentalists above named,
over the purity of whose performance the composer watched with
unceasing anxiety. In 1025, when one of his last difficult qnarletts
was to be performed before a very select audience, he sent toScfuip-
penzigh, Sina, Weias, and Linke, the puirts respectively allotted to
them, accompanied by the following droll letter :

" My dear Friends,
" Herewith each of you will receive what belongs to him, and you
are hereby engaged to play, on condition that each binds himself upon
his honour to do his best to distinguish himself, and to surpass the
rest This paper must be signed by each of those who have to co-
operate in the performance in question. " Beethoven."

In the year 1800, the grand oratorio of the " Mount of Oliver" was
commenced, and whilst engaged on that work^ the composer expc-

K 2

118

MEMOIR OF

rienced the first symptoinsof the deafness which subsequently became
so fatal. He wrote the " Mount of Olives" during a summer sojourn at
Hetzendorf, a village contiguous to the gardens of the imperial palace
of Schonbrunn. At that place he spent several suoimera in complete
seclusion, and there he composed his " Fidelio/' in the year 1805.
Beethoven used to relate that he wrote these two great works in the
thickest part of the wood in the park of Schiinbrunn, seated between
two branches of an oak, which shot out near the ground from the trunk
of the tree. Schindler mentions that, in the year 1823, he visited
that part of the park in company with Beethoven, and that he then
saw the tree which conjured up many interesting reminiscences.

A lingering fit of illness, accompanied by increasing deafness,
disabled him, for the space of two or three years, from proceeding
with a work which he had long previously planned out. This wa«
the Sinfonia Eroica^ intended as an homage to Napoloon> then First
Consul of thcFrench republic* A copy of the sinfonia, with a dedi-
cation to the conqueror of Marengo, was on the point of being des-
DBtclied to Paris, through the French embassy at Vienna, when
intelligence was received that Napoleon had caused himself to be
proclaimed Emperor of the French. On hearing this, Beethoven
tore off the title leaf of the symphony, and flung the work itself on
the floor, with a torrent of execration against the ** new tyrant."
So great was Beethoven's vexation at this event, that it was Innff
ere he could be persuaded to present his composition to the world.
When it subsequently appeared, the words " Per j'esUgiarc ilsovvcmrt
dun grand'iiQiHO " were appended to the title.

The next great labour of the composer was his opera of ** Fidelio,"
which was first performed under the title of " Leonora," at the
Theater an der Wien. To this opera, Beethoven composed no less
than four overtures, and rejected them all by turns. The splendid]
overture in E (that now performed with the opera), was not writti
till the year 181o.

In 1«(H), the appointment of kapell-meister to the King of W<
phalia was offered to Beethoven with a salary of (KK) ducats. How-
ever it was considered discreditable to Austria to suffer the gr<
composer, whom she pruudly called her own, to be transferred
any other country. Accordingly the Archduke Rudolph, Prim
Kinsky, and Prince Lobkowit/., offered to settle upon him
annuity of 4000 florins, on condition that he would not quit Austrii
— a condition to which Beethoven readily acceded.

All persons of intelligence and taste, who visited Vienna, eagerly
sought an introduction to Beethoven ; the consequence was that he
was beset by visitors from all parts of the world, who approach^
him with the deference they would have rendered to a sovereij
Among the eminent persons introduced to the great composer in
year 1810. was Bettina Bretitano, belter known as Madame V(
Arnim. This celebrated lady has described her interviews wi(
the composer in her letters to Guthe, contained in the well-kno^
publication entitled, " Giithe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kind*
Bettina paved the way to a personal acquaintance between GotI
and Beethoven ; and these two eminent men met for the first Liu
in the summer of 1812 at Tceplitz.

• The idea ii said to have been tuggestcd to ihe oomjio»cr by Bcraadotie,
that lime French Ambaauulnr in Vieiiiuk. .

BEETHOVEN.

tts

Whilst struggling with dedining health and constantly increaaing
deafnesB, Beethoven produced many of his immortal works ; among
uthers the eymphony in A major, and the *• Battle Symphony." The
latter was composed in cominemoratiun of the battle of Vittoria. It
is a magnificent specimen of that atyle of composition called by the
GermSLtts ioHTfiaU'rei (musical- painting), and it pourtrays with graphic
powe»s, through the medium of sounds, the horrors of war, and the
triumph of victory. There is one passage in the piece, which though
trifling in itself, is indicative of the master-mind of the composer.
At the opening of the symphony, the air of " Alaribrook" is intro-
duced as the national inarch played by the French troops whilst
advancing. But as the battle proceeds, it becomes evident to the
hearer that the French are giving way, and that they are falling in
numbers before the British army. At length the band, which at the
commencement of the conflict was spiritedly playing " JMarlbrook,"
i» gradually dispersed, and only one nfer is heard attempting to keep
up the fast-fleetitig valour of his countrymen by the inspiring strain
ot' the favourite march. But the solitary musician is wearied and
dispirited, and he now plays " Marlbrook " in the minor key, slowly
and sorrowfully, and in broad contrast with the gay allegro which
marked its commencement. This is a true touch of nature.

The firijt performance of the ** Battle Symphony" took place in
the Hall of the University of V^ienna, in December 1812. and the
proceeds of the performance were destined for the benefit of the
Austrian and Bavarian soldiers disabled at the battle of Ilanau.
On this occasion tlie leading mubicians of Germany took the most
subordinate parts in the orchestra, all feelings of professional im-
portance being merged in sentiments of charity and {wtriotism. In
a letter of thanks addressed to the orchestral performers, lieethoven
observes : — " On me devolved the task of conducting the whole, be-
cause the music was my composition ; but had it been by any one
elsCj I should have taken my place at the great drum just us cheer-
fully as Hummel did, for we were all actuated solely by the pure
feeling of patriotism^ and a willingness to exert our abilities for those
who had sacrificed so much for u&/'

The cantata, entitled Vie ghrreiche AugenWtck, was composed in
honour of the Congress of Vienna, during which the allied sovereigns
shewed marked attention to Beethoven, and the Emperor Alexander
repeatedly visited him.

From the year li^l5 Beethoven's life was overclouded by an ac-
cumulation of unfortuntite circumstanct'Sj which rendered him de-
plorably unhupjjy. The loj) of a portion of the pension settled on
bini in \W& had greatly diminished his pecuniary resources. Added
lo this, a nephew, who was under his guardianship, whom he tenderly
loved, and for whom he had made great sacrifices, deeply afflicted
him by his misconduct.

His deafness speedily increased so much as to deprive him
almost totally of the sense of hearing, and conRe<piently, to unfit
him for conducting an orchestra. A touching instance of this
unfitness is related by Schindler. It occurred when Beethoven was
invited to conduct his "Fidelio" at the court opera house in
Vienna. He took the iattpi cither much too quick^ or much too
slow, to the great embarrAssnient ot the singers and the orchestra.
* " 2," says Schindler, *' ttie efforts of Kapt'll-AIeister

some

ISO

MEMOIR OF BEETHOVEN,

Umlaur^ kept ibe performers together, but, it was soon found
possible to proceed, and it was necessary to say to poor Beethoven,
'This will not <lo.' But no one had the courage to utter these
words, and when Beethoven perceived a certain cinbarrassnient in
every countenance, he motioned ine to write down Cor him what it
meant. In a few words I stated the cause, at the same lime entreat-
ing him to desist, on which he immediately left the orchestra. The
melancholy which seized him after ttiis painful incident was not dis-
pelled the whole day, and during dinner he uttered not a single word."

Having completed his ninth symphony, he planned two great
works. One was an oratorio, to be entitled '* The Victory of the
Cross : " the other, which he proposed making the grand effort of his
life, — the conclusion of his artietical exertions, — was to set Gutbe'i
"Faust" to music. But these works, together with a projected
requiem, were all laid aside, for the purpose of proceeding with some
quartetts, which the Russian Prince Nicolas Oalitzin had com-
missiontd him to compose. For these quartetts, the Prince agreed
to pay the sum of ]2>'> ducats, but Beethoven never received a frac-
tion of the money. On these quartetts he was occupied for aerenl
years, his progress being repeatetlly interrupted by ill bealtht
The 5r8t work produced after his partial recovery from a pn>>
tractc<I indisposition, was the quartett. (No. 12) with the reourk-
able adagio, having affixed to it the words: " Canzione S
rengrazianientu in modo liilico offerta alia Divinita da un ^uartto."
But the convalescence thus beautifully commemorated was not
long duration. The composer was soon seized with inHammation
the lungs, accompanied by feymptoms of dropsy, which confined
to his bed, and utterly disabled him from writing. It is mclanchol
to reflect that in this sad condition, Beethoven was painfully p
by pecuniary difficulties. To the dis^jrace of the Viennese, w
were then in the delirium of what was not inaptly termed the /
fever f their own ^cat musician was neglected and forgotten,
for a donation of 100/. sent to Beethoven by the Philharmom
Society, who bad previously, on two occasions, invited him to h
don, he must have wanted comforts and even necessaries. A
lingering for some time in a hopeless condition, symptoms of
speedy termination to his sufferings appeared, and he breathed '
last on the 26th of March, I«27.

The character of Beethoven affords a curious subject of specii
tion to the observer of the phenomena of the human mind ; and
must not be supposed that the materials collected by the ioduil
and curiosity of his various biographers are exhausted in the
brief memoir of this extraordinary man. The struggle betw-
conscious authority of the lof^y mind, and the internal convi
defective personal qualifications (a struggle forcibly marked on
character of Beethoven), remains yet to be portrayed. His aspr
tion for the beautiful — unattainable even by his mastery over I
resources of art, — his honourable contempt of vulgar ambition k
sordid meanness — his blighted affections, — the gradual decay
final loss of that faculty regarded by the multitude as the one
which his very existence and claim to attention must depend,— (fo£
who would l)eforr have believed in the possibility of a deaf raui
cian.^)— all these circumstances have yet to be traced in their oi>erat
utitil the dreary end closes upon the great Beethoven ; dead, c
before death, to the glory which was expanding round his name.

721

A PETE CHAMPfeTRE IN CONSTANTINOPLE.

BY MRS. PERCV 8INKET.

dkB I have not the enviable power posseised by tlie lady in
'ancreil, who could " describe in a fieotcnce, and personify in a
phrase," I must duvotc several lines to the locality before attempt-
ing to give an account of the diploaiatfc tV'to of Sultun Abd-ul-
McBchidf to wliicli I hud lately the honour of being invited.

The Huider I'ascimt the great grassy plain on wliicli it took place,
it^ situated on the hilly shore of the Asiatic Hosphorus, in the rear of
the towns of Chalcedan and Scutari, which as you know pass for
suburbs of Constantinople. It lies to the left, behind the hill of
Scutari, and has a prospect not directly upon the landing-plnce, but
in a slanting direction towards the sea near the Prince's Islands.

On tlie u])pointed day, u whole army of green tents was arranged
in the most beautiful order, with the opening towards the Bosphorus,
for sake of the cool breezes. The IIlll of Scutari, open on three
sides, was especially appropriated for the discharge of rockets and
6ring ; and on the verdant level was to be the place of the Sultan's
kiosk, and tliat of the famous table tent, which cost Sultan Mahniud
a million and a half piastres, and may be looked on as the ark of the
covenant between Ulam and Christendom.

Whoever seeks the favour of the Christians must of course, before all
things, give tliem plenty to eat and drink, and the feast of the circum-
cision of the sultan's two elder sons, offered a favourable opportunity
for drawing closer the bonds of friendship in good occidental fashion.
As the father of the great Sesostris caused all the boys in Egypt
bom on the same day as Ins son to be reared at the royal cost, so
all sons of Mussulman parents born within the last ten years in the
neighbourhood of Constantinople and the Bosphorus, and who had not
et received sacrament of Islam, were now to do so at (he charge of the

tan. Eight thousand boys were inscribed and accommodated in a

w and well-arranged wooden building, furnished with nine hundred
beds; and, in addition to the necessary expenses, and a daily allow-
ance of two hundred piastres, each boy was presented with a new
robe as a baptismal gift. Five steam vessels were employed from
* nning to evening, in bringing over the public, oil at the imperial
.e, and with a care of which we in Europe liave no idea, other
Doais made the round from San Stefano to the Black Sea, to collect
boys with their parents or relations, and carry them buck again
» ith the royal gitls. Three times a day there were discharges of
ry, and at sunset began the hery rain of many coloured rockets,
countless lamps glittered on the Haider Paschaand along the shores

the tepid Bosphorus as far as Bujukderc. The whole body of officials,
from tlie Grand Vizier to the lowest servant in a public office, became,
Utr the time, dwellers in tents and the sultan's guests. Including the
immediate servants of the sultan, and the guard on duty, not less, it
said, than one hundred thousand meu were entertained by thi
ial bolt. "Ad quid perditio Ihbc?" What upon earth

122

A FirrE CHAKPETRE

finance Iscariot of the West ? Thirty millions of piftAtrea (seven and
a half niiltions of fnuics). What a horrible waa»te cries some W^estem
chihl of Mammon, devouring viih greedy glance all this oriental

fnagni5cence.

On the 23x6 Sept., at two o'clock^ the whole diplomatic corps, with
ilieir secretaries and interpreters, were invited to an imperial
banquet, and ** by |>articular desire, all in full puff." All that vanity
has invented from Lisbon to Teheran, to disguise tlie poverty of the
inside by the splendour of the out, was put in recjuisition by the
difFerent representatives of western majesty. 'Hiirty of tlie highest
Turkish dignitaries, resplendent in diamonds and gold embroidery,
accompanied them. What a constellation of glories — how their dii-
roonds Hashed back the radiance of the sun 1 As ill luck would have
it, in the midst of all this splendour, a tremendous storm burst over
the Hootus at midnight ; its violence was most unusual even on the
Boaphorus. As for the dinner, it was not to be thought of, although
so many of the guests had arrived ; the tents were flooded, the
viands completely spoiled, and the plain of Haider Pascha became an
im[>assable swamp. In the hope of better fortune, a second day, the
2Bth, was appointed. Four steam vessels, a Russian, an English, soil
an Austrian Lloyd's started together from Biijukdere. To revenge
the former disappointment, Messieurs, the diplomatists, were more
mugnificent than ever. The rivalship between the House of Boar-
bon and the House of Hapsburg dates, as is welUknown, from above
three liundred years ago, and although now, in more peaceful fashion
than of yore, the old spirit i* ready to break out on every occasion.
The Trench had an engine of two hundred horse-power stronger than
the Austrian, and bad set otf full ten minutes sooner; luckily, the
Imperatorc in which we had embarked, was one of the best of Lloyd's
sailers in the Mediterranean, and the captain a picked man. We
passed our panting rival triumphantly, and reached the anchoring-
place considerably before her. But alas I it was a barren victory^
Wc lay ofi'the shore and beheld the long array of green tents, the
wooden amphitheatre, the plane-trees, and the curious crowd wailing
to feast their eyes on the glory of tlie West. The officer appointeJ
to introduce thenmbassadors, was wailing to receive us, and carriages
and horses in eupertluily were ready for our conveyance.

** But the gods," says Herodotus, '* are envious of the happiness of
uitirtalg." The wicked clouds were in waiting also. The landing be-
gan with tlie strictest order and etiquette. The internuncio's boat,
with its tco gondoliers in scnrlet and white, had landed lis Hrst cargO)
and uur turn was coming, — when, crash! down came the tem|>e«t
from the Balkan, with u howl and a roar, the thunder booming heavilj,
the lightnings flashing vividly on Chnlccdon, and the clouds empty-
ing a second deluge on the glittering diplomatists. How the crov«d
scanipcreil I and how I ho bestirred and he-ordered gentry scrambled
into the carriages ! Sonic Turkisli women lost their veils in their flight,
and while and black-plumed diplomntit huls were the sport of the piti-
less wind; some axlelrees broke, some of the riders tumbled, and—
tell it not in Oath — more than one representative of a Lord's anointed
kissed the hiimy plain of Hai<ler Pascha in their white kerseymere
pantaloons. An <»ccasional watery glciim of sunshine awakened our
hopes only to mock them ; and the lengthened faces and forlorn toi-

IN CONSTANTINOPLE,

1S^

]ettes that at lust preseuted themselves where the Turkish grandezza
awaited them in solemn trunijuiUity may be better imugined than de-
scribed.

The meadow on which stood the sultan** kiosk, the theatre far the
chief actors in the ceremony, and the great table-tent was en-
closed on three sides. On the fourth the entrance was guarded by a
heutenant-general and his battalion in battle array. The long corri-
dor, leading to the hall of uitdlence, supported on columns, and In
which was placed the orchestra, was well covered with matting and
carpets; the temporary audience-chamber itself abundantly provided
with tables, sofas, chairs, and divans; and on either side of the en-
trance stood a Hlc of the palace guards, Homing in scarlet and gold,
with (Jielr scarlet tchakos adorned, in addition to their gold edging, by
a long green plume resembling a palm branch, and holding long gilded
halberts in their hands.

Nearly an hour was spent in mutual compliments and fine speeches,
before the thunder of the artillery announced the approach of the
sultan. At last the heavily embroidered, silver- fringed, blue silk
curtain was raised. At the foot of the steps, Chusun Pascha, little,
old, fat, and blue-eyed, was seated on a chair, to await hi.s clients till
the audience was over. Chusun Pascha, full uf riches and honours
as of years (he is full eighty), has a smile for every one; and if his
hair and beard were not grey, might serve as a model for the head of
Antinous. He has no longer strength enough to mount steps, or
to stand for any length of time; yet he never fails lo be present at
a grand ceremonial, and is the only Turkish grandee who has the
right of sitting in the sultanas palace, or, qs some say, even in the
ituperial presence.

Since the reforms began under Mulnnud II., ihe sultan stands when
lie gives audience ; and, with the exception of some arabesques on
the walls, and blue silk hangings to the window, there was no furni-
ture whatever in the room. A semicircle was formed, stretching from
one side to the other, by the diplomatic corps and the Turkish digni-
taries. The sultan entered from a £idc cabinet^ and stood still before
part of the circle formed by his own subjects; and Ali Effcndi, mi-
nister for foreign alTairs, interpreted, with every sign of the deepest
rcTercnce, the words that fell from the royal lips to the dean of the
diplomatic bodv, this time the French ambassador. No doubt his
luujesty had his answer ready to the stereotyped civilities of the
West, and has probably repealed it scores of times. The double mis-
hap of the weather necessitated a few civil phrases in addition to the
usual form. In spite of the formality of the expressions, we were nil
oioftt anxious to hear the sound of the sultan*s voice. Unluckily, this
was no easy matter. While in the Persian imperial audience-cham-
ber people bawl at the shah, at ten paces' distance, in Stamboul sove-
reign and servant spoke in so low a tone, that they were scarcely au-
dible at three. To make amends, our western curiosity was gratified
hy a most satisfactory stare at the eastern potentate.

Abd-ul-.Meschid is above the middle height, broad-shouldered and
Bnely shaped, with the youthful luxuriance and fulness of form on
which the Asiatic eye is so well pleased to rest ; and his natural ad-
vantages were further set olf by the elegant simplicity of a closc-lit-
ling dark blue surlout, embroidered on the seams with gold, white

love"*? DESERTTOy.

pantaloons, and polUlied Kurnpcan chatusur^. NotwittistAiiding sonH*
traces of the small-pox, his tace has much manly beauty, with iu
high furclieail, fiuely arched brows, Bmal) mouth, and straight, well-
formed D06C. The sultan has nothing of the look of premature deca;
so often spoken of in Europe ; but in spite of his Caucasian blooi)
by the mother's side, Abd-ul-Meschid has the olive-tinted skin of hit
Turcoman ancestors. His profile is very handsome ; the moustache
is short and thick, and his whiskers and beard kept within due bounih.
His solitaire was a large diamond as bif; as a pigeon's egg* Suluu
Abd-ul-Mt'schid is twenly-threc y^ars old, and, though not distnclio-
ed to pleasure, capable of severe labour, and is undeniably one of the
best-int^ntioned princea of our time. At the end of the ceremony,
Baron Dourgueney and Count Sturmer presented some strangers sc-
cidcntnlly at Constantinople, and who had also reccivc^d invitations
through the minister of foreign affairs.*

In private audiences the sultan speaks to individuals, a condescen-
sion not permitted by Turkish etiquette on public occasions. With-
out saying a word, his majesty fixes his eyes on the person preseut^d
and tliat is a sultan's greeting, and, according to Asiatic notions, a
signal favour.

On dismissing us, the sultan and some of his great men remained
standing and motionless, till the last of the glittering throng huJ
vanished.

* he Minifttro dcs oiTaires ^tranfci-res, par ordre de Sm 3]ajest£ Imperiale le Sv
tan, prie Alon. — ilt* vnuloir bion ttMisU^r n\\ diner, qui aura lieu JeuJ

procbain, 23 SepCembre, fi Haider Posuha, u hait heures a Ja Tiirquc.

LOVE*8 DESERTION.

A MELANCUOLY TACT.

BT ALFAKO CKOWQUILL.

l^v c was lM>m one joyous evening,
In a gluiice Crnin Ju]ia*& eye.

And I tuund myKclferc innniing,
Dixmied bcr willing blave to sigh.

Darkening olotids feJl oW each innmant
Nnl enlivenotl hy her smile.

Or that praix'ful iairy figure.
Stealing ail my peace ilic while.

Angelic, pure, etliereol *
f Ipavens ! she was oil divine.

Vet I dared — « t:»>mnioii mortal —
Hope, kind fate, and she was mine.

Life wait clmrified, for all was giildta,
Her halo idied it» lustre miind ;

This indeed waa pure eJ)-siuDi.
UsppiiMH on earth was found.

Lovo lay down upon our threaliidd,
!^niili[if{ all the livelong day.

In u love-knot tied hia pinions^
Uesolved tu never fly away.

But, fatal truth, one monUng early,
Love had tost some little K^aoe.,

lie frovned and sulked, and slily pointed
To my charmer'^ dirty face.

N{'xi day I found lAwe very poorly
With a horrid touch of vapours.

For he'd seen my lovely angel

Come down, in her hair-curl paf^ergL

Incensed, he pncktid Win bow nud arni«-S|
And leift the place without a sigit,

For she breakfasted next morning,
Without stays, and cap awr>'!

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

BY PB0FK860R CAEJi£Y.

^•^ Thoae few btttlM of which a contrary evcut would have estwntittUy varied liic
drama of the world in all its luhftcqueni aceuM.'* — Ujillam.

No. II.— DEFEAT OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.

** Tb« tUmuiiu knew not, and could not know, how deeply ibe greatoeu of t)ieir
uwji pi.isuricy, ojid tlii* fate uf the wliule Western wurld, were involved iu the de>
MiructUm of the flet>t uf Athens in tlm hurbour of Symitisc. liad that f^real ex-
peditioti proved victorious, the euergies uf Urfeci* duritig itie next eventful cen-
tury trouid have found ihcir field in the Weat nu loss than in the £atC ; fJnvce
and not Home might have coni]uered Cartlimffe ; Greek instead of JLatin mi((ht
have t>een at thin day the principal element of the language of t^paln, of France.
and of Iialv ; and the laws of Atuenii, ratlier than of Rome, might be (he fuuoda-
tion of the law of the dvillsed woHd.** — As hold.

Few cities have undergone niore memorable sieges during ancient
and mediaeval limes than has the city of Syracuse. Athenian, Car-
thaginian, Roman, Vandal, Byzantine, Saracen, and Norman, have in
turns beleaguered her walls ; and the resistance which she success-
fully opposed to some of her early assailants, was of the deepest im-
portance, not only to the fortanes of the generations then in being,
but to all the subsequent current of human events. To adopt the
elouuent expressions of Arnold respecting the check which she gave
to tne Carthaginian arms, ** Syracuse was a breakwater, which God's
providence raised up to protect the yet immature strength of Rome."
And her triumphant repulse of the great Athenian expedition against
her was of even more wide-spread and enduring iniporUmce. It
forms a decisive epoch in the strife for universal empire, in which all
tlie great states of antiquity successively engaged and failed.

The pre&ent city of Syracuse is a place of little or no military
strength; as the fire oi artillery from the neighbouring heighis
would almost completely command it. But in ancient warfare its
position, and the care bestowed on its walls^ rendered it formidably
strong against the means of offence which then were employed by
besieging armies.

The ancient city, in its most prosperous times, was chiefly built
OD the knob of land which projects into the sea on the eastern coast
of Sicily, between two bays ; one of which, to the north, was called
the Bay of Thapsus^ while the southern one formed the great har-
bour of* the city of Syracuse itself. A small island, or peninsular
(for such it soon was rendered,) lies at the south-eastern extremity
of this knob of land, stretching almost entirely across the mouth of
the great harbour, and rendering it nearly land-locked. This island
comprised the original settlement of the first Greek colonists from
Corinth, who founded Syracuse 2500 years ago ; and the modern
city has shrunk again into these primary limits. But, in the fiflh
century before our era, the growmg wealth and population of the
Syracusans had led them to occupy and include within their city-
waJU portion after portion of the mainland lying next to the little
isle, so that at the lime of tlie Athenian expedition the svaward |mrt

VOSLO.

«f Uk kaob U* boJ reecsK^ ifi tf of wm twdt oT«r» and fortified
ffmm fasy ta b^, ^id ■■— Maliil the brgcr pwt of Syracase.

TW k i l MMi i «4tkactec.flrtftH«fi«ncKortbrcity, traversed
dib toob of load, whidb coaciBaei to do^ apwardi finam the sea, J
md whath to the vaC of the old fitigriliwi. (tint b, towards the*!
iiit pi u T of Sic3t,) riaca lyillj ftr a «Qe or tvv^ bvt diminishes in
width, MMtd AhIU It I ■»■■>■ ■■ a \aa% ■■■«■ ridge, b e t wee n which
Mid Moant Hybb a ■ accu w inn of chjana aad anercn low ground ex-
tflids. On each iank of tfaU ridge the dco c m t is iteep and predpi-
tmu from iti laainuta to the strip* of Irrel land thu lie imraediaul/
below it, both to the aoutb-west aad north-west.

Tbe Btnal mode of auaiKng fortified towns in the time of the Pe-
lopoonedao war wu to build a doable-wall round them, sufficiently
■Irong to check any sally of the garrison trom within, or any attack
of a relieving force from without. The interval within the two
walU of the circumvalUtion was roofed over, and formed barracks,
in which the besiegers pcrsted themselves, and awaited the effects of
want or treachery among the besieged io producing a surrender.
And, in every Greek city of those days, as in every Italian republic
of the middle ages, the rage of domestic sedition between aristo-
crats and democrats ran high Rancorous refugees swarmed in tlie
camp of every invading enemy; and every blockaded city was sure
to contain within its walls a body of intriguing malcontents, who
were eager to purchase a party-triumph at the ex|>ense of a nntioiut
disaster. Famine and faction were the allies on whom besiegers re-
lied. The generals of that lime trusted to the operation of iherf
sure confederates as soon as they could establish a complete block-
ade. They mrely ventured on the attempt to storm uny fortified
noHt. For, the military engines of antiquity were feeble in breacli-
itig muHuiirv. bcfure the improvements which the 6rst Dionysius ef*
fcclt'd in the ira'chiuiics of destruction ; and the lives of the boldeH
jtnd iiiiMt hi|;hly-traincd spearmsn would, of course^ have been id!)
M£piniidi'red in charges against undhattered walls.

A city built upon the sea, like Syracuse was impregnable, save by
tlir ciHiibiiuMi operations of a superior hostile fleet, and a superior
lutHlilt' army. And Syracuse, from her size, her population, and her
military nnd imvnl resources, not unnaturally thought herself secure
fVoni finding in another Greek city a foe capable of sending a sufficient
ariuanuuit ii^nimit her to raenuce her with capture and subjection.
Uiil, in lh<* spring of 414 B.r. the Athenian navy was mistress of her
harbour, and the adjacent »eas ; an Athenian army had defeated her
tronpN, and cooped them within tiie town; and from bay to bay a
bUK'kiuling.wnll was being rapidly carried across the strips of level
ground and the high ridge outside the city (then termed Epipolor),
which, if coiniiloted, wouhl have cut the Syracusans off from all
Riicrour fVoin tne interior of Sicily, and have lef\ them at the mercy
of ihr Athenian generals. The besiegers' works were indeed, unfin-
iahtnl ; but every day the unfortified interval in their lines grew nar-
rower, and with it iliiuinishetl all apparent hope of safety for thi
tvrU'Huucrril town.

Athenv waa now staking the Howerof her forces, and the accuma-
UtttI l>uit» of fteveuty years oC glory, on one bold tlirow for the
domiuiuti ^f the Western world. As Napoleon from iSIount C<rar
de Lion pointed to 81. Jean if Acre, and told his sUff tliat the

n — DEFEAT OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.

127

ture of that town woulil decide his destiny, and would change the
face of the world ; so, the Athenian officers, from the heights of
£pipo)£e, must have looked on Syracuse, and felt that with its fall all
the known nowerft of the earth would fall beneath them. They must
have felt, also, that Athens, if repulsed there, must pause for ever
from her career of conquest, and sink from an imperial republic into
a ruined and subservient community.

At Marathon, the first in date of the Great Battles of the World.
we beheld Athena struggling for self-preservation against the in-
vading armies of the East. At Syracuse she appears as the ambitious
and oppressive invader of others. In her, as in other republics of
old and of modern limes, the same energy that hnd inspired the most
heroic eiTorts in defence of the national independence, soon learned
to employ itself in daring and unscrupulous schemes of self-aggran.
disement at the expense of neighbouring nations. lu the interval
between the Persian and the Peloponnesian wars she had rapidly
grown into a conquering and dominant state, the chief of a thousand
tributary cities, and the mistress of the largest and best-mannetl
navy that the Mediterranean had yet beheld. Tlie occupations of
her territory by Xerxes and iVIardunius, in the second Persian war,
had force<l her whole population to become mariners; and the glo-
rtoufl results of that struggle confirmed them in their zeal for their
country's service at sea. The voluntary sulTrage of the Greek cities
of the coa.4ts and islands of the .^gcan first placed Athens at the
bead of the confederation formed for the further prosecution of the
war against Persia. But this titular ascendency was soon converted
by her into practical and arbitrary dominion. She protected them
from the Persian power, which soon fell into decrepitude and decay,
but she exacted in return implicit obedience to herself. She claimed
and enforced a prerogative of taxing them at her discretion ; and
proudly refused to be accountable for her mode of expending their
supplies. Remonstrance against her assessments was treated as fac-
tious disloyalty; and refusal to pay was promptly punished as re-
volL Permitting and encouraging her subject allies to furnish all
tbeir contingents in money, instead of part consisting of ships and
men, the sovereign republic gained the double object of training her
own citizens by constant and well-paid service in her fleets, and of
iceing her confederates lo^e their skill and discipline by inaction,
ind become more and more passive and powerless under her yoke.
Their towns were generally dismantled, while the imperial city her-
self was fortified with the greatest care and sumptuousness: the ac-
cumulatcil revenues from her tributaries serving to strengthen and
ulom to the utmost her ha%'ena, her docks, her arsenals, her theatres,
wd her shrines ; and to array her in that plenitude of architectural
nagnificence, the ruins of which stiti attest the intelluritjal grandeur
of the age and people, which produced a Pericles to plan, and a
Phidias to perform.

All republics that acquire supremacy over other nations rule
tliem selfishly and oppressively. There is no exception to this in
either ancient or modern times. Carthage, Rome, Venice, Genoa,
Florence, Pisa, Holland, and Republican France, all tyrannized
orer every province and subject state, where they gained authority.
But none of them openly avowed their system of doing so upon
AJDciple with the candour which the Athenian republicans dis-

128

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF TUB WORLD.

played, when any remonstrance was made against the severe ex-
actions which they imposetl upon their vassal allies. They avowed
that their empire was a tyranny, and frankly statt^l that they
solely trusted to force and terror to uphold it. They appealed
to what they ca]le<l '* the eternal law of nature, that the weak
should be coerced by the strong."* Sometimes they stated, and noftj
without some truth, that the unjust hatred of Sparta against them-^
selves forced them to be unjust to others in self-defence. To be
safe, they must be powerful ; and to be powerful, they must plunder
and coerce their neighbours. They never dreamed of communicating^
any franchise, or share in otfice, to their dependents ; but jealously f
monopolized every post of command, and all political and judiciu
power ; exposing ttiemselves to every risk with unflinching gal-
lantry ; embarking readily in every ambitious scheme; and never
fiulfering diBiculty or disaster to shake their tenacity of purpose;
in the hope of acipiiring unbounded empire for their country, and
the means of maintaining each of the I3(i,00() citizens, who made up
the sovereign republic, in ex^clusive devotion to military occups-
tions, or to those brilliant sciences and arts in which Athens idreadjr
had reached the meridian of intellectual splendour.

She had hitherto safely defied the hatred and hostility of Sparta,
and of Corinth, Thebes, and the other Greek states thut still adheretl
to Lacedffimon as the natural head of Ci recce; and though entangled
in a desperate war atboroCi which was scarcely suspended for a time
by a hollow truce, Athens now had despatched "the noblest aruiS'
ment ever yet sent out by a free and civilised conimonwealtli," to
win her fresh conqucRta in the Western seas. With the capture of
Syracuse all Sicily, it was hoped, would be secured. Carthage aivl
Italy were next to be attacked. With large levies of Iberian mer-
cenaries she then meant to overwhelm her Peloponnesian enemies.
The Persian monarchy lay in liopeless imbecility, inviting Greek in-
vasion ; nor did the known world contain the power that seemed
ciipahle of checking the growing might of Athens, if Syracuse odc«
could be hers.

The national historian of Rome has left us, as an episode of hii
great work, a disquisition on the probable effects that would havfl
followed if Alexander tlie Great had invaded Italy. Posterity hai
generally rcj^arded that disquisition as proving Livy's patriotism
more strongly than his impartiality or acuteness. Vet, right of
wrong, the speculations of the Roman writer were directed to the
consideration of a very remote possibility. To whatever age Alex*
ander's life might havebeen prolonged, the East would have furnished
full occupation for his martial ambition, as well as for those achemei
of commercial grandeur and imperial amalgamation of nations, i
which the truly great quaUties of Jiis mind loved to display thero*
selves. With his death the dismemberment of his empire among
generals was certain, even as the dismemberment of Napoleoo'l!
empire among his marshals would certainly have ensued, if he bad^
been cut off in the zenith of his power. Rome, also, was far weak
when the Athenians were in Sicily, th.sn she was a century a
wards in Alexander's time. There can be little doubt but that R
would have been blotted out from tlie independent powers of

* *Ai* mmtidTrnTH ri> nfcr** ir» *tf»mrmrifui «ari4#^ir/«i, TUUC. 1.77*

T. — DEFEAT OF THE ATHENTANS AT SYRACUSE. 129

id she beeu atUckei] at the ew\ of the fiflh century, d. c, by
pniAxi urmy, largely aided by Spanish mercenaries, and
■with triumphs over Sicily and Africa ; infitead of the
[between her and Greece having been deferred until the lat-
lunk into decrepitude^ and the Roman Mara had acquired
vigour of manhood.

fjrracuBans themselves, at the time of the Peloponnesian war,
K>ld and turbulent democracy, tyrannizing over the weaker
itiefi in Sicily, and trying to gain in that island the same or-
Bupremacy which Athens maintained along the eastern coast
lediterrnnean. In numbers and in spirit Uiey were fully
D the Athenians, but far inferior to them in military and
litdpline. When the probability of an Athenian invasion
I publicly discussed at Syracuse, and efforts made by some
riser citizens to improve the state of the National Defences,
pare for the impending danger, the rumours of coming war,
t proposals for ]>re[wration were received by the mass of the
lans with scornful incredulity. The speech of one o€ their
i orators is preserved to us in Thucydides,* and many of its
light, by a slight alteration of names and details, serve admi-
ir the party among ourselves at present, which opposes the
Itation of our forces^ and derides the idea of our being in any
nn the sudden attack of a French expedition. The Syracu-
tor told his countrymen to dismiss with scorn the visionary
irhich a set of designing men among themselves strove to ex-
order to get power and influence thrown into their own
He told them that Athens knew her own interest too well
it of wantonly provoking their hostility: ''Even if the ene~
tre to come," saifl he, " .to distant front iheir resources, and
\ to iac/i ft power as ours, their destruction ttumid be eattf
wUaific. Their ships triil ttave enoni^h to do to get to our
U all, and to carrti such stares of ail sorts as fpilthe ucedeiL
Unnot, therefore, carrxf besides an arm// large enough to cope
th a jjvputttlion as ours, Theif wlU have no fortified place
%ieh to commence their operations, btU must rest them on no
\ase tiian a set of wretched tents and such mean* as the
If* of the moment tviU allorr them. Bui in truth I do not
thai thetf rruuld even be able to effect <t discntbarkation,
thcreforry set at nought these reports as altogether of home-
tture; and be sure that ifautf enemy does come, the slate will
pw to defend itself, in a manner ivorthjf of the national

\ assertions pleased the Syracusan assembly ; and their
rparta 6nd fa\'our now among some portion of the Eng-
pUc. But the invaders of Syracuse came ; made gootl their
( in Sicily ; and, if they had promptly attacked the city itself,
llicusans must have paid the penalty of their self-sufficient

rss in submission to the Athenian yoke. But, of the three
who led the Athenian expedition, two only were men of
ijAnd one was most weak and incom[>etent. Fortunately for
ft, the most skilful of the three was soon deposed from his

[ ri. Seo.30. tt $eq. Arnold** edicion. I have almotc Uiorolly tranicnbed
ioal epiloRies of the original i|ieech.

-»<- TTZ *cx :?*r??rrt iim.iS' jF the wokld.

r-'axaxsuTii 37 1. £iirct.ii« Mini •San.r'c "I'lCe cr h2» feCklov-coontryinen,
izii ^:ie zuer r:fn7«Af!zr rce. Ldiinics:!:*^ ir:£C earlj ia a skirmish :
wnle. H'.-r! ?:r"r-T;ir-^ 7 *cZl sir aisr. toe f<isci.* ani Tsexllatiiig Xicias
rsmjiniSiZ i::rvzALi£*i icii irrrru-t. \z aatnTM tiae cadividcd leadership
;c ^2ts A^2a£!i:aii irmj ti::ii ieec. 1211 :j iziir br iltdnaxe orer-oution
isd :Tfr-*=tr^.ff«res». fTfj jtr^iiics :c vicixsi which the cstIt part
zt t^ :ciEri:=»:c:» ;iS±rei. ^cZl. rusi x^fer his. the AUwniaiii
aexr.T ■» :c :2if zz-w^ *^^*7 i^r^Miiftf t2ie r»» jeTJr* of the Sirmca-
scL:«w rjcos-i i^iai v-jiljx i^e -v.Lj?. Azni. iztbtetJcv-mentioDed, almost
erRfj^fi. 1 .^:^'r:Ti.•nu Jirr "^inrjiae. tr-ra. baj zo baj over KpipohF,tbe
crcr-irf&:c ;c "^ixa. w:iL.i rar^i-^'r biTie bccQ t'otloved br a capi-

At ^sisisil:'-! :t lie S^Turisizs i*i aj^ t i" t Seen cooTened to
i.sO'i*s lie rrrcrjfCT ;c .-Qgr^x -eyx-'.it-'xrs «:th the benders.
w**fc :*e t-^ xi^«T '^^-^ift^ -r * JCiuircc of fuccoar vhidb the
Ff'l>:ci:ri=esx'ft luii ieiciercec "U ^/rairsje. and which the culpable
3e-^2xt!?^o? :c' VsTii* bj^ ZfX ei«i eronTourvd to intercept. The
S*-i. :c t2e rsire -ltj: :.tm ^-.ier tbe ib> fufdance 01^ the Spartan
G/^rcc,*. "jTOfti jc sccitf ii^Acaroe rrcc: ^rracuic. received coDiidcr^
aj-v* r!f!.r:'.-nMCMcz> frrci li* -xier S:cil£.."e*. aad tnmed the Athe-
rii3 roKr-.-c "rj joririr^x ^< ^^ ytvcad in the extreme rear of
Ervcije. Cry.j^-^ zLAT^rbeii rir-Aii*: tile uriortiSed interval of
N:cLt* $ ;xrip* jrz^ ihi* besi^asc !*:»= ; irsi joining his troops with
the ?>rac'-«i=: r.-r^as^ irzir *cce ic^xpKsetiis with varvin^ suooett,
jpL.-^.- ibe ^AsZizj cTier N':oaj. ctot* the Athesiazu irom Epipolc,
j.r.-.: > sr:l~'.i^:. ii^rz. ;7t,- a I 'sti iT,iz:rijf -'Cf iwKticc in the low groundi

r.-.e ±iu"V:r .-c L\ Or^K^x w j* r.ow £x*d cci Syracuse : and every
er^r-'.\ *■:' Aihsr* :V-"t vr^ :"p.-cu=oe cc the opportunity now offered
o« vh«x:r^ 'y<r i:vb:z:.v. at.,-, jvrhaw. ot strikirut a deadly blow at
her powi- La-^i" nsi'^f.-tvec^nr* frvci Corinih. Thebes, and other
c:t:e*. r.ow reach^i :h< Sjracusir:* ; whi'e the ha£ed and dispirited
Athe":.ir. pfr.eril e:irr.es:!y Srsocach: hi* couatrymen to recall hin,
ar.x.: rei»rvMr.:eu iza y^nr.zr pr.-^sec-tior. ot*the siqre as hopeless.

B'ii Ather.? hii u:A.:e :: a r_:is.::i! rever to let di£culty or disaster
dnve her bjck. rrotv. ir.v e-:erprse orce undertaken, so lone as she
p«»$e4sevi the mex::* ofiuakiri: ar.y e5.*rt- however desperate, for its
accinv.pi;*hii:e:^:. With :r.w:.':-^::AMe pe-tinacrty she now decreed in-
stead of revMl',:r.^ her first ir.ramer.t t'rvKn before Syracuse, to send
out a sevvnd. though her eRemie* rt-,kr home ha.! now renewed open
warfare a^iair.^t her. an J by iw.ipyirc a penranent fortification in her
territorv/h-ui severely d:*:re**ev: her |vpulation. and were pressiDj(
her with almost a'i the hanUhips of an actual ste^. She still wai
mistress of the sea. and she sent forth another tleet of seventy galleys,
and another army, which seen:e\l to drain almost the last reserves of
her military population, to try if Syracuse couid nnt yet be won, and
the honour of the Athenian arms be preserved from the stigma of a
retreat. Hers was« indeed, a spirit that might be broken but never
would bend. At the head of this second expeilition. she wisely
placeil her best general, Demosthenes, one of the most distinguished
oihcers that the long Pelo}H>nnesian war had pnxluced, and who, if he
had originally held the Sicilian command, would sixin have brought
Bynicuie to aubmission. ills arrival before that city restored the
superiority to the Athenians for a time by land and by sea, on both of

■ II. — DEFEAT OF TFIE ATHENIANS AT SVnACUSE. 131

P which elementfl the Syracu»ans had now been victorious over the
% dispirited soldiers and mariners who served under Nicias.

■ With the intuitive decision of a great cumniaiuler. Demnstlienes
urf; once saw that the possession of Kpipolae was the key to the pos-
Hpssion of Syracuse^ and he resolved to make a prompt and vigorous
Rnktteropt to recover that position while his force was unimpaired, and
p the consternation whicti its arrival hud produced among the besieged
i remained unabated. The 8yracusans and their allies had run out an

■ outwork along Kpjpols? from the city walls, intersecting the fortified

■ lines of circumvallation which Nicias had comnieuced, but from
( iwhich be had been driven by Gylippus. Couhl Demosthenes suc-
ceed in storminff thia outwork, and in re-establishing the Athenian

p troops on the hij^h ground, be mi^ht fairly' hope to be able to resume
the circumvallation of the city, and become the conqueror of Syracuse.

An easily-repelied attack was fir&t made on the outwork in the
day-time, probably more witli the view of blinding the besieged to
the nature of the main operations, than with any exptctation of suc-
ceeding in an open assault, wilh every disadvantage of the ground to
contend against. But, when the darkness had set in, Demosthenes
formed his men in columns, each soldier taking with him five days*
provisions^ and the engineers and workmen of the camp following
the troops with their toois, and ail portable implements of fortiHca-
tion, so as at once to secure any advantage of ground that the army
might gain. Thus e^juipped and prepared, he led his men along by
the foot of the southern HuTik of Epipula?, in a direction towards the
interior of the island^ till he came immediately below the narrow
ridge that forms the extremity of the high ground looking west-
ward. He then wheeled his vanguard to the right, sent them
rapidly up the paths that wind along ttie face of the cliff, and suc-
ceeded in completely surprising the Syracusnn outposts, and in
placing his troops fairly on the extreme summit of the all-important
Epipolie. Thence the Athenians marclieU eagerly down the ^lope
towards the town, routing some Syracusan detachments that were
cjiiartered in their way, and vigorously assatHn^ the unprotecitd side
of the outwork. All at first iiivoured thera* The outwork was aban-
doned by its garrison, and the Athenian engineers began to dismantle
it. In vain Gylippus brought up fresh troops to check the assault ;
the Athenians broke and drove them back, and continued to press
hotly forward, in the full confidenceof victory. But, amid the general
consternation of the Syracusans and thcirconfederates, one hotly of in-
fantry stood firm. This was a brigade of their Bueolianallies, which was
posted low down the slope of Epipohe outside the city walls. Coolly
and steadily the Elceotian infantry formed their line, and, uudi:<muyed
by the current of flight around thern, advanced against the advancing
Athenians. This was the crisis of the battle. But the Athenian
van was disorganised by its own ]>revi»us successes; and, yiehl-
ing to the unexpected charge thus made on it by troops in per-
fect order, and oii the most obstinate courage, it was driven back
in confusion upon the other divisions of the army, that still continued
to press forward. When once the tide wna thus turned, the Syra*
cuaana passed rapidly from the extreme of panic to the extreme of
vengeful daring, and with all their forces they now fiercely assailed
the embarrat^sed and receding Athenians. In vain did the officers
of the latter strive to rcfunn their line. Amid the din and th«

VOL. XXIII. V.

132

THE 8IX DECrSIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

shouting of the fight, and the confusion inseparable upon a nighc
engagement, especially one where many thousand combatants were
pent and whirled together in a narrow and uneven area, the neces-
sary manccuvres were impracticable; and though many companies
still fought on desperately, wherever the moonlight shewed them
the semblance of a foe, they fought without concert or subordina-
tion ; and not unfrequently, amid the deadly chaos, Athenian troops
assailed each other. Keeping their ranks close, the Syracnsans and
their allies prest on against the disorganized masses of the besiegers,
and at length drove them, with heavy slaughter, over the cHfTs, which
an hour or two before they had scaled full of hope, and apparently
certain of success.

This defeat was decisive of the event of the siege. The Athenians
afterwards struggled only to protect themselves from the vengeance
which thcSyracusans sought to wreak in the complete destruction of
their invaders. Never, however, was vengeance more complete and
terrible. A series of sea-fights followed, in which the Athenian
galleys were utterly destroyed or captured. The mariners and sol-
diers who escaped death in disastrous engagements, and a vain at*
tempt to force a retreat into the interior of the inland, becaintf
prisoners of war ; and either perished miserably in the Syracussa
dungeons, or were sold into slavery to the very men whom in tbetr
pride of power they had crossed the seas to enslave.

All danger from Athens to the independent nations of the Werfj
was now for ever at an end. She, indeed, continued to striigf(le
against her combined enemies and revolted allies with unpara11ele<I|
gallantry; and many more years of varying warfare passed aw»y
before she surrendered to their arms. But no success in subsequent
contests could ever have restore<l her to the pre-eminence in entef-
prixe, resources, and maritime skill, which she had acquired l>cforei
her fatal reverses in Sicily. Nor among the rival Greek republicsi:
whom her own rashness aided to crush her, was there any capableofj
reorganizing her empire, or resuming her schemes of conquest. Th«]
dominion of Western Europe was left for Rome and Carthage to Ji«-|
pute two centuries later, in conflicts still more terrible, and withi
even higher displays of military daring and genius, than Atbenfj
had witnessed either in her rise, her meridian, or her fall.

SONO.

By tbfi dear silver tonn of thy bearcnly voicet
By lli« npurkling blui> eyrs ol the miiid of my dintoe.
By lliy bright sunny ringkUf were I on a throne,
A lid Uiuu what thou art^ I should moke ibee my own.

By tlie Hnile on thy lip — by the bloom on ihy che«k —

By tliy hiokB ofafreclion- the wunls ttum dukt »peak

By tbe heart wurm with love in tlial bosom of suow,
I love Oiee-mudi more than thou ever can'st know.

I love thee— I love thee— what can I tiay more,
Tbiin U'l! nbat I 'we told thee no often Ixffure ;
M'hilo othora may court thee, may flatter, and praiae.
Forget not onr ymingeir and happter days.

IBS

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE POET GRAY,

BY B. JE8SB.

" And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heighu th' eapante bdow

Of f^rove. nf lawn, of mend lunrey.
Whose turf, whoiitf shade, whose flovrert among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

Hia silver- winding way i

'* Ah, bAppy hills ! ah, pleasing shade !
Ah, fields beloved in vain !
M'here once my careless ehildhood str&y*d,
A stranger yet tu pain 1*

Every thing in the neighbourhood of Windsor is redolent of Gray.
Heru his jays began, and liis sorrows ended, but his poetry still
breatties its inspirations in aU we see around.

Pi^rhaps there have been very few scenes more flattering to tJie
genius of a poet than the one exhibited at the sale of Gray's manu-
scripts, at Evans's auction-room in Uond Street, in the winter of 164d,
Every scrap of his writing was eagerly bought up. His Elegy, on
one sheet of paper, was purchased for one hundred pounds; and his
Odes for one hundred guineas. A letter sold for eleven guineas ; and
almost every thing else in proportion. Dut what atruck me more
than anything else at the Kiile of these numerous and interesting manu-
scripts, was the fact that, from nearly his earliest boyhood to the latest
period of bis life, everything had been written with an extreme neat-
ness, very characteristic of the poet. Indeed there was a degree of ele-
gance in all he did, and all he wrote, which, perhaps, has never been
surpassed. One of his favourite studies was Natural History, and
this ia shewn by the marginal notes which he wrote in his copy of
LinnsDus, and in Uudsoi/s Flora Anglica. He also interleaved,
and almost entirely filled the tenth edition of the Systenm Naturce
of LinnEcus with notes and observations. He appears to have read
Aristotle's treatise on Zoolugy, and explained some difficult passages
in it, iji consequence of his own uhscrvaiions.

It was evident, also, that he understood all the rich varieties of
Gothic architecture, which he probably studied in his youth when he
was abroad. He also aci[uircd a considerable knowledge oi" heraldry,
and left behind him many genealogical papers which prove him to
have become master of the subject.

His notes in the catalogue of the pictures at Wilton, show that
he had a fine taste for painting, and his sketches not only in the
Systema Naturne, of the heads of birds, and of insects, hoth in their
natural size and magnified, with some other drawings, prove that he
was no mean proficient in the art of drawing. Nor was he ignorant
of music, if we may judge by what had belonged to him, and which
was sold wilh his books and manuscripts.

Gardening would appear to have been a favourite amusement of
Gray's, but especially floriculture ; and in his pocket journals, some of
which were sold, he noticed the opening of leaves and fto'wtTS^ «i&

134

THE POET GRAY.

wcU as of the birds, insects, &c., seen by him at different periods,
and much of bis time must have been passed in these studies.

But on much smaller matters he bestowed attention. A friend of
mine purchased at the sale of his library, a book of cookery, ia
which he had entered observations on tlte dishes of Mons. St
Clouet and Mr. W. Verral, and which the poet has altered and
amended. The 6y-lcaves are filled with recipes for savory stewi
and hashes, and he remarks that he had tried one and found
it bad.

Such is a short sketch of some of the acquirements of Gray. But
it is in his poetry that we trace his talents and genius : and how much
of it is connected with this neighbourhood in which he lived, and
how much has he [added to its interest? His Churchyard, as Dr.
Johnson observed, "abounds with images which find a mirror ia
every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an
echo." It may also be said of Gray, that he was one of those fe«
persons in the annals of literature, who did not write for the sake of
pro6t; he evidently shunned the idea of being thought an author bj^
profession. Whether this was owing to a certain degree of pride, to
his high sense of honour, or to his good breeding, may remain i
doubt, but he certainly did not seek for advantage from his Hterfliy
pursuits.

While he was staying; with his relations at Stoke, Gray wrote
and sent to his friend West, that beautiful Ode on S^jring, which
begins —

*' Ln ! vhere ibe my bosomM hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear,
DiscloH tbe loni( expecting flowers.
And wake tbe purjile year I" Ac.

This ode he sent, as soon as he had written it, to Mr. West, bttl
he was dead before the letter which enclosed it had arrived. It w»
returned to Ijim unopened. This Ode contains n kind of present!
ment of the death of one so much beloved, and the lines, so well
known to the adtuirera of (iray, are extremely pathetic and beautiful

Mr. W\*st died in the twenty-sixth year of nis age, and this cir-
cumstance adds a double interest to this beautiful ode.

The Ode lo Adversity, and that on a distant prospect of Eton,
were hotli of them written within three months after the death of
Mr- West. His sorrow, also, for this event, was shown in a very
affectionate sonnet, which concludes thus —

** I fruit1e«» moum for him that cannot hear,
And weep the more, Iwcaute I weep in Taiu."

Hut it was as a lover of nature — of these little incidents in rural lir«
.^of facts and circumstances in what he saw around him, whether
the varied scenery of Stoke, the "beetle with its drowsy hum,'
and " droning flight," or the complaint of the " moping owl," that
Gray's genius pleases most, and has done so much to immortalize h''
memory. Thot he studied nature, and wooed her charms in the de-
lightful neighbourhood of Stoke, as well as in the wilder scenery
Italy, cannot be doubted. In fact, his mind appeared to be pecuHarlj
pd tn enjoy rural scenes and rural objects, tinctured as it wa
dislike to the more bustling scenes of life, and this induce

THE POET GRAY.

a voluntary seclusion from the world. Under »uch circumstance^
nature opened to him resources of which he eagerly availed himself,
and which probably tended more than any thing else to dispel that
dejection of spirit* and mental uneasiness of which he complains in
several of his letters. It is, indeed, sad to think that a man of such
talents as Gray, with so many acquirements, with auch virtues and
such humanity, blameless in his life, and disintercseed in all his
pursuits, should have suffered in the way he describes himself to
iiave done. He appears, however, to have met death with great
tranquillity.

Id one of bis note-books, there » a flight sketch io verse of his
own character. It was written in 1761.

»' Too poor for a bribe, uid too proud to iciportuae.
He bad uot the method nf making & fortune ;
Could love, snd could hate, hu wu thouf^ht ftomewbat odd ;
No very groat wit, he believe<l in a God.
A post or k pciuioD he did uot desire,
80 left church and ilate to Charles Towuabend aud s<|uire."

The cause of Gray's quarrel with Horace Walpole has never
been satisfactorily explained. Various causes have been assigned for
but 1 recently heard one mentioned, which is sufficient to account
the silence of Gray's biographer during the lire-time of Walpole,
vheo the memoirs of Gray were writteu, and, also, fur the unwilling-
Dtrii the former evinced to enter into the subject, except by charging
himself with the chief blame. The fact, 1 have been assured, was,
that Gray bad threatened to acquaint Sir Robert Walpole with his
•od's extravagance and dissipation when they were travelling together
Italy, and that Walpole, hearing he would do this, had opened

ne of Ciray's letters. Gray very properly resented ihis as a
It unjusti6able act, and parted from his companion. This will
>unt for a passage in the manuscript of the Kev. W, Cole, who

red in terms of intimacy with Gray during the latter part of his life.

■When matters," he remarks, ** were made up between Gray and
Walpole, and the latter asked Gray to Strawberry Hill, when he
csmc, he, without any ceremony, told Walpole that he came to wait
OD him as civility required, but by no meaus would he ever be
tkere on the terms of his former friendship, which he had totally
caiiceUed."

Mr. Mitford has observed, that this account does not seem at all
inconsistent with the independence and manly freedom which always
Sccompanied the actions and opinions of Gray.

I am aware how very defective this short notice of him is ; but,
residing in the neighbourhood where he lived, and constantly frc-
ijueoting the spot where his remains were deposited, I could not
refrain from adding mine to the many accounts of a poet so greatly
idmircd. It has been said of him, that he joins to the sublimity
of Milton, the elegance and harmony of Pope, and that nothing was
•anting to render him, perhaps, the (irst poet in the English lan-
guage, but to have written a little more,

OWGIX OF THS STtWT OP BLUE BEARD.

■V V. e. r^nrnk, txj».

It ii a wy ammmam^ hm.

I thattbe fegeod
a ntire «i

tbrooi^Hoat Europe.
ia tbc Iqgcnd «lw^ caa afbrd tbe iT^tcst sup-
MKfa a Uwary: tke ■BBaert vlij^ tW story pourtr»;s,
a ffate of aocictj }ang anterior to the age oT the Tudoni
tb^ beteg to a timte vbea die murder of wives needed doI to
iMler ititf aader tbe fcm aT bv, the hero is not a king fctl
■g MMclbi^ af tbe ooaftial wbicb aancnt pablic opinion imposo

rB ^Bsyariini ; be is a clri i Mi «f tbe dbrbest period of the mid
■gei^ wbca tbe oolj cbeck on tbe tynmnj of the lords of castlo
was tbe chaact of tbeir being caiUed to aocooat bj some adventurous
kai^t efrant. vba aaitnaafc la wdren gricvaooes bj tbe point «f
Ui kace, and tbe edge of bis aword. Tbe aost telling inddeok b
Iba Blorjr. tbe laabomoT Sister Anae from tbe tower of the csMk
evideaitljr fixes tbe dale in tbe age of knight onatry; Blue Beardk
dearijr one of those terrAle burgravefl whom Victor Hugo has lo
vtridlj delineated, or, as seems to be probable, he is

" Knight of tbe shire, aad rafraHMi than aO.'*

la fad, there are few countries in western Europe which do nol
claim Uie equivocal hoooor of having produced a Blue Beard, and we
majr r^ard tbe ule as a kind of concentrated essence of serrnl
legends and traditions relating to outrages perpetrated by feudal
lurds during the feeble stage of monarchy, when, to u^ the vxpre^
sive language of t)ie sacred historian, it might be said of alrooil
every country in Western Europe, " at ibis time, there was no
king in Israel; every man did that which seemed right in his o«B
eyes.

In tlie recent development of provincial literature in FranCCt
several strange and interesting local legends have been brought to
light, which throw some gleams of explanation on tlic talcs that baw!
become current in European tradition. Several of these relate to 1
sup|>osed prototype of Blue Beard, and it will not be uninteresting to
glance at the real history of some of these per&ouages as illustrativa
of the sute oi' society in that age of chivalry, the disappearaoca
of which is so deeply lamented by certain writers of sentimeQUl
romances

The Angevin Legend has the first claim on our attention, for it^
udvucates can jwiut out a castle on the bauks of the river belwecfl
Angers and Nantes, which bears the name of Le ChdUau de Barit
liUuCi and the position of which quite accords with the incidents
the legend. The true nume of the ruin, is the Castle of Champtoie
it is situated on the brow of a hill which is nearly covered with tt
fragments of the ancient pile. Its appearance seems strongly c
firroaiory oi the tale told by the peasantry^ that it was destroyed b;

'hunderboU, and that its gigantic ruins ought to be regarded as

STORY OF BLUE BEARD.

IS^

permanent monument of divine vengeance. The tower which Sister
Anne is supposed to have ascended, is cloven from summit to base;
but fiume adventurous climbers who have ascended tiie ruins^ ilc-
clare that it commands a wide extent of prospect, and chut from
It they can see Uie gates of Angers, which are nine or ten miles
distunt.

In the fifteenth century, this fortified palace» (or such^ from its ex-
tent, it appears to have been, betong;ed to Gilles de Retz^ Marshal of
France, and one of the firmest adherents of Charles VII. The chro-
nicles give a long list of the lordships and manors which were united
in his domain ; they assert that his income exceeded one hundred
thousand crowns of gold annually, intlependent of the large booty
he collected from various marauding expeditions against the sup-
porters of the PloDtagenets.

Not only large profits, but certain feudal honours were attached to
these manors — liotiuurs which, in our day, would he regarded almost
as menial services. The lords of four manors had the right of bear-
ing the litter vC every new bishop of Angers, when he mudu his
solemn entry into his diocese. With curious minuteness, it was
ordained that the Lord of Duollay should hold the right pole in^ and
the Lord of Cheniille the left: the Lord of Gratccutsse was to hold
the left pole in the rear, having for assistant on his right, the Lord
of lilou. Now, two of those manors, Gratecuisse and Uuolliiy, be-
longed to the Lord of Retz, and we have not been able to discover
how he contrived to perform the double obligation imputed on him.
Our researches have, however, shown that great importance was at-
tached to the obligation, for we find it recorded in one of the chro-
nicles, that at the installation into his bishopric of William Lemaire,
in 1^90, Almeric dc Craon, son of the Lord of Buollay, claimed to
carry the pole of I he litter in place of his father, who was confined to
his bed by some dangerous illness. Alter a solemn investigation,
such as the importance of the question required^ it was decidt;d that
thit» sacred and hunuurabte service was purely personal, and that as
the Lord of Buollay could not render it, his right devolved to the
Lord of IVlHthefelon. This decision was the cause of much grief to
AInicric de Craon ; he not only protested against it» but when ihe
procession came near, he mounted on the shoulders of a stout archer*
and in this singular guise, assisted to support the episcopal litter into
Angers.

Gilles de Rctz had barely attained his majority, when he entered
on his rich inheritance of a castle ahuost as extensive as a town,
numerous lordships and manors, a princely income, and the right to
support two poles of an episcopal litter. He was, of course, sur-
rounded by flatterers and parasites, who stimulated his passions, and
encouraged him in every kind of extravagance, from which they were
sure to derive some profit. One historian, said lo be a descendant of
this potent lord, informs us that the most sumptuous part of his esta-
blishment was his chapel and chuntry, in which no less than twenty-
three chaplains, choristers, and clerks were engaged, and which was
iumished with two portable organs, requiring six men to carry them.
The service in this chapel was conducted with all the splendour and
forms used in cathedrals, and the Lord de Hetz sent a deputation to
the Pope, requesting that his chaplains should be allowed \.o 'w^a.x

ORIGIN OF THE

initres like the cauons iu tbe cathedral of Lyons, He was, tlfto, i
great patron of mlraclc-pIays, and collected actors, morris-daDcen
and singers from distant provinces, to act the Mysteries which hefv
hibiled daily from Ascension-day to Whitsunday.

But all this splendour of retif^ious worship was mere theatrical dii-
play, which Gilles de KetE regarded with no deeper feeling than ibe
mimes and farces which his dramatic corps acted when not eng%^
in the celebration of Mysteries. The brilliant solemnities of the
Chapel were eclipsed by extragavant orgies in which debauched j^
vention was tasked to the utmost to discover new excesses and
ties of vice. Every day young maidens were taken by force
the cottages of their parents and carried to the castle, from wbencv
none of them was ever known to return.

Such excesses were sufficient to break down the most amplr
fortune. Gilles de Ketz began to feel the want of means to support
the state to which he had been accustomed; some of liis manors were
sold, others were mortgaged to the merchants of Angers, and a grtil
reduction was made in the number and the salary of the chaplains.
To replace his fortune, the castellan devoted himself to the study (^
alchymy, and the means of transmuting the base metals into goliL
According to the superstitions of the period, he was said tu hafe
entered into a compact witii Satan, and to have stipulated with tbc
prince of darkness to pay for his instruction in the forbidden arts, bt
a tributary sacrifice of Christian children. In this part of the C4s*
tellan's history, the Angevin writers recognize the explanation of
the mysterious chamber which Blue Beard guarded by such severe
penalties against the intrusion of female curiosity.

Though we are far from giving implicit credence to the stories of
ubominubic crimes said to have been perpetrated by ma^cions.
necromancers, and alchymists in the dark ages* we cannot reject all
such narratives as mere fictions. Many of the worst corruptions of
Paganism, and particularly the Secret Mysteries, introduced from
Asia into Italy about the time of the Antonines, long survived the
establishment of Christianity, and were secretly propagated by men
who may best be described as credulous deceivers. The union of
enthusiasm and impusiure is common ; each has a tendency to pro-
duce the oilier ; what are called pious frauds, have often been per-
petrated with the best intentions: and those who have imposed upon
the world by pretended miracles, frequently end by becoming the
dupes of their own pretensions. Such we believe to have been the
case with ihe necromancers and magicians of the middle ages; they
believed that the spells of a mystic ritual would confer on them
supematurn! powers, and they attributed their failures to some imper-
fection in Iheir ceremonial, or to incomplete instruction. These
mystics wore banded together in secret societies, or rather in secret
sects, the members of which recognized each other by pass-words
and signs, known only to the initiated. Some suspicion of the hor-
rible deeds perpetrated at ihe meetings of these mystics was spread
among the general public, and severe edicts were issued against
their atscmblies both by the Pagan and Christian Emperors. Indeed
the secrecy of the meetings of the Christians themselves was one of
the reasons most commonly assigned for the perseculions to which
they were subjected*

8T0HY OF BLUE BEAItD.

139

Tradition and history equally point to Hindustan as the parent of
these myslerioua fraternities in which asceticism was frequently com-
bined with licentiousness, and in whicli sometimes the bond of union
was community in crime. The horrible associaiion of tlie Thugs,
whose ritual prescribes assagsination as a duty, has continued to our
own times. Indeed, we find that in the middle ages the Indians, that
is, the Hindoos, were regarded as the best teachers of magic, and
were as much reverenced aa the Chaldeans in the later ages of the
Roman empire.

If Blue Beard's secret chamber was a place consecrated to the
practice of those mysterious abuminationsj in which some of the se-
cret societies notoriously indulged, there is abundant reason for his
affixing the penalty of death on the intrusion of ihe uninitiated.
Gillesde Retz had secret chambers in all his castles, and he engaged
adepts from various countries to work out "the great projection"
under his directions. '* He hud heard," says M. dc Houjoux, "that
there existed men who, by certain rites and sacrifices, and the exer-
tion of a firm will, acquired supernatural powers, and tore away the
veil which shrouds incorporeal forms from bodily vision ; he heard
that such persona became lords over the fallen angels, who were
subject to their connnands, and obeyed even the slightest intimation
of their will, He therefore sent out emissaries who traversed Ger-
many and Italy, penetrated into the mobt savage solitudes, searched
the densest forests, and descended into the deepest caverns, where,
according to report, were the haunts and dwellings of the worshippers
of the prince of darkness."

One of the earliest associates who presented himself to Gilles de
lletz announced himself as an Indian sage. His figure was imposing
and severe; his eyes dark, but fiery; his beard long, white, and
|iointed; and his manners, though grave, had the easy grace winch
marks men accustomed to the best society. It subsequently appeared
that the pretended Indian was a Florentine mountebank, named Tre-
lutij who had picked up some vague traditions about oriental magic
while trading in the Levant. Prelati led his patron to believe thai
Satan could only be propitiated by the sacrifice of children, and nu-
merous innocents were murdered in the secret chamber, whose cries
of agony were sometimes heard in the remotest parts of the castle ;
but any of the domestics wlio attempted to penetrate the mystery
were instantly put to death.

The purveyor of Innocents for sacrifice was an old woman named
La Meffraie; she contrived to introduce herself to young children
who tended Hocks, or ivho wandered about as beggars; she caressed
them, gave them sweetmeats, and thus enticed them to tht; castle of
Champtoie, or to that of Luze. where the pretended Indian worked:
and those who once entered either were never known to return. So
long as the victims were the children of peasants, who might have
been supposed to have strayed accidentally, or to have runaway from
the privations which they endured at home, little enquiry was made
on the subject ; but boldness increasing with impunity, the children
of some wealthy citizens were stolen, and coniplaiuU were made to
JoImi V. Duke o( Brittany, the liege lord of Gilles dc Retz, who gave
orders for the arrest of the niarshnf, and the seizure of his castles.
I The traditional account given of the arrest of Gilles de Relz V\«» ■&Q'av^

upco
ium|

140

similarity to the incideDt of Sister Anne in the story of Bine
There was a painter in Nantes who had a very beautiful wifej
brother had been engaged as a chorister in the cha{>el of Chamj
but after some time he had inexplicably disappeared. When shei
complaint to justice) the authorities hesitated to attack a place M
lified and so strongly garrisoned as Champtoie. She offered to i
duce them into the castle by stratagem, and related the plan sbi
formed for the purpose. On a certain day, as had been cooa
she pretended to stray into the domains of the marshal^ and wt
mediately seized by some of his emissaries as a victim of his luil
conveyed as a prisoner to the high tower. In her first intei
with the marshid, she obtained such inBuence over him, tha
entrusted her with the keys of the castle, that she might amuse
self in the gardens while he returned to the laboratory, Shi
scended and unlocked the postern gate, and then asceuding ti
tower, hung out the Hag which had been agreed upon as a si
One tradition says that the soldiers were rather tardy iu tiieir ar
and that she was on the point oi being the victim of the roan
brutality, when her husband and friends arrived to her re
** They found," says M. de Houjoux, *' in the castle of Chaiupio
large chest full of the calcined bones of children, to the nu:
about forty skeletons. A similar discovery was made at L
other places which the marshal frequented. It was calcuU
more than one hundred and fifty children had been murdered
extemiiuating monster

Bodin tells us that when Gil!ea was interrogated by the judg«
confessed, or rather boasted, that he had committed crimes suffit
to procure the condemnation of ten thousand men. From the rec
of his trial in the archives of Britnnny, it appears that he was
ceeded againjut both civilly and ecclesiastically. His judges wen
President of Brittany, the Bishop of Angers, and Jean Blouin, i
to the Inquisitor-Ueneral of France. They found him guilty o
possible and some impossible crimes^ adding to the record, thi
contessed many other things so unheard-of that they could not be
(ifiaudita et innamihUia), He was sentenced to be led in chaii
the place of execution, and to he burned alive at the stake
appointed was the 23rd of October, 1440, — "a date," says th
nan, " about which there can be no doubt ; for all the people of
and Maine by common consent whipped their children on that m
ing, so as to impress the precise date on their memory." This stn
njnt'tnunic process is still a favourite with the peasants of Anjou
Brittany.

Whimsically enough, the monument erected to the exterin
marshal wasbelitrvedtohave what may be deemed an expiating in
for the cruellies he had inflicted on children during his life, and
general whipping he procured them at his death. It was decon
with a statue of the Virgin, uhich still bears the name of* La \^
de Cree Lait," because it possesses the power o^ enabling nur
mothers to produce abundance of that aliment in which infi
light.

We come now to a rival prototype of Blue Beard, whoce cla
advocated both by the bards and the historians of Brittany. It
saintly legend, and has the additional merit of introducing a

hel

ofS

t m

stn

jou

md
econ

ainii
It

STORY OF BLUE DEARD.

141

miracle. We must therefore translate it as literally as monkish Latin
will allow.

**In the year of grace 530 there lived near the river Blanet, in the
country of Vannes, a holy personage named Welian, a native of the
island of Britain^ who had visited the continent as a missionary^ and
hod been enabled to build a noble monastery by the contributions of
the peasants and the alms of the faithful. His sermons and his utira-
des were renowned throughout Brittanny, and had introduced him to
the notice of Werek, Count o( Vannes, who highly respected his
piety.

** Now there reigned at that time over the country of Comouailles
a wicked lord named Comorre, who had heard of Weltan, and wished
, to see bim. The saint, in hopes of converting him, went to visit this
murderous wolf, accompanied by some of his monks. Finding that
his instructions produced some sensible effect on the mind of the
count, he a^eed to remain at his court until he had completed the
I process of his conversion.

I "-A little before this, the Count of Comouailles had visited the
I court oi' Vunnes, and having seen Zuphina, the eldest daughter of
Count Werek, fell desperately in love with her. He proffered mar-
risge, but was peremptorily refused, on account of the cruelty with
which he had treated his seven former wives, all of whom he had
mnrdered just as they were on the point of becoming mothers. This
Rjection so grieved him that he spent the days in tears and the
nights without sleep. At length he entreated Weltan, or, as he now
' began to be called, Saint Gildasius, to use his inHuence with Count
Werek, that he might believe in the sincerity of Comorre's repent-
ace, and grant him the hand of his daughter. Weltan or Gildasius
undertook tlie task, and succeeded.

''The marriage was celebrated with great pomp. Zuphina came to

ike castle of her husband, and was treated with uU the respect due to

her rank, beauty, and virtue, until she exhibited unequivocal signs

thftt she was about to become a mother. Comorre then began to re-

gland her with sinister glances, and to utter obscure menaces, by

vliich she was so much alarmed, that she renolvcd to escape to her

^ber. Early one morning, just before dawn, leaving Comorre fast

■ferp, she mounted her palfrey, and set forth unattended on the road

tu Vannes.

, ** When the count awoke, he missed his wife, and having heard of

Wt evasion, guessed rightly the direction of her flight. He called

[ (dr his boots, ordered his fleetest steed to be saddled, and gave chase

uie utmost force of whip and spur. Zuphina was almost within

j-,.i.; of Vannes when she discovered her pursuer. She immeJialely

from her palfrey, and endeavoured to hide herself in a grove

willows. Comorre, on finding his wife's steed riderless, dismount-

and, after a close search, discovered Zuphina, and having dragged

from her hiding-place, brutally strangled her, in spile of tears und

ities. A peasant, who accidentally witnessed the transaction,

jht intelligence of it to V^unnes. Werek assembled his guards,

having ineffectually chased the murderer, ordered the body of his

l^hter to be transported to the town, while he hasted to make his

ICtoplaint to St. Gildasius.

The saint, affected by the father's grief, which neither tears nor

142

ORIQIN OF THK STOftT OF BLUE BEARD.

»nc^

groans could relieve, consented to foUow him to VanDcs;
road be turned aside to visit Comorre io his castle of Quci
to reproach him for the cowardly murder. In anticipAlion of
visit, Comorre had ordered the draw-bridges to be raided,
portcullises let down. The saint, unable to obtain ada3i$sioo»
a handful of dust and tiung it against ibe towers^ four of wl
mediately fell, severely wounding Comorre and his associates.

** The saint then resumed bis route to Vanues, and on reaci
castle, demanded to be led to the bier of the murdered 2
Wlien be was brought to the chapel where she lay, he took the
by the hand, and said in a loud voice, 'Zuphinot in the nami
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I command thee to arise a^|
unto us whither thou hast departed/ ^

*' At these words the lady arose and declared that angels hi
engaged transporting her soul to Paradise, when the summ4a|
dasius compelled them to restore it to her body. ■

" Comorre was soon punii^hed for his crime : at the sural
Werek all the bishops of BritUuy assembled at Menez-Bre, i
minoted an excommunication against the Count of Corn(
efficacious, that* as the chronicler assures us, " he suffered
Arias, and burst in sunder."

Burgundy has set up a third rival for the prototype of
in the person of the Count of Saulx, wliose cruelty to his wili
the subject of a very indifferent ballad, not worth the troi
translation. The ballad is taken from a very ancient roma
which only a few fragments have been preserved. From
learn that during the time when Burgundy was governed
dukes, a certain Count de Saulx, having taken an inexplii
to his wife, shut her up in the den with his bears. Her gen
so won on these savage animals, that they caressed her as i
had been "lap-dogs or pet doves.^' But this example of tend
in beasts was so far from mollifying the count, that it only idc
his fury. He threw her into another dungeon, and fed her **<
bread o( sorrow and the water of affliction.** Some hint of th
duct was conveyed to the laJy's brothers : they hasted to ci
count to explain Iiis conduct ; hut he took the lady trom her |
arrnye<l her in robes of state, and compelled her by furious mi
to tell her brothers that she had no reason to complain of the
nient she received from her husband. Their suspicions, hoi
were roused by her emaciated appearance^ but they feigned sa
tion, and pretended to take their deporture. When the coui
lieved (hem at u sufficient distance, he hastened to the chami
his ludy, resolved to murder her without further delay ; but j
lie raised the sword to strike, her brothers, who had secretly reti
rushed into the room and slew (he cowardly assassin, eSier whM
brought their sister home in triumph. jl

We think that traces of these three legends may be found tt
rault's story of Blue Beard, and that instead of his having ban
fiction on a single tradition, he endeavoured to make it a It
resuvi6 of the many legends of tyrannical husbands with whks
popular literature of France abounds. ~

»re, 1

s wili
troi

romai
>m d|
db^
icaM

IE COUNTRY TOWNS AND INNS OF FRANCE.

BV J. UARVBL.

f ADXEKRE. — LtUAOES.

^ brash past asentinel at ISO Rue St. Honore, at Paris, you go
i the archway, and you are in the great court of the Messagerioa
^s. A dozen of the lumbering diligences are ranged about it,

tseek out, amid the labyrinth of names posted on the doors, the
r end of your travel. There is a little poetic licence in the use
ie5. and yon will find Russia, and Syria, and Gibraltar posted,—
ftieans only that you can be booked at that partitnilor desk the
Ige QpoD the way.

fe each office is drawn up Us particular coach or coaches ; and
tude of porter*, with coat-collars trimmed with lace, are piling
fem such tremendous quantities of luggage, as make you tremble
j safety of the roof; to say nothing of your portmanteau, with
fcest collars, and shirts, and dress-coat, and bottle of Macassar
its bellows top, and perhaps at the very bottom of the pile.

e mass accumulates, the travellers begin to drop into the court
themselves about the diligence. The heavy leather apron at
over the top ; the officer comes out with his list of names,
they are numbered, each takes his place. The author for in-

as number three of the couph^ in which he is jammed between
fully large French lady, and a small man with a dirty mous*
Kud big pacquet, which be carries between his legs, so as to
limself to the full as engrossing a neighbour as his more gentle
kin at the other window. These three seats make the coraple-
r that particular apartment of the diligence, which faces the
and is protected by glass windows in front.
interior counts six by the official roll : there are, perhaps, a little
i^rl and " papa/* vrho have been speaking a world of adieus to
' friends, that have attended them up to the last moment, as if
^rc about setting sail for the Crosettes in the South Pacific,
ire young men, students, perhaps, who have had their share of
[od adieus, and there are one or two more inside-travellers, over
ears have been shed in the court.

( these do not make us full. The rofonde has its eight more :
« men in blouses, farmers, dealers in provisions, stock-drivers,
servants, and German bagmen. Nor is this all : three mount
, and puff under the leathern calash in front. The coachman
ie% his place, aHer having attached his six horses with raw hide
The conductor liHs up his white dog, then mounts himself.
'flow from every window. There are waving bands in the court,
matic handling of umbrellas ; and the whip cracks, and the ma-
koves.

little guard with bis musket, at the entrance, stands back ; — we
^ through. The conductor shouts, the cabmen wheel away, the
rks incessantly, the horses suort and pull, and the way clears,
ftr woman with cakes upsets all in her haste to get away ; two or
angry-looking boys prowl about the wreck j a policeman comes

the boys move off — all this is the work of a moment.

144 THE COUNTRY TOWNS

" Yfr-e-e/' says the coaclimaii» as lie cracks his whip ; — " (iar-f-w/
sftVB the conductor to the crowds crossing ;— " wow-wow-wow,** yelW Ui
Bimrly white dog; — " Painii P' exclaims llie fat lady ; — ■•' Le diM!*
sayB the man with the dirty moustache ; and down the long Roe SL
Honore we thunder.

There arc no such pretty little half-town, half-country resideomii
the neighbourhood of the French cities, as one aoes Id the ravirou tf
all British towns. First, outside the Barriers^ come the jTitiffjFMMi
and eating-houses ; then great slattern nutiMHS Ramies, for saA m
prefer a long walk and dirty rooms^ to paying town prices. Tlw*
lessen in preicusions as you advaucc, and leogihuu into haif-villiget of
ill-made and ill-kept houses. The inns arc not uufrequent, and m
swarmed by the wagon-men on their routes to and from the city. Tlusi
pass at length, and the open country of wide-spreading grain-fields ap-
pears.

Perhaps it is nearly dark (for the diligence taJies ita depanare il
evening) before the monstrous vehicle clatters up to the first inn of i
little suburban town for a relay. The conductor dismouut«, aod Um
coachman is succeeded by another — for each has the care and mantp-
raenl of his own horses.

Of course there is a fair representation of the curious ones of the v3*
lage. and if a passoDgcr dismount, perhaps a beggar or two will plead ii
a diffident sort of way, — as if they had no right, and hoping yoa lai;
not suspect it. The conductor is the prime mover, and the cyDOsnre (tf
all country eyes ; and his lassoled cap and embroidered collar are
envy of many a poor swain in shirt-sleeves. Even the postmaster is
the best of terms with him, and bids him a hearty Lou goivj aji the
coachman cracks his whip, and the dog barks, and we find ourseln
the road again. A straggling tine of white-washed houses each side t
broad street, with one or two little inns, and a parish church looking
older by a century than the rest of the houses, make up the portraiton
of the village.

Whoever traveU in a French diligence must prepare hinasclf to meet
with all sons of people, and must, more especially, fortify himself against
the pangs of hunger and want of sleep. Those who have been jolted
a night on a French road jtxir^, between a fat lady and a man wbo
smells of garlic, will know what it is to want the latter; and twrlve
hours' ride, without stopping long enough for a lunch, has made many
persons, more fastidious under other circumstances, very ready to buy
the dry brown buna, which the old women offer at the coach-windoiMl
the last relay before midnight. — How wishfully ia the morning hop^|
for, and how joyfully welcomed even the first faiat streak of light in
the cast 1

The man in the comer rubs open his eyes, and takes off his uigh^
cap ; the fat lady arranges her head-<lres8 as best she may ; — and so^H
appear over the backs of the horses evidences of an approaching; town.
We pass market-people with their little donkeys, and queer-dreaaed
wumen in sabots, with burdens on their heads; and heavy-wolled houses
thicken along the way.

Soon the tower or spire of some old cathedral looms over crowds of
buildings, and we bustle with prodigious clatter through the dirty streets
of some such provincial town as Auxerre. Along a stone building,
stuccoed, and whitewashed, with the huge black capitals, Hotel de P

e«l

AKD 1NN8 OP FRANCE.

145

over the door, is announced a breakfast-place. Tho waiter or landlord
as far more chary of his civilities than at an English country inn; all,
incFuding the fat lady, are obliged to find their own way down, and to
the breakfast-room.

The first attempt will bring- one» perhaps, into a hug^e kitchen, where
a dozen people in white aprons and blue ore moving about in all dtrec-
tionSf and take no more notice of you, than if you were the conductor's
dog. You have half a mind to show your resentment by eating no
breakfast at all ; but the pangs of hunger are too i^lrong ; and they un-
fortunately know as well as you, that he who rides the night in the dili-
gence finds hiniS4:^lf at morning in no humour for fasting.

If you ask after breakfast-quarters, you are perhaps civilly pointed to
the door. A rambling table, set over with a score of dishes, and a bot-
tle of red wine at each place» with chops, omelettes, stewed liver, pota-
toes, and many dishes whoso character cannot be represented by a name,
engross the lively regards of the twenty passengers who have borne us
coiu])any. Commands and counter-commands, in the accentuation of
Auvergne or of Provence, calling for a doxen things that are not to be
had, and complaining of a dozen things that are, make the place a
Babel.

" Gari^on^^ says a middle-aged man from the interior, with his mouth
ful of hot liver, ** is this the wine of the country ?"
" Ouij mojuieuri and of the best quality."

" Man Dieu ! it is vinegar I And of what beast, pray, is this the
liver }^ taking another mouthful.

" Ctsi de vcav, monsieur, and it is excellent."
** Par ff/vt4 ! ^ar^o/i, you are facetious ; it is like n bull's hide."
The fat lady is trying the eggs. " Bonne T she pipes to the waiting-
woman, " are these eggs fresh ?"

"They cannot be more fresh, madame."

**Eft, iieiij* with a sigh, " one must prepare for such troubles in the
country ; but, mon Dieti ! what charming eggs one finds at Paris !"

" Ah^ cest fjrai, mofiamef* says a stumpy man opposite, — ** c^e^t hien
vrai ; jc suiit de Paris^ madante.*^

*• Vraiment P' replies the lady, not altogether taken with the sjicak-
er's looks, " I should hardly have thought it."*

If the stranger can by dint of voice among so many voices, and so
much gesticulation, get his fair quota of food, he may consider himself
fortunate; and if he has fairly finished before the conductor appears to
say all is reudvi hv is still more fortunate.

At length all arn again happily bestowed in their places ; the two
franca paid for the breakfast, the two sous to the surly gar^im, and we
roll off from the Hotel de Paris.

Every one i» manifestly in better hnrnour : they are talking busily in
the inferior ; and the fat lady delivers herself of a series of panegyrics
upon the Bouvelards and Tuileries.

Meantime we are passing over broad plains, and through long
avenues of elms, or lindens, or poplars. The road for breadth and
smoothness is like a street, and stretches on before us in seemingly in-
terminable length.

There are none of those gray stone walls by the wayside, which hem
you in throughout New England ; none of those crooked, brown fences
which stretch by miles along the roads of Virginia ; none of those e^i^tt-

146

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

lasting pine woods under which you ride in the Carolmap, your whofis
half buried in the sand^ and nothing green upon it but a sickly shrub of
the live oak, or a prickly cacnis half reddened by the sun ; nor yet are
there those trim hedges which skirt you right and left in English land-
scape. Upon the plains of Central France you sec no fence — nothing
by which to mc^asure the distance you pass over but the patches of grain
and of vineyard. Here and there a flock of sheep are watched by an
uncouth shepherd and shaggy dogs ; or a cow is feeding beside lh«
grain, tethered to a stake, or guarded by some bare-ankled Daphne.

There are no such quiet cottage farm-bouses as gem the hilUside* of
Britain ; no such tasteless timber structures as deface the landscape of
New England ; but the farmery, as you come upon it here and there, it
a walled-up nest of houses ; you catch sight uf a cart — you see a grou|i
of children — you hear a yelping dog — and the farmery is left behind.
Sometimes the road before you stretches up a long ascent ; the couduc*
tor opens the door, and all save the fat lady dii>mount for a walk up th»
bill. Now it is you can look back over the grain and vineyards, woven
into carpets, tied up with the thread of a river. The streak of road will
glisten in the sun, and perhaps a train of wagons, that went tinkling b;
you an hour ago, is but a moving dot far down upon the plain. The air
is fresher as you go up ; glimpses of woodland break tlie monotonv i
here and there you spy an old chateau; and if it be spring-time or early
autumn, the atmosphere is delicious, and you go toiling up the hilUt r^
joictng in the sun. I

In summer, you pant exhausted before you have half walked up m
hill, and turning to look back — the yellow grain looks scorched, and ih«
air simmers over its crowded ranks; — the flowers you pluck by the waj
are dried up with heat.

In winter, the roads upon the ptains arc bad, and it will be midnight
perhaps before you are upon the hills, — if you breakfast as 1 did at
Auxcrre. 1 found the snow half over the wheels, and with eigUl
horses our lumbering coach went toiling through the drifts. 1

Such is the general character of the great high-roads across Francej
but there is something more attractive on the retired routes. J

F will remember our Iramp in summer-time under the hcavyoH

boughs of the forest of Fontainblcau ; and how we looked up wonde^
ingly at tree-trunks, which would have been vast in our American val'
leys ; he will remember our hinch at the little town of Foasard, and tbi
inn with its dried bough, and the baked pears, and the sour wine. Hi
will remember the tapcsitried chamber at Villencuvc du Hoi, and thfl
fair-day, and the peasant grrU in their gala dresses, and the dance ill
the evening on the green turf: — he wilt remember the strange oM
walled-up town of St. Klorcntiii, and the pretty meadows, and the caoal
lined with ])oplarB, when our tired steps brought to us the first sight—
(how grateful was it I) — of the richly-wrought towers of the cathedral
of Sens. He will remember, loo, how farther on toward the mountaiofc
in another sweet meadow where willows were growing* I threw down nif
knapsack, and took the scythe JVoiii a peasant boy, and swept down ibl
nodding tall heads of the lucerne, — utterly forgetting his sardonic sroil&
and the grinning stare of the peasant, — forgetting that the blue line ol
the Juras was hfting from the horizon, — or that the sun of France wil
warming me, and mindful only of the old perfume of the wilted blow
soms, and the joyous summer days on (he farm-land at home.

AND IN*N8 OF FRANCE.

147

h to take our stop at some, not too lar^e, town of the interior;
^1 shall it be ? Chalons-sur-Saone, with it;* bridge, and quayn,
lows, — or Dijon, lying in the vlneyardii of Burgundy, — or Cha-
, in tJic great sheep plains of central France, — or Limoges, still
tnon-n, prettily situated among the green hills of Limousin, and
m of the department Hauie fienne f

he just by the Boule d'Or, in the town last named, that I quH
in the diligence. The little old place is not upon any of the
lies, eo that the servants of the inn have not become too repub-
* dviUty, and a blithe waiting*maid is at hand to take our

in doorway in the heavy stone inn, and still plainer and steeper
I conduct to a clean, large chamber upon the first Boor. Below,
iitlle saJofit some three or four are at supper. Join them you
f you please, with a chop nicely done, and a palatable vtn
It is too dark to see the town. You are tired with eight-
hours of constant diligence-riding, — if you have come from
i I did, — and the bed is excellent.

uduw overlooks the chief street of the place; it is wide and
h round stones, and dirty, and there are no side-walks, though
f 30,000 inhabitants. Nearly opposite is a ca/e, with small
Stees ranged about the door, with some tall (lowering shrubs in
es, and even at eight in the morning, two or three persons are
upon their chairs and sipping coffee. Next door is the otfice of
for Paris, Farther up the street arc haberdashery shops,
-rooms of the famous Limoges crockery. Soldiers are passing
and cavalry-men in undress go sauntering by on tine coal-black
ind the Guide-book tells me that from this region come the

all the cavalry of France,
aid comes in to say it is the hour for the tahle tfh6u breakfast,
ild hardly believe, that there are travellers who neglect this best
c;e8 for observing country habits, and take their coffee alone,
liah grimness. What matter if one does fall in with manner-
aercial travellers, or snuff-taking old women, and listen to such
as would make good Mrs. Unwin blush ? You leam from all
DU cannot leam anywhere else — the every-day habits of every-
le. Do not be frightened at the room full, or the clatter of
the six-and-twenty all talking at the same moment : go around
quietly, take the first empty chair at hand, and call for a bowl
nd half a bottle of wine.

\ no Paris breakfast, with its rich, oily beverage, and bread of

f or Lyons breakfast, with its white cutlets; but there are as

'era as at a dinner in Baden. One may, indeed, have coffiH!,

o odd-fancied as to call for it ; but I always liked to chime in

humours of the country : and though 1 may possibly have

to the caje to make my breakfast complete, it seemed to

lost nothing in listening and looking on — in actual experience

ys of living.

er carries with him upon the continent a high sense of personal

Uiat must be sustained at all hazards, will find himself exposed

rable vexations by the way, and at the end — if he have the

perceive it — be victim of the crowning vexation of reluming as

as he went. It is singular, too^ that such ridiculous presump-

148

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

tion upon dig-nity is observable in many inatances — where it rests with
least grace — in the persons of American travellers. Whoever makes
great display of wealth, will enjoy the distiDction which mere cxhibtiioa
of wealth will command in every country — the close attention of the
vulvar; its display may, besides secure somewhat better hotel attend-
ance ; hut whoever wenrs with it, or without it, an air of /laufeufj whether
affected or real, whether due to position or woni to cover lack of position,
will find it counting him very little in the way of personal comfort, and
far less towards a full observation and appreciation of the life of those
among whom he travels.

In such an out-of-the-way manufacturing town as Limoges, one sees
the genuine commis voifageur — commercial traveller,* of France, corre-
Bponding to the bagmen of Kngland. Not as a class so large, ihey raot
also beneath them in respect of gentlemanly conduct. In point of
general information they are perhaps superior.

The French bagman ventures an occasional remark upon the public
measures of the day, and gomctiraes with much shrewdness. He is
aware that there is such a country as America, and has understooit
from what he considers authentic sources, that a letter for Buenos .\yre*
would not be delivered by the New York postman. None know heller
than a thorough English commercial traveller, who has been '* long upon
the road," the value of a gig and a spanking bay mare, or the character
of the leading houses in London or Manchester, or the quality of Wood-
stock gloves or Worcester whips; but as for knowing if Newfoundland
be off the Bay of Biscay or in the Adriatic, the matter is too deep
for him.

The Frenchman, on the other hand, is most voluble on a great many
subjects, all of which he seems to know much better than he really
docs ; and he will fling you a tirade at Thiers, or give you a caricaturo
of the king, that will make half the table lay down the mouthful they bsA
taken up, for Laughing. Modesty is not in his catalogue of virtues.
knows the best dish upon the table, and he peizes upon it without fori
lity ; if he empty the dish, he politely asks your pardon, (he would take
his hat if he had it on,) and is sorry there is not enough for you. He
help himself to the breast, thighs, and side-bones of a small chicken,
pose of a mouthful or two, then turn to the lady by his side, and
with the most gracious smile in the world, " Mille pardons^ yiadai
mait pons ne mangez jxi« de voiatVe?" — but you do not eat fowl ?

His great pleasure, however, after eating, is in enlightening the mn
of the poor provincials as to the wonders of Paris, — a topic that nc
grows oid, and never wants for hearers : and so brilliantly does he
large upon the splendours of the capital, with gesticulation and empl
sufficient for a discourse of Bossuet, that he makes his whole audi
solicitous for one look upon Paris as ever a Mohammedan for one ol
ing at the Mecca of his worship.

A corner seal in the interior of the diligence, or the head place
country-inn table, are his posts of triumph. He makes friends of |
about the inns, since his dignity does not forbid his giving a word to i\
and he is as ready to coquet with the maid-of-all-work as with the U'
lady's niece. His hair is short and crisp ; his moustache stiff and thi

* A claw or m«n who negotliita businiins between town and rountr}* di
mnnufartiin'rH nnd their %ale sgenu— citmniMii Uiall Kuroiwan countries.

AND INKS OF PRAl

and his hand fat and fair, with a signet-ring upon the little finger of
bitf left.

Such characters make up a large part of ihe table company in towns
Uke Limogeii. In running over the village, you are happily spared the
pUgtic of cal£ts-</e-/?lace. Ten to one, if you have fallen into conversa-
tion with the eommis royap^ur at your side, he will offer to shew you
over the famous crockery -works, fur which he has ihe honour to be
travelling agent Thus you make a profit of what you would have been
afcwl to scorn.

There are L'urious old churches, and a simple-minded, grey-haired
VM^er to open the side chapels, and to help you to spell the names on
tombs: not half so tedious will the old man prove as the automaton
ealhedral-shcwcrs of En;?land, and he spices his talk with a little wit.
There are shops, not unlike those of a middle-sized town in our country ;
ftill« little air of trade, and none at all of process. Decay seems to be
ilampcd on nearly all the country-towns of France ; unless so large as
to nuke cities, and so have a life of their own, or so small as to serve
on!}' as market-towns for the peasantry.

Countr)' gentlemen are a race unknown in France, as they are nearly
w witli us. Even the towns have not their quota of wealthy inhahitantSy
acept 50 many as are barely necessary to supply capital for the works
of the people. There is no estate in the neighbourhood, with its park
Ud elegantly cultivated farms and preserves ; there arc no little villas
espping all the pretty eminences in the vicinity; and even such fine
kouses OS are found within the limits of the town wear a deserted look,
—ihe stucco is peeling off, the entrance-gate is barred, the owner is
Bving at Paris. You see few men of gentlemanly bearing, unless you
except the military officers and the priests. You wonder what resources
lan have built such beautiful churches ; and as you stroll over their marble
flooTF, listening to the vespers dying away along the empty aisles, you
•onder who are the worshippent.

Wandering out of the edge of the town of Limoges, you come opoa
badges and green fields; for Limousin is the Arcadia of France. Queer
old houses adorn some of the narrow streets, and women iu strango
brad-dresbes look out of the balconies that lean half-way over. But
Sunday is their holiday-timc> when all arc in their gayest, aud when the
freen walks encircling the town — laid upon that old line of rampurts
•liich the Black Prince stormed — are thronged with the population.

The bill at the Hou/e tfOr is not an extravagant one ; for as strangers
«re not common, the trick of extortion is unknown. The waiiing-maid
drops a curtsey, and gives a smiling bonjonr, — not, surely, unmindful of
Ike Utile fee fche gets, but she never disputes its amount, and seems
piteful for the least. There is no "boots'* or waiter to dog you over
iothe diligence; nay, if you are not loo old or too ugly, the little girl
««lf insists upon taking your portmanteau, and trips across with it,

d pals it in the hands of the conductor, and waits your going ear-

=tly. and waves her hand at you, and gives you another " bon ro^at/e,^
I makes your ears tingle till the houses of Limoges and its hijih
era have vanished, and you arc a mile away down the pleasant banks
he river Vienne.

ISO

^""«^« «.rc„., „ ,,

'^^oxv not

'mmortai dun--

« »uch ^ " W'A.t bu„ '*" f^^nb. *' °f the

e**

SUMMER 8KETCHE8.

151

fcnig-hts." It assuredly required much tapestry, and a great many nisheSi
to make a comfortable boudoir fur lord or lady out of rough stone colls,
vith walls twelve feet thick, and windows of extreme minuteness.

We followed the guide, now reinforced by his lively young wife, who
was very communicative, to a most dismal spot, which they showed as the
burial-place of Count Pierre, who seemed to hold a high place in their
regard.

We found ourselves^ after groping along several dark passages, and
' descending a flight of steps, in a vaulted chamber, the floor of which is
much decayed, and the stones ovcrgrowa with dank grass : beneath this
is a large vault, which was the receptacle of the family's dead in bygone
times; and here Le Petit Charlemagne's bones were laid : whether they
remain there still is probably unknown, aa much so as himself or his
ileeds.

The piftnd^ salU of the castle is a splendid chamber, with pretty, an-
cient, pointed windows in pairs, supported by slight, graceful pillars, and
having in the cmbriisures stone seats, from one of which I looked out
"IK)n the beautiful lake glowing with burnished gold, crimson, and pur-
, pie, as the magni6cent sunset sent the scene through all its dolphin
changes,—

'■^ Tlie last itill loveliest, till *dt gi^ue,
And all i» t^rey."

The Breplace of this room is fine, and the groups of small pillars on each
iide of it very beautiful.

In a lower salhy also with fine ranges of windows, is exhibited a tor-
ture-pillar, which suggests hideous imaginings. It is fearfully close to
Ibe probably daily inhabited rooms, and the groans of the sufferer must
b;t« been awfully distinct in the ears of the lords, knights, and retainers,
vbo, "in the good times of old," were perhaps carousing close by.

Tippoo Saib was accustomed at his banquets to indulge in the luxury
bT a sort of barrel-organ of a peculiar construction, which imitated the
groans of a tiger, and the shrieks of a British soldier whom the beast
*il devouring as represented, the size of life, by this singular instru-
»Mit of music* Count Pierre, the lord of ChiKon, was apparently
coDtrnt with Nature in all her unassisted force, and, as he sat at meat,
(Qjoyed his victim's groans fully as much as tlie semblance of them
pioased the mind of the Eastern tyrant

The roof of the hall is of fine carved wood-work, and in this spacious
chamber are collected the arms of the Canton in formidable array. The
fVrisoD of the castle, for it is a military depot, consists at present of four
*oldiers, whose duty does not seem very distressing, for three of them
vere out on business, or seeking amusement, and the hero remaining at
Wne to guard the fortress, we found busy picking a sallad for the daily
■Bol, OS be sat on the parapet of the drawbridge, with his legs dangling
vrer the wall, by no means in a state of hostile preparation.

On our return to Vevey wo met another of the garrison, heavily laden
nth viands which he was carrying to the castle, no doubt having tluly
prorvided for the chances of a siege.

The kitchen, which once was put in requisition for a somewhat more
'lirnudable party, is a spacious place, with fine pillars, and a gigantic
ife-pUc*;.

* It is 10 Iw seen at iXm MuMium of the ludia House.

152 SCMMEB SKJETCBES

Tbe ouUuiUe is, of coars«, not fbrgoiten : m. horrible hole u still
shown, which one looks cantiooslj down, with shuddering and loathing.
It is fifty feet deep, and sofficientW secure to prevent the refractory froa
giTiBg any more trouble to those who caused them to be transfored fion
the torture-pillar to this resting-place, nhere they need

^ Fear no more the hcftt of the sun.**

Our guide and his lively wife had a dispute, though they must bare \
told their story often before, about the actual depth of the lake. One
said it was four hundred, the other insisted upon the fact of its bdnf
eight hundred feet deep. As they were very warm on the subject, I oon-
teoted myself with repeating the lines of the poet, with which I was quits
satisfied, in every way.

"■ lAke Lcman ties by CbiUiHi's waUs :
A thouMamdfett in depcb below
Its massy wmteri meet and flow :
Thus much the fathom-line was tent
From ChiUon's snow-white battleinettt.'' 1

Murray says the lake is here only two hundred and eighty feet in deptks :
all I cared for I beheld, that it was deep, and blue, and clear, and loray*

" A mirror and a bath for beauty's youngest dangfatov.'*

Tbe deathless island, with its *' three tall trees," rose out of the traat'
parent waters, like a beacoD pointing to a spot of glory : to me it seemed
that the whole scene, lake, islands, castle, mountains, shore, belong t* .
England, through one of her most unapproachably gifted bards, befbrt '
whose sua the whole host of scattered stars troop away, and are remen*
bcred only in bis absence.

It appears to my enthusiasm to be as useless to compare any other
poet of the day, however good, with Byron and Moore, as it would bet0
name any of tbe minor mountains, splendid though they be, with Mont
Blanc.

Our drive back to Vevey was much more agreeable than our approaek
to Chillon : in the bright and betraying sunlight all the villages looked
vulgar, flaring, and dirty, and the hot stone walls white and weary ; bat
now that the day was fast declining there was a soft grey tint spnii
over every object, and the deep shadows gave much beauty to the sceMb
No one in travelling should venture to judge of any appearance thik
meets the eye on a first view, the second appreciation is generally thit
which docs most justice.

I had thought the greatest part of the road ugly on my way, and now
all seemed changed into grace and beauty. Countless stars were scatter*
ed over an intensely blue sky ; flashes of harmless summer lightning re-
vealed the distant peaks, and played over the surface of the wide cabi
lake ; and, as it grew yet darker, the lights in the villages of the oppo-
site shore sparkled and flickered, like glow-worms in the grass. A hogt
furnace at Mcillerie threw up its broad flames into the gloom, and ili
brijjht red reflection cast down into the dark waters at its feet, produosl
a singularly wild and startling effect, as if a solemn sacrifice were gtHOg
on in honour of the " spirit of the place."

That night at Vevey was magnificent, and most enjoyable did I fiol
the charming room I occupied in the finest of all possible hotels on thi

IN SWITZCRLAXD.

153

cdg« of die glorious l&ke. I bad so ofieo, during my rambles tbia sutu«
mer, luxuriated in the splendours of

*< Night with all her tUn."

thit tbis was oqI^' one of a series of cnjoyioeuts wbicb I fully npprc-
citled* — and, although the Lake of Como is, in my miud, uuiquc in love-
linwf, yet it has certaiuly a powerful rival in Lake Leinau ; and, though
by day the latter, eicept when Mont Blaac is visible, is not equal, yet at
D^hi it may compete with the most charming spot in the world.

From Vevey the whole drive to Geneva is a garden all bloom, riches,
ind laxuriancc, improving as the great town of the lake is approached :
in the neighbourhood of Lausanne the scenery is beautiful, and, scatter-
ed in all directions are !^uch charming country hotutes that they seemed
throw into shade all my memories of delightful English residences.
Ou the banks of this famous lake are sites unequalled probably in
pe, — for where besides can be beheld a whole range of glorious
tains, with their monarch rising above all, their feet in the blue
and their snowy heads in the sky ? And in the midst of majestic
like this exists rural beauty in all its pastoral perfection, — parks,
livus and meaduws, — gardens, groves, and glades, all combining to
aiake the poetical Lake of Geneva the bfau idful of the romancer and
tlte painter.

The cathedral of Lausanne baa an imposing appearance, and possesses
irr&ral features of interest, and the walks and terraces surrounding the
town are all dctigbtfulty situated.

I strained my eyes to discover, below the road on the borders of tho
kke, the little inn at Ouchy, where Byron is said to have wriiteo rapidly
lis affecting '* Prisoner of Cbillon :" the new road does not descend to
ike lake, as was the case formerly.

There is a venerable, gloomy-looking castle at Morges* said to have
liren built by that mysterious lady. Queen Bertha, of whom historians
and poets have recorded both good and evil, and whoi^c real story, and
wen existence, is by no means clearly designated.

We paused at Coppet, and, guided by an animated and talkative old
•oman, went up to the house, and walked about the formal grounds ;
but there was no means of seeing the cemetery in a grove where Neckar
lod bis daughter lie enshrined. The house is in good repair, and neatly
Sept, the floors of beautiful inlaid wood, and the furniture extremely sim-
ple. Madame de Stnifl herself never cared about the repairs or beauti-
fting of her abode; she only professed to have an excellent cook and
jSinity of room for her friends. Her hospitality was genuine, and her
oeart all warmth and kindness: her memory seems tenderly cherished
by all those to whom she was known. Our old guide was very niysteri-
OQt in her hints about Benjamin Constant, Madame Recamicr, and
itveral other accustomed guests, and told us a variety of stories of her
hiving been employed to convey billets from one to the other of the de-
voted friends of Coppet, concluding every anecdote with exclamations in
praise of the unbounded generosity, kindness, and goodness of "la meil-
Wre des femmcs et des mattresses,"

The well-known portrait of Madame de Stael by David bangs
ID the principal room, together with that of her father by Gerard,
ttd a very interesting likeness of her mother, who was a pretty
by an artist whose name seems forgotten. The desk and

154

ftUXXER SKETCHES

inkatsod of Corinoe are fthom ; but they are no tongcr in the stud;
where she was arcustomed to vrite, which U a clrcumstaBce to be re-
gretted : indeed, it struck me that there was more of ibe lovely R«-
caiDter at Coppet than of her distiofuishcd fneod, who declared that she
voald ^Te all her geoius for the otber^s beauty, so incoosiftent is human
rauon and wisdom. The chamber occupied by the admired lady is still
de^ed in its faded tapesliy, and ooe abaost expects to see her scAntily
clothed form glide forth from some nook shrouded by brocade curtains.

An immense tulip-tree wares its large leaves at the entrance of tbe
garden court, and a luxuriant clematis has climbed all over the iron
gates and rails, throwing its perfumed wreaths on every ornamental pro-
jection. There is no beauiy in the architecture of the house, nor are the
grounds attractive : but there is quiet, and repose^ and a pleasant memory,
lingering round, that makes an hour pass deliriously in the haunts where
the inimitable Corinnc rejrretted Paris, and charmed her guesta.

We were much amused by our chattering and communicaliTe gnidt
drawing us aside as we entered the house afier strolling with her, ind v
she handed us over to a housekeeper whose department was the iuteriori

" Prenex bicn garde," said she winking significantly, " de ne pas mtetf
prononcer le nom de Benjamin Constant ici. car ja jaseuse que void tB
forroerait Tidee que j'ai ete tant soit peu babillarde a I'egard
cette pauvre chcre madamc. Moi, qui ne parlo jamais des a
d'autrui. Ces sortes de gens ne sont pas a meme de compreadrc k
delicatcsse de Tamitie, voyez vous."

Poor Corinne t the petty scandals of a village, or a world, can ano
her no more, and none of those who shared her counsels aud her affec*
tiuns are left to be affected by tales which have ceased to gratify rivtU
or interest admirers.

I can conceive few situations more agreeable than to have obtainedt
we did at Geneva, good apartments overlooking the lake, at the handsoBrt
Hotel des Bergiies, wbich is one of the best of the good which abound in
Switzerland. When it became quite dark in the evening, the clear watft,
and the ranges of bright lights along the shore reminded me strongly of
the Canale Granct^&i Venice, and it was difficult for any thing to be more
enjoyable than the spot and the moment

I understood that Mont Blanc had not been visible for some time; to
us it had not yet appeared throughout our journey in its neighbourhood,
and I trembled that, like many a traveller, I should be forced to leave
Geneva without a glimpse of the giant form which sometimes shows it-
self clearly for weeks, and at others is shrouded in impenetrable clouds,
as it was now. 1 entreated to be awakened if at daybreak the monarch
deigned to ap{)ear, and, having left my curtains open in expectation, I
was able to sleep.

The next morning, however, was dim and unpromising ; and though the
sun became bright and powerful during the day, yet the canopy of clouds
which veiled the distance did not disperse, and i was fain to turn awajr
my eyes from tho space between the Mole and Mont Saleve, where the
liatighty sovereign of these regions— was not.

Rut, even though Mont Blanc is invisible, there is much round Ge-
neva to compensate in some degree for his proud sullenness. First,
there is the purple Khunc, with sparkling waters, so rich in colour, and
''4IOUS in career, that it yields to no river in Europe.

and wild rush along the headlong waves, as if the whole city

0t% imruil

IN SWITZERLAND.

156

must inevitably be swept away in its course; nnd strange it is to stand
on the frng-ile bridges which cross it from the streets to the quays, and
feel the vibration caused by its impetuosity^ and watch the angry gam-
bols of the spirits of the torrent.

The deepest sapphire, thu darkest lapis lazuli are poor in tint to the
iffondrous richness of the colour of the Rhone as it issues from the a2ure
lake, and rushes madly along^ towards its junction with the furious Arve,
who^e Lurbid waters, pouring down from the eternal glaciers, deform
,the transparent purity of ihc fated stream which camiot evade their con-
tact.

Hour af\er hour one can stand watching the play nnd strife of the
beautiful waves, and listen in amazement to iheir ceaseless thundering
din as they chafe and struggle amongst the rocks which bristle along the
bottom, and deride their fury.

Many of the ugly, shabby old houses which used to deform these
shores are removed, and some tine buildings, in mudeni taste, have
taken their plnce; but there are still strange, dirty, broken-down-looking
tenements in plenty, which are almost too squalid to be picturei^que.

The pretty island of Jean Jacques is a favourite evening promenade,
and it is realty delightful tu take a chair beneath the magnificent and
gigantic poplars which adorn the spot, and listen to a fine band, the
echoes of whose melodies are borne far over the waters, and resound
along the charming shores covered with country houses, on promontories
stretching out into the expanding lake. A pretty suspensiou-bridge con-
ducts to this pleaaure-tslandj and the whole has a most agreeable effect
from the shore.

The antique cathedral of Geneva rises grandly from a mass of build-
izigs, few of which have much to recommend them to notice but the
I general aspect at a distance of the town is imposing. It is better not to
enter it, and have a favourable impression destroyed, for, particularly in
the lower town, it is as ugly, slovenly, dirty, and disgusting a place as
can be well met with out of France.

There are no good shops to be seen, and all the riches of jewels and
watches, for which Geneva is celebrated, arc hidden in upper floors,
which it requires much exploring for a stranger to discover, and, when
found, they present very litile attraction to any one accustomed to the
splendid display common to Paris and London. Watches and jewellery
are, however, cheap here, and many persons may think it worth while to
acquire some of the treasures which struck me as wanting both grace
and novelty.

A very pleasant stroll on a summer evening at Geneva is on the ram-
part walk close to the inn, which overlooks the lake and river. Here all
the " rose hues " of sunset which tinge the opposite Alps are seen in per-
fection ; and it is delightful to observe the fleets of snowy sails and
darting prows skimming along the surface of the waters, and ever and
anon tiring their saluting guns, which every echo answers far and near,
in hoarse and gentle murmurs.

Opposite is the shore where stands Lord Byron 'i villa, Diodati, from
whence he made so many excursions on the lake and amidst moun-
tains destined to retain the memory of Childe Harold and Maufred,
names that have superseded those of St. Preux and Julie, and all their
sentimentality.

156

SUMMKU SKETCHES

It has been well said by an acute writer in the " Reruo des
Monde*/* apropos of the works of the once celebrated Mademoiselle^
Scudery : — " There is a reciprocal reaction, the exact measure of which it
is difficult to determine, between authors and their period. It hu fre-
quently been asserted that literature ia the picture of society; but ia
many instances society is rather the picture of literature. M

"In all civilised times there has existed a class of persons who ifl
inevitably induenced by it; ^hose fondness fur reading is accom-
panied by delicacy of mind, a lively imagination, and a proneness to t^
flection. To certain minds the appearance of a particular book is M
event of importance equal to the most violent revolution. The bistorrtP
many persons might be recounted in a relation of the different writio^
which have moved and agitated them; as Madame de Stael gaid, *the
carrying off of Clarissa was one of the events of her youth :' whether it be
the sorrows of Clarissa, or those of another, every poetical imaginition
may be similarly affected.

" For every one, in their favourite line of reading, there is a woild
internal revolution ; feelings which generally remain undisclosed,
are unknown to the writer who has roused them. Sometimes tbev
velope themselves in actions, whose mystery is inexplicable to the lool
on. Imajrination has, no doubt, the greatest share in our pasaions; bf
iinaginalion every object is embellished and rendered pure, all fiction is
allowed, by this influence, to reign paramountj and our minds are invo-
luntarily gnided by this invisible agency. From this cause it has hap-
pened that literary persons sometimes confine their feelings entircljf IH
their works. Their emotions are but the reflection of their writiugj?"
their strongest sentiments are but reminiscences ; and when they tliiak
they are giving way to passion, they are merely adding a page to litera-
ture. With regard to romances, this is eminently true ; we cannot,
therefore, but feel a certain emotion in looking over those of a bygone
lime, even though the interest they excited is evaporated, and the Un*
guage of pasKiou, once tliought so vivid, sound cold in our ears. When
we read the Nouvellc Heloisc, Julie and Saint Frcux, cause us little
emotion ; but that which cannot fail to do so, is the reflection that §u
many souls, now quenched iu oblivion, have been deeply agitated, hare
mingled their very beings, and given way to secret raptures, with those
two imaginary personages, and loved and suffered with the hero and
heroine of that celebrated fiction.

*' There is, therefore, but little philosophy, perhaps, in disdain
from false delicacy, the study of such works, incJiocr^s though thev ma^
really be as literary productions, for they are generally highly iiuporlaot
in reference to the history of manners and ideas.

" The influence of first-rate works is, of course, greater and mora
enduring in the end ; but the influence of romances which have
successful is always most extensive and most remarkable on contem
rary readers.

" The actual common-place of these romantic fictions is stifiScieut to
render them more popular and more powerful over the mass of the
public. The highest order of poetry addresses itself only to delicate and
cultivated minds : in order to preserve its exalted station it seeks events
and circumstances which it loves to represent in a sphere more removed
and less accessible to common intelligence.

** Hence it results, that amongst the romances which have exercised a

mora J
t>eA^^^
nyaM

IN SWITZERLAND.

157

passionate influence over a whole g^eneration, there are few that ought to
be judged by a severe literary standard ; they belonged to their time, and
have disappeared with It. Thoy sbould be studied as historical docu-
ments, as wc study chronicles and memoirs. They are the journals of
a time gone by : we find iu them personages decked in the diverse cos-
tumes which human passions have successively adopted, always the same
tn fact, but variable iu their appearance. Seen in this light, the popu-
lar romances of the day may occasion numerous interesting observations,
and dcvelope curious coincidences."

1 have hoinetiines been surprised at my own insensibility in remaining
unmoved at the reading of the adventures of the lovers of Lake Leman,
and was not sorry to meet with the above passage, which not only satis-
factorily rescues me from my self-charge of indifference to beauty, but
gives the best reason for the inordinate success of Uousseau^s romance
in its day, and its failure at the present. One would not willingly be-
lieve that the time can ever come when Byron's name will he as coldly
recollected amongst these magnificent scenes as that of Rousseau — be
that as it may, he is still the presiding genius of the place, and his me-
lody wakes in every breeze: how he contrived to enter so much imo
the false sentiment of the most earthly of all poetical lovers, 1 cannot
understand, but he probablvi like a good actor, merely assumed the feel-
ing for the occasion, in order the more to carry away his auditors.

" What 'b Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
Tliut Uo should weep for her ?"

We took several walks in the neighbourhood of Gcncvaj all extremely
agreeable, and showing much comfort and retinement. The ranges
of pleasant country-houses, standing iu gardens and shrubberies, cannot
be excelled in the outskirts of London, and are far neater and better
than those near Paris. I imagine a residence there must be one of the
most enjoyable things one could obtain, and am not surprised that so many
English, who are always seeking for pleasing sites, are established on
the borders of the Lake.

The uncertainty of the weather occasioned a corresponding indecision
in our movements. The head of " the monarch" was still shrouded in
clouds, and bright and warm though the sun was, there seemed little
chance of the sky becoming clear. We were obliged lo abandon the
intention of taking the magnificent route of the Tele Noire, to arrive at
Chamouny, and giving up the lake voyage altogether, at length resolved
lo brave the apirits of mist and storm, and take post to Saint Martin,
hoping that the troops of grey clouds which obscured the air at noon^
might, with the usual pcrverseness of mountain weather, disperse and
bring us good fortune.

Wc set out, then, on a sombre but^y no means unpleasant afternoon;
but as we advanced, neither the Jura, the Voirons, nor even Mount
Saleve, always hitherto visible to us at Geneva, permitted us a glimpse
of their peaks, though rarely hidden from Chcsne.

Wo crossed the boundary stream of the ForoUj and at Anraroasse
were ngain in the Sardinian dominions, a fact intimated to us by the
necessity of stopping iu the road a quarter of an hourt while " our
papers " were examined or supposed to be examined, so strictly, that the
zealous individual who guarded his native land against our treasonous
machinations, was forced to charge four francs for I he Iruuble wft WAi
given him.

158 SUMMER SKETCHES IN SWITZERLAKD.

Still tbick, though beautiful, wreaths of snowy mist hang over the
crowding billsi as we condnued our way above the valley of the Arve,
whose wide, white bed was nearly dry, and whose numerous stone
bridges seemed to hang in useless grace over the exhausted torrent.

At Bonneville we rested two hours, and wandered about with the
hope of seeing something interesting : in a corn-field we encountered a
talkative woman, who used her utmost art to discover at which inn we
had put up, and in spite of her former civility, instantly abandoned us in
disgust, when she found that we had chosen one which was a rival to
that she wished to recommend : having got rid of her, we had leisure
to reconnoitre the old towers and turrets of the once extensive and
strong castle of Bonneville, and the defending fortresses of the town
walls. The eternal snows of Mont Blanc are finely seen from the high
fields here, and I did see them on my return in all their glory, but now
the distance was all grey, and not a peak pierced the dull sky.

The Lords of Faucigny once dwelt here in great strength, and were
doubtless formidable neighbours, and the fair Beatrix of Savoy pro-
bably held here more than one Court of Love, in what was the Hotel
Rambouillet of the day ; for alike in character were those pedantic and
poetical re-unions, where questions of no-meaning was decided.

Beatrix, whose beauty was the theme of all the poets of her day, ti
said to have built this castle. Few of her compositions have been
handed down, but the following has the merit, rare in those times, of
being addressed to a legitimate admirer, no other than her husband,
Kaymond Beranger, who probably, to judge by their tenor, breathed hit
lays at the feet of some other idol.

BEATRIX DE SAVOY TO HER HUSBAND.

I FAiM would think thou hast a heart.

Although it thus its thoughts conceal.
Which well could bear a tender part

In all the fondness that I feel,
Alas ! that thou wuuld'st let me know.
And end at once my doubts and woe.

It might be well that once I seem'd

To check the love I prised so dear.
But now my coldness is redeemed,

Aud what is left for theo to fear?
Thou dost to both a cruel wrong !

Should dread in mutual love be known T
AVhy let my heart lament so long,

And fail to claim what is thy own !

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BY J. B. WABBBN.

R^ons immense, uns«archabl«, unknown.

Bask iu the Bpleodour of the wlnr lone. Mohtoouebt.

CUAI»TKR V.

Life ftt Naxere. — Oiir fnvnuntp Hunter Jrmqiiim The Garden by MiwnltKUl. —

The CliiDaie, — Its Purity and Uealthfulneu. — The wet and dry Seasoos.— A
cal*mawling Sereawler. — An Alarni.— Sunday.- — An extnujrdinary Visit. — Our
Departure from Naztire.

Noisci.B6flLY and quickly the hours speil on ! — weeks rapidly
transpired ! — and still we lingered amid the delightful shades of
Nazere!

Every day brought with it some new sources of enjoyment ; and
objects of novel interest were continually arising to gratify our
senses. Hunting was our principal amusement^ and hardly a day
pa&sed by without our enj^aging in it. l\Iany were the rich pfumagcd
birds that we killed, while wandering amid their own beautiful wild
woods; many the curious animals that met with a speedy death
from our trusty guns; and by no means scanty, the number of
bright-hued serpents and horrible-looking reptiles that we caught
crawling through the tall grass, or stealing beneath the thick shrub-
bery of the forest !

Our hunting-excursions were always undertaken early in the
morning. Before the sun had shed his first beams over the enchant-
ing scenery of the garden, we were always up and accoutred for our
morning's ramble.

Our Indian hunter, Joaquim, generally accompanied us, and
grateful are we to him for the many sporting tactics into which he
initiated us, and for the possession of many splendid and rare birds,
which we should not probably have procuretl without his assistance*
He was ouite young, not being more than nineteen or twenty years
of age, ot light olive complexion, a perfect Apollo in form, and a
QMxlel of a sportsman in every sense of the word. The slightest
lound never failed to catch his attentive ear-— in a moment he knew
from what kind of a bird or animal it proceeded, and prepared him-
•elf for instantaneous action. So delicately would he move onward
towards his prey, scarcely touching the ground with his uncovered
feet ; crouching so skilfully beneath the clustering bushes as hardly
to occasion the vibration of a single leaf; cutting away the thick
vines and creepers which run before him with a lung knife which he
carried in his right hand for this purpose. All this would he do,
without any intimation being given to the unfortunate bird or ani-
mal of his approach; having once flxed his eye upon his victim,
e»cape was useless — death was certain ! Raising his light flint-lock
gun with quickness to his eye, his aim was sure, and the startling
report which fullowed was the inevitable death-knell ofhis prey.

While in the forest, Joaquim wore no clothing save a coarse pair
of pantaloons — a common powder-horn was strung around his sym-
metrical neck— a small pouch of shot was suspended from his waist

— 1- X .:— If* z*zck^'. :e ;i— -e-i i '-r\ ::' t«rc.:«:.xi (np« — in his right
hA.-i WIS 1^ -.:r.c 'i-:rV — ^^z h_* .ec'. 3_i £i;:hi;il ff^o — and this wm

We *d:::ni jwec: 3 rrs ^1- :w3 :r tiiree hours in the woods in
the rz:rri~x . r^.i—-~^ :^ tie ?.:sceT::a. we rvzaled our««lves with
1= eAC-.Ze»i: rr-nkiisc ---ier the rjnrdaa. recJereil the more
liclectij'e TTZd the eijrjTje -s-e h^i tjie::. ir.d the circumstances
u=-itfr -vzizz •*■£ ii^Z'XzSz'i'i .-

A::iT :hj —eal. v.-s rext rperir ;:; wxs to *k:n and preserve the
best *rei::=i=::* ;: the rij-^ -=J-e-i biria we hal killed in the
f^T<e<z. F:t *''!* r irr-r-se. "j i— iih.e c;::=t«ai5:on :^whom I fami-
\:ir'j cal'.e-i ,'.-■» i-; wjj -^ :•-: t: seit "-i—jelf at a long table, on
the riitsrr. liie :' the .-iliinz- w>rTe hf prepared the specimens
w::h the >a-."1 ci i- =xT^r::-j:='l ±.-t:*t. Tr.e b.:d:es were first taken
out. i l-ttle jj-senic thcTt ?r" .'».!e-i cc the surtice of the skin, and,
List'. v. the skirs were ±'.:i .-twith ccctjn tj their natural size, then
put •>.:.•♦ proper ^hiy^ x~l r'lCzl :r. a. b-;arJ. in an exposed situation,
to dry. A virictr ■::' tr:r:jil c:ri*. sc^e creen, some veilow, and
other* rtd. cor.tristeJ. t-'--ih-T ir. :h= sur-shine. ;« truly « gorgeoas
spectacle sVr a ra:ur-.;I:s: * eve.

At Xazere we took J>rer iz :r.e o'clock — three o'clock is the
customarr hour in i!;e c:tv. Th:* n:eal with us was a very simple
one. consisting ot" scup. bci'.ei bee:, cabbage, beans, and sweet
potatoes. This, with ir.e adi-tioc of a v,inety of fine fruits, (of
which there were at ie;i*t twenty distinct species to be found in the
garden.*) was oiir usuji bi'.i. of fare. Sometirces we killed in the
forest birds of the pheisoiit "iind. al*. of which are esteemed delicious
fooxl. On acoour.t of the ii::t.-ri-oe of Chico we were obliged to
depend on our own resources for cooking them. AUhoush we had
not had much e\p«Tier.ce in this lire, yet we succeeded with the «•
sistanoe of some jKirk. butter, sd'i, reppcr. ai; J a gridiron of our own
construction, in rendering them palatable to our heart's content.

The afternoons were sper.t by us either at the Ro^cenia in reading
some interesting book beneath the >h;uie ot' blooming orange-lreef,
traversini; the embowered walks ci the garden, dictiiting letters to
our friends at homo, or in \isiting our diiTerent kind friends in the
city, uhose t;enerosity and friendship we can nev;r forget.

A paradise, indocd. wa> the Hoscenia do Xazere by moonlight !—
a second Kden ! — but alas I %«ithoiit an Eve! So numerous were
the trees of the garden that they constituted a fairy-like grove, and
80 thickly matted together wore the branches overhead that the
moonbeams fell like a shower of gold through the foliage. The
bright birds might be heard chanting their vespers among the trees,
while hundreds of singing insects were buzzing in every bush. The
ftir itself was redolent with the sweete&t perfume, a starlighted canopy
wu overhead^ and we, perhaps, were enjoying it all under the ve-
rtndah of the cottage, in talking with our hunters, or the pretty In-
diwi maidi, who haunted with their presence the flowery shades of
our beautiful garden.

Allour momenU were replete with enjoyment. We were quite

luppyl.i.and why should we not be living together in such a

^Ic and charming spot, where the flowers bloomed throughout

, and where everything anpcareil to be animated with beauty,

, and song? Besides, tiie climate was of such exceeding

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

161

purity — so aromatic with the incenae of flowers — and of such ileli-
cious blandnesfl, that it was truly a luxury to live in it. Consump-
tion, with all her kindred and accompanying evils, has never as yet
invaded this mild atmosphere ; and more than this, even coughs and
common colds are almost entirely unknown. All diseases which
owe their origin to changes of temperature in the air, cannot he en-
gendered here, for the variation in the atmosphere does not amount
to more than twenty deforces from the commencement of the year to
its close; ninety degrees being the maximum, and seventy the mini-
mum temperature, according to just and careful experiments made
with the thermometer.

Without reference to temperature, the year is, in the province
of Para, about equally divided into two seasons, namely, the wet and
dry. The former commences about the midtlle of December and
may be said to extend to the middle of June, altliough from the ist
of i\Iarch the rains gradually decrease. Throughout the rainy sea-
son severe showera fall daily, seldom occurring, however, before
three o'clock in the afternoon. They are usually accompanied by
bright lightning and terrific thunder, and continue from one to three
hours. The rain comes down with such extraordinary violence, and
in such great quantities^ that one who had never witnessed a storm
in the tropics, would be astonished beyond measure, and lilled with
emotions of awe, if not of grandeur and sublimity.

During the period^ extending from the middle of June to the
mitldlc of July, and which has been called "the dry season/' com-
paratively little rain falls in the city, while in some of the neighbour-
ing islands it hardly falls at all. The reason why the rains are more
frequent in the city is undoubtedly owing to its superior elevation.
as well as its location near the mouths of several tributary rivera.
Even on the islands, where showers fall so seldom, vegetation
flourishes most l!uxiiriantlv% the copious dews affording that nourish-
ment to the plants and flowers which the clouds of heaven deny
them.

The rainy season had just set in when we arrived at Nazerc. On
account of the sandy state of the soil, we could not have established
ourselves at a better place; for here^ one hour of sunshine never
failed to erase all traces of the severest storms.

No danger need be apprehended from sleeping in the open air in
this delicious climate at any period of the year. Indeed, we our-
selves, have frequently passed the night in our hammocks, swung
under the commodious verandah of the cottage at the Roscenia,
without sustainiug the slightest injury.

Our slumbers at Nazere were sound and refreshing. True, we
alept Httle for the first few night*, owing to the nocturnal serenades
of an old torn cat ; but we doubt whether anybody, of any nerves at
all, could have slept better under similar circumstances. We really
had some thoughts of resorting to narcotics for relief I We were
provoked — irritated — and at last became desperate.

" That villainous cat shall die," exclaimed Jenks, in a passion.
" What, with all his sins on his head I " said 1 ; "just think of ihe
enormity of his offencea, my dear air, before committing so bloody
an act ; pray, give him some little time for repentance 1 *'

"Not a single day, by heaven!" replied my companion;
ghall die to-morrow ! *'

162

On the following mominp we observed the doomed grtn
quietly rep"sing on a Utile grassy knoll within a short distal
tne house. Now was tlie time ! But feeling some reluctance
the perpetrators of the murderous deed ourselves, we called
Joaquim to do the business for us. h

He willingly assented. Having loaded his gun. be i|
himself within a suitable distance, took deliberate aim, and firct
horrible shriek — most heart-rending and awful — immctliately
upon our ears. But when the smoke had cleared away- no cat,
or dead« was to be seen. He had vanished in the adjacent tfait

Two weeks passed by, and our nights continued to be undid
ed. We felt certain that our tormentor was nucnberetl amon
dead. But what wait our astonishment one morning, while wc
seated under the verandah* to see this dialK>lical cat enter
Wiiy before us, and advance with a downcast, saddened, an4
ant air. up towards the house.

"Verily /' said Jenks, '* I have always beard tijat a cat
lives, now I believe it."

We were slightly infuriated at first, and determined to
more effort to rid ourselves of this caterwawHng monster,
soon as our wrath had somewhat abated, we came to the mfl
conclusion of " putting him on his good behaviour " far a *
season/' and, strange to say, he never serenaded us again.

A little circumstance occurred one evening that gave ■■
alarm. My companion had gone to the city, and 1 was left ^
alone at the Hoscenia. While reading a book under the vera
by the feeble light of a single lamp, I was suddenly addressed
strange voice, and looking up, I beheld a black fellow that ]
never seen before, standing at my elbow.

"Senhor," said he, "load your gun, and lock up the hoj
there are robbers concealed in the garden." 1

Saying this, he disappeared so quickly that I did not have tii
make any inquiries of him concerning his startling nam
Whether to believe the black or not I hardly knew, but as I i
not imagine any other motive to have prompted him than a t
to put us on our guard, it appeared probable that he had j
correct information. I therefore loaded my " revolver," and,
it in one hand, and my sharp wood-knife in the other. I anxi*
awaited the arrival of my companion. It was about midnight i
he reached the Koscenia, and of course he was much surprised ^
I had related to him all that had taken place. ■

The night passed by — no robbers made their ~f| nnrr B

ver afterwards f>aw the black who had in such a mysterioufl
tier — in the silence and darkness of night — warned me of impec
danger. 7'his was the only incident that occasioned us the slig
uneasiness during our entire stay at the Roscenia — moreover, W)
not meet with a single accident. M

Sunday was the most noisy day uf the week with us. On tij
we had numerous visitors from the city ; some of whom came O
the Roicenia for sporting purposes, keeping up a continual firii
the garden from morning until night. This was extremely disa|
able to us. as it prevented us from indulging in wholesome rea
and useful reflections, as we would have preferred. There is no
set apart for religious purposes in Para. Sunday is a perfect I

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON,

165

nml is more particnl.irly marked by revelry ami cliRsipation
by morality and sacred observances. Every Sabbath uiorning
j&r^o de Nazere was the scene of a military display, performed
brilliant cavalcade of gaily-dressed officers, and mounted citi-
After going through with a series of military evolutions on
^rgo, they often stopped at the Roscenia, for the purpose of re-
ing themselves with fruit and wine. They were a gay and ap-
itly happy set of feiiows, very gentlemanly in their bearing, and
ated and cheerful in conversation.

liteness to strangers is one of the striking characteristics not
of the people of Para, but of the Portuguese in general, AU
everybody you meet in the streetj provided yoti have a gentle-
y appearance, will oFer you the deference of taking off" hia
and at the saiue time saluting you with the popular expression,
, senkor ! or "Long live, sir!" Besides l\\\», the Brazilians
nore hospitable and social than they have ever had credit for in
Moks of travellers. The reason, probably, why they have been
idered so distant and reserved in their manners towards fo-
lers, is on account of their general ignorance of all languages but
own. Those at Para who coidd speak English we tbund to be
?dingly sociable and friendly, and disposed to render us any aa-
nce we desired.

aving been al Nazere nearly two months, we began to think
usly of taking our departure. We had made a complete collec-
almust, of all the birds and animals to be found in its vicinity,
les many extraordinary insects and carious shells. We had lived
tly, in solitude, in the midst of romantic natural beauty, and
experienced, perhaps, as much pleasure as human nature is
ble of. Need it be Kaid, then, that we had become exceedingly
hed to the Roscenia, and looked forward to the period of leaving
th a kind of melancholy reluctance., mingled with sorrow and

T1.

few days before our departure we were honoured with a visit of
Qgular a character, that we cannot forbear giving the reader a
'description of it. It was quite earlv one morning that a large
motley assemblage of individuals halted before the gateway of
loscenia. What they were, or for what purpose they came, we
1 not surmise. They were so ceremonious as to send a young
in advance to solicit permit^sion of us for them to enter. We did
lesitate to grant the request, and soon discovered that our wor-
/iflitors constituted nothii^g less than a religious procession, who
come out to the Largo de Nazere in order to procure donations
he benefit of the Roman Catholic church,— a email pecuniary
ing being expected from everybody,
le whole number of persons who entered the Roscenia could not

been less than forty or fifly, — of which number at least one-
were women and children. In front of all marched half-n-dozen
ts or padres, ilressed in flowing scarlet gowns, hearing large
ihades of dazzling reel silk suspended over their heads. At^er

came a group of bright- eyed damsels, crowned with garlands
wers, and profusely decorated with golden chains anrl glittering
ets. In the rear of all was a number of young children, aport-
/ith each other in all the freedom of innocence and nudity com-
L With huge bouquets of splendid flowers in their hands, they

L. XXIII. ^

166

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

looked like & band of little Cupids about to render deference at the
court of Flora. Contrasting tlie striking colour of their dresses, and
ornaments, and flowers, with the ever-living verdure of the over-
hanging trees, they constituted a brilliant spectacle, such as we had
never before gazed upon.

One of the damsels, bearing a handsomely -carved s&lver of so)id
silver, presented it to us for the purpose of receiving our donations.
Unfortunately we had but very little of the circulating metliura on
hand — merely a few vintens — all of which we threw at once upon
the silver plate. Our pecuniary resources being now completely ex-
hausted, judge of our consternation when the plate was handed to us
a second time, for further contributions.

J now threw a bunch of cigars on the plate, and the result was
just such as I had anticipated. Instead of taking the slightest
offence at what T had done, they seized the cigars with eagerness,
and I was obliged to distribute all I had in the house among tbero,
before they wmdd be satisfied. The cigars being all distributed,
wine was asked for, with which we proceeded to supply thera. Butij
alas ! what were the two gallons of port we had purchased ibe day
before towards satisfying such a thirsty crowd ?

Before taking leave of us, a sweet little maiden handed me a
miniature image of some one of the favourite saints, which she Je-i
sired me to kiss. I took the image, and proceeded to do as she re^.
quested ; but, by some unaccountable mistake I missed the ima^^
and impressed a warm kiss upon the pouting lips of the youthful
damsel — a sacrilege, indeed! for which I atoned by kisMng the
image many times! It is to be hoped that the reader will beai,
lenient and forgiving towards the writer for this misdeed aa was tl>f ]
pretty maiden herself.

Shortly after this the whole party withdrew, with many thanks]
and benedictions, leaving us in a most deplorable condition ; all ourj
provisions being eaten, our wine drunk, and our cigars smoked.

We were sad, indeed, when we took our final leave of Nazere. Ui
was on a mild and sunny adernoon, and all around was quiet
serene. No sounds broke upon the stillness, save the rustling of the]
leaves, the murmur of the insects, and the chattering of the biriUj
Our thoughts liarmonized with the plaintiveness of the scene; ft
we remembered that we were relinquishing ybr ei>er the blissfi
garden, where we had whiled away so many pleasant hours.

Strolling slowly on towards the city, we frequently stopped far
few moments by the way, to exchange salutations with our Indiil
neighbours, and to tender to all the pretty maidens our partii
adieu. Joaquim accompanied us as far as the Largo da Palvoi
where, aUer shaking us each heartily by the hand, whde a tear sto
in his noble eye, he bade us farewell. We were extremely sorry
lose so valuable a hunter, and, in testimony of our esteem and appi
ciation of the services he had rendered us, we presented him with
single-barrelled gun, which we had purchased for him in the city.

It was near sunset when we arrived at Mr. Campbell's house,
lofly stone dwelling, with balconies fronting each of the up]
windows. Here we intended remaining for the ensuing week ;
the expiration of which time we proposed making an excursion
Caripe, a neglected though beautiful estate, situated on a si
island witliin twenty miles of Para.

^U^n^^jcJ/te^4£e^^'ti^ i!ff4g^;,Ju^ /ui^t

WHAT TOM PRINGLE DID WITH A jCIOO NOTE,

WITB AN ILLUSTRATION BT J. LBXGB.

Whether a certain place, the latitude and longitude of which are
rnore a matter of faith than of geographical certainty* be *' paved
^rlth good intentions,'* may sometimes be doubted, seeing that a
liundred pound note* the realization of the best intention in the
wrorld, and on the part of the most prudent personage in the world,
tias seen the light. Tom Pringle's intention, happily conceiveil, and
briUiantly executed, was not abortive, and therefore, according to
tile iipophthegm, was not to be found among the burnt offerings of the
lower regions,

Tom Pringle was a man of purpose, as immovable as the well-worn
stool that was screwed to the Hoor of one of "the oldest houses in
the city." He formed a resolution at the end of seventeen years*
assiduous clerkship — a good <* intention," if you will, to become inde-
pendent^ and he cherished it too warmly to let it out of his own
keeping, much less that it should be found among the splendid
abortions with which the unchristian locality above mentioned is said
to be paved.

Few men, with an ambition higher than Tom Pringle's stool, ever
consent to be servants, without the lurking hope of being at some
time or other master. Tom was not exempt from the aspiration.
He conceived the idea, he brought it forth with much travail.
He was in general somewhat of an unstable disposition. He went to
liU office in Threadneedle Street, at nine A. m , left at 6vo p. m.,
■nth tiie precision of the postman, and somewhat with the haste of
thst functionary. He was getting grey in the midst of these peripa-
tetics. It occurred to him as he occasionally ogled a bit of looking-
giass thrust between the leaves of some blotting paper, that he was
getting a few supplementary wrinkles. Baldness, " crows* feet " at
the side of both eyes, were pretty plain indications tliat he was not
the man he formerly was.

Tom would sometimes strive to beguile the ennui of "office hours"
bj a harmless flirtation with the pretty Cinderella, who usually made
the office fire. She, in her turn, endured rather than permitted
those little escapades. When these would become rather obtrusive,
•he never failed to remind him of the enormity, and of the difference
ween their ages. The little slattern, riant and coquettish as
enteen summers, and the privilege of poking the office fire, and a
e fun at the clerk could make her, stale noiselessly out one day
r a short lecture on the platonics of the clerk.
Tom could not endure that his setf-Tove could be thus rebuked
br the maiden. He was willing to attribute to the coyness of his
female friends certain averted glances, which plainly hinted that
"/outh and age cannot yoke together,'* and the knowledge made
Mm sad. Somebody has said, and with truth, if you want to sec
*hat changes time and the world may have wrought in your out-
ward man, look the first female acquaintance you meet in the face,
ind her reception of you will settle the question. The little Cin-
"lerella of the office fire, did tliat office for Tom Pringle- He be-

V S

168

WHAT TOM PRTNGLE DID.

came grave and abstracted on resuming his seat at his desk nexr
day. His foot oscillated} like his thoughts, from the stool on %vhicti
he sat. He rocked his body Lo and fro, as if, like a resUess babe,
he wanted ta compose it.

In a fit of splenetic abstraction his eyes made their way tlirough
the vista formed by the day-book and ledger, and fixed themselves
sternly on the patisadings of an old church that overshadowed his
little sanctum. A thousand times, in blither mood, and before any
body cuuld hint anything about *' iron locks," or ere a crow's fool
disturbed his serenity, had he looked through the same viista, and
his eyes lighted on tire same stern old pile. Then, there was no
corrugation on the brovr. But the tittle maiden had worked wonders.

"It won't do,'* said Tom, "not by no means; no use in staveing
them oK*, they will come, and the tittle un's eye as it took in my
bald liead and front, crows' feet, and all that sort of thing, is as good
&& a sermon and no mistake; soh, sohl" and Tom remained for
full seven minutes and a half in a peevish abstraction, staring alter-
nntely at the otd church, and at two sparrows that had a terribly
long fiirtatton on the patisades that hemmed it in. The conference
between the sparrows might have been, for anything he knew on "the
affairs of the church." It lasted a long time; and as he looked at the
little triflers^ he felt blistering tears make their way through bis bony
fingers and fall upon the blotting paper, which served as a kind of
cushion for hisi elbows. Tttey mingled with, and diluted the ink that
caprice or accident had blotched it with. He paused a moment to
see what kind of figure dried up tears mingled with ink would make
in one of the blotting books of un old house in the city. They werf i
not such as Cocker would have left on the veriest waste pa[>er; but
the particular leaf on which they fell, had a peculiar charm for Tom,
and he tore tt off when the tears were thoroughly soaked in, and
carefully folded it, then placed it in a black leathern trunk that;
occasionally served as dinner table and desk. As he bent over tba*
old trunk, and turned up its miscellnneous contents, his eye lighted
on the accumulations of nearly a quarter of a century of clerkship
to one or two old houses, in the shape of a three-pound note, and b<i|
absolutely grew pale at the sight. It was carelessly laid on somtj
waste papers, and had passed through many hands.

*' You 've run your course my fine fellow," said the clerk, as h«j
despondingly lifted it. It was identically the same, that some yeaft
before, lie had deposited in the old black trunk. " It ought by tbii
time, to have been — let me see, fifteen twenties, or three hundred
pounds. Besides douceurs and christmus-boxes — goodness gracioutl
me, can it be possible? And out of the three hundred that roiglitj
have been slowed away, in this old fellow," peevishly giving the old|
trunk a kick, " ttiere is but a solitary three pound note, and not
another to keep it company T He laid the bank note on the leafof i'
blotting book, despondingly closed the trunk, and carefully locked
What athnity or association existed between an old leathern truo'j
and a broken bit of looking-glass, was best known to Torn, it passe
ordinary comprehension, but he mechanically drew out from belweej
the leaves of the blotting book, a cracked piece of looking-glasa,
which, and at the black trunk, he alternately stared, and a smile st<
over his haggard face as he exclaimed, *' not so very old but llial

WflAT TOM PRIXOLE DID.

16»

may jet send a few crisp bank notes to keep that old fellow in the
black trunk company. Let me make it but a cool hundred — I will, I
am determined on it. III be independent — pooh, nonisensc — turned of
6fky-two, why it ia as good as twenty-live any duy. I've ink and
exertion in me 3'et for a good score years ; I '11 pare and cut down,
lite sparingly, very sparingly, very, and then at the end of — let me
»ee how many pains-taking, close-fisted years somebody," and he
da&hed his hand against his heart that dilated with the thought —
**aoinebody will have a cool hundred or two, and then ugh I ugh t**
And a short dry cough, given with rather sepulchral energy, wound
up the Boliliquy of the resolving clerk. He thrust both his hands in
desperation to the bottom of his pockets. There was nothing par-
cicuiar either in the act, or in the pockets, but it was the instinctive
" carrying out" of the resolution Tom Pringle made to grow rich — 10
** realise," and become the master of wliat thenceforth took possesaion
of his whole soul — n cool hundred or two.

When a new light — of other days — days present, or of those that
yet may be vouchsafed, breaks in upon a man turned of fifty-two, it
is strange that, with our irrepressible yearnings after immortality,
vhen the curtain of eternity gets a premonitory sliake, as it generally
does at fifly-two, the light which breaks in upon such a man is
rarely a light from within, or from above. It is a ha If- resentful, half-
regretful feeling for the loss of that time in which money might have
been accumulated, during which he might, if thrifty and provident,
have sown the kernel of a plum, or, at least, of a ** golden pippin" or
two. The disconsolate clerk, like his betters, set up the money standard
by which opportunities, time, and even eternity might be tried.

He was not exempt from the weakness which besets alike the prime
of manhood and the decrepitude of age ; and he wept at the thought*
—first, that he was turned of fifty-two, and, secondly, thai, after the
gaieties and gravities of that period, but a solitary three pound note
was all he could boast of ae the available balance in his exchequer.

Some little resentful feelings he enlertaineJ too for being so unce-
ramoniously reminded by the little CindereUa of the office fires, of
premature baldness, and crows* feet. But youth, particularly of the
gentler sex, finds a malicious pleasure in picking holes in the wrapper
of decaying humanity; and though a notl of recognition, — when in
particular good humour — a playful pat on the head, occasionally a
ci.ijck under the dimpling chin of the little maiden, were all the ap-
proaches Tom ever made towards a little harmless flirtation, yet it
justified her in bidding him " keep his hands to himself," and in
eliciting a few of those coquettish retorts, which, as we have seen
disturbed the complacence of the clerk, and let in a flood of feeling
unci apprehension that tinged his after life.

Tom read his doom in the eyes and altered demeanour of the young
girl. It was in vain that he tried " to pluck up" and look smart. It
was iu vain that he pulled and distorted a rebellious lock or two that
itill found a home on his brow, but which, when drawn over the
haJd patch, would perversely have its way, and fall limp and languid
where it was not wanted.

Tom Pringle was turned of fifty-two, and he resolved — vain effort I
^lo cheat that suggestive period of twelve or fifteen years — to look.
At least, if not to feel, a dozen years younger. One may as soon

170

WHAT TOM PRINOLE DID.

cheat fifty-two lawyers or women as fifty-two years. Tom made the
attempt to chouse the latter out of their due, but not being particu-
larly successful at a brief toilet which he extemporized over a bit of
looking-glnss, he grew sad, and, for the first time in his life, he both
felt and looked that awkward period. Another source of uneasiness
to the clerk was, that, after an official life of pen and ink, and regular
attendance during "office hours," he found himself only three pounds
the better for it. In the bitterness of his inmost soul, Tom felt all
this with the keenness and intensity of a roan who resolves ratlier
late in the day to lead another sort of life. What that other sort of
life was to be, he had not exactly made up his mind. On his way
home, however, he resolved it should be in the pecuniary way, — that he
should economise and grind, and be covetous, and, if possible, get
rich ; — not in a " year," however, ** and a day," but in the fulness <](
some undefined period.

Tom's ambition was to be considered a "small capitalist," to* be
the owner oi at least a hundred pound note. The idea was brilttanC
and practicable, and as he warmed up beneath its cheering influence,
he gave a rap of more than usual vivacity at the door of his humble
domicile in one of the suburban ruralities. The slamming of sundry
doors to prevent the inquisitive look of the supposed stranger, ahastjp
settling of the scanty stair-carpet, quite put out of its way by tbe
rush down stairs, and a more than ordinary time spent in opening the
door, to give time to reconnoitre the stranger, hinted lo the excited
clerk that he had taken unusual pains to announce himself.

Miss Priscilla Blossom, as she opened the door with expectation as
tiptoe, made no secret of her chagrin at finding it was only Mr. Prin*
gle. Tom was exactly eleven years a lodger, and much freedom with
the knocker might be accorded to a lodger of his standing, particu*
larly seeing it was a first offence. But she couldn't exactly see the
necessity there was of putting people in alarm ;— it was provokjngi
however, to have the alarm given by, as it were, ** one of the family*
And so, instead of the old simper and look of quiet welcome, ibe
took her revenge by looking over the shoulder of the clerk as he en-
lered, and very hard at the dead wall opposite. That was a cut she
thought irresistible; and, after a look up and down the street, thfi
lady skipped with more than her usual vivacity, three pair up.

A kind of sentimental acquaintance, such as a not old bachelor may
be presumed to carry on witli a lady of a "certain age," and which tht
uncertain-aged lady may be presumed to encourage without compro-
mising the dignity of spinsterhood — was carried on between the clerk
and Miss Priscilla Blossom. The "quiet silent attentions" of the
clerk were permitted, and as time and Miss Blossom wore on, were
even encouraged. But the cold calculating look of Mr. Fringle, as be
brushed by the maiden, was rather alarming. He never looked so
before, and as he took possession of his little antiquated room on the
first floor, and sharply drew the door after him. Miss Priscilla Blossom
thought that there was " something out of the common" amiss wit^
Mr. Pringle. That gentleman's uneasy pacing up and down the roo
interrupted by a passionate exclamation, and the desponding cry
" fifty two" uttered in a half-frantic lone, prevented Miss Blossom
from knowing what was going on, or properly taking advantage of her
position at the key-hole. Miss Blossom in this particular scrupulously

he
)m ^

WUAT TOBI PRINGLE DID.

171

fulfilled the Scriptural injunction, — she diligently " watched " the un-
easy movements of the clerk as he fidgeted up and down the room,
and took note of several exclaoiatioos which she thought bad some
significance for herself.

" Now let roe see," said Pringle, as he cut himself short in the
midst of a towering soliloquy, ''economy and no matrimony — that's
the point. 'Taint that she 's too old, but she has no money, and love
at tiAy-two without some, is clean nonsense. It would not be endured
in the city. On the Exchange it would hardly pass; and the firm —
the firm — what would they Ray? What would that larger firm, the
world say?"

The excited clerk, in a vain endeavour to know what would be
thought in these several quarters of his projected scheme, lifted his
hands in agony of apprehension, and as he allowed them to fall by
his side in an effort at resignation, he dropped into that easy chair
which the provident Miss Blossom had furnished. He buried himself
in its ample recesses, and did the same charitable work for his head,
which he buried in his hands. Now, burying thoughts alive has been
found no bad way of resuscitating them. Tom had no sooner made up
his mind that it was time to accumulate, to get at the right side of a
hundred pound note or thereabouts, than another element of uneasi-
ness was added to his stock : — he was fifty-two years old, and he
nerer thought of it. By a kind of sentimental connexion — an onning
•nd oifing — he had half committed himself to Miss Priscilla Blossom.
That young lady — for the privilege of spinsterliood is always to be
extremely young — thought that the partial committal in an affair of
the heart was tantamount to a inatrimonial engagement, and was
therefore at ease on the subject, believing that time and assiduity
would work a matrimonial miracle in her favour. But the age of mi-
racles, like that of chivalry, is gone by. " Thou shalt not marry ex-
cept well" is a species of eleventh commandment which prudent men
are very observant of; and although Tom was an indifferent observer
of the decalogue, he compromised for his breach of it by a rigid ob-
servance of this same eleventh commandment.

He determined to become a very miser^ — to grind, pinch, and pare
down and lop off all superfluities that might in future interfere with
the great economical purpose of his life. Among other luxuries, that
of matrimony was even given up. '* Matrimony at fifYy-two, and
I three pound note to begin the world with — the idea was preposte-
rous V*

The agony of mind which a rather elderly gentleman endures when
called upon to revolutionize his habits, is great. The desponding
clerk felt it very acutely. The old sofa on which he ruminated this
bitter cud shook beneath him. He ground his teeth pretty distinctly,
aod to the soft, hesitating rap at the door he blurted out, "It cao't
be done — it can't be done I Come in."

*• But it is done, Mr. Pringle, and to your liking,** said the soft,
iQrery voice of Miss Blossom, as she darkened the door of Tom's little

irtiuent with a plate of nicely stewed tripe, with a snow-uhitc nap-
over that, and over that again, looking a gracious invitation, the
7^ beaming countenance of the happy spinster.

•* Very kind of you, Miss Blossom," said Pringle, aa be felt the
whole of his economical schemes dissolve as the smoking platter sent

Mr. PHufle,- mUi tbe hdj, g^m
TMdoB^tltem-a-w,'' the aid. hjMCfi^
Voa'w lost jnMT appedlep wad yoa're

••Tliefe MMT, tbttl ae^" wUnpcred tbe clerk, m he brasbed awij
a tear with the cofcr of Cfac Hfcig ckilk.

Piin^ took two or three iifiotiem lonia roami the room, wriggled
him apore Ibrvi into am ott^ade of detcrvMPOtKn, and approacbiog the
■MMleo with a grave if not stem air^ be aaid :

"So— to, you (ion't think me food, Mi» Blossom, — and jroo*i»
right. Poob—ftuff— Dooseuae ! Food at fifty-two 1 — 'tis all gani0«*
—don't believe it— doo't believe a word of it- It is not in us at forlTi
much less at 6fty-4wo, — and I 'm AaL Doo't believe me if I sUooU
say I am. A man of fifty is fond of nobody but hi* wroicheil leH
loves nobody I Reverse the picture : make it twenty-five, nod tbefs
is some Stance. But, believe me. Miss Blossom, at tweniy-6ve niM
may toy with beauty's chain without counting the links: but at fiA)^-
two every link should be madfe of fine gold, to enable Uim to wear A
gracefully. Iliat *s what I say. Miss Blossom.**

'Picre was an earnestness mingled with banter in this sally, l^
lairly puzzled the nmidcn. She didn't know what to make of h'*
She had comforted herself for a long time with the behcf that tlieir
union was merely a matter of time, but the idea that his parsimonioitf
rcHolves would stop short of matrimony had never occurred to her

'niiiC night the anxious clerk entered on his purpose of thriiY by
takin;< puNiirtKion of a room " two pair up." It was cheaper than tlie
unv he ucTupicd, und served as a fit prelude to his economical par-
poio. A correftpoiuling change was observable in his outward man.
** I'Inin and warm — plain and warm is good enough for a man of fifty-
two," he would savi while he wrapped his spare form in a penurious
and primitive hnbilin)ont, and stalked to the office of one of the oldest
houses in the city. By dint of the most close fisted parsimony, Pr
glr began to accumulate. 'Hie old leather trunk began to grow i
Icrosling. It was rcspcctnbic in his eyes att the savings-bank of K
future deposits. It wus no longer used for the unworthy purposes
which all uld friends arc unifunuly subject. It was regularly dus

WHAT TOM rniNGLE HID.

173

every day; anil when it becumc the dcpOHitory of one score pounds.
the kernel of, perhaps, a future plunti he carried it to his lodgings.
Meantime, no useless expense was allowed to diminish his savings,
Tipplings at hi&club, and the club itself, were fairly given up as incon-
sistent with tiie growth of the incipient plum. He would pass by a
theatre, even at the alluring hour of lialf-price, with the most stoical
indifference. All pleasures were put under the most rigorous ban.
Pringle began to grow a perfect ascetic The black leather trunk
became in consequence more and more plethoric. When out of spl-
ritfij he would sit in a strangled beam of sunshine that would 6nd its
way into his solitary room, and, with half-shut eyes, ogle his trea-
sure.

Tile inventive genius of woman frequently found opportunities of
breaking in upon his musings. Miss Blossom was always a privileged
intruder. She thought it was not good for man to be alone ; and the
bewitching hour of tea, with an infusion of small-talk, affairs of the
house and affairs of the heart, occupied the evening. Not that
Pringle, during these visits, ever allowed his thoughts to wander from
his purpose, or lean to tlie " soft side of the heart." When, how-
ever, — for Pringle was but a man — he felt a premonitory tug at his
heart-strings, he would took sternly at the old leather trunk, and
sll his stoicism would revive. The soft intruder was bid good night,
and the obdurate Pringle would sneak to his bed to dream till morning
of tlie old leather trunk and its contents.

Precisely twenty-one months after the date of his intention to be-
come a small capitalist on his own account, the vision of a real l^un-
dred pound note rose upon his sight. There was no mistaking the
crisp sterling feel of the paper. He looked intently at the wordn
''One Hundred Pounds," in large capitals. A quiet self-approving
nnile stole over his haggard features. The corrugated brow, the
crows* feet, the limp and languid hair — what were they to him? He
had within his clutch the golden vision that so oAen formed the sub-
ject of bis day dreams, and distracted his slumbers at night.

But did Pringle limit his ambition to a " cool hundred?" For the
honour of human nature, we are bound to admit that he did. And
now that he had it^ be didn't know what to do with it. He was mi-
i^rable without it^ he was unhappy with it. But still the conscious-
ness that he could call that sum his own — own, gave an animation to
hi« features, a buoyancy and an elasticity to his form, that was quite
Wonderful.

Vet daily the question presented itself tu him,— what could he do
vith the hundred pound note, now that he had acquired it? And
through sheer dint of not knowing what to do with it, he became
unusually pensive.

^ 1 made it single-handed,'^ said the bewildered clerk^ in a fit of
Douetary abstraction, while he wistfully eyed the water-mark on the
Dote, and in desperation thrust both his hands to the uttermost depths
of his breeches' pockets. What the sequel to these uneasy thought*
was, and what Pringle did when he didn't know what to do with hi»
hundred pound note, may be inferred from the announcement shortly
after made by the parish clerk of , marvellously resembling the

banns of marriage between Thomas Pringle, bachelor, and Priscilla
Blossom, spinster. S. V.

174

THK HEIRESS OP BUDOWA.

A TALE OP THB TBIBTT YKARfl* WAA.

Tlicwevrfl md in Ocrem hitutry wiS\ rnuiilr recognise ihe Mory of Otto at
Wmitoihtr^ and SUbMa. Tb« eatuuopbe U KiaioncaUT interesting, u it ten-
ously inA i anffl d tbe {Me «r rraderic King of Bohemu and hii En^ifth vift

Thkbb was hijjh festival in the baron's halls, and the voice of music
and revelry rose above the howl of the winter's blast, and the rushing
torrents without. It was at Christmas time that the proude^tt and love-
liest of Bohemia met within the castle of Budowa, to celebrate the
birthday festival of the baron's heiress, his beautiful daughter, Theresa.
She was not his only child ; a vonnger daughter, bearing the name of
Maria, shared in her father's love, and in her sister's beauty, hut it
was well known that the vast possessions belonging to the ancient
bouse of Budowa were not to be divided, — that they were to confer
power and dignity on the fortunate husband of Theresa. Nevertheleiif
ibe younger sister was so rich in personal beauty, and a thousand soft
^nd winning graces, that she could almost compete with the elder in
the number and devotion of her admirers. He who now sat beside her,
breathing into her willing emr enraptured praises of her radiant beauty,
had been long a suitor for her smiles, without seeking to obtain poH
session of her hand ; and there were some who whispered that he onlf
paid his court to the younger sister as a means of obtaining easy acc«Mj
to the presence of the heiress.

Tlie dark, earnest eye of the Count Slabata, and the soft accent!
his practised tongue had seldom pleaded in vain. His was " a face
limners luve to paint, and ladies to look upon," and his proud, ye|
courteous bearing, was distinguished alike by dignity and grace. B'
birth he held a high rank amongst the nobles of Bohemia ; and, thongl
rumours were abroad that his large family possessions were serioad
encroached upon, by youthful extravagance, these had never read)
the ear of Maria; she helieved him to have both the will and
power to place her in the same high position that birih had confe
on her more fortunate sister. Still there were times when even the
vain and unobservant Maria had doubted the completeness of her con-

3uest. Not now, however, — not now; on this happy evening abi
eemed there was no longer cause for fear, and she listened with beat-
ing heart and glowing cheek for the expected words that would inter-
pret into final certainty the language of Slabata's eloquent look. Yet
r^faria was even now deceived, for it was not u\xm her the most eam«t
gaie of those dark eyes was anxiously and enquiringly fixed.

In a distant, windowed niche of the lofty and spacious hall stood

two figures, so remote from the glare of light, and the central tahlei

where the feast was spread, that they were almost hidden in the glooOj

m! their conversation could easily be carried on, undisturbed by the

if und distant sounds of music and revelry. Count 8Ubata*5 eye

i.t'. keen, quick, and piercing, had recognized the graceful form of

! I,- Uiron's niece, — hut tlie knight who stiM^d beside her, who was he?

T4«-r* might be many in that crowded hall never even seen before by

whose youth had been jtassed in foreign and distant lands;

one who might boast sufficient rank and |wwer to entitle hi

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA,

176

to Ruch intimate commune with Theresa could surely not be unknown
to liiui. It was nut, it could nut be a Boheminn nublu towtium Theresa
had crunted thiu comparutively private interview ; yetj what stranger
could have found an opportunity of exciting the interest his keen eye
saw she fell ? B^or, though the hnughty heiress, belf-cuutroUed as ever,
ilieJd her stately form erects and her roseate lip com pressed, it was vainly
that the white arms were folded firmly across her breast* in the attempt
to still its tumultuous heavin);s. Her companion stood impnssive. He
it is whu speaks, and the lady listens; but, though his words had such
power to move her, they disturbed neither the rigidity of his features,
nor the unbending repose of his attitude. If, indeed, he pleads, it
may nut be a suit of human passion.

The sliort interview over, Theresa moved thoughtfully towards the
gay crowd, who now, fur the first time, observing her absence, made
way us she approached, and the knight — as he glides silently away, the
truth Hashes on SlabataJ The knightly garb had been only assumed
for the purposes of disguise, and the haughty Theresa was carrying on
a ctandestiiie iutercuurse either of love or of religion* And, vigilantly
watched over by the pride and anxiety of her stern father^ it was pro-
bable that she had found in the crowded festival the only opportunity
for contriving further interviews. Successful, too, the opportunity had
ufiparently proved, for no eye save that of Slabata had discovered the
retreat uf the heiress, in the distance and gloom of the remote window-
niche. Her fattier was just then lavishing earnest courtesies upon the
royatly-deseended mother of Cuunt Wartenberg, and the count himself
had not yet arrived. While the cuubea of his delay were being vari-
ously reported among the assembled guests, the large portals of the
hall were thrown open, and, ushered in with all due honour and
deference. Count Otto of Wartenberg entered the apartment.

Otto was one uf Bohemia's bravest knights, and none were so
favoured as he by the smiles of its fairest maidens. Gentle and cour-
teous in peace, as he was daring and gallant in war, easy success awaited
his lightebt elfurts, and resistless as his sword on the battle-field were
the eager glances of his clear bright eye, — the etonuent pleadings of his
earnest voice. Slabata'a star ever waned before tnis presence. There
was a frank and ardent sincerity in the equally-polished bearing of
Count Otto, tliat threw, as it were, into suspicious relief the laboured
graces and insinuating flatteries of Slabata. They had long been rivals
— rivals in their pride of birth, — ^rivals in their prido of muiily beauty,
-^rivals on the battle-field, where Slabata's experienced dexterity
never won the same meed of iiopular applause as the frank and soldier-
like bearing of the fearless Otto, — ^nd rivals were they now on a field
of bitterer conflict than the sword ever waged, — rivals for a woman's
smile, and that woman the beautiful and richly -dowered Theresa.
Otto's sight, ((uickened by passion, had penetrated through the treacher-
ous semblance of Slabata'^ pretended luve fur i^Iaria. He saw that
Theresa was the real object, and that it was only because her haughty
coldness forbade direct approaches that Maria's easily -deceived vanity
was used as a means of constant access to her sister's presence.
Whether Slabata had been in any degree successful, Otto knew not—
Otto dared not guess. Theresa was equally rcpellant to all those
suspected of pretending to the honour of her hand, whether they had
rashly pressed their suit too early, or whether, as in the case of the
proud and sensitive Otto, avowals of love hud been carefully &hunuGd,<

17fi

THE HEIRKSS OP BUDOWA.

Of^en, as the discournced count turned away from Theresa's chiUiog
courtesy, his eyes would fall with apprehension and mi»tnist upon the
nuble form and striking features of Slabata. Their jealousy was, there-
fore, mutual, — their suspiciuns eager, restless; but the frank, genenwi
rivalry of Otto differed cfjiinlly with his noble character from the con-
cealea enmities<^the deceitful and treacherous nature of Slahata.

As Otto advanced through the hall the brightest eyes shining there
sought to meet his in appealing memories, or in hope o^ future triumpli;
but, fls his enger glance traversed the fair array of loveliness, it found
no resting-place. At this moment Theresa reaches and mingles with
tlie circle, and Otto's stately form bends lowly at her side. His arrival
had been wailed for to commence the graceful dance of Bohemia, which
ordinarily preceded the festival ; claiming his acknowledged right, as
highest in rank, to the hand of Tlieresa, he led her forward. Slabata
next advanced, with the gay and happy Maria ; as the four mingled
ti^*ther in the movements of the dance^ it escaped her unsuspicKKU
notice that her partner's restless glances were as often fixed upoo
Theresa in piercing Hcrutiny as upon her in tenderness. Versed in all
the windings of a woman s hearty the wily Slabata had long sought,
and sought in vain, to penetrate Theresa's secret. One bitter truth be
knew — -aim she loved not ; but, wliclhcr the noble frankneiis, martial
fame, and chivnlrous bearing of Otto of Wartenberg had won the
favour denied to his own eminent personal advantages, even the pierciag
sight of jealousy had never enabled him to discover. Whatever were
Theresa's secret feelings, they had hitherto eluded the anxious scmdor
of either her fiUher or her lovers. Nor had this been only from womaDt
pride or woman's waywardness. This night for the first time th<y
stood reveaU'd to herself. A blush, a smile, a sigh, and hope sprung up
in Otlu's heart ; as tlie words of passiou burst from his now unchaioN
lipN^ the bliMid rufihed to Theresa's lieart, and deathly paleness ove^'
spread her face ; her eye was not raised, her lip was not stirred, but a
tear was on her cheek, her soft baud was not withdrawn from his, anil
Otto knew the heart he wooed was won. There was another eye that
guessed the truth ; and for a moment Slubata's beautiful lip vM
writhed in sudden anguish, but a smile of vengeance succeeded ; the
prey was in his hund.i.

The personal attractions of the two sisters partook of a strangely
ditf('n*tit character. The striking features, the majestic form, theglotv
of culmtring peculiar to the nobly-bom of Sclavonic race, constituted
the brilliant beauty of the younger sister, Maria. The jewels of rare
value that sparkled through her dnrk tresses were rivalled by the ]a*>
trouK gloss of the ruven ringlets tbcy adorned ; her dark eyes, as tbev
nietled in tenderueui, or kindled in gaiety, lit up her young face witL
ft still mure winning loveliness. Her smiles, not cold and rare, like
Theresa's, but gleiuning in glad and quick succession, parted lips,
almost tiKj full for beauty, were it not for their rich, deep colouring,
and finely chiwelled form. The brilliance of her complexion acquireil
u deeper interest from its ever-varying hues. The full tide of emotion
never rested tranquil beneath the clear brown tint of her cheek, but
rofte and fell incessantly with every passing excitement of her eager
and joyous spirit.

Sutin nnd velvet of the richest and brightest dyes imparted an air of
splenduur to tbe pictures()ue national costume worn uy Maris,— KUie
eminently suited to display to the best advantage the brilliant and

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

•iking charms of her face and form. But Tlieresa, — the wealthy

iress, the heroine of the night, and the object of far deeper, more
respectful homage, was habited with a simplicity at that time equally
foreign to the taste and manners of Bohemia. It might be that she
deemed the statueiiquc simplicity of her beauty would have been im-

lired, not heighteoedj by any decoration ; for no jewels sparkled «m
snowy brow, no varied colouring disturbed the dignified repose of
lier flight yet stately form* And never did classic sculptor, in his
dream of beauty^ mould a form or features of more {aultles^ propor-
tions or more imposing beauty. Nevertheless, the earthly charm of
warm, speaking colouring was not there. She looked and moved a
queen, but her sovereignty was exercised not only over others' hearts,
but over her own emotions. Pride spoke in every quiet glance, in
every graceful gesture pride mingled with her grace. The complexion of
Thertrbu was as dazaslingly fair as her sister's was richly dark ; fair,
too, were the sunny folds of silken hair, braided over her cheek with a
simplicity that well auited the features they were neither required to
shade nor to adorn.

In these features — so delicately moulded, so soft, so feminine in
their refinement — who could have read the secret sternness of the scml
within ? In one alone it speaks: the firmly compressed lip, exquisite
in its chiselled beauty, bears the strong impress of uiibending will, of
unconquerable pride. The prophecy oi her future fate is told in the
stern compression of those faultless lips; and that fnture fate is ad-
vancing fast; even while she treads in the mirthful dance, it ap-
proaches nearer — nearer still. To-night she reigns supreme — the
centre of a host of worshippers, the heiress of a noble house, the idol
of a father 8 heart ;^to-mortow— wliere is she then ?

It was not alone the fair-haired beauty and the unbending character
of the Saxon race that Theresa had inherited from her Lnglish mo-
ther. That mother had been born a Human Catholic, and though for
many years uhe hud yielded a feigned assent to the stern couimunds of
her lord, in an apparent relinquishment of her childhood's faith and the
education of her daughters in hts own Culvinlstic opinions, this did not
last to the end. Fading away in a painful decline, long aware of the
inevitable approach of a lingering death, all the superstitious belief of
her creed conspired with the native strength of her cliaracter tn make
her resolve that one beloved child at least should be plucc-d within the
pale of salvation. Tlieresa, older than ilaria, — the intended huirens
of her father — inheritiug u strength of character and firnmess of pur-
pose equal to that of her unfortunate mother, while it wan uninfluenced
by the same warm affections — was the more Atting subject for the pro-
jected conversion. If she could keep the secret of her change of faith
until the vast possessions of Budown should become hers, the influL'UGC
she would then be able to exercise for the advatict'ineni of the Komish
religion would make ample amends for her mother's unholy concessions
to a heretic husband. Nor was the dangerous resolution of chani^itig
Theresa's faith formed and executed ulone. The Jesuits, then iu the
height of their power and infiuence, and ever on the watch to arrest
the progress of the Reformation, had known from tlie first tluL the
beautiful bride brought home by the baron from his tour through Hol-
land, belonged to one of the most distinguiiihc'd of the ancient Homun
Catholic families iu England.

178

HEIRESS OF BCDOWA.

In Bobemia. however, the power of the Jesuits was vignmat]
jeaJousIy watched ; and they dured not interfere between the G
utic baron and hU Popish %vife, until the first advances were mi
the lady herself. For mony years this was vainly waited for; I
was not until her last fatal di&ease commenced, that the dremd irf
Dal punishment determined the haroness to brave all consequcoc
ther than be longer deprived of the consolations of her religion,
secret maintenance of one furm of faith while she openly prof
other, bad trained her to craft and diHsimulatiun. She worki
husband's fears and atfiection by pleading the necessity of
change of scene as her last hope of recovery, and thus contri*
at a difttance from Budowa, to receive the frequent visits of
tual directors fmm Ingoldittadt. In this city was situated a larg
powerful establi&bment of Jesuits, and from amongst their numbi
was artfully selected best suited to work on the youthful mi
Theresa, and influence her secession from her father's Calvinistic

The different priests of the Romish church who from time tc
visited the dying couch of the Baroness of Budowa came to the
conclusion respecting the carefuliv studied character of the hi
They saw that, while her imagination and feelings were alighl
entiiii on her opinions, and strongly controlled by the native
of her character, it was through the intellect alone she
mnnently secured to their church.

Father Eustace, the Jesuit selected for this purpose, poa^eam
of the sharpest and subtlest minds belonging to any member i
order ; and be pursued his task so successfully, that, before The
mother died, she had the solemn satisfaction of seeing her dau
professing her own faith. But, at the very moment of succea
alarming discovery took place. In the confusion caused by the
of the baroness, the precautions always before observed had be<
glected ; and the sudden appearance of the baron, who bad bt
from Budowa on receiving the tidings of his wife's last illness^ rei
to the injured husband that the woman whose death he so
mourned had been long pursuing a system of deceit and fraud

f the hi
aligh^
stive ^
oouldH

'jurefl

not only lived but died in the faith she had feigned to abji
frensy of mingled sorrow and resentment, he led bis daughters i

death-bed of their mother, and there vowed stern revenge ag
even the nearest and dearest, who should again betray bis t
adopt the idolatrous creed of Rome. Maria trembled and weptl
resa trembled, but she wept not ; nor did her spirit quail or her
shrink from the task imposed by her dying parent, and involved i
vow of obedience to that parent's faith. But the fearful weight
secret, involving not her own ruin alone, but that of the cause sb
pledged to^ pre&»ed heavily on her heart, and blighted the hap[
and the buoyancy of her youth. ■

Perfectly appreciating the character of Theresa, the Jesuit^
goldstftdt were contented to watchover their devoted pupil at a dm
and carefully avoided any intercourse possibly involving the dam
premature discovery. Whenever any communication was abs^
necessary, the experienced caution of Father Eustace always mi
him out as the must fitting agent for the dangerous enterprise; «
it was who stood, in knightly disguise, beside Theresa in the dj
recess.

The sudden necessity for her quick dectsion had obliged him i

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

1T9

car this imminent risk; the only means of arranging the longer inter-
view he deemed necessary, was by mingling in ilisguiHe in the thrung
crowding the baron's halls on the birth-day festival, and by a well-
known signal notifying his presence to Theresa. He then could only
trust to her tried discretion, and to his own skill and caution, (which
bad never failed him,) to escape the chances of discovery. The object
of his mission had been briefly told during the interview witnessed by
Slabata, but it was an object too important to be trusted to the result
of the persuasions and arguments so short an opportunity afforded. He
therefore, extorted from Theresa a promise to meet him again in a
smfiU apdrlment dedicated to the religious observances of her fuith, of
which she constantly kept the keys in her own hands. They were
now ctinimitted to him.

When, in the dreary gloom of that stormy night, Father Eustace
stood again before Therein, he had resumed the habit of his order, and
hoped, by bis solemn and digni6ed aspect, to add force to the appeal
he was about to make. Never had the exercise of such influence been
more strongly heeded, for he read in tlie firmly-compressed lip of
Theresa, even as she humbly knelt to receive his blessing, that her de-
cision, if made, would not be easily altered. He was the first to
speak: Theresa had arisen, and stood motionless before him. He first
briefly recapitulated the facts be had previously stated. A Roman
Catholic nobleman, high in favour with the emperor, had seen the pic-
ture of TheresH, long before obtained by the wily Jesuits, and had tlie
interests of his church so much at heart that this sight sulhced to de-
termine him, without any previous interview, to seek to secure
her as his wife. All wtis prepared for her escape. The adventurous
lover awaited her decision on the frontiers of Bohemia. The Jesuit,
who was to be the companion of her flight, was there to unite their
hands, and the marriage once concluded, her father might storm and
rage in vain. Vainly, too, would he attempt to transfer to another the
HpTendid inheritance of his disobedient child. The nobleman, who»e
cause the Jesuit pleaded, was all-powerful with the emperor, and it
was certain that Theresa's rights could be successfully supported by
force of arms.

While the Jesuit urged on his listener every argument his religion
could supply — \vhile he spoke of her as the instrument of reHioring the
true faith throughout the length and breadth of her loved Bohemian
land — while he reminded her of the freedom from constraint and dis-
simulation — of the enjoyment of religious privileges only to be secured
by her consent to ihu proposed marriage, rheresa listened in silence;
but when he changed his tone, and talked of pomp and splendour, of
rayul favours, and courtly homage, even the wily Jesuit was mistaken
here, fler proud heart might love power, but she scorned its symbols,
and she listened no longer.

"Father Eustace," said she, impatiently, "it is now my turn to
speak. You may wonder at mj calmness, for you saw the strong emo-
tion your proposal first excitea. But then every ambitious feeling of
my heart was roused, all the religious influences of the faith you teach
were arrayed in full force to swuy my determination; for a moment I
waveredj and, therefore I trembled — I do not tremble now."

She paused ; even Theresa's spirit nuailed before the confession she
was about to make to one whose heart Imd never known the power of
emotion.

180

THE HEniESS OF BUDOWA.

Fixing his piercing gaze searchin^ly upon her, as if to peaetnite tlie
deepest recesses of her heurt, the Jesuit sought to take adrjntage of
her hesitation, and awe her into obedience. But though for a moraent
the dark eye of Theresa fvll beneatli his glance, proudly it rose again,
and never was the same tale told in tune so cold and firm as that ia
which she spoke.

While her words were atill falling slowly on the angry ear of Fathtf
Kustacei far different sounds—sounds of wild alarm — arose ; the door
was burst asunder, and the figures of armed men crowded into tlie
apartment. As the fierce eyes of the infuriated bnron flushed through
the gloom— 4 gloom only dispelled by the dim light of a single lamp-
he saw that this lump burned before a crucifix* and that his dauglittfr
clung in terror to the figure of a cowled monk. The treachery and
deceit of years, his shattered hopes of pride, turned in the
moment the father's heart to gull. The fire of vengeance glanced in
liis savage eyes, as he graivped the loosened tresses of bis beautiful
daughter, nnd raised his weapon in the act to slay. It was SlubaU
who saved him from the deadly crime — it was Slabata's hand that nr-
rested the descending blow, and wrenched the sword from his frenzitil
grasp. In a moment after the unhappy father, his paroxysm of fur)
over, folded in his arms the sen.seleAt> form of her who had been oiict
his pride nnd joy, then cast her from him for ever.

During the confusion caused by the danger of Theresa, the Jesuit
had etjcapeil, and when the victim opened her eyes to sense and cnn*
piousness, she beheld before her only her father and Slabata. The old
man was now calm, but he was calm for vengeance. Her destiny wii
spoken, but even then it was a destiny still to be averted by the renun-
ciation of her abhorred faith.

"Never I" was her uuly answer; and, though the hue of life bod
fled from the lips that uttered it, the baron read in their stem uh'
rigid compression, a resolution as indomitable as his own.

Many leagues from the baron's castle arose an abrupt eminence
considerabte height, and of all but impracticable ascent The situati(
had been taken advantage of in very distant periods for the erection
a massive furtress, almost impregnable from its situation. The tower
of Adelbberg commanded the principal pass into the mountainoun
country where the castle of Budowa was situated, and the barons o(
that ancient race hadj in times of war, found it an effectual defence
against the incurjsiuns of their enemies. Even in times of peace it wai
still garrisoned by a few trusty followers, and though the secrets of th«
prison-house never reached with any certainty the ears of th»»se with-
out, it had been often whispered thai any enemy of the house of
Budowa who had suddenly diiiappeared from among men, had found a
living tomb within the massive walls of the gloomy fortress of Adelf
berg. But not even in those lawless, reckless times, did the supposi-
tion ever arise that in this dreary confinement the courted, worshipped
beauty, the richly-dowered Baroness Theresa wasted away the bloom
and promise of her youth and chtirma. Conveyed thither on the fat»d
festival night with a secrecy shared only by Slabata and the governor
of the fortress, Theresa was ubanduiied by her father to a solitudti
which would have bowed any heart but hers. The last appeal made
by Slabata to the helpless captive proved as unsuccessful as his suit
had ever been to the haughty, flattered heiress. Thejresa refused

THE HEIRESS OF BVDOWA

17D

at was only to be purchased by rewarding; his treachery, nntl
tour his disappointed passion turned to deadly hate. With

feelings vanished her lant chance of liberty ; for Slnhota
•ded the fatal secret that secured to kiin, as the husband of

splendid iuheritance of her imprihoned sister. Thereaa's
u sudden illneRs, was uniTersally believfd. Her oh»equie«
prformed with all the mournful pomp a father's love and a
le required, and the inmates of the caRtle of Hudowu had
loD^ time afterwards shut up from all surrounding inter-
larently mourning over their afHiction. But Slabuta came,
a wooed, and Maria was easily won.

Kia year« have passed, as quickly to the desolate inmate of

tower OA to the young, the prosperous, the guy. Years

have pubsed and brou^zht change to all around, hut to her

•eless, no ebb or flow of joy, or deeper sorrow, murks his

rse. Most minds wuuld have sunk under the relentlesit

t prolonged her dreary captivity ; faii]ipy for Tiieresa if this

le fate uf hers, but while her heart hardened in anguish,

softer fet'linj^s of her nature grndunlly withered, her proud

ise triumphaut over the wreck of her heurt, and ripened

;reater capabilities for uctiun and revenge.

ifth anniversary of her captivity was reached, and Theresa

her prison-tower to the howling bloat and the rushing

aout.

i captivity had, however, produced no change in her queenly
he alteration was within ; where the spirit moves onward,
d,— a change not like that of the outward furm, short and

* the summer hue of a beautiful flower, but solemn, abiding,
tt even Theresa's still cherished love for Otto could soothe
}assion» that were now strengthening within her breast,
ler spirit with the one hope, — the one desire of revenge,
fearful night ; and the tempest brought back to the mind
Be memories were so few and vivid, the raging of the storm
inn of her fatal birth-day festival. Her thoughts dwelt,
trith proud confidence, on the changeles&ness of Otti/s affec*
be gazed abroad into the night through the smdll grated
the tower, and shuddered as she listened tu the pelting of

There were travellers exposed to it. A distant light—
d another — gleamed on the desolate path to Budowa.

* dare to cross llie moanUun torrents on auch a night as thin?
r instinct seemed to have entered her soul : her hour of ven-
ftpproaching. She paced the room with a violent agitation,
n her knee* before the crucifix where her prayers were still
1 up, and the mighty conflict that went on within appeared
er spirit asunder. But that conflict was not to be decided
IS being decided during the twelve years she had cherished
vengeance. A dark .shade seemed to pass over the glo-
f of her faultless features, and once more she arose haugh-
}m her vain supplications.

moment strange sounds re-echoed through that vaulted
d Otto of Wartenberg knelt at the feet of his early, long-
nd mingled vows of passionate devotion with his tale of
His enlerprihC had been one of des]»erale

lV> THE HEUtESS OF BCPOWA.

. h

tx'.r sTKoe i*: *icalins ibe fortrm vas br a ladder of
r-<T^e«. Efr/i rr.ax. seriLru^lT, is & suenw on vUdi life depended, iW
:Vw :rs.re $^;CiJe» jiE~ec:c*i :t :be eocst, ftiUoved their leader to tlie
i'lLZL^-.i'i c: uie Itctv rsm^a. He Lai been the first to trr tbe diriag
rez'.zrf. u.-^ irsz :» fzs^i tc tbe hftitjements and secore Uie oompvi-
izrt'.T sfcfe £ft.v-i:': x lixitte vro n-^L^vc^ Wben tbe last soldier lad
f Jr^ ve beiri:- '^ tr^r-.rvi K-ziMifd JM notes of triumphaat deft-
^.JK^. ixi lir- rtt:i2c~<rT <•:' Oito « Wirtenbei^ fell with odwd of if-
fru:l: £p:3: ibt xszic^ishec cstt^'O. Tbe nasstaaee waa bloody bit
izafe^-zC Oiz? :•.« oc-wx *1Z iCpcstxa ; tbe defeoden of the towr

L:r^ ert- :;^ rr.irris^ i^vsed Tbema was borne far from tbe
c'-.v-^-T tv-rec .c AiclsSf^. a=i vithin tbe lordly castle of Otto wi
w«Icv«= oi \r ;^* cviru-ss^rxcheT with tbe deference due to her «4t
«£s s.'^w tl^ BfcT^'ceK cc B^ioivx. Tbei>esi nor tint learned that the
ii&rvc rirLScI* ir£$ *e^c : :i «:k$ scrpciiieo viihoat repenting him of hii
T:zd:c:iTv erziixT, Sl&^ata hid Kiecceced to bis power and honoon
lie tiiC Ix^ beixw l«Mcc::e tbe lu^band of Maria, and bad tbca
chirped ii» Zizi^ iracL L^tberanisss to CalTinisni, to soothe tbe pnj^
cices o: tbe Vitte; oi!i zuz. asd beoorre better qualified fer bis repre-
>«:.u::re. I: b^d. tlvrtEfh-n. for tbe lisi two or three rears, been Sis*
Kiu AT.d Mxrifi i^<>ce wbo owticzied Tbensa's cmel impriaonment,—
i:-.o ou'y r.-tf«::» irco^c «>:' securir^ to them the inheritance of Bndov*

The usu:rl=4: ;^r o5s<rei but a tl\£tx opposition to tbe powcrfel
t\>rw leni acki^s: tier.; urier tbe dreaJed banner of Otto. Tbejsncd
tbcir I:t«« br 2 rap:d T-iczx ; and in a few dars fivnn the period <f
Tber«a'* rA:^::T;:T. i>:to rwtinew: w:;bin berown noble balls tbe weO-
n*.i*r:ted c-irvior. of ber bard. Bh^bemia was then in so disturbed t
i>v.ui.tio:: iv..:\ ;he t'xruI>ios of S.aKiU. without waiting for any of tbe
tVru'.s of l.in . iTXcited i^either llizie c«t surprise. Indeed, tbe wroBp
ot Thore&i had lv<fn >o fi^ant xzd nsanifest. thai the whole tideflf
|vvu*:ir fet ':n): was c::«w-teo in her nrour, and it was with general oh
thu>iA$^: that she u:s$ wrlcv^T-.ed hack to life, to honours, and to hsp'
piiioss.

Sldh^ld, howf vcr. wou^d not so easily resijm tbe possessions even ht
d«vnt<^l deftrly purchased by tbe loss e>i Lis fair fsme. He appolid
to tlio Ditvciors. who UvKy attempted to administer justice dorinetW
\KrU\\ iiuorveniiii: beiwe^en the Bi^emian rejection of Ferdinand, «•- :
lH*r»»r of Austria, for *on-.e years :.cknowIedeed as their king, and tW .
election of the unfortunate Fwdoric. Pal^rare i.f the Rhine Brt ;
while the suit wj5 jvndint: iu the i.vurt oi the dii^ctors. Otto langbsl '
to ikvrn the (xwer \yf tbe Uw. and. in the name of his wife TbcMH^ '
KumuiuutHl her rass^ils to bold themselves iu readiness to defend bcr
ri^ht», if need be, by Rircc 01 arms.

When, however. >>vderic arrived in Bohemia, the aspect of dhan
waa altered. The y.-unj; kinc and bis English wife, Elisabeth, w«i
recetved wiih enthusiasm in Prapie, and their popukritv waa univei^
throughout the ct>uuiry. All seemed inclined to vield obedience, aod '
amonrat the rest eveu Otio of Warienberj consented to refer tbe deci-
won of his cause to the law oiRcers appointed hv the kine. Tbe re»k
of the decision was the first cause of turning the tide of popular fetoor
(doubljr uncertain among the vobtile Bohemians) against their nen-
^mg and his Koglish wife. The two parties of Lutheran tfi
t mn high amongst tbe natives of the countrv ; but tbe Li-

THE nEIHRSS OF BUPOWA.

181

had lon$; acquired and firmly held the upper hand. The bigotry
le kind's Culvinistic cbuplain Sciiltetus, had already excited mur-
nra umougut his subject?, aud reuiindcd the Uuhc'iiiian.s very impru-
ently that the king, chosen as a Protestant, tni^ht atill be bitterly
vpoaed to the fumi uf faith moiit general and popular umung them-
ilves.

The opiniona of Slabata were CulviniHtic, those of Ottn, Lutheran t
id when the decision of the court was published restoring Slubata'H
liquitous usurpations, and aguin dispossessing the iiiiured Tberesn, it
'as publicly averted that the Lutheran opinions of Otto bad been the
uiae of the flagrant injustice. Nor had Frederic contented himself
rttb decreeing the cej^sion nf Theresa's lawful patrimony to Slubata ;
^tto. in addition, was amerced in a heavy fine for baring taken po^es-
on of hJs wife's inheritance by force of arms, and condemned to im-
rieonment in the tower of Progue.-^a sentence immediately carried
ito execution.

While these transactions were exciting universal discontent at Prague,
Iberesa had remained alone at Budowa, little doubting the decision
f the law-courts, aud utterly unconscious of her husband's fate.
bMtding the well-known spirit of the M'oman he had injured, Slubata
Onld not venture to appear in person before Budowa to claim the re-
itotion decreed by the laws. He, therefore, employed the Rath to
X]uaint Theresa with the succesiifut termination of his suit, and per^^
tade her to submit without resistance to the king's authority. 8tie
Btened in mingled rage and astonishment to the first nnnounccnient of
decision depriving her at once of her possessions and her revenge ;
Btf dimembling her indignation, she appeared won over by the per-
Nwnm of the justiciary, and even consented to admit Slabata, pro-
ided be came accompanied by legal officers ulone. For this the Kaih
ledged himself, and retired from the castle to return the next morn-
tg with its new owner. Theresa then sought the retirement of her
wm apartment, not to abandon herself to ibc transport of ruge and
bappointment that swelled her heart, but to determine on the uiea-

Eto be pursued in this desperate emergency.
t tun soon set behind the castle uf Budowa, but darkness brought
nation to the exertions of Theresa, for morning's light was to
u the approach of Slubata, and his reinstatement in hor own an-
Utnd halls. No slumber could Theresa know on the night preceding
er enemy's triumph, and through every hour of its lajwe* messengers
vre hurriedly departing to summon from the various districts under
er own or her husband's sway, every soldier whose arm might prove
rulabJe in the coming contest.

D»y dawned, and Slabata appeared before the castle, Die legal
ficers who were conditioned for, alone accompanying him ; the Rath
len claimed admission in the king's name. Theresa in person granted
, With haughty and indignant glances she watched to its conclu-siou
If ceremony that ceded her rights to her hated rival — a cession made
itb every form that could obtain an udditional moment of delay.
bbttla left to the Hath the odious otlice of receiving the keys of the
atle from the attendant otficersof the baroness, as he turned hurriedly
vmy from the vindictive gaxe of the woman he had injured, the
iuaiph of the hour seemed to belong to Theresa and not to
m. Cut while she prepared for betrayal, she herself was betrayed,
ittmately acquainted with the secret passages of the castle, Slabatn
' ^ o 2

m4'

had contrived the entrance of a number of Boltlien by an
passagej at the very moment that he himself appeare
puiBe before its gates. They seemed, however, di
different purpose from that he originalJy designed, and
for his safety, not for his triumph. For uh the baroness ]
the great hall of the ca&tle, where preparations for a tr«
come were spread, he and the Rath l>ebeld the surrow
darkened by the numerous forces of Theresa^ advancing n
ners of their respective leaders; and many had already n
the walls. Slubata and the Rath had approached from tl
where the ancient forest of Budowa had entirely conceal
view the sight that now burst so unexpectedly upon th
pale was the countenance of the false Slabata^ while a 6
nitnt astonishment burnt to the very brow of the Kuth.
tion of the brave old man was instantly token. Xheresi
tempt to detain him, and he rapidly paf>sed along the drav
castle, apparently leaving Slabata to bis fate. The Rath
officer univertvally beloved and respected, and it was n
trusted to his own influence, and to the popularity of the m
loyalty had not waned in the more remote districts as it
dune in Prague. When he announced the proclamation
and prepared to open the royal commission, det^p uud reap
fell on the armed multitude assembling around the caatic
gathered in a circle about him, alike for attention and d«
terms of the commission were express- They denounced
of imprisonment and confiscation against any who attem|
the royal mandate for the restoration of Hiabata, at the sa
pealing confidently to the loyalty of the neuple, and call
to a&bist in enforcnig the decision of the law.

Bohemian faith was wavering as the summer- breeze,
memory of past evils easily effaced by present fears. 1
heard with consternation that the brave and gallant O
whose banner they expected to be led to certain victory,
in the tower of Prague, and all hope of his aid excluded.
known of Theresa but her beauty and misfortunes; the i
deemed not that beneath her soft and fragile form, glowet
daring and fearless as tliat of her heroic husband. An<
ittill sustained her as she beheld the numerous vassals to w]
trusted for safety and triumph, dispersing on all (tides ini
vancing towards the castle. Some of them slowly, mo
rapidly, turned to retrace the way they came, thus 1
haughty baroness to the bitter alternatives of submission <
ment. But not even now paled her proud cheek or sank
eye; with resolution firm as ever, she issued orders to the
the castle to fall upon the soldiers of Slabata. And evei
hopelessness of resistance smote on the hearts of the br
yielded to the commands and entreaties of their beautifi
and the desperate conflict was l>egun ; in the presence of^
self, the unequal struggle raged with mutuul fury. %

The garrison uf the castle maintained the contest until tl
was more than half diminished ; then, forcing Theresa, and
attendant. Bertha, who was clinging to her side, from the s
naee, they effected their retreat through a carefully-guard
and succeeded in placing them in safety in a distant wing of

? sa

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

iss

7*he shoutit of the drunken merriment of Slubata and his folloxrers
reached even the distant spot where Theresa had found refuge: they
roused her from the torpor of rage and despair. KuUowed by the
trembling Berthap she hurried rapidly along poRsages, corridors —
all seemed opened to her steps. Uninterrupted they reached the scene
of fesliviiyj— the magnilicent hall where Theresa hud unce shone iu the
pride of youthful beautv. A small gallery overlooked the hall. The
drunken revellers were already so stupitied by their excesses^ that
Theresa stood there gazing, in dark revenge, upon the group below,
without being observed by any. Her eye sought Slabata alone- He
sat in the place he had usurped from her.

" Bertha/' she murmured in a hollow voice, '* I have needed this
sight to steel my heart for vengeance."

Bvrthu shuddered, and Theresa hurried forward. They soon reached
B low door, nearly under the great hall, and towards the centre of the
boilding. Here Theresa paused for a moment; she clasped her hands
in anguish, then, seizing a torch, she applied one of the keys that hung
in her girdle to tlie door, and entered. Bertha followed, terrible
suspicions curdling the blood in licr veins, and saw at a glance the pre-
parations that had occupied Theresa during those hours on the pre-
ceeding day when she hud forbidden her attendance. Casks of powder
nearly filled the cellar, combustible materials were heaped around
them, and one touch from a lighted torch would bury in the same
sadden destruction the victor and the vanquished. As Theresa stood
before the fatal pile, her hair tiung wildly otf her nuble brow, her eyes
flashing with the fire of revenge and hate, Bertha could no longer
doubt her deadly purpose.

In a few words, spoken calmly and firmly, as if success and triumph
btfU rested on her path, she pointed out to Bertha a vaulted passage*
^^kntrived as to afford un almost instant egress into the avmkIs sur-
^Bding the castle.

^■Aly faitliful soldiers wait you there," she said. *' The wounded
WmX perish with their mistreas. You will be conveyed to Prague. It
is for you alone to announce to Otto that Theresa died worthy of his
love, that she died a death of such vengeance as Bohemia shall never

le sounds that roused Bertha from a death-like insensibilitv might
d hnve awakened the dead. Far away over rock, and hill, over
valley, and smiling plain, the fearful echoes multiplied the
»le peals that burst upon her. They reached the walls of Prague
r, and fell with omen of affright upon the helpless Otto, as he lay
is prison tower.

~ke red-hot splinters of the tremendous conflagration were falling
tround Bertha when she opened her eyes to the terrib!e consciousness
of Theresa's fate ; though the care of the soldiers, to whom she had
been entrusted had removed her apparently out of the reach of imme-
diate danger. The indignant execrations bursting from the lips of those
truund proved their previous ignorance of the fate that was involving
in one terrible destruction their mistress and their wounded comrades.
Bat there was no time for reproaches, no hope of rescue, and with
kdly roughness they dragged Bertha away from the scene of horror,
not till they had reached the summit of a distant hill that they
in their flight, and, looking back, beheld the ancient towers of

1»4

THE HQSE88 OF BUDOWA.

A* TmM|ttisbe<d» inclosed togetlier in a

oC powder still coatinaed so trcmendons

and rtna the practised ears of the warlike

->y^

witk tkeTictar

as t* ikttke the alovl

her.
a l u^ e — BC had been £tf-«^tcd vod exten&ive. It had nol
ia fvui ka BMire imewdjahi nctims, but the fate of ihfta
hM nd ^B M ef Bahflnia «M WTvbted in the u-reck wrought hy bdf
h«M. AhharmMe for the deed ef vesgeance nas all-absorbed in ilie
iadicpatiaa Cek agaiaat theae wh«ae injosboe had excited it, and only
the heaalir* mif the ■iii,|i, anly the heroism of Theresa were remem-
bcfed. Fonhcr^aad widcrthaa the d:une of the conflagration reached.
wtn iaAantd the hcMta ef the fidde Bobcoieiia. Kven those ful-
knr«n «f Thiuaa who Wd been aednoed htma their allej^ance to her
hjr <he pCflaoaMaa «f the Rath, vented their indicant sorrow for her
te» vcaam thaae who hod mfraeooed the desertion that caused it. One

OAivCTMl

the pepohneof ^aguek
eoMader the deed el h<
bieaUT «£ the hM oad
oScdfimeirfcrtho
bila»tolam.ml
to the 01—^1 Cottnt of
the raral puaee uaHJl he

amic

heard throughout Duheuiia, and

by their Lutheran preachers to

t the consequence of the Colrinistic

crowded to the gates of the palace,

of Otto.

Frederic not only granted li
, but assigned him apartments in
have reoovered sufficient strength to
leave I*M«e. The tidiqga of TberOBa'a fate had reached him fna
stranger hps, oat fraon dw geatle Bertha. The shock had overwhelined
hia reason; and, wbeo tidbiga of his liberation were conveyed tuhim.be
was found in the raringa ot delirium. This was a new subject of alarn
for the king and queee ; andt as the populace still, with loud cries, de-
manded the assurance of his freedom, the only means of concealing lu«
condition was to remore him, with all ease and caution, into their own

?iilace, where he was placed under the care of the royal physicians.
It>re Bertha eaulj gamed permission to watch by the couch of the
fcutferer, as the brounte Mend, rather than the attendant, of tlie Ute
lurvnesa* Bat, in spite of all homan efforts, the life of Count Otto
fast drawini; to its close, and in a few days his remains were
to the darkness of the tomb.

As a lardy and unsuccessful expiation, Frederic and Eliza!
erected a stately inonument to the memory of Otto, the last of
Counts o(* ^' "g, and Theresa, Baroness of Budowa. In pom

inscription .orded their titles, and the honours of both anci<

houses ; the beauty nud the misfortuues of Theresa ; the martial
and the fidelity of Otto. Thus, the justice dented in life was
in dontb.

185

DIFFICULTIES IN A TOUR TO WIESBADEN.

BY THB ADTBOB OP " FAIIDIANA/' KTC.

Ok a drizzling August night, near upon ten o'cluck, in the year
1845, we, with our araall carpet-bag, and a very large and mis-
ceUaneouft company, occupied the interior of an omnibus bound
ffrom the railway-station to the interior uf the fragrant city of Co-
logtie. There was not a cab to be bad for love or money, for all the
kvorld seemed on the move ; and, how the passengera by that enor-
[mous train, growing longer and longer, fuller and fuller, since eight
o'clock in tbe morning, had contrived to si|ueeKe themselves into the
vehicle« at the station, was a matter of astonishment to all.
ver as a man's baggage wag released from the Uiggage*heap and
e Marchers, he seized it, and rushed into something. No one en*
aired where the thing was going ; it was enough to get in, and
St to Providence. Sixteen already in the vehicle, and fourteen
more ladies waiting at the door, many with little boys in their hands,
Rnd almost all with a gentleman superintending the packing of
trunks on the roof. Four ladies already on the bottom-sti>p ; one —
equal to four — in the doorway.

How many are we licensed to carry ?" roared an Englishman
from " the chair." It was received with shouts of deriaion. Licensed!
■a if there was any licence, or leave cither, when queens are abroad !
The idea of a man bringing his Camberwell notions into such a place
aa this.' Why, must likely, we have half-a-dozen princes, to say no-
thing of counts and barons, in the 'bus already ; and others coming.
The fat lady is two-thirds up, the other four close behind her ; and
• waving undefined stream of paletots is setting in towards tbe door-
way.

"You positively can't come up here, ma'am; you really cannot.
I must protest against this. Conductor !"
" Weil, where am I to go? I muj>t sit down somewhere/'
" Do, pray, ma'am ! — upon those four at the top. Anything but
standing on my foot."

"I must trouble you to remove your carpet-bag off your knees,
<ir, T can't sit upon the top o' that."

-!, mon i)ieu ! madame, qu'cst ce que vous allcz faire I C'esl
■ -le ! You most ' — you can't ! — you shan't ! Dieu !"
■ Alluw me, sir, to take a joint, if you can't go the whole animal.
Ttiat 's it! Alind my fibula ! Now, if anybody were disposed for
steaks on the other side, we should be all right ; or, perhaps,
gentleman next me may have no objection to join me in the
found?"

" Well ! of all the omnibuses I ever travelled in, this certainly is
tjie most hinconvenient !"

" Good gracious, sir, how you are a- shoving 1 One would think
it was a wan J"

'* Pardon, madame, c'est mon nez que vous prenest on ne pent
^ ouvrir la fenetre comroe ^a."

*' What the devil brings all the people abroad,/ can't think, when
ihry may sec the queen a» much ua they please at houie ?"
It waa a wonder.

1S6

DIFFICULTIES IN A

Bet

yoD

Rumble — rumble — jolt — biini? ! If the springs utand thj
are made uf uncommon stufT. On through the twisting; wayi
worka, — on over the •'murderous stones," to the '' Germi
Hof/'— to the *• Mainser Hof, " — to the ** PAriser Hof/'—
" Hotel dc Cologne/' — to the " Bellevue/' — to the '• Cour d
lande." No room : choke full. Not a bed for love or mom
why princes are sleeping on the billiard- tables^ and barons
emoking, to pass the night.

*' Mais vous avez des chaises, done — des fauteuiUr'*

*' Non, monsieur, pas un. Dea chaises, oui."

Here was a pretty case. Not even an elbow-chair to
all the barons sitting up smoking.

•'Well, sir, what do ^ou mean to do?"

" Why I am rather in doubt whether to go and sit up
barons, or be content with the feather-bed I have liere. Bet
deed, if we had no bnnes in it."

** But/' suggested in a whisper the little man who hail
off with the round, " though the baron* are sitting up, dej
it the iordx are not."

What a tiling is wit. Of course they are not. Why, yoa
head ! to think of sitting under this high pressure, and all Ic
of a happy thought.

•' I "H go to the baron.s decidedly. May I trouble you,
pome exertion to relieve me. A large share in this con<
disposed of, — that *6 it ! — a trifling shift of the H bone.
chase on the Frenclnnun. Pass the word fur a good heaiveof i
cerncd. Well done. Come along, my lord, and bring y*
bag with you/*

*' This, my lord, I think, was the hotel your lordship
descend at > You apeak English >"

*' A leetle."

" We require two rooms. His lordship and I like tl
Are the servants come? N'importe. Supper immediate);
bjttle of Rttdesheimer: but, first to the rooms, and let me
your lordship to keep the key in your own pocket. Of cofm
have beds for my lord and me?" ■

*' Donnez vous la peine d'entrer, milord. Be so oblige M
Nous verrons/' (here an earnest conversation). ** Par ici, |
Dies rooms you can have, — too small ?"

" They are rather small ; but, I suppose we must liai
riie beds clean?'

'' Beds I Oh, clean — clean, yais."

•'But, my gom! sir, when they see the piissports?"

•• Kill a good supper, and they are not liktly to turn ua oi
yourself in when you go to bed; and, besides, pack up |
clothes you take off', and lose the key of the bag. Little deces
there is in this country, they will hardly turn you out in that
or even insist upon your sitting up with the barons. And,
event of nn onslaught, you have tlie spittoon and other misiilea
passports are at present packed up, and must be given out
thing. Then, being as much as may be like Adam in his
may lie down without any fear of an 'event pervcr»c.*

At supper we had a little trait of the national manners. A
who hiid been silently sotting and 6moking himself into drui

P «
eces
Lhat
nd,
sAilea
ut ll

TOUft TO WIESBADEN.

187

suddenly ruse up. and began to abuse the landlord, making out li)!i
bills at a side-tJible. Mine host put him off with a wave of his hand;
but it would not do. He became more and more violent, — tore his
tbroaC with ach-ing and augh-ing. Still all were silent ; though the
waiters pently sidled towards him. A contemptuous " pfui !" from
the host brought him to the desired point, — he shook his two Bsts in
the landlord's face.

Personal violence, or even a demonstration of it, is not allowed in
Germany; so they had what they wanted — the law on their side.
In a moment the three waiters had him, one on each side, by the
arms, and the other judiciously behind by the neck and Uie waist-
band, Johann, the boots, was at the door with a candle. He was
walked in the moat orderly way to the front-door, quoited into the
*trert, the door barred and locked behind him, and then all four
burst into a loud laugh, quietly joined in by the landlord at hit
desk.

" Now," said the nobleman's companion, as he hurried breakfast-
less next morning to the steamer, — for there was no breakfast for a
commoner, though a bed for a lord, — " never again will I travel the
way of kings and queens. Carefully will I avoid the tails of those
royal comets. Before I adventure upon a journey another time, lei
me not forget to enquire what putentiitcs are abroad. It was a fight
and a wrangle all along the road — at 0.stend ; and at Ghent, where I
slept amongst beetles in a maison particuUere, and when the shut-
ters were opened in the morning, it looked as if dozens of little
devih were escaping from the light of day. No — no. I must per-
force follow in their wnke to Cublentz, and then I give them up, — I
wash my hands of them, by way of Schwalbach,— and there wait till
the royal crowd goes by.

At Bonn, at Knnigswinter, Andernaeh, and at every town and vil-
lage on the river's banks was a dense and wandering crowd — wan-
dering, for tlie hotels could not hold them. Not agasiftaus, or a hof\
or a had-haus^ nay, not a window, that was not crammed with pef>-
pie ; and at the piers sat disconsolate on their bags, the rejected and
movers-on. There were no touters, for their occupation was gone ;
and the heavy satisfied landlords looked lazily at the thronged decks,
as much as to say, '* Don't you desire that you may obtain it? but
you can't."

From Coblentz we hurry on to Ems, and take the road to Schwal-
bacb.

And now. Master Murray, for the best hotel. There is tlie AUeo
S«iil^' rooms for dancing and gaming — largest and best situated, but
*ith scanty fare, dirt, dearnebs, and want of comfort. This is for
lljegay and the gamblers, who don't mind trifles, but won't do for
Then the Kaisar Saal, by many considered the best, certainly
most abundant, and a civil landlord — this will draw the heavy
lers. I smell a dinner of two hours there, and will none of it.
Then the Hotel au Due de Nassau, clean and good accommodation.
^^.B. Scrutinize the bills at this house !'

A vile insinuation this! Why recommend him at all if you think
him a rogue? As well say allow me the pleasure of introducing my
friend So-and-So, but take care of your pockets. You have gibbet-
poor Nassau with your inuendo; for who but the silliestof birdsi
flv into a net bo dLudIv snread? But we shall have no-

)8S

DIFFICULTIES IN A

r tin

ebell

crowU there, anJ those thai <lo go will be of the right sort,
fellowi) that scrutinize their bills. We are on a lark — 1
ex|>ense — and go there I will for one.

After three days at Schwalbach we are braced up with
waters to the feat of moving on. Let nie «ee ! They wei
iUayeuce the day before yesterday ; the next day they
going ; to-day will be the slopping and dusting al\er them ;
row evening we may venture, I think.

Aline host's best horses are ready to bring the light cal^cl
door, fiy the time this pure Steinberger has yielded its
we shall be ready to bid adieu to the Long Swallows' Brook— 4
pretty quiet scenery — to the bracing walks of the hills— to the
attractive of the Nassau Brunnen — to exchange all tiiis for tin
Wicabaden, nasty Alayence, and Frankfort, whither we are

But here is an arrival.

Covered with dust^ loaded with luggage, and servants
out amongst imperials and hat-boxes, a low German tral
carriage stops at the door; somebody works madly at the
out come landlord, waiters, boots and all, to welcome, and he
alight, a fat heavy gentlctiian, twisted round with a green cloaJi
with a gold-banded forage cap of the same colour, perched o4
back of nis head. M

This mu«t be some great man by the way they work ibtt
tebroe. 1 really did not think there had been such bowa ii
house ; the very boots has tossed off n succession of salauna
would have made a man's fortune in any other country. £
thing must be at hia service of course. We are the vilest of di
would your highness like some of our heads? — our limbs a
your noble service — confer the favour of a sacrifice, or a trifle o
ture — do, please your excellency I I wonder what he is ; a be
or an crzherzog, or a prinx, or a graf, or what !

He was a herzog, going to meet the Queen oC England ;
r^r the slightest possible refreshment — a glass of HbeDii
biscuit — and going on at once,

*' His name? Stop, enough, the first foot or two is ai
keep the rest till I come again."

" Mais, monsieur — mais, monsieur. On est si facho— -i) n*
dc chevaux ! "

" Well, it is a pity. What, no more horses in the place ? "

•' Pas un, monsieur. His excellency requires four for his
carriage, and two for the other just arrived."

" But there are plenty of donkeys. Why not give him thir
forty of them? they are rather fast here, and will have hi
Wiesbaden in no time. Now, shall I do a civil thing? Le
consider, I am not much in the habit of travelling with her;
certainly ; but still, rather than he should be too late, if you tho
he could get his name into the cai^chc, I should not much 9
giving him a lift as far as Wiesbaden. You don't think he'd
by the way?"

"Mais c'est pour vous, monsieur. Pas de chevaux poi
Le voila qui vn."

" No horses for me ! Yon don't wean to say tbut this
licrxog lias taken my horsefi ? "

*'Le vuilii^ qui va^ monsieur, et sa petilc voiture aussi.**

TOUR TO WIESBADEN.

189

"A pe&tilence upon uU herzo^s! — upon all laiullurcls who favour
herzogs! — upon all countries lliat produce and Ibster herzogs!
Bring me a bottle of light anil soothing fluid that I may drink con-
fusion to herzogs — and you, I hU you a bumper to drink that toast
with three groans for herzogs generally., and one groan more for
this one. Groan as I do ; give it liira hearty ; send it at\er him as
be goes up the hill. And now go immediately and order twenty-
four donkeys into the valvche — quick, before the people come out
for their evening ridea. Three postilions will do ; and a guillcaume
to each extra if we beat the herzog."

Of what avail is it to abuse the landlord — to call him up and tell
htm of his truckling treachery — tu anathematize him as a herzog-
hunting rascal — to threaten to report him to his grand duke — to
write to Albemarle Street — to scrutinize his bill ?

But stay, there is some commotion in the street. Perhaps another
herzog; or more probably they are putting-to the donkeys. Up the
town folks are running; nearer us they walk fast; hereabouts they
look earnestly* and wonder what it is. People are such asses ; as if
there was anything to gape and wonder at in a man travelling with
twelve pair of donkeys in a calecfie.

Presently a man comes down the street — tearing — wild — his hair
on end.

"His excellency is upset — ecras^! — abime f-^presque morti — a
wheel came off."

'^ Give me my hat — cork the wine — let me see the man that can
live with me up the street ! "

At a small angle of the road we come upon a procession — melan-
choly, faint, and slow. In the front, held up by a dozen arms, with
painful limp, contorted face of greenish hue, hands falling powerless,
and a whimpering whinCj comes the fallen herzog — the dishevelled
and most pitiable herzog — the horse-taking herzog — at his sides, at his
back, and still pouring round him, a bewailing crowd, every hand
held out, every finger twiddling — what can we do for the poor
herzog? — every mouth full of achs and ochs J

I yield to no man in proper sympathy — I say it. If anything I
am too soft. And for gutturals, or any stomach-sounds to show
it, I am your man. Striking in on one of the tianks, I held out both
han<la, twiddled all the fingers, and gave the thumbs in.

" Ogh — ngh — igh — ugh ! who took the horses I eigh— ugh ! pretty
felonious herzog, indeed — agh— ogh ! A providential stop thief —
ugh — igh ! Better stop at home than turn high way- robber — ugh^
eigh ! Cheating never prospers — ogh — igh! Herzog is as herzog
does — ogh — ugh I Keep your fingers from picking and stealing—
agh — for shame! Train up your young herzogs in the way they
should go, and when they are grown up they won't put tlieir feet in
it— ugh — ogh I and get sprained ankles — ogh — ogh !

Dr, Fenncr prescribes quiet, patience, and fomentations for a day
or two. Cunning Dr. Fenner. Perhaps a little bone out of place !—
very cunning Dr. Fenner I

And now we are at Wiesbaden in spite of herzogs. Wiesbaden,
at which the only pleasant time is early morning ; all is so fresh and
so sweet, and amongst those pleasant gardens it is soothing to walk
about full of hot water, you almost fancy yourself a '* biler," stvoUvu^
at large, unattached tu any train.

TO WIESBADSar.

m politics or areumrot
YoBT annnalcules — like
r. I Mod by ber of
ami get it down
dead bnHk md
travels open &aa llie
ja« ticUe to death with your tectfab
At I^L 9Hi» w ikBve b eeii dreBCBSOf
the vindcnrol dii
m Raaie with a wretched
her arm that sbe n
kftb tiiac she laoca the t-
itt. tfaevii.
gmng on; panic
■othing else to J <
Asi^lBsh. U'ht
t Towadi? People don't »cnrl
To acU ? Why, who wooli •
I thtac as that? It couUl u .
1 and hnddled-up old dre«. it
mt Oij^inrra, and ol' carriai^vs without d-
A^, and Afld-Aaauer, without end; of
and eiittagtM, and
es. it i& now oa iu
old dotbea-ehopy or, likdjr cnoaAi
Stai, 1^ Higlht hare had the decency to aend it
t tmf ntt^ Bat on a Sandaj mu t idy g.
" HiUa ! ai« x«« X"""! ** P^^ away the dress ?**
"Yai*.-

" Or, to «t it ■■Ardy
-YaiiL-

** Yam arc qeiibe asre it is not this way ?" pmnting to the tube
«0Df«TS the ws«er ham. the raoC

deU«be

'Yab.-

"*8l«pMlci««t«re; d
Imm a BBOce povcrM
cmr. (TiMt I AmU hoUoa
a teade«ial>le witenng-pUeeL)

are lost upon her ; but,
aaay tell before she reaches
a word en a Sunday moming

« Yws."

" Bless me! whst » hope l eai case is this. To think of any
countrywoman beinc; reduced to such a strait- And how much»
her most exinita$*nt irospnatioo^ does she think to realise ? Wo«I
iha (oodfst reUlive entertain a proposal to do a couple of florins u|
it> Would he not, indeed, rstber hesitate at one? When
comes to think o£ the wear and tear a rather dark thing like
tnutt have had before it could be reduced to this sUte of limp
Aided fallenness. it i» really painful to imagine the results. I sii
cerely hope it may not be her last chance ; for, what abrasions
thin places may not a professional searcher bring to light ? Besidt
the* iransaciion U slightly damaging the national character. Really.
tht'i'liht I, working myself up into some measure of enthusiasm. "1
I \ ralh*?^. >*" '^ could have been any way managed, have come fo"
" 1,1 in an avuncular character my*elf, and done what I could
distressing circumsuitces. 1 know what it is to be high

WHAT CAN SORROW DO ?

191

dry on a foreign shore. Perhaps her husband has run awav and left
her ; or she has lost her circulars, or apeciilated too Fondly on the
red, or broke down in her martingale."

Moralizing thus upon the bit of muslin, I wrs leaning at lOh. ]5in.
against the hotel door-poat, when something bltje loomed up in the
di&tance — vast — inflated — enormous t What could it be ? The Nas-
sau balloon just arrived, perhaps, and Mr. Green sailing easily up
the town, to drop his grappling in the little square here before the
hotel.

" Why, really— it can't be? — it i»t— the same dress, held out upon
the same red arm, — the other at a right-angle to balance it; and,
what with the thick barrcl.fi^ure of the girl, the two red arms, and
the dress, the street was hardly wide enough. Clear the way, there!
The red fingers scraped the right-hand corner, while the tenth
flounce barely cleared the barber's window oppobite. Make way j
— a good sweep of the corner, to clear the trees, — that 'a it! The
gentleman at the window thinks you are going to take him by the
nose, —never mind. It ib a triumph indeed 1 Thii^ is what we call
' getting-up ' in Nassau, Look before you, you silly girl ! not up at
the first-floor windows. We are all right here, ma'am ; do, please,
for one moment to look down. Stop ! let me open the double-door.
One wheel more; and mind the spiked chains. Now then — muslin
first ["

There was a rustle — a faint cry — a •* Tankee, tankee," — and the
precious argosie, with royals, stud ding- sails, flying-kites, and flounces,
sailed gloriously into port.

I merely mention this circumstance with a view to inform my fair
countrywomen^ travelling, it may be, with only one dress, that at
Wiesbaden, while you are taking your bath, and doing your hair,
and just seeing how you look in the glass, that dress — howe\'er
rumpled it may be. — however limp, starchiest, draggle-tailed, and
down-fallen at Bh. 30m*, can be made gloriou&ty tit for church at
JOh- 15m.

WHAT CAN SORROW DO ?

What can Borrow do7 it cliaDf^tti &biaing' hair to grejr ;
P&leth the cheek — an eniblem of mortality'" decay ;
Chaiigclh the clear mtd truthful glaru« to diiii unearthly liffht.
Whence gBlheriiig shadows round the heart ihed dark and endleu night.

What can sorrow do ? it weaveth memoriea. and the mtnd
Promrnle in niinii layeth to its influence reait^iied ;
AfTectioii'a hcrikhfiit current, the swceteikt and the best.
Last amid E]ut>ds of hitterness — the waters of unrest.

What can sorrow dn? it vaunteth reason *a boasted iway ;
Phibsophy*s voin-gtorious dreams, sets fortJi in rold arrnv,
And when the combat's o'er and gained, 'tis found the fiie hath reft
The heart of hope and innocence, and pridt* hnth only left \

Wliat can sorrow do ? it bringeth the sinner home to God ;
The siuhbom will it bendeth, beneath His chaslcuing rod :
As gold by lire in purified, from out that furnace dread.
The broken heart, by mercy cleansed, is heavenward gently led.

CAPTAIN SPIKE;
OK, TUB ISLETS OP THK O U L F«

BY TH* AUTUOR OP "THE PILOTi" " RBD ROVER, " KTC.

'* Max hath a weary pitgnma^.

As through tlic world he wendi ;
Ou every Hla^e, fmni youth to ugt,

StiU discontent attends ;
With heaviiieu he caita his eye

Upim the road before.
And still rvmemhert with a sij^h

The days that nre no raoro.**

SOCTBET.

CIIAPTKB XVI.

It has now become necessar) to advance the tinae three coiire daj«.
and to change the tcenc to Key West. A» this tatter place may not be
known to the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a small
sca-uort, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that dot
the Florida Ruef, th:it has risen into notice, or indeed into existence ui
town, since the acquisition of the Ploridas by the American Uepublir.
Por many years it was the resortof few besides wreckers, and those «bo
live by the business dependent on the rescuing and repairing of slrandrd
vessels, not forgetting the salvages. WTien it is Tcmembered that tlw
greater portion of the vessels that enter the Gulf of Mexico, stand clo«
along this reef before the Trades, for a distance varying from one to l«Q
hundred miles, and that nearly everything which quits it is obliged to hell
down its rocky coast in the Ciulf stream, for the same distance, une is not
to be sarprised that the wrecks which so constantly occur, can supply \ht
wants of a considerable population. To bve at iCcy West is the Desi
thing to being at sea. The place has sea-air, no other water than sucb
as is preserved in cisterns, and no soil; or so little of the last as to roo-
der even a head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle is abundant, and the business
of '* turlling" forms an occupation additional to that of wrecking. Ai
might bo expected in such circumstanccfi. a potato is a far more prectoiu
thing than a turtle's egg ; mid a sack of the tubers would probably be
deemed a sufficient remuneration for enough of the materials of callipash
and callipee to feed all the aldermen extant.

Of late years the government of the United States has turned its «!•
tention to the capabilities of the Plorida Itecf as an advanced uarsl
statiou ; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen's Iloads, for the West India sea*.
As yet. Utile has been done beyond making the preliminary surveys ;
but the day is probably not very far distant, when fleets will He at
anchor among the i»lets described in our earlier chapters, or garnish the
fine waters of Key West. For a long time it was thought that even
frigates would have a difficulty in entering and quitting the port of the
latter, but it is said that recent explorations have discovered channels
capable of admitting anything that floaU. StiU, Key West is a town
yet in its chrysalis state ; possessing the promise, rather than the fruilioD
of the prosperous days which are in reserve. It may be well to add that
it lies a very little north of the twenty-fourth degree of latitude, and in
a longitude quite five degrees west from W^ashington. Until the recent

CAPTAIN SPIKE. 19S

conquests in Mexico it was ihe most southern possession of the Ameri-
can poveniriicnt^ on Iho unstoni siilc of the conlinent ; Cape St. Lucas,
at tho extremity of Lower California, howc\'er, being two de^eea fur-
ther south.

It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the character
of Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent occurrence, A very
few weeks after the closui^ scenes of this tale, tlie town in question was
in a ^reat measure washed away. A hurrieanc brought in the sea upon
all these islands and reefs, water running in swift currents over places
that within the memory of man were never before submerged. The
lower part of Key West was converted into a raging sea, and everything
In that quarter of the place disappeared. The foundation bemg of
rock, however, when the ocean retired, the island came into view again»
and industry and enterprise set to work to repair the injuries.

The government has eatablisht'd a small hospital for seamen at Key
West. Into one of the rooms of the building thusappropriatrd our narra-
tive must now conduct the reader. It contained but a single patient, and
that was Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be but the pre-
cursor of a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room with the
dying man were two females, in one of whom our readers will at onco
recognise the person of Hose Kudd, dressed in deep mourning for her
aimt. At first sight, it is probable that a casual spectator would mis-
take the second female for ono of the ordinary nurses of the place. Her
attire was well enough, though worn awkwardly^ and as if its owner
were not exactly at her ease in it. She had the air of oni- in her best
attire, who was unaccustomed to be dressed nbove the most common mode.
What added to the singularity of her appearance, was the fact that, while
she wore no cap^ her hair had been cut into short, gray bristles, instead
of being long and turned up, as is usual with femnlcR. To give a sort of
climax to this uucouth appcaranccj this strange-looking creature chewed
tobacci) I

The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was em-
ployed in one of the commonest avocations of her sex ; that of sewing.
She held in her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike's in fact, which she
seemed to be intently busy Jn mending. AUhough the work was of a
qiiallly that invited the use of the palm and sail-needle, rather than that
of the thimble and the smaller implements known to seamstresses, tho
woman appeared awkward at her business, as if her coarse-looking and
dark hands refused to lend themselves to an occupation so feminine.
NevertheletiS, there were touches of a purely womanly character about
this extraordinary person, and touches that particularly attracted the at-
teiition, and awakened the sympathy of the gentle Ruse, her companion.
Tears occasionally struggled out from beneath her eyelids, crossed her
dark sunburnt cheek, and fell on the coarse canvass garment that lay
in her lap. It was after one of these sudden and strong exhibitions of
feeling, thai Koso approached her, laid her little fair hand in a friendly
way, though unheeded, on the other*s shoulder, and spoke to her in her
kindest and softest tones. "I do really think he is reviving. Jack/'
said HosCj "and that you may yet hope to have an intelligent conversa^
tion with him."

•'They all agree he mimt die," answered Jack Tier, for it was //*», ap-
pearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that had now
lasted fully twenty years, — " and he will never kaovt vi\\o \ ax&» wr^ C&»X

194

CAPTAIN spike;

ind

1 forgive him. He must thiuk of me ia auolher world, though he ii not
able to do it in this ; hut it would be a great relief lo his soul to know
that L forgive him."

*' To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife
before he closes his eyes for ever, and I dare say that it would be a g^cat
relief for you to tell him that yuu have furgulten his desertion of you,
and all the hardships it has brought upon you, in boarching for him, and,
in earning your own livelihood as a common sailor."

*' 1 shall nut tell him I 've/hn/oifen it, Miss Hose; that would b« ui
true, and there shall be no more deception between us ; but I th(
tell him that IJoiyice him, as I hope God will one day forgive all jny sins.'
" II is certainly not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreign laud,
and then to seek to deceive another woman," quietly observed Rose. ■
" He's a willain !" muttered the wife, — *' but — but — " fl

" You forgive him, Jack — yes, I 'm sure you do. You are too good i "
Christian lo refuse lo forgive him. '

" 1 'm a woman a'ter atl. Miss Hose, and that I believe is the truth of
it. I suppoite I ought to do as you say, for the reason you mention;
hut I 'nt iiis wife, and uuce he loved me, though i/iat has long been over.
When I Hrst knew Stephen, 1 'd the sort of fccliu's you speak of, ootl
was a very different creatur' from what you see me to-day. Change
comes over us all with years and suffering."

Rose did not answer, hut she stood looking intently at the speaker,
more than a minute. Change had indeed come over her, if she had ever
possessed the power to please the fancy of any living roan. }ler fea-
tures had always seemed diminutive and mean for her assumed sex, as
lier voice was small and cracked ; but, making every allowance for the
probabilities. Hose tbund it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier had ever
possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence, the
attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had aajuired the tanniiip
of the sea, the expression of her face had become hard and worldly, and
her habits contributed to render those natural consequences of exposure
and toil even more than usually marked and decided. By oayinf^
" habits," However, wc do not mean that Jack had ever drunk to excess,
as happens with so many seamen ; for this would have been doing her
injiislicp; but she smoked and chewed ; practices that intoxicate in an-
other form, and lead nearly as many to the grave as excess in drinking.
Thus all the accessories about this singular being partook of the charac-
ter of her recent life and duties. Her walk was between a waddle and
a seaman's roll, her hands were dtscolourud with tar and had got to be
full of knuckles, and even her fccL had degenerated into that flat, broad-
toed form, that, perhaps, sooner diFtinguishes caste, in connection with
outward appearances, than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet this
being /ntd once been young; had once been even fair; and had once
possessed that feminine air and lightness of form, that as often belongs to
the youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl of any other
nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion, for some
time, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out upon
the port. ^

" I am not certain whether it would do him good, or not, lo see this H
sight,** she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effect of her ■
words, even on the latter. ** But here are the sloop of war, and several^l
other vessels." ^|

OK, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

195

** Ay, »h« 'a t^ere ; but never will his foot be pnt on board the Swasb
mgain. Wlien he bought tliat brig I was still young and agreeable to
him, and be gave her my nmiden-nanie, which was Mary, or Molly Swash.
But that is all changed; I wonder he did not change the name of bii
vessel, with his change of feelin's,"

** Then you did really sail in the brig, in former times, and knew the
seaman whose name you assumed?"

'* Many years. Tier* with whose name I made free, on account of
bis sixe and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care> and
his protection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my head
of hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and
we were lefl ashore at the same time ; I, intentionally, I make no ques-
tion; and he because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose
to wait for a man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very
next day, and did not live forty-eight hours. So the world goes; them
that wish to live, die; and them that wants to die, live.**

*' You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack — quite
twenty years a sailor, did yon not tell me ?"

'* Every day of it. Miss Rose; and bitter years have they been. For
the whole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my
own secret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood."

•• You could not have been old when he left — that is-^when you
parted ? '

•• Call it by its true name, and say at once — when he desarted me.
1 was under thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex
to look on. All tJuU is changed since ; but I was comely, then."

" WTiy did Capt. Spike abandon you, Jack ? you have never told me
that."

" Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has been
fancying others instead of remembering me. Had he got yo\t, Miss
Rose, I think he would have been content for the rest of his days."

" Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry Captain
Spike."

"You 're well out of bis hands," answered Jack, sighing heavily,
which was much the most feminine thing she had done during the whole
conversation ; *' wq11 out of his hands, and God be praised it is so I He
should have died before I would let him carry you off the island, husband
or DO husband !"

" It might have exceeded your power to prevent it, under other cir-
cumstances.

Hose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her
Ibotights reverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her
cheeks as she remembered the love of one and the fidelity of the other.
Their horrible fate had given her a shock that at first menaced her with
a severe fit of illness ; but her strong good sense and excellent constitu-
tion, both sustained by her piety and Harry's manly tenderness, had
brought her through the danger, and left her as the reader now sees her,
struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of use to the still more
unhappy woman who had so singularly become her friend and com-
panion.

The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had early
made the females on board the Swash her coufidants. Rose had known
the outUues of her history from the first few days they were at sea to-
XXIII. p

196

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

frether, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that bad caused
Mulford so much ^urpri&e. Jack's motive in making his ivvelations
might possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a desire to save
one as youn^and innocent as Kose was at its bottom. Few persons but
a wife couM have supposed that Ito-ie could have been io any danger
from a lover like Spike: but Jack savr him witti the eyes of her own
youth, and of past recollections rather than with those of truth.

A movement from the wounded man first drew Rose from the win-
dow. Drying her eyes hastily, she turned towards him, fancyinf^ that
she might prove the better nurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack's
greater interest in the patient

*' W^at pUce is this, and why am I here?" demanded Spike, with
more strength of voice than could have been expected after all that had
passed. " This is not a cabin — not ihe Swash ; — it looks like a hos-
piul."

" It is a hospital, Captain Spike," said Rose gently, drawing n«ar the
hed. ** You have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and
placed in the hospital. I ho^>e you feel better, and that you suffer no paio."

*• My head isn't right — -1 don't know — everything seems turned round
with me — perhaps it will alt come out ns it should. I begin to remem-
ber — where is my brig?"

'* She is lost on the rocks; — ihc seas have broken her into frag-
ments."

*' That is melancholy ncwsj at any rate. Ah I Miss Rose, God bio
you I r ve had terrible dreams ! Well, it *3 pleasant to be among fricndfc |
What creature is that? — where does «/(« come from ?"

** That is Jack Tier ;" answered Rose, steadily, " she tuma out to bff
a woman, and has put on hor proper dress, in order to attend on you
during your illness. Jack has never left your bedside since we have b
here."

A long silence succeeded this revelation. JacVs eyes twinkled, and
she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, whcra:
emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Ros<]
thought it might be well to leave the man and wife alone, and she managed
to get out of the room unobserved.

Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female who was no*
his solo companion. Gradually bis recollection returned, and with
the full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fullfj
aware of the abselute certainty of his approaching death, but be mu4
have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that
the result might early prove fatal. Stilt, that strange and uu known
figtire haunted him ; a figure that was so diflerent from any he had ever
seas before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong
quite as much to oue sex as to the other. As for Jack — wc call Molly
or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it is more
familiar, but because the other name seotns really out of place as
applied to such u person — as for Jack, there she sal, with her face half
averted, thumbing the canvass, and endeavouring to ply the needle, but
perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's eyes were on her,
and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much time, exposure, and
circumstances had changed her person, and she would gladly have hid-
den the defects iu her appearance. Mary Swash was the daughter as
-veil aa the wife of a ship-master. In her youth, as has been said before.

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

itfr

she had even been pretty, and down to the day when her husband de-
serted her, she would have been thought a female of a comely appearaucst
rather than the reverse. Her hair, in particular, though slightly coarsey
perhaps, had been rich and abundant ; and the change from the long, dark,
shining, flowing locks which she still possessed in her thirtieth year, to the
short grey bristles that now stood exposed, without a cap or covering of
any sort, was one very likely to destroy all identity of appearance.
Then Jack had passed from what might be called youth to the verge of
old age, in the interval that she had been separated from her husband.
Her shape had changed entirely, her complexion was utterly gone, and
her features, always unmeaning, though feminine and suitable to
her sex, had become hard and Blighlly coarse. Still, tliere was some-
thing of her former self about Jack that bewildered Spike, and his eyes
continued fastened on her for quite a quarter of an hour, in profound
silence,

" Give me some water/' said the wounded man. '* I wish some water
to drink.*'

Jack arose, filled a tumbler, and brought it to the side of the bed.
Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were ri-
vetted on his strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he
asked,

•• Who are you? How came you here?"

*' I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of
the sick."

*• Are you man or woman ?"

" That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I
think myself each, sometimes neither."

" Did I ever see you before ?"

*• Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage."

•» You I — that cannot be. If so, what is your name ?*'

"Jack Tier."

A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike
to muse as intently as his condition would allow, though the truth
did not yet flash on his understanding. At length, the bewildered man
again spoke.

" Are you Jack Tier ?" he said slowly, like one wh» doubted. *' Yes,
I now see the resemblance, and it was that which puzzled rae. Are
they so rigid in this hospital, that you have been obliged to put ou wo-
man's clothes in order to lend me a helping hand ?'*

" I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons."

" But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford,— ay, I remember now :
you were in the boat, when I overhauled yon all, on the reef."

" Very true ; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike,
It was you who abandoned me on the islet in the gulf, and that makes
the second time in your life that you have left me ashore, when it was
your doty to carry me to sea."

*' The first time I was in a hurry and could not wait for you ; this last
time you took sides with the women. But for your interference 1 should
bare got Rose, and married her> and oil would now have been well
•Uh me."

This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to hi? lepal
wife. But, after all Jack had endured, and all Jack hnd seen during the
late voyage, she was not to be overcome by this arowai Her self-

CAPrAm SFfKE;

may ofiCD
excileiL

of emo-

m voBMo myself,** she

if i ktwm ined to bria^

'*lt't» Balnal &r u aU to take sdes with

* Too a vaHH% Jaek? — Iktt ii ref^ if ia ii«M> Since vhen htte
fan UM for « woamn ? Yoo kave iliip|>ed vilh me twice, and each
tbae as a man, — iho a gh I never tiMiagkt yoo able to do tcananV

4ltT."

^ Kerttth ckj i , I am vbtt yoa tee — a voiMa born and edkaled ; ow
ibat nerv had on mtm'9 dren tiU I knew yoo. You supposed me to be
a nvi vbcD I «aaw off to 70a ia the skiff to Kbe eastvard of Rzker's
liliaH ; bat I wm tbaa vbai ]r(m aov tec"

" I begin to oBdentaad matten,*' njomed the iDTalid» musio^U.
" Ajf av, k. aptaa apoa ac ; aad 1 now see boa it was you made such
fiur wfalhfr inik Midwn Bodd and preitr, pretty Rose. Rose is
prettTy JmL ; joa amft adnut Ciaf, tboogh yoa be a woman.'*

** ftoee u pretty, I do adnit it ; and iHiat is better, sbe is good^ It
re<{iiired a beavy draft oa Jack's jnstioe and magnanimity, however, to
make ibis coocessiaD.*'

** And you toM Roee and SCad«B Budd about your sex, and that wis
tbe reaAon ibey took to yoo so on the v'y'ge ?"

** I toM them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. Thcr
know my whole story.*

" Did Rose approve of yoor sailing under false colours. Jack ?"

'* You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my fnend:
but she never said anything for or against my disguise."

** It was no great disguise, a'ter all. Jack. Now you *re fitted out ia
your own clothes, you've a sort of half rigged look. One would be as
likely to set you down as a man under jury -canvass as for a wom^n."

Jack made 00 answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for
Spike himself) he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaos-
tion, but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was
diligently but awkwardly plied in this pause.

Spike 5 ideas were still a little confused, but a silence and rest of a
quarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that lime
he again asked for water. When he had drunk, and Jack was ones
more seated with his side-face towards him, at work with the needle^
the Captain gazed long and intently at this strange woman. It hi^
pencd that the profile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her
former self than the full face, and it was this resemblance that now at-
tracted Spike's attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the trulti
yet gleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though lie
could not even tell what that something was, much less to what or wboD
it bore any resemblance. At length he spoke.

" I was loM that Jack Tier was dead,** he said ; " that he look the
fever and was in his grave within eight and forty hours oiler we sailed.
That was what they told me of /im."

" Ami what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike; sh«
that yuu le(l ashore nt the time Jack was left V*

" They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of bcr
b at New Orleens three years later."

OK, THE ISLETS OP THE GULP.

199

*^ And how could you leave her aabore — she, your true and lawful
wife?"

** It was a bad thing," answered Spike, who, like all other mortals,
regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of the
grave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of hiii
uealth and strength ; *' yes, it wtK a very had thing ; and I wish it was
undone. Hut, it is too late now; she died of the fever, loo; that is
some comfort ; had she died of a broken heart, I could never have
forgiven myself. Molly was not without her faults ; great faults I con-
sidered them ; but, on the whole, Molly was a good creatur' I"

** You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?"

** I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Captain Swash
put his daughter's hand into mine, that the woman was not living who
WAS better in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes."

** Ay, ay, — when you married her ; but how was it a'terwards, when
Touwas tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes ?"*

" I desarted her, and God has punished me for the sin. Do you
know, Jack, that luck has never Xn'cn with me since that day. OfHen. and
often, have I bethought me of it, and sartain as you sit there, no great
luck has ever been with me, or my craft, since I went off leaving my wife
ashore. What was made in one vYge, was lost in the next. Up and
down, up and down, the whole time, for so many, many long years, that

fay hairs set in, and old age was beginning to get close aboard, and
as poor as ever. It has been rub and go with mc ever since ; and
I 've had as much as I could do to keep the brig in motion, the only
means that was left to make the two ends meet."

** And did not all this make you think of your poor wifcj she whom
you had so wronged ?"

*' I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at New OrUen^,
and then I gave it up as useless. Could 1 have fallen in with Molly at
any time a'ter the first six mouths of my desartion, she and I would have
come together again, and everything would liave been forgntten. I
knuw'd her verv natur', which was all forgiveness to me at the bottom,
though seemingly fto spiteful and hard."

'* Yet vou wanted to have this Hose Budd, who is only too young and
hand<*ome, and good, for you."

" 1 was tired of being a widower. Jack, and Rose w wonderful pretty !
She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfort-
able. The brig was old, as you must know, and has lung been off of all
the insurance offices' book^i, and she couldn't hold together much longer.
But for this sloop-of-war 1 should have put her off on the Mexicans,
and they would have lost her to our people in a month."

*' And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn out craft to any
one, Stephen Spike?**

8pike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of
trade. He who traffics much, most L'specially if his dealings he on so
■mail a scale as to render con'^tant investigations of the minor qualities
of things necessary, must be a very fortunate man if he preserve his
ttmscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusiont
therefore, the dying man — for death was much nearer to Spike than
even he supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own recovery, —
when Jack made this alluMon, then, the dying man was a good deal at
a loss to comprehend it. He saw no particular harm in making the

CAPTAIN SriKE.

best bsxgaia be ccmU, oor vas it easj lor \um to undentand why be
nigfat oat tSoaoaB of aay thwg be poeKned for the highest price thit
WIS to be ha«L SdXk be wtwereH ia an apologetic sort of w&j.

" Tbe brig vai old, I acknowledge," be said, *^ bat she wai stFoof
aad aii^if baf« nn a loag tine, t only spoke of her c&pture a* a thing
likely to take place toon, if the MvxicaDs got her, bo that her qualitie*
werv of DO great aeooant, uiileas it might be her speed, and that you
know was eieriUnt, Jack."

"* Aod TOO regret that brig, Stephea Spike, lying as you do there on
your death-bed, more than any thing el»e ?*

" Not as much as I do pretty Rose fiudd. Jack : Rosy is so delight-
ful to look at r

The muscles of Jack's face twitched a Uale, and she looked deeply
niortj&cd, for, to own the toith, she hoped that the conversation so hr
had so turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to hare
revired in him some of his former interest in herself. It is true, be
still believed her dead ; but this was a circumstance Jack OTerlooked,
so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival and be just. She felt the
necessity of being more explicit, and determined at once to come to tbe
point.

'* Stephen Spike," she said, steadily drawing near to the bed-side,
** you should be told the truth, when you arc heard thus extolling the
good looks of Rose Budd, with leas tLan eight and forty hours of life
remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three yean
a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you resd the
letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the
sea. tJial would have told you where she is to be found."

Spike fitared at the tipeaker intently, and when her cracked voiee
ceased, hut look was that of a man who was terrified, as well as be-
wildered. This did not arise still from any glcamings of the real state
of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience pricked
liirn, when hv hoard that his much wronged wife was alive. He foocicti
wiih n vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that a womso
abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many long aXKi
suffering years. ** Are you sure of what you aay^ Jack ? you wouldn't
take advantage of my situation, to tell me an untruth ?"

'* As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite
lately — talked with her of t/ou — in short, she h now at Key West,
knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your bedside.^

Notwitlistanding all this, and the many glcamings ho had had of the
facts during Uieir late intercourse on board the brig. Spike did not guest
at the truth. Ho appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to in*
crease.

** I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing bot
n moment to collect her own thoughts, *' Jack Tier, the real Jack
Tier, he who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore s<
the same time you dcHarted your wife, did die of the fever, as you wai
told, in eight and forty Iwurs a'ter the brig went to sea."

"Then who, in tbe name of Heaven, are you ? How came you 10
hail by another's name, as wtdl as by another sex ?"

** What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in ■
vtrangc land?**

" That ia remarkable ! So you 've been married i I should not have

THE POSTMAN,

201

thought that possible. And your husband dcsarted you, too, — well,
such things tlo happen."

Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not but 8«e thot her un-
gainly — we had almost said her unearthly ap()earance, prevented thocsp-
! tain from even yet fiuspectinfr the truth, and the meaning of his language
I was not easily to be mistaken. That any one should have married A«r,
I seem ed to her liusband as improbable^ as it was probable he would run
^Hky from Iter, as soon as it was in his power after the ceremony.
^V* Stephen Spike/' resumed Jack, solemnly, '* / am Mary Swasti I —
' / am your wife I"

Spike storied in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet, and
he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned awav and
wept. Her feelinga had been blunted by misfortunes, and the collisions
of a selfish world, but enough of former self remained to make this
the hardest of all the blows she had ever recci%'ed. Her husband, dying
as he was, as he mu.«t and did know himself to be, shrank from one of
her appearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by
ears and suffering.

THE POSTMAN.

BT H. R. ADDISOM.

f Speed thee on, oh! poscnmn, speed,
Pbum not to draw a hreath ;
On pauiitg si^hs beston- nu lieed.
Thou beoTMt litV' or death.
i£M:h itffp convey a nearer knell
^^Df joy to many a heart -,
^^Kle mony n Una Kh&ll sorrow tell
^^^knd hid e'eik ho[>e depart.
Tbenqieed tht^eim. »li ! p^Mtniun., speed,

Pamse nut to dniw a breath ;
On pasning crowds bestow no heed,
Thou bnirest life or death.

Von little note with mourniug seal
^^_Ak ^v of joys shidl l>ear,
^^■| uDi-te'ft death, its lines reveal
I^HTo his imprison 'd heir ;
F The miaer's K<Tne. the spendthrift now
' Sl^all soon destroy his health ;

Uis task, his only anient voir,
< To wute thy brtarded u-eaUli.
' Then iii>eed, &c.

Those ill-directed lines shall bear

To yonder widow's heart
A t«lc of ^rief and det;p deitpuir

Beyond iho healing art.
Uer only son, a soldier hrnvc,
^^Jttia motlier's prop and pride,
^^■foreign shores 1ms found a gravet
^^^B Victory's Up he died.
I- Then speed, &c.

sweetly-scented little note
^hidi woTu a lover's aikI's*
lined rake in anger wrote
ith a riratfs eyes —

That rival who has hraiight him low,

HiM pride and yet hix curse,
Whobids him woo, since (the must know

She 'U share the victim's purse.
Then speed, &«.

Von well-direi'teii folded sheet

Contains lu; Jocund fun,
It Uilka of **■ claims compelled to meet,'*

It BjieakB tlie flinty dun.
The little ernmpled dirty tiling,

H'hich you aside haw laid,
Shall tidings joyoiitt, happy bring

To yonder country uiaid.

Then spaud, &c

The rich man's prayer for bartered
health.

The broker's deep laid scheme,
The (MX<r man's cry for mispUred wealth.

The schtwl-pirlV early dream.
The hase seducer's luring tale,

The faisehood of a wife.
Dishonest dealers going to fail.

And sharper's gambling life.

Then speed, 8ic.

Thy little burden bears more woe,

More joy, more bopeiL, more fenra.
Than any living mind can know

Or learn in fifty yean ;
For thoughts unbrcathed arc wafted
there.

And minds, though far apart,
Shall lell far more than lanpiage c/otv.

Or utierauce cau impart.

Then speed, &c.

THE OLD MAX AND HIS GUESTS.

BY n. J. WBITLINO.

« WhiW 1 toocK tKe firing,

Wreathe my browi with laurel.
For the bdc I bniu;
Uu. at least, a monL**

Thk following story is gathered from a gossiping- tradition whict
Although probably hitherto unknown to the reader, is comaot
enough in the locality named. It« leading incidents are, with sow
slight occasional variation, in the mouth of every peasant in ihi
country round, where they are cherished and regarded with a rcrj
suspicious kind of veneration.

IDLESSE; OR, THB NOON-DAY HALT.

TofVARDe the close of the summer of 1606 a party of disbanded
spearmen had just returned from assisting one of the pugnadooi
bishops of Cologne in an attack, common enouj^h in those diyt,
upon the territories of some of his neighbours. Contrary, however,
to the custom oi' such meu at such iimcSj they were wandering along
silently and discouraged, for they had gained but little wherewitb
to line their pockets by the unlucky war which had been waged
against the Bavarian princes. That portion of the church-roiliiut
under whose banner they enlisted themselves, seems to have had the
worst of it, and now, they knew not U^day, how they should supplj
the wants of the morrow.

The times must, indeed, have appeared to them to be particularlr
hard, since the emperor had enjoined uidversal peace among the
rulers throughuut the holy Roman empire, in order the better to ]
assist the necessary combination against the danger which still '
threatened its frontier on the side of Turkey. All hope, therefore,
of occupation at home was for the present at an end ; and. to fight
against turbnn'd intidels> carrying horse-tails and crooked sabres, wai
the Inst thing likely to enter the heads of these worthies, not be-
cause they dreadetl hard knocks, but because they cared not to war
in an already devastated border, where, when the tight was done,
there was but little to expect by way of comfort for dry throats and
hungry stumachs.

Tiiey were, indeed, a motley and ill-assorted group, numbering
amongitt them men of all heights and ages, ready to do battle and to
sell their blood in the cause of any master, however desperate or
lawless his object might be. Their halberds and steel caps were all
rusting through the neglect consequent upon recent disuse; their
swords no longer glistened with their wonted brightness; their buff ■
COflt« shewed occasional spoU of mouldy hue ; their wide trunk-fl
hose had long ago lost their original colour; their shoes stained by "
die soil ami service of nmny countries, promised soon to part com-
pany with the feet they so made(|uately protected; and, altogether,
they presentetl as interesting a specimen of reckless and marauding
vagabondism as ever graced the times we speak of.

THE OLD MAN AND UIS GUESTS.

SOS

At they wended their way along the hot sni] dusty mad by Ams.
berg, some sullen and gloomy, others muttering between iJjeir
beardsj or cursing their stars in no very measured numbers, they
earae to a wood, on the skirt of which meandered a little stream,
tracing its crystal course between alders and overhanging bushes ;
here iliey agreed to halt awhile in the shadow, till the heat of the
day had abated, and then to continue their journey.

Little, however, did such turbulent spirits, accustomed to activity,
though, it must be confessed, not always of the most praiseworthy
kind, brook the delay in the long cool grass, still less could ihcy
think of slumbering. The place they had selected was, to be sure,
pleaaant enough ; but, then, what could they do? they had nothing
to wiie away the lime. If, indeed, a barret of the bishop's wine had
stood there, flanked by a roaring table, it would not only have been
endurable, but they would have revelled and feasted away in noisy
jubilee till the last morsel was eaten, nnd the barrel exhausted. As
It was, there they lay rolling about in all the restless abandonment
of discontented indolence. Some plied the dice upon a cloak which
had been outspread for the purpose, while others fetched water from
the brook in their iron caps, and, for the first lime perhaps for many
years, quenched their thirsts with a fluid for which throats so long
accustomed to wine had but little relish. The former, however,
soon became weary of play where there were no stakes; and the
others of a beverage which yielded neither gratification nor excite-
ment, and the old sense of tediousness again returned upon them.

At this moment one of them whose ill-favoured visage was so
mangled and scarred that it would have been difficult to discover in
it a sound place as broad as the dice he had been throwing, then
addressed his comrades: "Arnoldi may as well take thiii opportu-
nity of fulfilling his promise, by telling us how it is he contrives lo
find his way out of every scrimmage safe and sound ; for, though he
is always tiie first to enter where bl(^s fall thickest, yet not a
scratch can he shew throughout his \^ole carcass ; and at every
oniet, the devil, who. I can't help thinking must be some relation of
hia, seems to wrap him away in fire."

"True, by — " said another, of younger blood, beneath whose
middle feature the fledging down was just appenring like n soft lock
of wool, " all true ; I saw Arnoldi at Dettelbach, standing unhurt
amongst the lances and swords, which flashed and glittered around
him like lightning; ihe ihunder-boxcs peppering awav all the while
as if it snoued le^id ; and when the pastime (for it was nothing else
to him) wa& over, there he stood leaning on his halbert, coolly shak-
ing out the bullets, which rattletl like peas from his breeches and
doublet. But not one dot of a wound had he on his impenetrable
bide ; while I, stuck as full of darts ah a hunted bo/ir, was hacked
and hewed like mincemeat for the great Nuremberg sausage."'^

•' Ay, ay ! we know it," cried the otliers ; " ynu are right ; so tell

* A Kaitronoinical work of art, for ivbirh tlie German FliirtMicp is still, thnu^h
rui mntx in «> f^rtnt a degree, rammu I TUii liu^« iuitui|i^, measuring upn-nnls iif
300 fret in Iviigth, and gaily bcdeckrd with rtl>lM)ns and flowers, wnx, in the previ-
mt% jreftr, bunie throuffli the »treet> of Nurcmlierg on the Imcclicn* feiut-day, to
the great terror of the ]H>rrine rnre, who arc rc>presentcd with agonifted traturcMi
KSlRpcring olT in all ilim-tion», with tuiU ciirleil nifMt distnictinKly, and Uiuir
whoia moM c£ blood evidently turned at the Mght of thiti fearful pfitceskion 1

THE OLD MaH

iu« Araokfi, borw yov aHaa^ ft. You cannot deny that your skin
m bttfid-pcvaC fiv we have all seen it too often. Vou must tell ui,
AwmaUBk; jtm mBit — yoamvgu even though the Hevil himself fetch
yovlbrdMclaang bis secrets ; so let us hear your tongue unce more."

** Ya« ars aradi mtMt Ukdy to feel the weight of my arm," Mid
iW edicr, wilk a ■aHOHf gotnre. "if you do not wag your beardi
Ieaa6«riy-

Bat it vas of ao avail, tus comrades allowed him no repose ; there
were tboae aboot faim wbo,e«|oaUT desperate, did not fear him ; uitl
at kBgtl^ iter waanf m bard word and hearty curse, be prepared, if
DOl to satkify, ai kak to dir<ri them.

It aunt be miiMkwIj bowerer. that he did so with no good will ;
gladhr woold be bare icsofted to blows to pacify their bantering,
coakTbe hare hoped tbe subject woald then have been suffered to
sleep ; but in an eril and unguarded hour, he had, over the wine
eepk divlyrt a few pacrticatars of his earlier life, which, thoufi;h
coa f baed aad broken enough under the circumstances of their di»>
closure, were of su lfccienit interest to awaken their curiosity, and ex-
cite a desire to bear OMre. Proaa that unlucky moment his com*
panions had given him no rest, hut rallied him incessantly till he
could no Wnger endure their tormenting recollections ; and now,
amid»t loud cries of " The story ! the story ! we must have the story,
though R«*V«m« himself help to tell it/' Amoldi thus began : —

'* 1 heed not jour miserable lies.*' said he, grinding his teeth, " «ny
more than I should the drunken babblings of so many old women ;
and. as to the spells you speak of. 1 know but of one, and let that
suffice, M it has served many a stout man in his hour of need, and
may, perchance, help some of you to cheat the devil a little longtf I
of his due, if you will only roAke the trial."

The eyes of the surrtmnding group gUsteneil with expectation,
and their face* gathered increased earnestness while they listened to
the deep and measured acceq,ts of the speaker.

t< In the holy night,

In tbe pale moonlight, .

Let ths Tu^gin ply her ipeU, 1

She must sfAn alone, I

And in smother 'd tune j

InTuke the pHwers of hell — I

And while the mysiic words she brcaUws.
The npindle rxHh in fierjr wresthi ;
And 6aii>hcd ihiu amidst the cbann
No mortal can the wemnsr barra.'*

**But, what is to be spun?" said his companions.

" A linen garment, which must be spun by a pure virgin on the
holy night, and worn ufxm the naked hotly," replied Arnoldi.

*' And you mean to tell us that neither cut, thrust, bullet, nor
blow, can injure the wearer?"

** I do; and am ready to uphold that truth with dagger and
BU'ord ; and, further, that he who wears such a one is not only sale
from all murderous weapons ; but that he need not even fear the
devil himself, should he approach in mortal sha^>e."

•'And you wear such a one?" imjuired ihcy,

" Is it likely ?" said Arnoldi, grimly smiling, "when, as you a
know. I iiin not lucky enough to possess a shirt even of th.it sort

with whicU every Christian should cover his back; and then, as to
the other, pure viigina are not very likely to be bo much in love
with me as to work the devil's cliarm in order to prolong my life."

"And yet, methinks, if you had not tried it," rejoined one of his
hearers, "you would scarcely be so ready to pleilge life and limb in
upholding its efficacy."

** Excuses — empty excuses J" cried as with one voice the impatient
listeners,

" Peace I" growle<l Arnoldi, in a rasping voice, — *' peace, I say,
and shame me no more that I have been such a babbling fool thus
far to utter dead men's tales. But let the rest for ever remain be-
hind the hedge; 'twere dangerous for us allj so let it pass, therefore,
pats it aitsurcilly will — unconcluiM."

But the yells of his now more than ever excite<l and boisterous
associates would not permit it.

•• You skulk behind the hedge no longer!" cried they. "If the
devil were at your elbow when you made ihe promise, let him an-
swer as to its fulfilment now !" and, finding it in vain to attempt
quieting them in any other way, he thus once more began, after
again cautioning them o^ the danger they incurred in listening to a
cnarraed tale.

THE SPELL.

" My birthplace was in Brunswick ; ray parents were Italians ;
and my home is at Eimbeck, where my brother still lives. He work-
ed with my father at husbandry ; but, for myself, shovel and plough
were alike baleful to me. I detested the consUmt disturbiuice of the
M>il as the worst species uf drudgery, and determined to buffet about

TQE OLD MAK

the worid in ray own vay^ rather th&n submit to it My parents re-
mmmttntbtd oAn aid rti wi gl y, but without effect ; and, at lenizt'
vidi a view to hmmmtr ray roving and restless spirit, as well a>
aaverae Av^ tbe eooKqacDCCs of totJLl indolence, sent me to
lUMph. Ite foeitcraf the Soiling. M'ith him I learnt to trap :
wolf Md totpcar tbe boar; to take from the fox his brush, and fri
tbe bear loi akia. Tbas I paased manj a year of ray earlier 1.
toagb with wm oecapaftMm for which my habits and expeh-
ao fiv qaafificd Be, that ■> skill and dexterity in alt matters be-
to futrat uaft Um eoald equal, and, save the old forester.
c ott id ewal raci

** One eveaia^ as I was retaming home, laden with the spoils of
the day» old Rj i diih net me. The hand of death was on his brov,
■nd be told rac i^oobuIt that his hour was come.

" • C^K*,' saaa be, * I had the hope to creep about on my chjwt
— ^beit old, and perhaps inSno, — till the end of the world ; hot,
what WBjtf be anutf* — ior who can oootrol his destiny ? Before I go,
boverer. I woaki ftai put vou in possession of some secrets with
«hicfa till thos mofaent jou have been unacquainted : nor should 1
now be permitted to reveal them, were it not tliat the time of our
aeparatioQ is nigh at hand. A portion uf my skill I have already in^-
paitcd to you. Vo« know not bow I acquired it, nor is it now vf
CCOsanr» since yon hare obtained thus much without the drend pena i-
tj whicfa others mnst pay. Bat it is possible it may not long a\:i)
you, since the game on tbe Soiling is daily diminishing, to an extent
that, without care, leaves but little hope for the future. My first
coonad to you. therefore, is to quit for a while your present em-
ployraent, and enter for a year or two a free company ; which, firrv-
mg different masters in different lands, »ill not only afford you an
opportunity of seeing something of the world, and perhaps enriching
voursclf under one or other of the leaders; but, on your return
liither you will again find the game in its former abundance, which
h.ns for the last few years been fatally thinned by two such dertl'i
huntsmen as the world has never before seen^ 'Tis true, there i§
less danger in feathered bolts than in leaden bullets ; but, a^iiinst
/AetH, an* thou hast the courage, thou mayst secure thyself. Tboa
secHt Mir.' said the old man, at the same time holding towards me s
curiously-formed key. su«pende<l by a party-coloured ribbon from
bis neck, *take it; but not till I am dead,' said he solemnly,—
* mind, not iiU I am dead, Anioldi, — and open the caf^ket which hangs
on the wall of the room where I sleep. Inside it you will see a largt
phini, together with a parchment scroll. Read it, and you will ffitd
written thereon Aow. and for n'hat the former serves. But, mark*
let no hiicrnipiiun of sounds, whether of earth, air, or hell, induce
you for one inomont to remove your eyes from the scroll yoii are
rcuding until all the contents are perused, othcrwhe you art lost, and
for ever ; but, once read, then use it as ye may, — for the im|>ort,
dark, terrible, ttn<l strong, abides on the memory till the wing of the
tngvi of death fihall sweep it away. So much for t/ur ; and now for

'••When my crest is bowed, and my eyes become cold anil

Ark, take m« away to the Soiling by Vr.Ur ; seek out a Vrce space

„ .k* green Icvol, clear of trees, and there bury me. Lay my hend

the west; my feet to the rising uf the sun ; cover my grave

AND HI8 GUESTS.

with a tliick and heavy atone, that the prowling wolf may not un-
earth me, and, after appeasing his frightful hunger, leave the rest a
pre)* to the fox and the raven. Thou canst a1»o place old Herod and
a boar-spear with me in my grave, for une knows not what may
bereafler befal him, and in my next service I may perchance have
need of both. My poor hound is, like myself, old and useless, lose*
the scent every moment, and can no longer track his game. Why,
tfaeOy should we separate.^ Why leave my old and faithful companion
tomisft his master, and miserably hunger on the flixir of the stranger,
amidst recollections of earlier and belter times? No. Arnoldi, we
will lace death as we have hitherto faced all danger — together; andl
charge thee to lay his bones in the same grave with mine.*

" Thus spake old Rudolph, — thus 1 promised him, — and at mid-
night he died. I buried him, as he said, together with Herod and
the boar-spear, and covered their grave with an enormous stone. Jt
was not till my return from this sad duty, — which 8howe<I my eyes
in those days to be little better than a woman's, — that I first recol-
lected the key. Taking, therefore, my cross-bow, and the imple-
ments I liad already used, I hastened back, late as it was, to the
forest-grave ; but, scarcely had 1 begun to dig when the voices of the
old hunter and his dog came borne upon the wind, mingled with
sounds of exultation and distress, whicK increased as they approach-
ed, till at length it seemed as if a party of wild foresters were out on
the chase, and pursuing their game amidst cries and uproar of the
most unearthly kind. By this time all around had become involved
in pitchy darkness, and a violent storm of wind drove, and raged,
and roared again, as though it would rend the very oaks. My heart
clicked like a Nuremberg egg;* and for the first time in my life I
k]iew what it was to fear. But I was then a superstitious boy ; and.
scarcely aware of what I did, made the sign of the cross on my
breast, and again taking courage, I bent my bow. *Come what
will/ said I, drawing it with all my force, — * come what will within
the line of this bolt, it must go to pieces, were it even the devil
himself.' For a moment after the shot did that wild music fearfully
increase ; but it suddenly died away in a wail, and all was still. The
moon broke forth from behind a thick curtain of clouds, and I again
resumc^d my labour.

" On obtaining the key from the yet scarcely cold body, I instant-
ly returned to the cottage of the forester. Arriving, 1 lighted a pine
faggot, stuck it into a book by the side of the iire-place, and pro-
ceeded to unlock the box. The wind and the storm again roared
dismally amongst the trees of the forest ; again those wailing sounds
yelled and muancd, and mingled with fitful bursts of unearthly me-
lody ; but, determining to fulfil my object, I proceeded as Rudolph
had instructed me, and found the phial and scroll as he described.
Aa I read the voice of the old forester again broke upon my ear in
alternate sobbing and laughter ; but, still I read onl It seemed as
if footsteps were around me, and the pressure of hands against my
heart. / tvas conscious of a preserwv upou which I dared not look, A
dark vapour filled the room ; distinct, though transparent, forms
Hoated between my eyes and the thickly-inscribed scroll ; but, still I
read on ! Suddenly the pine.faggot was extinguished, und I felt
myself hurled against the opposite wall; but I still retained the
* The nanw given to the '* watcJi ** oripnally made there.

206

THE OLD UAS

fatal parchment, which now glowed, at it were, beneath my fiofffr*
in pale pbotpboric charaeicn ; anil Uisa I BtiU read on ! OtW
•oamb and voieea now »iaglcd with the voacca o€ the night, tlie
ttorm increased to a hurricane, rinfing ita wild awtfarw from nick to
rock, tilU at the moment of mrarinrfing the tanoll^ a mighty wind
•hook the four comers of the hut — and it fell ! And I lay senielea
flnidst the scattered mina. On recorering iSTseU*, the fearful stom
had rolled away, and all trace* of casket, key, phial, and scroll, had
entirely disappeared. Thus was the fatal secret lost and won !

" But I ha/l socceede<l in reading it, and the appalling recollection
paBsed not away ; its every line and letter are impressed upon my
memory with a terrific vividness, which nothing can efiace. — which
I wouUl glwlly die to forget, — for the 6ends," said he, wiping the
cold drops of perspiration from his brow, "are still masters of the
game ; and, the use of the spell, its power, and exercise, had yet to
be purchased at a price which it was fearful to pay. * * Impart it,]
however, I can, though only upon one condition ; and that ■ " 1

*' Then, in the name of all the fiends !" said his companions, whovc
curiosity was now wrought up to the most intense pitch, "let as
know it, for the terms are beforehand already agreed to."

" Draw round, then," said Amoldi, in a calmer tone, and breath-
lessly listen, that ye lose not a syllable of what 1 have to commuoH
catc."

TUE UNLOCKED rOR INTERRUPTION.

In the absorbing interest of the moment his auditors had been sl-
tu^ethcr unconsciouH of the declining day ; the curtain of evening,
however, was already beginning to fall around them ; the night-
breeze had arisen, and, sweeping in pists through the tall trees of
the forest^ resembled the tones of human voices, calling and answer-
ing in the distance.

Anioldi was nbout to proceed with his story, as above related,
when a little old man, wearing a long beard and gray coat, of queer
outlandish cut, and whose stealthy approach, like that of the even- ,
ing, had been totally unperceived, stood, as it seemed, all at once in
the midst of them, and, ai\cr a greeting such as might be expectetl
fi'oiu an old acquaintance, he inquired of Arnoldi whence they came
and whither they were going?

As soon as they could recover a little from the surprise caused br
his sudden and unexpected approach, they replied, " From where
war hat beat, to where war is. We care not un<ler what leader, nor
to what service ; and, so that we can but obtain booty, we heed [
neither the contest nor the cause,"

" Ah t yaw are like the ravens," said Gray-coat ; " wherever you
go, ill-luck attends your presence ; and, although with such gentle-
men it is not safe to joke, joy and rejoicing, no doubt, equally at-
tend your departure!"

" 'fhat ifl tne connoquence of our trade, old boy !" said one of the

3>eArmen ; " and, though in the settlement of the accounts we bring
lero must now and then be bloody reckonings, the balance lljst

eomcK to our slisre is generally gold "

** Though, perhaps, not always of the most honest colour?"

" Are you sorae hedge-parson seeking to hear a confession ? Sit

AND HIS QUESTS.

209

here, then, on the grass. It will shortly be some six years since
imitiret) into the priest's ear. and this will l>e a good opportu-
to make a clean breast of it."
'N'ot quite so good as you 8np|>ose," chuckletl the merry old man.

ling his hands, and seating himself amongst them. " I seek not

■•

Then, what is your object in visiting us ?"

That," said Gray-coat, "you shall presently learn. At any rate,
I am no confessor ; and, although it is true I am seeking xomrlhiHg,
ii is certainly not secrets of ihe kind to which you allude. I am
travelling now to enlist servants who are willing tii enter the employ
of a powerful master, and for a good earnest penny, I pledge ye niy
skin."

'* Then, have at ye !" cried they, " for here before you are men of

right stamp. Amongst tis is not one but has long ago drunk

herhood with old Xick, and, if necessary, we are ready to do so

;n. What is your master's name?"

Only accompany me/' said the stranger, "and in time you shall
him ; though to-day it will, I fear, scarcely be pos!»ibIe. Not-

islanding this, however, nothing shall be wanting to you ; and
IS the earn est- money, which you can at once divide among
yourselves."

Thus speaking he held up to the now quite restored travellers a
great leathern purse of gold. When they had equally divided it, —
which was not accomplished without some contention, they all arose
and shouted loud vivats to their new master. "Nay, an' were he
even the devil's own stepson, 'tis all one to us; long life to him^ say
1" And their hoarse throats roared in unison together like the

r^!i::t= icili. -T-TTzT rf £ xi^l n^vlii xiiJLs. Tt:s denxxutrxtjon ended,
"c- i*.nne : ^i£r -;_<-* =aii». uroei m. ttier frords, shoddend

■LlTi">aCI>T

Tu: T.- "Un- i.».ii. Ti.- L.jTx 1 5.-T=»rviiC ircsTrforeA-patlirtlw
: r.j: 11==^;:::^ "1= ~:i.-t:. izii i.; n-^— x e^er »aj asoo broken

:i :-.i:^

r"_ -c »B=-* 1^ JBT jjnc it=K vit

3^ - ■»■*"■; Ti«ii;i:7 riii.'-r'i'i :. ail-EEOf lis xcz^nzizosis. who had fir
I V :.. r -.1... Ti'i I :ti t-.ii scimt f^T z:r-"iEr: lad the loathwwf
:..:•.:. ■_:..- Tifwi i.:c lie sMif :r*rc r.TLi t-^ Hsceci. as if enamoured
.L ::..: ; -i -i.- * zi^?:-:. X-T" ini -•:« i-.-tsed in ene ihev reached
1 : ^ ■" ".. T«f- r.Ly£«i T^iL^'iiTj :- iiii iiz'^* cftie dark p:n«-forert;
i_- • LT.-.^-'i : iifT^ -i^_rT-fi X sc"„=^s*. c'^r^cv i^J indescribtUe.
N. r.-^-i-: i --:•->:■£ _i ii-: rri^cii:* :c tie nil ri=e ; no voodpeckcr
ii-rr»:'i .''T ii*f ;--'j''.T^ .'oi . re sci^mel spria^ from bough to
.-.. -: ;.- T-i-f re- :..".; .*.T : .-^t^ 1: t^* rAs«T*-by. Even the trees
'.-■.■ c-^-w "ii-* ": --i<-; -wil".*. :c Jtrsccied their broad arm5 over
•.~f r. - i-i. :ri.r^-it:> ira: 1it s:in=r*-i at *-rJ. soa^heJ not, nei-
;-Tr :.. - i sjj r.S-f :z ir-= z'zzzz^ '::'retz^ : i: seemed as it' nature
Zr^i-: ." 1- ::_-i iri rir.i*- :- 1 ie^zh-Iike silence.

T-f -^v.-rV-^r* iT7r;aji*i "r^: z: Sfa:en track gare 51^5 of any
ir.'ij.~.ii:i: . izi :'-e ,-;i ::::ir. 'j.\:rt:ec. if he >J them on. singing.

— JT-rt? Tf i!!-*c^ l:.i.f ^ r^x-i =.'^: xis-J,

Ar.i :h-* ther s-"cr.> :Ml:wed hia through bush and bramble to
the caj:Ze ^i:e. which hirshly screeched and grated on its rusty
hinges, yielding r.ot in entrance but to the united force of the newly
arrived guests. The »aae aspect of desoiateness prevailed through-
out ; rank grass, nettles, and thistles had overgrown the ample
court-yard, through which they waded up to their hips ere they
could reach the halL But no watch-dog barked — no warder blew
his horn ; neither guard, nor serf, nor human being, save themselvCSr
were to be teen ; nought was heard save the sounds they awakened,
and the dark grey walls, dusky ruin, and lonesome desolation of that
twilight hour, called forth in most of them a feeling of dread till
then ntterlj unknown.

Thev could not refrain from expressing to their leader the sur-
prise tLey felt at the forlorn condition of the castle ; but he assuied
thenip thaty although its exterior was somewhat uninviting, they
wonld find witfain tdl that they could desire ; that attendants would
r arrive, and dancing and feasting, mirth and merriment, sur-

AND HIS GUESTS.

211

. above them
inpire spread his

round them. " You must not/' said he, " however, be impatient,
neither scan with too critical an eye this fortrenfl of ray master ; it
bas been long without inhabitant, hence its desolate ap{>earance;
mad the owner has so many strongholds in Italy, Spain, and Austria,
which require his constant supervision, that he must be excused if
hia possessions in this country are not exactly in such a state of re-
pair as he could wish."

His words, and above all, his promise of good cheer having thus
retnspired them to proceed, he led them towards an old winding
staircased ; own its broken steps they descended into a damp and
moaldy vault, whose dull echoes gave back in deadened sounds the
heavy irregular tread of those who entered it.

As if by magic, torches now crackled, flickered, and blazed from
the iron rings by which they were secureil to the walls, and dis-
closed a spacious apartment all brilliantly lighted up. In the midst
Mood several long and massive tables of oak, and on either side rows
of mighty tuns, full of the moat delicious wines, the age of which
their moss-bedecked staves and rusty iron hoops proclaimed dis*
tiDCtly enough, as soon as the newiy-arrived guests could recover
their powers of vision sufficiently to observe objects of so interest-
ing a description. But, although they perceived it not
on harping pinion swept the bat; and the hairy va
broad flight in restless circles around ; and other sights and sounds
there were, alike fearful and ominous, but their eyes were darkened,
and they perceived them noL

Suddenly the voice of the old man was heard at a distance, ill un-
wonted tones.

" Up, menenger ! haste — quick a« light —
Aud kU my furmer guvslB invite.
Up ! and htsi to th« skuUs and Umes
That muulderiiig lie l*eneadi the stones ;
Bid skin and muMzle cloilie once more
Thi'ir skeletous, ua heretofore :
Giro lips and cheeks their living red ;
Give back tlie voice to tongues long dead :
is-ee they «lon tlieir best array,
And, deck'd as for a holiday.
Bid them to the feast repair,—
Haste ! my wishes quick declare I"

Shortly there appeared men, women, youths, and maidens, in
every diversity of dress and form, who, thronging in, took their
places at the tables, or served up dishes laden with viands and fruit;
while Gray-coat ran about here and there, busily arranging the va-
rious courses, or serving out goblets of sparkling wine. The raven-
ous appetites of ihe troopers knew no bounds : fearfully did they
devour at that fatal festival, and their hearts began to grow merry,
as they poured the pearling liquor in full streams down their thirsty
throats. Then they observed the maidens ogling them in a manner
both familiar and inviting. Female singers also approached, with
lyre and organ, and har[>ed and sang songs of ribaldry antl lewd-
ness. Clowns and tumblers went through their various evolutions;
sod gay forms danced before their delighted eyes, till Arnoldi and
his companions fancied themselves trans|>orled into the regions of
faerie land ; nor waa it before one had sharply pinched his own leg,
^■' cr his nose, and the remainder each for himself wade experi-
t. xxiti. u

212 THE OLD MAS

menu enually convtncing, that tbey coold be assnred what thejm

around tnem was no dream.

Thui did mattfTS proceed till late in the ni^C They CeHtti
they drank, they dallied, and made love; little Gray-coat aQ lb
white skipping about from table to table, now 8m.iling^ and nUii|
hit bands, as if in the highest glee ; now nodding eneoaragi^gly H
his guests, or preasing blandly upon their attention bis variogsi^
plies. They remarked, however, that be ate not with tbem. neUv
did he drink of their wine; that the other guests aatstifflj aodlth
nially, scarcely laughed at the fun, tasted but little, and nwkt Hl
less. But the harp and organ played on ; the ainge i t CroUed A*
lays, and the various attendants flew about with the speed df At
wind, to supply them according to their heart's desire ; and Arj
spuke together of the old man's promise as they appraadaed tli
ruined castle, that if they would only enter they shoiald WMit fa
nothing : and of the way in which he had fulfilled it ; of tbe hipr
thus aflunletl for the future; and they drank long life, agabi
again, to the lord of the castle and their new entertainer.

All at once the shrill crowing of a cock was heard to ring thnMgk
the numerous arches of the vault, in sounds that pierced above iQ
the mirth and music. A sudden stroke as of lameness appeared It
tehe with one accord the attendants, who no longer proceeded wA
their usual alacrity ; nor were the guests exempt from its cfectk
save only Gray-coat and the troopers.

After a time he drew towards the benches they occupied, pUcni
himself on a stool opposite, and steadily fixing his eyes upoa bs
newly-ciilistcd frientf^, whose bosoms the supernatural sound thej
hud just heard had filled with something like apprehension, said:-
" Hark ye, my masters; the watchman has already, as ye hear, pr»
claime<l the approach of morning, and when his voice is uttered,
once more all must retire to rest. We ot* the dead, ye see, ma<
hold strictly to order.'* His companions started and gaaed on ttA
other. " Yes," continued he, ** our time is measured to us, in Umib
we dare not transgress ; but for ye — "

Here he was interrupted by the listeners laughing in his face
" Little Oray-coat," said they, "is making fun of us, or has looked
too deeply into his beaker, and now sorely drunken, knows no more
whiit he Is saying." But his bright eye and clear voice told a dif-
ftML-ut story ; and that, whatever the effect of the debauch upon
theiUKelves, H had passed /ihn harmlessly by.

lie heeded not their jesting, but quietly replied, <* Listen awhile
to uie^ luy merry birds^ and then laugh on, if laugh ye still dare."

r.RAV-COAT'S STORV.

" It is now many a long year since I became cellar-keeper in this
castle, which, under the careful superintendence I bestowed upon it,
never wanted a good supply. Under such circumstances I forgot
not niyt»elf, but took each day my quantum as the innocent debt
and duty of every gooti cellarmen, who by frequent trials can alone
qualify himself to become a judge of that M'hich is under his charge.
Indeed, my sense of duty in this particular moved me so strongly,
that my search for wine suitublv to my master's taste, commenced
At breiik of day, and ceobcd not till the return uf night again called

AND HIS GUESTS.

213

Thus was my reputation, in one respect, soon estaMUh-
ut, though a good cellar-keeper, I became a bad C'hrietian,
in the heedlessness of excessive indulf^ence, I lost the relish for
her and l>cttcr occupation, and neglected the welfare of that part
dT roan's being which is destined to live longer than sun, and moon,
And stars endure." (Arnoldi's comrades winked at him in sleepy
derision of the speaker, but their companion's countenance exhi-
bited no sign of participation.) " The proprietor of this castle,
whom I then served, led a roystering life of it, and loved to wash
down many a hard joke with good old liquor. In every carouse I
vaa his constant companion, and the night was never too long for
ua ; neither thought we of anything beyond the indulgence of the
jMssing hour. We were the talk of the country round.

" We had commenced one such drinking bout, on holy Thurs-
day. Upon this occasion we swore not to cease till one or other of
IM wa» fiurly under the table. We sat together till the next niorn-
hw was come, but it ceased not then. The matins had long been
finished — the vespers sung — and night still saw as there. The early
dawn arrived and neither had given way. At this time the knight's
Uttle son lay dangerously ill, and his lady had sent to him many a
VCtaenger to summon him to the bedside of his dying child, but he
beeded them not. At length came her wntting-woman. and on her
btnded knees besought him in tears to visit her mistress, as the in-
fant was at that moment in the agonies of death ! He then reluct-
uitly arose and staggered af\er her to the apartments of his wife,
who, as soon as he approached, met him with agonising cries, hold-
ing in her arms the dead body uf his only child. TJie lady shortly
died also, and from that moment my master never knew |>euce ;
night and day did he wander about with the face of a dreamer ; he
laughed not, neither did he speak, but seemed as under the influence
of a sorcerer's spell ; and when at length he suddenly disappeared,
jt was said he had assumed the friar's cowl, and closed a life of
aevere penance in the Franciscan monastery of Xuremberg. But,"
added he significantly, " no one but myself knew — nhUltcr he wat
gone,

I look no heed, however, of this, or any other example ; but, on
the contrary, set at nought both warning and reproof. After a few
years I lay on my deathbed ; but still carried my passion so far as to
inquire of my lady's confessor if there wa^; wine in heaven. He was
silent. * If not,' I continued, 'I have no wish to go thither; but,
living or dead, should prefer occupying this place with such com-
panions as I could obtain.' With these words in my mouth, I died,
— Kiied without absolution or shrift, and my body was buried in the
castle-chapel. Suddenly it seemed to me as if I had awoke from a
confused and fearful dream, and I stood alone here; an awful voice
thundered in my cars my doom. My wish was granted — a penance
till time shall be no longer.

" From year to year have I sat in these gloomy vaults, — from year
to year drank I deeply, and alone, tormented by the most dreadful
wnae of weariness and distress. At Brst I thought not to regret my
•ish ; but, when after a while the castle echoed no more to the tread
of human footsteps, when every living thing forsook these ruined
walla, how have I longed for the quiet repose of the grave I But,
though I sought it, it repelled me, and again and again I found my-

214

THE OLD BtAN

self irresistibly iirgctl hither. At length I bethought rae of the
cond part of my wish, and wandered in quest of coropanionk
found myself empowered to allure all wboni I met within «eiii
circle of my allotted abode. My power, however, only extemfa
those whose consciences are perverted, seared, or dead ; or
have sold themselves to work the works of him whose befaMs
serve. The wants and desires of these are immediately knows
me ; nor can they resist the spells I am enabled to cast around
When such a one, who has ever been my guest, dies, he is after
atill in my power, and, whensoever 1 invite him, must appear at
midnight hour when spirits can walk abroad. j4U with rchomwt
Jeasied were of that nuviher ; and ye, though for the present vt
partj yet, having feasted at my table, and taken the earnest
pledges you to the master youraelvea have named^ shortly mutt wt
appear hither again."

The foot-soldiers laughed a shuddering laugh, and would
have replied ; but their senses seemed to forsake them, their
involuntarily closed, and, notwithstanding all their effbrtt,
could keep awake; their heads bowed upon their breasts- theTilv^
bered and slept, and sunk to the ground.

And again the cock crew, — the viands disappeared^—the iwchv
on the wails glimmered faintly, and expired, — the g-uests vanifhd
noiselessly, and when all had departed save Gray.coat and the
sleepers, he gently approached them, and waving above their bcvls
the solitary light he bore, he said, with a ghasUy smile of exuh>
tion, —

" In your chAnn'd lUte repo&c —

Alagic ileep your eyelids cIom, —

Sleep Iwneatk th« dusky veil,

All night lon^ tilt st&ni grow pair ;

Sleep upon your cold damp l>ed,

Nor wake till the lighj

Of the tunheora lirighi
SbjUl pierce through uxe ruins over your h«>fw).

" £re fourteen dprings their bloBdonu fthed,

AH shall mingle with tht> dead —

In othrr eiiiso wc '11 meetngmin.

And ye shall swell my shadoiry train —

Till tlten, faretrell 1

Atif Wiedorsehcn I
Now Bweep I hence with the matin wind.
And leave do record nor trace behind ! **

With these words he glided away, and cast neither sound ii(
shadow behind him.

TBB AWAKING.

'Twas broad morning when these sleepers awoke, and they looked
round by the dim light which found its way through the crevices of
the damp and broken vault. It was impossible either to doubt or to
recollect distinctly the events of the preceding; night ; and they rub-
bed their brows, as though they would clear both sight and memory
of some terrible impression. As they regarded one another, eaca
was startled at the pale, death-like countenances of his corapanionii
iMid all were inclined to lay the blame on their late resting-place.

AND HIS GUESTS.

SIS

That," said Amolili, " will quickly pass away, if we caii but find
wine to restore our lost roses," and seizing one of llie lances
I that stood in the corner^ he violently struck the table till the old
' vault rang again ; but no one came. He and his myrmidons called
aloud at the foot of the broken staircase. As their impatience in-
eased, they shouted, and yelled like so many wild-beasts; but in
lin. None answered their summons. They then bethought them
of the casks ; but here again disappointment and mockery awaited
them, — all sounded holJow and empty.

" If the devil himself be the owner of this accursed place/* said
they, " Gray-coat is surely somewhere in the neighbourhood." They
jftherefore sought him through every nook and corner of the build-
%ig ; but found nothing save rubbish and ruin> All was still and de-
solatej and lonely as before. No living thing did they see ; not a
sound did they hear, but that which their own foutfall had awaken-
ed. Then remembered they the impression of the preceding even-
ing as they Approached these gloomy precincts, and the same feeling
of awe again crept over them ; their imaginations were haunted
with all kindif of strange and fearful objects and forebodings ; par-
ticularly when they called to mind Gray-coat's story, and their own
threatened doom.

"It can be no dream," said they, *'else how came we hither? —
and, true — how can it be?"

The whole affair was mysterious, bewildering, and perplexing in
the highest degree. All at once they recollected the earnest-money,
and felt in their pockets ; but, to their astonishment and distress, in-
stead of broaJ pieces of shining gold, they drew out only handfulsof
dry leaves. Their rage now knew no bounds; they loudly cursed
both Gray-coat and each other* till, frightened at tlie deep echoes,
which gave so sullenly back the sounds tliey had called forth, they
rushed in terror from the haunted spot. They essayed in vain to re-
turn by the way they had come. Neither track, nor tree, nor aught
could they find by which to direct their erring footste]iB. Farther
and farther did they wander from their intended route, ami lay ilown
at night in the depth of that lonesome forest, calling up»n Gray-coat
again to appear, in order to be revenged for the freak he had played
them; but they saw him no more ! 8low]j' and sadlj' did they pur-
sue their journey in the dawn of the Following ilay, and soon after
found exercise tor their lances in the disturbances which filleti the
country, and hastened on the great religious war which deluged
Germany with blood.

To this day the old ruined castle may be seen in the forest. It is
called " Waldreuth ;" though the peasant folk for many a mile round
know it only by the name of *' The Devil's Country Seat," and none
of them will approach it, even to gather sticks, in the winter.

Of the foot-soldiers thus much further has been ascertained, that
all of them within the first seven years died by sword, pistol, or the
hands of the executioner, except Arnoldi, whose death took place at
Prague, exactly fourteen years from the event we have related. He
died suddenly during a deep carouse, after the victory on the White
Mountain, the self-same daVi and at about the same hour, as that on
which Gray-coat's feast took place. The fact of his body having
been found enveloped in a charmed garment clearly accounted for

THE TWO PIGS.^A SWINISH COLLOQUY.

BT W. K. BVKTOK.

•* And U it there ye are?" uic] a long-le^ed. long-sided, long-
UHiuted pig, whoM gaunt appearance bespoke his Milesian origin,
while the rich mutical twang of his grunt told of Tipjierary iniirtly.
He addreiicd himself to a compact brindled animal with a crifp
twist in his wool, and a ti^zhtly-curled uil, who was owcA^m/ in a
deep kennel near one of the Market street corners in Philadelphia.

/ru/i Pif^. Ah, then, the tip-lop o' the morning to you intirrly-
lU myaelf itiut s seen ye here before, and luigbty snug ye are in that

THE TWO PIGS-

SIY

«»ne place— I 'm thinking that a (Iray-whcel would move ye out o'
that in a pig's whimper, thouj^h its mighty y>i^-turesque yere lookin'
that «ow-luti(>n of t^liish, any how.

Cttriy'tiiU Pii^t rising, with an aristocratic air. Do not imagine,
because I decline reposing any longer in the slimy softness of this
baliuy kennel, that your guttur-al gruntings annoy me. Philosophy
has long ago taught mc that wc cannot make a gow's car out of a silk
purse. For the present, then, I forgive your impertinence! but I
un^t^norate my promise to make sausages of your intestines if you
ever bore me again with your pig-my priltle prattle.

Irish Pig. Give us none o' yer cheek. Edad, ye 're as fierce asa
*ofp-werter. Sure I roused ye out o' that in regard o* the druys, but
if my nm'-Ucitude is hurtin' yer chitterlings, why be smashed into a
hog'c-pudding, and see if its myself that will interfere. Arrah, then,
and did ye see anything o' them niggers of hog-catchers last night?
Curiif-taU. I really was so engaged in paying my devoirs to a
delicate young creature up Sixth, that I hud no time to indulge in
*uch vulgar ideas.

Jrixh Pi^. Och, get out! is it the black piggeen up the alley

vanient to the bakehouse? The darlint 1 fion't I know her,

*d like to carry her a ;>f^r.a.back over the whole world.

Curii/'tiiii, She is an exquisite charmer, '|)on honour ; but aa

oud as &he is pretty. I stole a cantaloupe from the corner there,

d placed it at her feet, as a jofr-ve-neer of my esteem, but she

med it over to that old hog her papa, who devoured it before my

'Wcc. Laughing at my melancholy look, she said, " Pork, you pine,"

^hich you must own was very pointed. I haven't been so hurt

ce my lamented mama committed jon^-i-cide by cutting her throat

ith her thumb-naiU while trying to swim across a creek.

/fi*h Pig. And ain't her brother a saucy shote? he'll bebringin'

*>is hogs to a fine market some day. But what can you ex[>ect from

^ieger's pigs ? them swine swill such slush, one can't pig with them

if lie wants to keep a dacent check.

Cnrhf-tuiL You are as dull as a pig of lead in your perception of

She has the whitest hand of pork and the prettiest

I have ever seen. Her hams arc plump and welU

^he beautifu
^ore-quarter
*haped.

Irish Pig.

Cttrltf'taiL

Wid as swate a snout as ever turned over a later.
If she would Siamese our fates, I have a nice sty in
tily e}*e ; and 1 flatter myself she'd find me as warm a honr as ever
liung round a lady's neck. But I am not such a Pi^'g^-ninny as to
play upon one string. [ 've more sweethearts than her, if I want to
choose a upare rib, and she refuses mc her foot.

Irish Pi^. Honamondiout ! don't stand there wid yer snout
c*>cked up in the wind, but come over here, and have a chaw at
them swate laters and an inyon or two, what the darkey girl has
jcftt chucked out. Here 'a a beautiful post right agin yer starn, for
^ illegant scratch bechuxt bites. Ain't them squashed peaches
t^lluptuous?

t'urltf-iaii Nice, really. But talking of luxuries, did you ever
Uste a nigger baby ?

Irish Pig. Ah, then, 1 niver had a chance ; but I nibbled off a
ilack man's thumb once, as he was tryiu' to int-innervute a pet kitten
ut o' my gilU; but it:i mighty old he w.is, and the jynt was hardly

THE TWO PIGS.

•i-j SIT -rvdiTnc J tae kick I got on my hind line. Sure k
▼ i> ?.ir: ZTi^ r: n«f2i sows last winter, when the divil % bit a'
;-;: -- i i::c :: i ijy # ir^bbin^. Oh, thunder and turf, wmtl
i.::.ir:r' -car? s«c - :a«fni ir^stu Mz ferocious.

■ » - /^ i... A^ ^' rwse our souls we daily expected, in cooie-
: lo^o! .-c :=tf v-ir tii£ w« «hould all be killed and salted down ■
s:..*?-a«a; ':c :2« st'cr*.

" I ~v A - r'-fiv^ tiTipether in a hogshead.
.L" .— ^.. I «ccd\i ~cc *^f loch to afford my share of sustenancB
:. :.'<e *;-rtf»* .-£ tie w-17. as I im heroically inclined, being linolly
;eA.ir"cei r--'iTi ±tf >car ,-?' the PUntiganet — the crest, you know,

-■- • ~v r. c*; *u.rK I io- Didn't B , the great tragedj

:%:- y \z ilcircsor ," 2;* ;" a knitter one night, when he waa saltj,
- r 7-?-.: I i ; : :c ^ ucfi :heT ciU it. Sure he talked all night rf
:>^: loi-.c >.\.vc- xz^ ie t ^-iirtr^ boar, which I thought mighty per-
*. r-L - -TT^Lri -• Ire cccrurr he was in- But for them haythen%
5 1-^ I i \.i :-■ setr-z iz.<'^ whipped- There's a Spanish pug in the
i\r VfifEiccsc i>e r^u^*&T.#cor«. that's bitten all sorts of lettai
,: z-i-'i .-.- ■^*; ii-o-< iATtaTSw di* buick^uard.

. ' .» : . A.". TTT fr.dso. ph:'.«Kophy has l(Nig ago taught me
:.:i: yc* i"^ ~^'t ir^^::er* ^'t'th^r own face.

1--: ■ ." i Thoc^i rc^ z-i bL-f^t of our fat, and be hanged to
iju. S^t :h< whcV bt>.«' of vxir tanii'.y is going west in the sprinj^,
«>.crv 1*:= $u.r« :/ Se ^dLit^nfd is^l ul^fd down. My brawn l&u^
::-' :.' ix oc'-'Anfc th^c 5o. if I can but preserve myself till I'm
J. ■.■x.f.i. I '.'. \x ±y.i to si^e =:t bacon, any how.

«.' * • i-,.:... WtfV.. c-xx: ivorr.iujC. stranger ; I must pay my moro-
::-^ * ^j..*.. i *"-^h: orier-r^ 1: she shrine of beauty— an attempt to
^r.*--L "".:'. :r.e h^^r; ^*: th^t: :tf:".,:tfr "::tle sow.

: p-^ iKxxi *Uv-k :«■ \e. ir.d a stiver curl t' yer tail, if poi-
silr'.c. »h:»:h t: x-:. iVZ-.. ''rx ^czA.iIiawn ! to hax'e his eye on my
^.•a:: it'u'utc- ri.rZ'ftf" - 1 -'. y:;; 1 ^ow-thistle into his piggin a
hv-i:*i*h. ^-e it b:ir. ! h.w kvr.wtevl he walks, the thief of the
w^r^.: ^-re. he :/.:::k* h:;:-**';" a whole shi^vload of the primeit
Kie-f*. No. 1. but :: 's 3. prc:ty i^i^c* of pvrk and greens I '!l make of
ih.it Kime *r.»::e. bi^ yi^ .1* he :*. By the piper that played before
Mose*. but there* the hoc:-cj:oher*. the slaughterin' divils. How
they skeet atter my inend wiJ :he curly tail. Och. there's a porker
in a pucker. £i:.td. but he r»oves his trotters in double quick time.
Run, ye divil. the hi.:h r.tiT^er h.is ye by the tail! no, he's offagaioj
bad luck to him. Sure, that pace will melt his lard, this same hot
day. Grabbeil. by jakers ! \u a gone case wid him, any how, for
into the cart he goes, the entire *wine. Why, they are shitlooio*
artcrme, the murtherin' thieves ! Hurrish' no catchee, no havee.
Here goes, a bolt for life !

[^Esil Pi^, "dorrn all manner of streets''

219

THE LATE ISAAC D'ISRAELI. ESQ.. AND TKE
GENIUS OF JUDAISM.

BV W. C. T A V L O n, LL. D.

WITB A PORTRAIT.

Jerusalem and Venice arc namos seldom associated; ihey are types
of ideiL* wiiich seem incapable of Ijannuiiious combination; tliey raise
hiaiorical a>)sociatioiis so different in character and colouring- that the
pro[)rietios would seem to be outraged when they blend into a common
picture, and inconsistency rendered inevitable when they are the joint
spells which direct the workings of an individual mind. That the com-
btnatiou is possible has been proved in the instance of the D'lsraelisf
both father and son ; that the junction in spite of some few incongruities
hjjs been delightful and valuable is demonstrated by the warmth of appre-
ciation almoHt unanimously accorded to the historical researches of the
fornior, and the gorgeous imaginings and vivid creations of the latter.
Different as have been their paths of literature and their walks of life,
there hai^ been in both a common clement which almost unconsciously
moulded their character and predestined their career, and that element
was compounded of a reverence amounting to enthusiasm for the theo-
cracy of Judah and the oligarchy of Venice.

Descended from a line of Jewish merchants who had dwelt in the
*' Home of the Ocean " during the proud days when Venice remained,
at least in name, the queen of the Adriatic, the father of iho late Mr.
Isaac Disraeli brought with him to England a store of historical asso-
ciulions and traditions meet nurture for *'a poetic child/* and equally cal-
culated to incite the imaginative to realise their conceptions in romantic
fiction, and the inquisitive to ascertain their realities by sober investi-
garion. About the lime that the first D'Israeli settled in England, the
country was convulsed by one of those popular alarms, the result of
combined fraud and fanaticism which appear like periodical visitations
in our history, A law for the naturaiizalion of the Jews had been
passed with little opposition by both houses uf parliament, and had
received the rcJidy support of the most distinguished prelates on the
episcopal bench. An alarm for the church and for religion was how-
ever produced among the inferior clergy, and principally, as WaU
pole assures us, among the *' country paraona/* The alarm was as
senseless and the cry as absurd as on the occasion of Dr. Sache-
verelKs trial, when a very stupid and very malevolent sermon was
sufficient to set the whole country in a flame. It was proclaimed
from countless pulpits that, if the Jews were naturalised in Britain, the
country became liable to the curs^es pronounced by prophecy against
Jerusalem and the Holy Land. The logic of this argument is of course
as defective as its charity, but the multitude is liable to be deluded by
confident and repeated asserlion ; it aUo happened that at the time sus-
picions were entertained of hostile designs from France, and though the
Jews could not be associated with the French by any show of reason,
they were linked to the enemy by a very tolerable rhyme. Every dead
wall in the kingdom exhibited in varied orthography the delectable

couplet* No Jewg,

Mo wooden shoes.
VOL. XXIIl. "«.

Si».' THE Late ISAAC D'ISRAELT, ESQ.

^^"-•r^ 'i-r jrcT'pfr D bntfii dij:«d ra -* Coaingsby " on the adran-
uc^ :c 1 .*» t.*.^ ^rv. *e =i^ with ioow rvuoa have shewn the efficuj
:: 1 -T-i Mi :i-f."

>:z:^ ;• -.'zf r-^iTc* li-: :■:*!£ :o»iri* ;he:r msibordinate curates the
«A=.-7 ::-..-«^ :;i- .-tii.^irw; ;.ir«ci5 escplo^ to lull the tumults of the
= ir**7TT fc-ir- :i^T r.-:fer ;ak-e« if a bribe to stop crying. They re-
KWe: -'ziz ■; T:.Ji ":^ -wi*^ -.i? rtiike »o3e concessions to clamour, and
xZf^j y.^-T'i _- 1 rvcrv^c'.a::.:c to she miEiiter which set forth that they
by i: ziTi-s T:o:~»?i t;r ■:"* '.r^iz ot" the popular calumnies directei
ara--*' '--= J-^^i •.:i: :r.-*7 -Lii r.?; eren exammed the evidence on vhkli
j-Mri :j..rs ::' «..-j^i.il »e« ^>i::^irf-i, c-u: sha: belierinsr the recxntlawtobe
o5cC*.;r L^i Li.T=,z^ :o xcx::y of y-jar good sort of people, they recoo-
s^^ItU '.i^ r£-T=i^r :o Mci-> h'.» oan act. and to repeal the obnoxious U«
X* riT.j 1* :.:**:blc. T-e I>^ke of Newcastle, who then held the offices'
rr.-::^ =^:*cer. "iid n-.-ce of the firmcess of Sir Robert Peel or Loid
J-.-rz R.iMe'.'.. he y*>lie-i to the clamour, partly from natural timiditfi
azi 7<i^*-y ':«:x-aus< Sr^^ raised a: the close of a Parliament, he vii
afn. i :: i's e5ev*s a: a x^aeral electioo.

K-:^:t:=: eTec:s havi:^ rvTlred the memory of this cnrious a^tatioih
we siAv. i: \zi r.ss. oi di^resszoa. add that the Bishop of Oxford adto-
ca:e%i :h^ r^r^. coc cc account of any scruples of his own, but **to
quiet -.ie =i:::is of ^ooc peocle : " that the Bishop of St. Asaph denooDCcd
iti rvfj^ ci the ri^ts of ciuaenship to the Jews as the result of"!
ffpir.: cf 7er5«cu::oa abhorrvnt fn>m the spirit of the Gospel ;*' and tint
the O-^ke of Bedford who had voted against the bill originally, vcfj
hocorab^.y or?osed ::s rvf«il. which he c^led ** an effect of the imbcdlitf
ot ihe aiisi-zistrazior.."*

r«v'.vo y«-Ars af^cT ch'.f s:ran;e exhibition of popular delusion tai
m::v.$vr.j.l vejlncss. Isoao D'lsraeli was bom at Enfield in the montb
of Miy. 17o'.\ Ba: iho.:^r. ine Jewish Naturalization Bill had beta
roiHu'iV. the vojisiops lud yrejudices to which it gave vigour did not
subsi^it" for '^tUT'iy ha'.f a »x!::i:ry; indeed the Jews narrowly escaped
b*."."*: ir.vo'.ved wi:a the Roniin CathoUcs in the outrages perpetrated bj
the rrv*t«*s;;U!S r.'.ob or Lord Georje Gordon. The accounts which W
hearsi ;r. c'aiidhvxxi ot iho o.r;i:mu;e< levelled against his name and natioOt
and of the po"::u'aI disabilities to which his family continued subject
b*vau<o an imS.v;'o x;r.:*:or had neither the sense nor the courage
to withstand popular *.;i'Vjs;ou and popular clamour, produced an effect oo
Mr. D'lsraeii's mind which influenced his whole literary career, and
which is very porceptiblo in the writings and speeches of his gifked son.
So far fr\>m "adopting the aphorism cyu- /nyw/i nir Dei^ he would mucH
WK\oiWT ha\o said f\//> ;"•-'* r\u- liiiiUiii ; the very prevalence of any senti-
ment iw opinion would with him have been a reason for viewing it wiib
su»pici*>n.

AH the traditions of his race and all the reminiscences of his nmily
tended to strengthen such a feeling. The people had no voice in the
Hebivw commonwealth : law was dictated to them by the inspired pro-
phet, the consecrated priest or the anointed king ; authority was not
only the basis of their social order, but it entered into the minute detail
of all their institutions ; that confession of futh which every believing
ohild ^ Abraham learns to lisp in his cradle commences with a divine
'demand for implicit submission and obedience. " Hkah, O Israel " is not
heffinning of a creed suited to the partisans of a democracy.

THE LATE ISAAC D rSRAELf, ESQ.

221

' The traditions of Venice were equally calculated to alienate Isaac
D'Israeli'n mind from the parties and the opinions that found favour with
the populace. Aristotle nietilions some ancient oUg^irchy, the members
of which} on odmisflion to office, bound themselves by an oath to do all the
injury to the democracy in their power. Although the senators of
Venice did not swear to the performance of any such obligation they
adopted the same course by a design infinitely more binding than nil
the test* that human ingenuity could devise. Their first principle
of government was that a mob was a restrained and caged lijer, and
Ibatt on any relaxation of these checks and restraints* the animal
would spring at the throats of his keepers.

It IB curious to observe how general and how influential these feelings
were at the close of the last century. In spite of the proclamation of
" Free and equal rights to all men/ by the republicans of France, the
few* throughout Europe almost universally adhered to the cause of
DonAfchy and social order. If they were not absolutely Tories they were
It least very strenuous Coneervatives ; as men they loved " liberty," but
M 9hm wms of a privileged race they suspected " equality," and as a pecu-
liar people they shrunk from "fraternity." Another reason for this was
nrobably the horror with which they were inspired by the daring blas-
>heiiiies of the atheists of France, UevoUing as these excesses were to
fcvery man of right feeling, ihey filled the mind of the Jew with a horror
perfectly indescribable, and to men of other creeds and races quite incon-
ceivable. For, the Jew is the most religious of men; to him the
Supreme Being is not merely the Sovereign of the universe, but also and
ttore especially the Tutelary Deity of his race, ** the God of Ahrahiun,
of Isaac, and of Jacob." The insanity which would dethrone Jehovah,
the God of Israel, and erect, amid dniDken and frantic orgies, on altar to
the goddess of reason, was in his eyes at once the most atrocious of
erhnea and the greatest of personal insults. Hence, during the wars of
the Coalition against revolutionary France, no soldiers fought with more
desperate energies against the republican armies than the Jewish regi-
ments in the service of Prussia; no moneyed men were more eager to
support Pitt by subscribing to loans than the Jewish capitalists of Lon-
don ; and uo commercial body evinced such sympathy for the fallen
fortunes of Austria as the Jewish roerchauts of Germany. These pre-
dilections for monarchy and subordination of classes arc still characteristic
of the race; in the recent attempts made to raise a clauiour against the
Jews of Alsace, we find more than one pamphleteer stigmatiziug iheni
aa inveterate partisans of despotism and aristocracy.

It is hardly neccs^ry to say that there was but a very scant share of
sympathy between the French and the Venetian republics. Indeed they
were founded on such antagonistic principles that collision was inevitable
whenever they were brought into contact. Hence Napoleon, who re-
timed many of his old principles as a jacobin, long after he had ceased
to be a republican, never spoke of the Venetian State but with abhor-
rence, and the only part of the proceedings of the Congress of Vienna on
which he bestowed approbation was the decree which blotted the Vene-
tian oligarchy from the list of the powers of Europe.

The philosophers who declare that '* the child is the father of the
nan " do not mean that the whole of a man's future character, conduct,
and career are predestined and predetennincd by any direct system of
education ; but they do moan that the appetencies and tendencies of his

R 2

THE LATC ISAAC D ISBAELI, ESQ.

fonned, and directed bj
wmmmadB his cbildhood. Itii
to txaee the influenced nMt
U sobject of this essay, Un^
&IMP the populace on acconnl
t tmA ■9*7 HgHHttvciy i— wtfij on hts race and famiWi I
fcia hitAtfcy aiiJBilMl Mkbtry, and an anwilliog Parliai
■aaft a* tlkt Wfaat «f amaalav aw b a , dal we hare examined the resulti
Bbe^ I* be padacaA by Us ibiacrMit <md and hU Venetian desceoL
SXlamA, «c at* iaiicBed, wcai TOd tba greaUr part of his educaiioi
at LcjdesL He aeeas Wi w am an baybood to bare read a pretty exlensin
of Ua bi to tad Rabbiakal Kteratiire ; judging merely from thi
of bia later o fUioga , aod particularly from his poi
of JoAmb. o voik of sio^vkr merit which has fallen iou
aegiect, «e ■hooM say that he was a diligent student o
AbcB Kara, Manaaaeh Ben Israel, but more especially a
Like tbe lait-DaiDed great man, whom, perhapi
WaacBBtoboTotokcalbrhLsmodel, DUsraeli cbosetob(
fnr^ a apeeaktiro pUoaapbcr, vfao narer mingled in political bnoib
aod vbo aboBM^ A awrrtiiHi with political and religious partiM
HcBOC^ ohm be ^iiiw^ Fvia in 1786, be escaped the influence of iboM
vbieb bad beeo fooaed and stinaulated by the revolution thai
devaiadl baoMctf to the stndy of French literature wUbs
r vbicb cuB liuu e d with little abatement to almost the lait
boor of htt Tife.

At no period of his life was D'lsraeli a rabbimst or talmudist ; a Urpi
and libera] philosophy raised him as it did MendeUohn above all the
exclusiTe, intolerant, aod anti-social gtosses with which the authori of dtr
Mishna and Gemara have encumbered and distorted the Mosaic legiiUr
tion. lie clung to the principles of the sublime and tolerant prajrcr
offered by Solomon at the dedication of the Temple, and if he ever souglit
for au example in the talmud, he selected that of Rabbi Aleir. The
anecdote to which wc allude is so little known by general readers and
illu^tralive of that genius of Judaism which we regard as the predooii-
nant characteristic of both tbe D'lsraelis that we shall give it insertioa
The Talnuid informs uh that the singular learning and talents of
Rabbi Meir bad gathered round him a great number of scholars^ whom
he instructed in the Uw ; hut he ncvcrthele<;s visited every day his ova
former teacher, and listened to his instructions, though he had for some
time been stigmatized as a heretic, and ahnust regarded as an apostatdi
Kabbi Meir's pupils, to whom their profcssor'n tolerant spirit, as well
as his habits of iutercourcrC with one whom they regarded as a depnv«4
person, seemed highly pcrnicioas. angrily remonstrated with hira on such
conduct He replied with one of those fthrewd aphorisms, which a
modem critic has called "the diamonds of orientalism :'* — '* I fouod ft
savoury uut," said the rabbi; " I kept its kernel, and I threw away Ha
shell."

But this tolerance wa^ not confined merely to philosophic opinioa'
Isaac D'lsraeli, from the very commencement of his career, was a
sealous advocate for every philanthropic plan by which the sulTeringsof
humanity could be averted or alleviated. He adhered rigidly to ihoit
fODuinc principles of charity which are thus nobly enunciated by Rabbi
len Misraim in his comment on the First Book of Kings:—

THE LATE ISAAC D ISRAKLI, ESQ.

Zt3

** With respect to the Gam (fomgn oationt or Geniilei), oar fiilhen
h\e commanded us to visit tbcir sick and to bury tlieir drad as the
<faad of Israel, and to relieve and maintain their poor as we do the poor
9f Israel, because of the ways of peace ; as it is written, ' Klokim (God)
it good to all, aod bis tender mercies are over all his works.* *
Balm cxiv. 9.

It is certain that Isaac D^Israoli, though bis parenta liad quitted
the Jewish community^ took a lively iuteretst in the question of
Jewish emancipation ; but, save in the " Porlraiiore of Judaism/' we
are not aware of his having written directly on the subject. We know,
however, that he spumed the common rabbinical notion of a sudden
and shnultaoeous elevation of the Jews to the highest rank of civiliza-
tion and reGnement, He believed that the restoration of the Jews to
the rank of citizens and equal subjects would be accoinplishod by the
gradual spread of knowledge and intelligence ; and in thi^^ he agrees
with the ancient talmudists, whose testimony on the subject is too sin*
Ifular to be omitted. •* The 6nal redemption of Israel will be effected
gradually, and step by step from one country to another, iu tjie four
quarters of the globe through which the Israelites are dispersed ; and
teke the dawn of morning, which breaks forth gradually and by degrees
oatil the darkness of night subsides and day prevails, and even then a
brief space must elap«e before the sun shines forth in full effulgence ;
10 the Israelites will slowly retrieve their rank among the people and
the nations, until finally the sun of success will shine upon them. This
is intimated in Bereshith (Genesis xxxii. «t — 31). And there let'taUedit
nutn with him until Ihe bi-eakin^ of the day .... aftd as he passed oeer
Pe/tufi the sun shone upon him," Forced, no doubt, this cabalistic in-
terpretation of the Scripture is ; nevertheless the beauty and excellence
of the inference deduced cannot be questioned.

So early as his sixteenth year Mr. D'lsraeli commenced his honour-
»ble career as an English author by addressing some verses to Dr.
Johnson, whose High Church and Jacobite notions were closely in
arcordance with those of an admirer of the Hebrew theocracy. At a
later period he published the oriental tale of ** Mejnoun and Leila," the
first eastern story written by a European in which the proprieties of
costume and manner have received careful attention. It is, however^
ia this respect, inferior to the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy," the most
extraordinary of all the works of Disraeli the Younger, for in this not
merely the conception but the conceiving mind is thoroughly oriental :
Ibe gigantic imaginings, the gorgeous colouring, and the haughty
Issumption of superiority for a chosen race, are the embodied poetry
ftf all the dreams of Palestine and all the viuiuiis of Mecca.

The work, however, by which the elder D'lsraeli will always be best
known, because it is the work which has made the deepest impression
Do the mind of the age, is the ''Curiosities of Literature," It was the
firet revelation to the English peoplo that they possessed materials for
historical and critical investigations hardly inferior in value to the cele-
brated Memoirs of the French ; and it wo? also one of the earliest
Ittempts to vindicate the memory of the Stuarts, but more especially the
first James and the first Charles, from the odium which had been accu-
mulated upon them ever since the revolution. More than one of the
iVaverley Novels was obviously suggested by the " Curiosilies of Lite-
Bature;" and to that work out modern writers of historical romance

224

THE LATE ISAAC DISRAELI, ESQ.

hare been far more deeply indebted than tbey bave ever yet aokoov-
ledged.

The •' QijarreU of Anthors," the ** Calamities of Authon," and th»
** ItlustratioQS of the Literary Character," though more immediat^h con-
nected with literary historvj are everywhere marked with the character-
iftic feelings and sentiments which rendered the author so eamert m
■diocate and »o xealous u pleader for the hapless house of SiuarL Tbe
flimiilnni of a fallen race, which still clung to its theocratic title, wt$
the oatoral sympathiser with a fallen dynasty, which, in the midst of lU
ha misfortunes, never abandoaed its hereditary claims.

We differ entirely from Mr. D Israel i*s estimate of the Stuarts; b<t
we shall not enter into any argument on the matter^ for there can be
no rational oontrorersy witliout a previous deterrnination of ibft
standard to he used and the weights and measures to be employed. W9
should require ou our weights the Tower stamp, while Sir. D^lmeii
would use none which had not the impress of the sanctuary.

It was DTsracli's review of Spence's '* Anecdotes" in the »' Quarterly,*
which gave rise to the great Pope controversy, in which Mr. Boelflb
Lord Hyron, Mr. Campbell, and others took a part. The revi«Wi
Tindicalioa of the moral and poetical character of Pope evinces gnrf
earnestness and cunviciion : ho writes not as an advocate stating a cam
but as a warm-hearted judge, who, having carefully investigated all \k
mdmcei has unconsciously become a partisan while summing up tk
But we suspect that Pope was not the principal person ia ibi
r*s mind while preparing this article : we think that from begiaiuof
to «ild be was mainly intent on a vindication of Bolingbrobcs that ■ii'
TMveeBted statesman and misapprehended genius, to whom the yoaDgM
D bneti has had the courage to do justice. Bayle and Bolingbrnl
have been especial favourites with both the D'Lraelis; the father Ml
•oholar clinging closer to the former, the latter as a politician dweUinf
nphatically on the latter. If in the twelve volumes of Uteran
by tbe elder Disraeli wo find Bayte'a multifarious reading, ka
^>irH of speculation, hia contempt for merely popoltf
ijpWMJ tad • very appreciable tendency to paradox ; so in the young*
«• ted the idcAl of Bolingbrokc more or less pervading the heroes af
hia politicel ramanoes. Vivian Grey is a BoUngbroke in those etrl*
diyt cX htt political intrigues, when, with a boyish spirit of malioerM
overturned the political combinations which he had toiled to ttjOM
plish, from nu<rv CApricc or from sheer love of mischief ; and Coniogibgf
IS what BoUugbroke would have been had he act himself up aa a patriflt
miinstor for bis own ideality of a patriot king.

Now this admiration of Bolingbrokc arisen chiefly, but not whoH|>
Irom the Venetian cast of the character of that statesman. BoUngbroke
was cssuntiallv the statesman of an oligarchy ; an admirable manager d
A pnrty, but ttie wor»t possible leader of a people. It may seem incot*
liateot lo speak of the theocratic element in the mind of a reputed
infidel ; and yet the High Church sentiments of BoUngbroke cannot b*

auestionw!. This, however, is a subject on which we must not at prewnl
ilate t it ib too large, and too important to be treated of incidentally.
The late Mr. D'hraeli waa one of the few men who lived exclusivelf
literature. Early placed iu n position of independence, whicA
red it unnecessary for him lo adopt the commercial pursuits
ft father, he indulged his taste, or rather his passion, for cuhooi

THE Late isaac d'israeli, esq..

225

researcb, and [lever was satisfied in ihc invcfitigalion of atty queslion
until he had examined the original authorities. His writings and ex*
ample have ilifTiised a taste for historical inquiry and criticisni, which has
become, to a great extent, the prevalent characteristic of our age. In
1841 he was stricken with blliidneiis, aud though he submitted to an
operation, his sight was not restored. He, the great American writer,
Prescott, and Thierry, the author of the " History of the Conquest of
England by the Nornians, (who has published several considerable works
since his bHndness,} are probably the only hi^ftorical authors who have
continued their labours in ttpite uf so terrible a calamity. Aided by
his daughter, he produced the '* Amenities of Literature,'* and com-
pleted the revision of his great work on the Reign of Charles I., which,
OD its first publication, had procured for him the degree of D.C.L.
from the University of Oxford.

A cultivated and powerful memory enabled him, in the later years of
his life, to pour forth the stores he had accumulated in his long and
varied studies with a profiisiun as delightful as it was f urprising. *' The
blind old man eloquent" was a description as applicable to him as to the
bard of Scio. He felt that he had left an impress on his age and
country ; that he had enforced a more scrupulous attention to acci;racy
on iih historians, and a more careful observance of character and cos-
tume on its writers of fiction. The dangers with which his favourite
ideas of theocracy and nobility had been menaced by the wild theories
to which the French Revolution gave birth, had long faded from
bis view, and he could look forward to a redemption of Israel conse-
quent on a gcnernl advancement of enlightened principle and philo-
sophic intelligence. Hh tcork teas dv»e ; the great ideas which it had
been his mission to develop were now unfolded more brilliantly, though
perhaps not more efficaciously, by his son ; the object of his dearest
affections was become the expounder of his most cherished sentiments, and
more than the supporter of his dearly-earned fame. His own fame was
thus enshrined in his son's reputation, and no one could hereafter name
either D'lsraeh without feeling that as the one worthily led so the other
worthily succeeded.

The death of Mr, D'Israeli took place in the eighty-second year of his
age, at his country scat, Bradenham House, in Buckinghamshire, Janu-
ary 19th^ 1848. He died a widower, having lost his wift\ to whom he
had been united for more than furty years, in the spring of lbi7. One
daughter and throe sons survive him : his eldest son, the member for
Buckinghamshire, is too well known wherever the English language is
spokeu for us to say one word respecting his claims to celubrity.

A TOT ^ITH THE DUTCHMEN.

-rxx i-i'VEX.

OiJi Prvat B jeh xaexaziA. lis ^luant hntwr*, its garnet je«eli,iu
csHiurfx xraH^ is Xiiiia» nf Tvc^ Brafae — from wbidi you looked
4we: tilt iniine-aeJic — cttrumt is :W tsts of KUioct, are dinamed to
■mm r7. r^ ?3k r«^ft=r rgenSifgTirmf .HieaToi grant they be always
£«i^ r XT I3SC 'aPBirTa TTv^. CK vliic^ yoa gtided down to the
|iieaaizu CjctiiC ic Scuet.

1: I^m. IT ME- rvx cMiLtrr. I have novbere aeen richer river
iiK?if?T uud uac Mtxtc :Ae Elbe, is its pro greafc through Saxoo Svit-
■es-ikac : J a c-joiciK-iwit » id he made. — it is only less rich in asso-
csaticc i^KT I2<e iLxui«. axis tmiuj les» beamifal than the Hudson.

r=k2Ms^ ^•'^s^ «x>^ iazr. iziabh iu vaten, and &bu)ous giaots
scnoe over froer ^bt:&. to hank. And gray, giant rocks pile up bj ita
ahcirri^ buziirv^ cc TAes i£i£> the air. At their foot, a little debrii
^"^f^ t^^ x^ vaur s coTCTvd viih forest trees ; and upon the imallt
Wt«^ «a=2s^u ane $=rv;c'ia$ firfc. Betveen these isolated towers, you
MCDezisoes $«t crlhrpces ct cnduating country, backed by a blue pile
ol" m.-sirstaiss. At ccher GnvaL these towers are joined by a rocky
wal'i — aot so n&wch. bu: w"ieT ihan the palisades, and far more fear*
All to lo>c<k OQ — ror t«>j sa:' cjose under the threatening crag^ and the
dark tnee-rnr^ at the t;^ shuu off the light* and you know that if
one of the IcoK^Pcd trapner.tf were to fall, it would crush the little
Fteanier voa ane upon.

Now \ou Art free oi the tro«-ning terrors of the clifF, and go gliding
do« u. straight upon a cra$>$^v knoU that stretches, or seenas to stretch,
right athwart the stream. Nearer and nearer you gn, until you can
see plainly the bottom, and the grass growing down into the water;
and while you are looking upon the prettj pebbled bed of the river,
the boat, like a frightened duck, shies away ^om the grassy shore,
and quickens her speed, and shoots back to the shelter of the brown
ramparts again. Directly under thenif not seen before, though you
thought it was the old line of rampart, a white village nestles among
vines and fruit-trees ; and you pass so near it, that you can see the
old women at their knitting in the cottages, and hear the pleasant
prattle of children.

The prattle of the children dies away, and you glide into forest
silence again. No sound now, save the plashing of your boat in the
water, — or the faint crash of a fir-tree, felled by some mountain
woodsman, on a disUnt height,— or the voice of some screaming eagle,
circling round the pinnacled rocks.

K6mng«tein, the virgin fortress, never yet taken in war, throws itt
ahsdow black as ink across the stream ; and as you glide under its
owprhansing cliffs— looking straight up, you can see the sentinel, on
!c»t bastion, standing out against the sky — no bigger than

'he hub
loarthu

^rjpgritt to the Saxon capital.

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

8S7

Dresden Loo, is left behind — a l}eaiiiirul city. U reminds one who
has been in the Scottish Highlands of E'ertfu The mountains of the
Saxon Swilncrliind tiikc the place of the blue line ofCrranipians ; — ■
the valley of the Elbe, in surface and eultivatton, brings vividly to
mind the view uf the Scoteti valley, from the hetj^lils above the castle
of Kinfauns; — and jnst such a long, stnnc-urched bridge as crosses
the " silvery Tay," may be seen spanning l!ie river ut Dresden.

It made me very sad to leave Dresden, It has just that sort of
quiet benuty that makes one love to linger, — and made nie love to
linger, though Cameron and our Uulian eonipanionj // MeirantVy who
had joined us in place of Lc Comte, were both urging on toward the
Northern caprtaU.

So we left the Elhe^ i^nd for a long montli saw no more of it.

\Vc came in sight of it again at Mngdebourg — -where, if the old
legends are true, (and I diire ^ay there is more truth In ttiem timn
people think, if iliey would but get at the bottom of the matter^ there
liveil in the river a whtmsrcal water-sprite. She was pretty — for she
af>peared under likeness of a mischievous girl,— and used to come up
into the vilhige to dance with the inhabitants, at all the fetes ; — and
bhe wore a ttiiow-wlnte dress and blue turban, and had a prellier foot
and more longuishing eye, than any maid of Magdebourg.

The result was — she won the heart of a youngster of the town, who
lullowed her away from the dunce to the river's brink, and plunged in
with her. The villagers looked lo see them nppear again ; but all
they flaw, was a gout of blood floating in a little eddy upon the top of
the water.

They say it appears every year, on the same day and hour;* — we
were, unfortunately, a moiitli loo lale ; nnd I saw nothing in the river
but a parcel of clumsy barges — a stout washerwoman or two, and a
very dirly steamer, on board which I was going down to Hamburg.

Another old story runs thus: —

i\ young man, ar«d bcnutiful maiden of Mfigdebourg, were long time
betroihed. At length, when the nuptials approached, he who should
have been the bridegroom, was missing. Search was made every-
-where, iind he was not to be found.

A famous magician was consulted, nnd informed the bereaved
friends^ that the missing bridegruoni had been drawn under the river
by the Undine of the Elbe.

The Undine of the Elbe would not give him up, except the bride
should take his pluce. To this, the bride, like an exemplary woman*
consenled, — but her parents did not.

The friends mourned nioreatid more, and called tj]>on the magician
to reveal the lost man again to their view. So he brought them to
the biink of the river — our slenmer was l_)ing near the spot — and ut-
tered his spells, and the body of the lost one floated to the top, with
a deep red gash in the left brca&t.

It seems theie were stupid, in*juiring people in those days, who
said the magician had murdered the poorsoutof a lover, nnd used his
magic to cover his rascality ; but fortunately such ridicidous explan-
jilions of the weird power of the Undine, were not at all creditetl.

• TaditHtn Ora/e de Maffdettouri;. ,\/j\f. (irimm. This, and the foilowing
leic^nti trill remind ihu reailer uf Carleloii's huUud ot' &ur Turluugh, ur uhv Cluircb
Yard Bride : and also of Soolt's GleriBnlat.

228

h PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

I shuulii ihink the Unditic had now and tlien a dance upon ihe
bottom of the river; — for the Elbe U the muddiest stream, all tW
way from Magdebourg to Hamburg, that 1 ever sailed upon.

I fihould say, it' 1 have not already said iu much, that half tlie mI-
vantage of European travel, consists not so much in observation of
customs of particular cities or provinces, as in contrast and comptn*
son of different habits, — characteristics of different countries, as re*
presented in your fellow-royoi/e'Kr*, on all the great routes of travel.

You may see Cockney hubit in London, and Parisian habit at Paris,
and Danish habit at Coi>enhagcn, and Prussian habit at Stettin^sod
Italiuii hubit at Livournc ; — but you shall see them alt, and more, con-
trasted on the deck of tlic little steamer that ^oes down the lower
Elbe to tiaaiburg. And it is this cosmopoliton sort of observationi
by which you arc enabled to detect whose habit is more distinctive
in character, — whose hubit most easily blends with general or locsl
habit, that will give one an opportunity for study of both individusi
and national peculiarity — not easily found elsewhere.

The Englishman in his stiff* cravat, you will find in all that regirdi
dress, mamier, com]>anionship, aud topic of couvcrsattoo, tlie most
distinctive in habit of all.

Me cannot wear the German blouse, or the French sack; he cto-
nut assume the easy manner of the Parisian, nor the significant car-
riage of the Italian. In choosing his companions, he avoids the
English, because they are countrymen, and every one else, becauM
Ihey are not English. The consequence is, if he does not cross ihe
channel with a companion, or find one at Paris, he is very apt logvi
through the country without one.

Whatever may bo his conversation, its foci are British topics. If
he discusses the hotel, he cannot forbear alluding to the ** Dell" at
Gloucester, or the "Angel" at Liverpool ; if of war, it is of Marlborough
and Wellesley. He seems hardly capable of entertaining an enlarged
idea, which has not some connection with England; and he would
very likely think it most extraordinary that a clever man could suc^
tain any prolonged conversation without a similar connection.

The Frenchman^ bustling and gracious, is distinctive in whatever
regards his language or food, and also in some measure, in topic.

He would be astonished to tind u man in Kamscliulka who did not
speak French; and if a chattering Undine had risen above the sur-
face of the Elbe, our little French traveller would not have been hall
us much surprised at the phenomenon of her rising, as to hear licr
talking German.

He is never satisfied with his dinner; he can neither eat Engtisti
beef, nor German pics, nor Italian oil. *'Mon Dieu ! quelle mauvaiK
cuisine t" — is the bles^ing he asks at every meal; and " Mon Dieu!
c'cftt 6ni. J'en suis bien aise," — arc llie thanks he returns.

His poliUMc will induce him to tbllow whatever topic of conversft*
lion may be suggested ; but this failing, his inexhaustible resuurccSi
as you meet him on travel, arc l^ Femmea and la Fninot^

The Russian, if he has only been in a civilized country long enoogli
to shake off* a little of his savage manner, is tar less distinctive tliun
either. lie cures little how ho dresses, what he eats, or in what lan-
guage he talks. In Uonie you would take him for an Italian, in the
diligence fur a Frtnchroun, ut sea for an Englishman, and in trading
only, for n Ftussian.

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

S2J)

lie German, setting aside Iiis beard and liis pipe (which lost is not
Ely set aside) is also little distinctive in conversational or personal
it. You will detect him easiest at table, and by his curious ques-

[he Italian learns easily and quickly to play the cosmopolite in
n, speech, action, and in conversation, too — so long as there is no
ition of art. Touch only tliis source of his passiooiand he reveals
\ twinkling his southern birth.

rbe American — and here I hesitate long, knowing that my observ-
kn will be submitted to the test of a more rigorous examination-^
In disposition least wedded to distinctiveness of all. In lack of
ilude be betrays himself. His travel being hasty> and not often
i£A(ed, be has not that cognizance of general form which the Rus-
B and Italian gain by their frequent juurneyings.
)for in point of language will he have the adaptiveness of the Rus-
It both from lack of familiarity with conversational idiom, and lack
that facility in acquisition which seems to belong peculiarly to the
ders of the Sclavonic tongue.

Igain, in the way of adaptation to European life, there is somc-
ag harder yet for the American to gain: it is the cool, Imlf-dis-
ty world-like courtesy, which belongs to a people among whom
k obtains, and which is the very opposite to the free, open, dare-
il, inconsiderate manner that the Westerner brings over the ocean
b him.

dor is tlie American, in general, so close an observer of personal
»it as the European. Those things naturally attract his attention,
Hrhich he is most unused ; he can tell yuu of the dress of royalty,
ihc papal robes, and of the modes at an imperial ball ; but of the
ry-day dress and manner of gentlemen, and their afler-dinncr
lit and topics, he may perhaps know very little.
Still, in disposition he is adaptive : what he detects he adopts. He
lOt obstinate in topic or dress like the Englishman, nor wedded to
H»eech or his dinner, like the Frenchman. He slips easily into
fllge. In England he dines at six, on roast beef and ale. At
ris, he takeb his ca/c^ and fricandeaut and vin orUinaire, and thinks
liing can be Bner. At Rome he eats maccaroni cd burro j and sets
rn in his note-book how to cook it. At Barcelona he chooses ran-
^ptter, and wonders he ever loved it fresh ; and on the Rhine he
Ba bit of the boiled meat, a bit of the stew, a bit of the tart, a
K the roost, a bit of the salad, with a bottle of Hocheimer, and
Isemory of all former dinners is utterly eclipsed.
m Vienna he will wear a heard, in I'Vaucc a moustache, in Spain
lloak, and in England a white cruvat. And if he but stay long
9Ugh to cure a certain native extravfigancc of manner, to observe
kroughly every-day habit, and to iubtruct himself in the idioms of
^ch, he is the most thorough Worlds-man of any.
It has occurred to me, while setting down these observations, that
nr faithfulness would be sustained by an attentive examination of
t literary habit of the several nations of which I have spoken.
UU, Russia, careless of her own literature, accepts that of the world,
igland, tenacious of British topic, is cautious of alliance with what
ir is foreign.
ki i have no space to pursue the parallel further. The curious

230 A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

reader can do it at his leisure, while I go back to our Hoaling

on the Elbe.

A day and a night we were Boating down the river. The bankj
were low and sedgy, — not worth a look. A chattering little Frendk-
man detailed to us his adventures in lEussiu. A clumsj* Engliftbaial
was discoursing with a Norwegian merchant upon trade. ,

It was the sixteenth day of June, and the nir as hot as hottcsCJ
summer. Night came in with a glorious sunset. For every (hinf <
that we could see of the low country westward was goId-^ellow; the
long sedge-leaves waved glittering, ns iT they had been dipped in
gulden li^lit, and fields following lietds beyond them. And eastvinl,
save where the black shadow of our boat, and its clouds of tmoktA
stretched a slanted mile over the Hat banks, the colour of grast, and
shrub, and everything visible^ was golden. — golden grain-fields^ aod
fields far beyond them, — golden and golden still, — till the colour
blended in the pale violet of the east — far on toward northern Poland;
the pale violet, clear of clouds, rolled up over our heads into a purple
dome. By and bye, the dome was studded with stars; the awning
of our boat was furled, and we lay about the deck, looking out upM
the dim^ shadowy shore, and to the west, where the red light W
gered.

Morning came in thick fog; but the shores, when we could ier
them, were better cultivated, and farm-houses made their appearance-
Presently Dutch stacks oi' chimneys threw their long shadows over
the water; and, with Peter Parley's old story-book in my roind, I «»
the 6rfit storks' nests. The long-legged birds were lazing about tlir
housu-tops in the sun, or picking the seeds from the sedgy grass ii
the metidow.

The Frenchman had talked himself quiet. Two or three Dutch-]
men were whithng eittntly and earnestly at their pipes, in the bow
the boat, luoking-out for ilie belfries of Hamburg. 1 o reh'eve tb*-]
tedium, 1 thought I could do no better myself. So 1 pulled out my
pipe that had borne nie company nil through France and Italy and
begged a little tobacco and a light; — it was my first pipe with tite
Dutchmen.

Cameron would not go with me to Dremen ; so 1 lei\ him at Ham-
burg— at dinner, at the l^ible of the Kronprinzen Charles, on the
sunny side of the Jungfernstieg.

I could have stayed nt Hamburg myself. It is a queer old
city, lying just where the Elbe, coming down from the mountains of
Bohemia, through the wild gaps of Saxony and everlasting plains of
Prussia, pours its muddy waters into a long arm of the Mer du Nord.

The new city, built over the ruins of the fire, is elegant, and niniost
Paris-like; and out of it one wanders, before he is aware, into the
narrow iilleys of the old Dutch gables. And blackened cross-beams
and overlapping roofs, nnd diamond panes^ and scores of smart Dutch
caps, are looking down on him as he wanders entranced. It is the
strangest contrast of cities that can be seen in Europe. One hour,
you are in a world that bus un old age of centuries ;—pavemcntS|
sideways, houses, every thing old, and the smoke curling iit nn old-<
fashioned way out of monstrous chinmey-stacks, into the murky bky:

five minutes* walk will bring you from the mirl8tof this tntoa region]

where all is bhockingly new : — Parisian shops, with Parisian plate-glass

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

231

windows —Paristtin Bhopkeepers, with Parisian gold in the till,
he contrast was tormenting. Helore the smooth-cut shops that are
KDged around the busin uf tim AUler, 1 could not persuade niysell'
bat 1 was in the quaint old Hunsc town of Jew brokers, and storks'
ests, that I had come to see; or when I wandered upon tltc quays
hat are lined up and down with such true Dutch-looking houses, it
eemed to me that I was out of all reach of the splendid hotel of the
Irowu Prince, and the prim [>orter who sports his livery at the door.
lie change was as quick and unwelcome us that from pleasant dreams
D the realities ot* morning.

Quaint costumes may be seen all over Hamburg : — chiefest among
bem, are the short, red skirts of the flower-girls, and the broad-
rrmmed hats, with no crowns at all, set jauntily on one side a bright,
mooti) niesli of dark brown hair, from which braided tails go down
air to their feet behind. They — tlie girls — wear a basket hung co-
tiettishly un one arm, and with the other will offer you roses, from
he gardens that look down on the Alstcr, with un air iliat is bo sure
r success, one is ashamed to disappoint it.

Strange and soIenm-looUint; mourners in black, with white ruffles
ind short swords, follow cotfitts through the streets; and at times,
rhen the dead man has been renowned, one of them with a long
ruDipet robed in black, is perched in the belfry of St. Michaers, — the
tighest of Hamburg, — to blow a dirge. .Shrilly it peals over the
leaked gables, and mingles with the mists that rise over the meadows
»f Heligoland. The drosky-men stop, to lot the prim mourners go
^y*;— -the Howcr-girls draw back into the shadows of the street, and
^ross themselves, and lor one little moment look thoughtful : — the
Kirghers take off their hats as the black pall goes dismally on. The
lirge dies in the tower; and for twelve hours the body rests in the
lepulchraJ chapel, with a light burning at the head, and another at
the feet.

There would be feasting for a commercial eye in the old Ilanse
liouses of Hamburg trade. There are piles of folios marked by cen-
turies, instead of years — correspondences in which grandsons have
grown old, and bequeathed letters to grandchildren. As likely as not,
the same smoke-browned office is tenanted by the same respectable-
looking groups of desks, and long-legged stools that adorned it, wl)en
Frederic was storming the South kingdoms — and the stime tall Dutch
clock may be ticking in the corner, that has ticked off' three or four
generations past, and that is now busy with the 6fth, — ticking and
licking on.

I dare say that the snuff-taking book-keepers wear the same wigs,
lUt their grandfathers wore; and as for the snuff-boxes, and the spec-
tacles, there is not a doubt but they have come down with the ledgers
ind the day-books, from an age that is utterly gone.

1 was fortunate enough to have made a Dresden counsellor my
friend, ujwn the little boat that came down from Magdcbourg; and
tlie counsellor look ice with me at the cafe on the Jungferostieg, and
chaiied with me at tid>Ic ; and after dinner, kindly took me to sec ati
old client of his, of wljom he purchased a monkey, and two stuffed
birds. Whether the old lady, his client, thought me charmed by her
treasures^ I do not know; though I stared prodigiously at her and her
counsellor; and she slipped her card coyly in my hand at going out

232 A PrPE WITH THE DCTCtlMEN.

and has expected me, I doubt not, before Uiis, to buy one of her lonf-
tailed imps, at the saucy price of ten louis-d'or.

But my decision was nmde ; my bill paid; the tlrosky at the door,
I promised to meet Cameron at the Oudc Doclen at Amsterdam, nod
drove off I'ur the steamer for Ilarbourg.

I never quite forgave myself for leaving Cameron to quarrel out il»
terms with the vfil^t-<ff-placf at the Crown Prince ; for which I mu«
be owing him stil) one shilhng and sixpence; for I never sav htoi
aAerwurd, and long before this, he must be tramping over tlie muin
of Lanarkshire in the blue and white shooting-jacket we bought on tlM
quay at Berlin. "

It was a ^te-<lay at Flamburg; and the steanier that went over to
Harbourg was crowded with women in white. I was tjuite at a Ion
among them, in my sober travelling trim, and I twisted the brim of
my Roman hat over and over agin, to give it an air of gentility, but it
would not do ; and the only acquaintance I could make, wad a dirt^-
looking, sandy-haired small man^ in a greasy coat, who asked me in
broken English, if 1 was going to Bremen. As I could uot under-
stand one word of the jargon nf the others about mc, I tJiought it best
to secure the acquaintance of even so unfavourable a specimen. It
proved that he was going to Bremen too, and he advised me to go
with him in a diligence that set off immediately on our arriral at
Harbourg. As it was some time before the mail carriage would leave*
1 agreed to his proposal.

It was near night when we set ofF^ and never did I pass over duller
country, in duller coach, and duller company. Nothing but wester
on either side, half covered with heather; ami when cultivated at ill
producing only a light crop of rye, which here and there flaunted iti
yellow heads over miles of country. The road, too, was execrablr
paved with round stones, — the coach, a rattling, crazy, half-made and
half-decayed diligence. A sboemaker'b boy and my companion of tbe
bout, who proved a Bremen Jew, were with me on the back seat, anJ
two Jittle windows were at each side, scarce bigger than my baiiij.
Thret: tobacco-chewing Dutch sailors were on the middle seat, who
had been at Bordeaux, and Jamaica, and the Cape; and in front ws«
an elderly man and his wife — the most quiet of all, — for ihe woman
slept^ and the man smoked.

The little villages passed, were poor, but not dirty, and the inn*
des]Mcable on every account but tliut of filth. The sailors at eoeb,
took tlieir 8chnapi>9; and I, at intervals, a mug of beer or d
of coffee.

The night grew upon us in the midst of dismal landscapCt ^ni
the sun went down over tbe distant rye-fields like a sun at sea. Nof"
was it without its glory: — the old man who smoked, pulled out
pipe, and ntid^ed his wife in the ribs ; and the sailors laid their headi
together. The sun was the colour of blood, with a strip of blue cloud
over the middle ; and the reflections of light were crimson — over the
waving grain tops, and over the sky, and over the heather landscape.

Two hours after it was dark, and we tried to sleep. The shoe-
maker smelt strong of his bench, and the Jew of his old clothes, and
the sailors, as sailors always smell, and the coach was shut up, and it
was hard work to sleep; and I dare say it was but little after mid*
night when I gave it up, and looked for the light of the next day

IIIU

anin
hi«|

233

ANNE BOLEVN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

Thk liour rtF inHlnight had just passed away, when four women
and fi>ur n*en, singly am! stealtliily crept into St. Peter's church,
ill llie Tower. When there, grouped together, one explained to
the rest the proposed course of proceeding: all then bent their
steps to the same point, and were presently engaged, some in lifting
up a huge flag-stone from the pavement, others in spreading a very
large cloth by the side of it ; and, two wooden shovels being pro-
duced, two of the men proceeded instantly to throw out upon it the
earth from a newly-made grave. This was the grave of Anne
Boleyn, whose headless body had been rudely and hurriedly thrown
into it, only twelve iiuurs previously.

la all possible silence the men worked, and with no other light
than was thrown on the soil by a small dark-Unteni,niost carefully
held; but, although silently, they yet worked resolutely, and with
great vigour and dispatch cast forth all that was found between them
and the object of their search ; which was an old elm-chest, that had
been used for keeping the soldiers* arrows in. In this were deposited
the remains of their late ijucen ; and, the lid being removed, the
body, which had on the scuflbld been most carefully folded in a
thick win ding- sheet, was then lilted out, and laid on a large black
cloak. The lid replaced, and the earth, willigrejit caution and speed,
being again thrown it^ and the large Hafr-stone again laid down, the
party hastened to the church door. A gentle signal from w^ithin
having been answered by the opening of the door from without, and
the assurance given that all was well, — ihat no one was stirring, or
in sight, the whole party passed hurriedly away with their burden
into a house near at hand. Very shortly after the men separately
retired to their respective temporary lodgings, to ponder rather upon
their plans for the ensuing day, than to reHect upon the dangers
they hftd incurred in their proceedings.

The four women, to whose care the body of the queen had been
thus confided, were the four faithful, and attached, and chivalrous
maids of honour, who had attended upon Anne In the Tower, and
accompanied her to the scaffold- These, when her head was severed
from tne body, took charge of both, suffering no one to touch them
but themselves, and having wrapped them carefully in a covering
they had provi<led, and placed them in the old cuest, which had
been brought thither to receive them, they went with thoae who
were appointed to bear away the body to the church, and did not
leave it till they saw it completely enclosed in the grave which had
been so hastily opened to admit it.

One of these four was Mary Wyatt, and one of the four men was
her brother, Sir Thomas Wyatt, who could not endure the thought
that one whom he had unce bo funiUy loved, whom he had al-
ways admired and esteemed, should be buried like a dog^ and
thrust into the grave, as a thing dishonoured and despised; and,
when a messenger brought him word, that Anne, but a moment
before she knelt down on the block, whispered to his sister to im-
plore her brother to bear off, if possible^ her remains from the Tower,
and to give her tfie rites of Christian burial in a place she named, K«

TSOKAS WTaTT.

ts fidfl, if prBcticable,

to himKlf

a pricoof
d, bad
have been executed
felt this ; and

vith. and other c<

»e from inr
ras povertess. Yet, who
tfaicaxeoed the lo&t of life
hovtile Tower, well-
id brave the vengeance of a
mwmj tht body fif « queen, of whose person.
be bad the custody > — And for whose uke
nk la be eaeoantcred ? The poor queen cuuld give no
aD is Jiigiate . Wyatt had no money, and
bat tbat helped him which Has tie!n^<i
m wo often Achieved success in '.
bad man's love foi^woman to a^t^H-^

lOL

Thnir rhirilrir BMidmi, wbo braved without fear the frowni of
tbeir king, and tbc mialtix^ ipeecbes of bis courtiers, to attend
opoo tbcir mntm I aaali and maligned queen in her degradatic
and dnCfcai^ wefe net likely to have dther puHllanimous lovi
or brothers ; and the men happened to be in this case worthy of tl
women. Tbey entered immediately and cordially into Wyalt's pi
jmd t»eparale1y, and without an hour's delay, made their way to
Tower, to make enquiries as to the health and welUdoin^ of tbi
respective favourite*. When there, various reason!^ were found fori
their staying during the night. The ladies themselves would all de«j
part the next da v. and the assistance of such friends in their reoioi
was more than desirable.

Besides, other circumstances within the Tower m some measure
favoured their projects, — the hurried preparation fur so many ex-
ecutions within the walls during the last few days, — the arrival of\
BO many nobles and counsellnrj*, to sit in jtidgnient upon the jmsoners,
\u\ the arrival that day within the Tower of the king's brother,,

the Duke of Suffolk, the king's son, the Duke of Richmond, and
other high officers of state, to witness Anne's execution, — and their i
hurried departure, after all was over, with their numerous retinae,
deranged the usual customary duties of the guard, and made them
leas inquisitive than they would otherwise have been, as to tlie per-
sons they admitted.

Iti adilitinn to this, all the prisoners, who had caused all this ex-
citement, had been disposed of, — all were executed, and, moreover,
buried. Thrre wos no one remaining within the Tower cared for
by any one ; and the extreme vigilance of the constable. Sir
llliam Kingston, so long as he liad the prisoners in charge, and,
il he had in every re!f(u-ct obeyed the king's stern decrees ID
:t of them all, m.ide him, perhaps, now less acvere in his regiHi
ns towarttft tlic frw unhappy Udien. their frimda, who wooU
more wttliin the Tower waUs^

ANNE BOLEYN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

235

The j>cculiarly mournful situation of theee Indies, the melancholy
and -nfflicting scenes they had «o lately witnessed, their heroic con-
duct, and their deep tli^lress, made it impossible to deny to therathe
sympathy and visit of a few friends. Mary Wyatt, in her deep sor-
row^ might well he supposed to need a brottier's consolation, and
even, in her forlorn state, a brother's protection. This gave him,
immediately subsecjuent to the execution, an amply sufficient reason
for visiting his sister in the Tower ; and he soon arranged with
Blary all the details of his enterprise; and Mary soon secured the
hearty co-operation of the other ladies, who were but too well pleased
to lend tht'ir aid to fulfil the last expreijsed wish of their dying
mistress.

A quiet entrance into the church was all that Sir Thomas then
seemed to need for the success of his phins. He strolled into the
church, conversed unreservedly, and with as much composure as he
could assume, with the sexton, who pointed out to him the stones
which covered the bodies respectively of Queen Anne, and her bro-
ther, Lord Rochtord. The man, it ajipeared, from hia conversation,
had greatly commiserated the fate of the unhappy queen, and was
shocked at the heartless manner in which she had been thrust into her
! grave, without any attendant priest or religious service. Sir Thomas
Wyatt availed himself of this favourable prepossession, and by per-
suasions of variou B kinds, some verbal;^ some, perhaps, more substan-
tia], he obtained of the man permission to enter the church at mid-
night, and with the ladies who had been the queen's attendants, to
complete her funeral obsequies secretly and quietly, as they best
could.

Of course the sexton never knew, nor did the constable of the
Tower ever dream, of the masterly manoeuvre that had been prac-
tised against them. So far, however, had Sir Thomas succeeded,
that he had rescued the body from its grave, and had placed it in
hands that would, to thetr utmost, protect it. The next step was to
remove it beyond the Tower walls,

It was natural enough, that from the excitement and distress of
the preceding day, from the terror and grief they had been exposed
to in the actual witnessing on the scalluld the beheading of their
lovely queen, that the ladies should be more or less ill, and that one
at least should need to be carried to her litter, from illness and sheer
exhaustion.

When the hour arrived for their departure, they respectively sent
their adieus and their thanks to Sir William and Lady Kingston, and
a litter being at the door, three of the ladies, in the deepest mourn-
ing, entered it ; and presently Sir Thomas Wyatt, and another gen-
tleman appeared, carrying in their arms a lady, who seemed but
little able to support herself She also was in mourning, anti closely
covered up. This was the body of Anne. Having safely deposited
her with the others, the whole drove away, followed by the other
maid of honour, disguised as one of the attendants. Quietly and
together the gentlemen walked through the Tower gates, beyond
which their horses awaited them ; mounting these, they proceeded
westward, and, were .soon lost sight of in the crooked and narrow
street which led directly from the Tower to the City.

Twelve days had passed away, when Sir Thomas Wyatt rode into
the court of Blickling Hall, in the county of Norfolk, accom\»w\\«A

VOL. sxiii. %

ANHB BOLEVN AKD Sift THOHA8 WYATT.

>Ugfa

by hi* tiflCer Mary. It wu in this hall that be had parsed
the days of his early life, a companion and a playfellov
daughter of his fathcr'i friend, Sir Thomas Boleyn ; hef«
boy, he had gambolled, aitd walked, and gardened, an
the sweet littTc girl, Anne Boleyn. Here, as children^
joyed together many of the hours of their happier y
father and her father being for a time coadjutor govemon
wich Castle, the families frequently visited each other. Ni
intimacy cease with the removal of the Wyatts to AlHngtfl
in Kent, since the Boleyns moved also into that county, t
not altogether exclusively, but very frequently, Ilever CmI

There Wyatt was a frequent visitor, and with his increas
increased his attachment to the fair Anne, the playmate of]
hood. But, it was at Blickling Hall that all his earlier rec
of the Lady Anne were associated ; and, as he rode throu
way on that 1st of June, a thousand thnughta riiahed
mind, — a thousand recollections urged themselves on
uf her whom he had once fondly hoped to make his bride
he had since seen made a queen, — and whose headless bod
so lately rescued from an ignominious grave.

The Earl of Wiltshire, her father, had two days before ■
Blickling to receive his expected guests. None else were 1
themselves. It was a time of mourning and sorrow for all
of fear, and not of feasting. Their danger was still great ;
tection was still possible. One indiscreet slept one unguan
might still betray them, and bring down the fierceat wrfttli
most certain death upon them all. _

The motives for the Earl of Wiltshire's visit to Bliofl
natural enough. His daughter had fallen under the kii^^
sure, and hnd lost her head in consequence, and every
means had been taken by the king to defame her charade
hold her up as an object for the nation's scorn and abhorrei
father necessarily shared in the disgrace of the daughter ; an
moment his presence at court, and in mourning, would i
been borne by the king, who was just then engaged in inb
his new wife to the citizens of London, and holding high i
in celebration of his new marriage. ^

Retirement to his country-seat, if only for a seasol
only proper in the earl's case, an<l the most reasonable ■
dent thing he could well do. And. as for Alary Wyatt,
undergone so much of late for Anne's sake, had suffered i
from anxiety and distress, had witnessed so much, had
so much, that, to retire altogether from the scene uf i
disasters would seem equally advisable to her; and the atlM
stedfast friend of the earl's daughter could not have TfUM
time to a more suitable home than the earl's halls. 9

It was sufficient for Sir Thomas Wyatt himself that be
panied his sister. The presence, therefore, of the three toe
Blickling Hall, excited no curiosity as to their motives, call
no observations; no one obtruded upon their grief; nq^
turbed their quiet; no one intruded on their privacy; tM
earl had purposed to reside here again for a few montbjP
Hall had been of late rather deserted and neglected, various p
of furniture and goods hud been forwarded from his houi

ANNE BOLEYN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

237

use here; some packages of this kind, in old boxes and

rrived the same day that Sir Thomas Wyatt arrived, and

ty for hjs better accommodation^ as they were removed at

Die rooms occupied by him and his sister.

:, Sir Thomas had scarcely had the covered cart that brought

ds out of his sight since the day it left London. He

slowly, for his sister's sake, and invariably rested for the

erever the cart rested. Still he knew nothing, seemed to

now nothing of either the cart or the two men who went

He neither spoke to them, nor did they make the slightest

on to hira. Occasionally they passed by, or were over-

" two well-mounted horsemen, who seemed to be travelling

road with him^ and to have no greater motive for haste than

ThetiC did occasionally, when the accommodation was suf.

Ipest for the night at the same inn ; but, whenever they did

[took no notice of each other. Not a word passed between

They either were, or seemed, at least to others, to be total

B to each other ; and thus they journeyed, till they all

within an hour of each other at the city of Norwich. Here,

r, the strangers stopped. But not so did Wyatt, nor the

Ihese proceeded onward to Horeham ; and here Sir Thomas

I breathe more freely. He had so far succeeded in fulfilling

wg wish, whose memory he still so fondly cherished, — he

■ far brought her mortal remains. This night passed, and

rand a short day's travel over, he would place all that he

t the daughter in her father's halls. Whatever might be

k to himself, he had fulfilled what he considered his duty to

tt not a word on the subject throughout the whole journey

led between him and his sister. Walls have ears, and so have

as many have found to their cost; and Wyatt had lived

at court not to know when it was both prudent and safe

his tongue at rest, on that very subject especially which

^e was the most occupying his thoughts. That night,

*-f passed quietly away, and before the evening of the follow-

t^ey saw the cart enter the magnificently-timbered park of

K Hall. Then Wyatt rode on at once to the house; had a

lerview with the earl ; and the packages were all that night

way, where no curious eye would be prying into them, and

jioDs be asked about them.

far his project had succeeded to his utmost desire. Once

hne Boleyn rested in the halls of her birth. The fickle

ho had by his threats driven away the devoted Percy from

o had deprived her of the happiness she might have en-

~i that most devoted and atUiched admirer, and of the rank

he would have raised her as Duchess of Northumberland,

xl sought to seduce and to ruin her, — who then raised her

rone, — and finally sent her to the scaffold, — then to be

rather than buried, to be hid rather than entombed, little

P that, at that moment, she was again in the hnll of her

^in that hull from which he had so artfully beguiled her,

which be had so long, by titles and appointments, estranged

now once more she reposes, after all the trials and tt-mpta-
^hich he had exposed her, — aUer all the indignities and

a -i

238 AVNE BOLEVM AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

insults to which he had subjected her, — after all the calumnies intl
falsehoodB he had heaped u)»on her. Oht could she have known when
she ascended the scafiuld, that within one month from that day ill
that remained on earth of her would be found in that chamber oace
called her own at Blickling Hall, how much firmer would have been
her step, and how much more cheerful her spirit I She had appre-
hende<l that her remains would be indignantly treated, — that the
rites of sepulture would be withheld from her, and that her grave
would be where no meniorinL would be found of her; and, therefore,
her appeal to Wyatt, to save her. if possible, from the degradation
that awaited her, — to remove her, if possible, to the tomb of her
fathers. Her desire had now, however, a prospect of fulfilment,— a
grave had been opened in Salle church, which was the ancient burial-
place of her father's family; and thither, on the second night after
Wyati's arrival, the earl proceede<i, accompanieil by his pue*l«.
ostensibly for the purpose of having midni^;ht masses said for the
repose of his daughter's soul; hiailauRhler's remains, however, weal
with him. They had, under Mary Wyail's care, immediately upon
their removal from the Tower to her house, been most carefully
embalmed, and wnip|>ed in cere-cloth. In that state, and covered
with a black velvet pall, she was placed in one of her lather's car-
riages, into which Wyatt and his sister entered ; the earl preceding
them in another carriage alone.

What that earl's thoughts and reflections were during the two
hours he was slowly and unobscrvedly travelling, by Aylaham twd
Cawston, in Salle, it would not be difficult to divine, lie had within
the month lojit a <laug]iter and a son by the hand of the executioner,
— that son hiji only son, — that daughter the queen of England. Her
name, besiilcs, had been branded with infamy ; and, the prime
mover of all this misery to him, — the most active agent to work him
all this ill, — to bring his son and his daughter to the block, — was his
own son's wife, the infamous Lady Rochford. There ended all bit
dreams of ambition, — all bis influence and prosperity. His children
beheaded, — his nametlishonoured, — himself shunned. He wo* now
alone, it might be said, in the world. One daughter, indeed, yet re-
mained to him, his daugliter Mary; but she had two years before
incurred the anger of her father by marrying Sir W. Stafford; and
he was, in consequence, utterly estranged from her.

The bitter reflections of those two hours, perhaps the better pre-
pared the earl for the solemn ceremonies that awaited his coming at
Salle church. He alighted there at midnight. A few faithful ser-
vants br>re the man;{led remains of his daughter to the side of her
tomb ; but the perilous duty all there were engaged in would not
allow uf numerous tapers, — of a chnpelle nrdcnfe^-oC a whole choir
of priests, — or of grand ceremonials. One priest alone was there,
and the few candles that were lighted did no more than just show
the gloom in whicli they were shrouded.

But, all that could be done for the murdered queen was done,—*
maw was said for the repose of her soul, — De pro/uHtlu was chanted
by those present, — her remains were carefully lowered into the
grave, where they now rest, and a black-marble slab, without either
inscription or initials, alone marked the spot which contains all that
was mortal of Anne Holeyn— once queen of England.

Glrncrlik.

23d

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BV J. B. WARBBN.

Regioni iiniuenft;, Titi»earohali!e, unknown,

Ilatik in thf nplenclmir of the stilur zone. Mowtoomeby,

CHAPTER VI.

The City. — Ub Appearance and Popiilaliuu.— State of Society. — The grchi Numlief
nf PadriiS, or Friesta. — Cliamis. — The C'hurclie*. — Puhlic Rtiiltlin)|(«. — Military
Force— ticMlolpInis, a oeleHrated Slave. — Frofeatiuiifll Hefifgara. — The Women.
Tile Ktifinetteof UresH — The I^aiiguage. — Festivals (if Paru. — Festa de Naxare.

A VEHV strange-Iottking city is Para, with its low white-washed
dwellings covered with earthenware tiles; its lofty commercial
buildings, with little balconies jutting out towards the street; its
dark-walled churches, with their towering spires ; its gardens, teem-
ing with all the beauty and variety of tropical vegetation, and its
swarthy inhabitants, difCering as much in their coniplexiuns us the
birds of the forest vary in the tints oi' their plumage.

As no regnliar census has ever been taken in the city, it is impoa-
eible to state with accuracy the amount oTthe population ; the num-
ber, however, cannot be less than fifteen thousand. That of the
whole province has been supposed to be abimt two hundred and
fifty thousand, including the blaek;^ and Indi.ins, who compose by
far the greater part of this number.

Owing to the general ignorance and superstition of the lower
classes, the lack of schools and inslitulions of learning, the restric-
tion of the press, and almost toljd absence of bouks, there is no
societif^ in the E[iglii*h or American acceptation of the teriir Per-
haps a better reason for ttiia than any before-mentioned is the wani
of refinement among the females, and the great disrespect which is
here exercised towards the sacred institution of marriage. There is
no better criterion, not only of the state of society, but of the general
prosperity and commercial importance of a country, than tlie intelb-
gence, the influence, and the power, that ** lovely woman" brings to
bear upon the ioimurt.il destinies of man. We need only glance at
the condition of England and America, in proof of this assertion ;
nor need we look further than Brazil to illustrate the contrary, —
that where woman is de;^raded the people arc corrupt, enervated,
and superstitious, — the government weak, inautHcient, and jiower-
lesa. This is particularly the case at Para, which is decidedly the
must independent of the whole nineteen provinces into which the
vast empire of Brazil is divided.

The executive of the province is termed a " preaidente," and re-
ceives his appointment from the emperor. He is allowed three as-
sistants, who are called vice-presidents. The chief of the police
is considered next in rank to the preaidente, and he also receives
his appointment directly from Rio Janeiro.

In the selection of these distinguished officials no regard whatever
is paid to colour. The president himself, at the time of our depar-
ture, was a woolly-headed mulatto, and, not only that, but he was
reputed to be the son of a padre . and, as the pacirc* «tc ^T<J^vWv^A^

24<>

PABA ; OR,

from matrimony by the statutes, his genealogy certainl

be of the moji honourable character. The chief of the pa

bad A diirk complexion, hardly more enviable than that of

sident. These were the men selected to represent the di^

province — worthjf representatives, truly ! ^|

All are obliged to do military duty at Para ; none are e

from this service but padres and slaves ; and, as the dat

onerous, it becomes quite desirable to assume the office

ConsetjuentlVf it is not so much to be wondered at that th

of these " pious and highly-favoured individuals " in th^

amounts to several hundreds. 1

" But how, under heavens, do so many of them cam

hood }" methinks I hear the reader exclaim. This, doubt

be difficult indeed, in such a heathen community, bv thi

the principles of religion and virtue alone. To tell th<

do not earn their living by the practice, but by the

their profession. Superstition aids them in the impositii

they ensnare the unsuspecting natives, and wring frona

earnings of their industry and labour.

The most profitable branch of their profession is that
crating small stones, shells, and other articles of trifling s
then vending them to the natives at enormous sums, as
charms against certain diseases or evil spirits. We not
every black or Indian we encountered in the streets, had
less of these baubles strung about their necks. £ven C
invaluable cook at Nuzare, had at least a dozen of them, j
she had paid as many dollars, and sincerely believed in thi
of warding off the different evils for which tUey were scr
tended. Whenever one of these *' holy trifles '* is found in tl
it is carried immediately by the finder to one of the churi
there suspended on a certain door, where the original oM
in his search, recover it again. fl

The churches are of immense size, and constructed of SQ
They are destitute of pews, have several richly carved a!
are profusely ornamented with pictures, and gorgeouslj
images of the saints. The cathedral is probably the larg<
of the kind in the empire. It has two steeples, well supp
bells, whose sonorous chiming may be heard at all hours ol
Among other public buildings may be mentioned theCustoi
which is a structure of extraordinary size and antique appe
one department of it answers the purposes of a prison, and
well tenanted by villainous-looking convicts. This bi
great age, and was built, I believe, by the Jesuits, a»j
monastery or abbey. It stands on the brink of the rii
well situated for the transaction of commercial business,
conversion into a Custom House.

The president's palace is also a stupendous pile, but it
but little architectural skill, or taste m iU construction,
built more than a century ago, when Portugal was looking a
forward to this province, as the seat of the national govMj
the empire. I

The ancient Jesuit College has been converted into 1
siastical seminary. The old convents, which at one time w
numerous^ are now reduced to two or three, uf the Francii

and 1
>ui)d

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZOK. 241

The edifice in which the assembly of deputies hold their sessions,
was once a convent of the Carmelites. These deputies are chosen
by the people, to attend to the public affairs of the province ; all of
their acts, however, have to be referred to Rio Janeiro for con-
firmation.

On uccount of the revolutionary spirit of the people, a large mili-
tary force of regular troops is distributed throughout the province.
The number in the city alone cannot be less than eight hundred or
a thousand. At all the tmportanl posts of the city, such as the
palace* custom-house, and arsenal, guards are stationed, who may
lie seen standing or walking about listlessly during the day, with
huge musVets on their shoulders, or stretche<l out before the door-
way itself, in a state of half intoxication, worldly indifference, or
repose. On a certain evening, it is said, that as an inebriated Yankee
or English sailor was perambulating the streets of the city, sere-
nading the inhabitants as he reeled along, he was suddenly hailed
by one of the custom-house guards, (as he was making a short tack
to carry himsfelf pn&t that L'slablishmenl,) with "Quern vai la" (who
goes there), to which que&tJon the customary reply is " Amigo" (a
friend). Our hero, however, not understanding a single word of the
Portuguese language, had no idea of the interrogatory that had been
put to him by the guard, in fact, he was quite indignant that any
one should have the impertinence to address him in such an au-
thoritative manner, and, therefore, cried out in a stentorian voice,
which waa audible at the distance of several hundred yards — " You
^— screaming Portuguese sun of n gun, stop your confounded

noise, or I '11 send you to " Perceiving that our friend was

somewhat exhilarated, and not knowing but the reply he had made
was to the effect that he did not understand the language, he was
permitted to pass on without any further molestation.

A military body never embraced a more motley collection of men
than that of the national guard at Para. Such a ludicrous com-
pilation of individuals, as is here assembled, is not to be witnessed
in any country without the frontiers of Brazil. Here you may see
men of all classes, all colours, and all sizes, indiscriminately mixed
together into one grand living pot-pie. The most respectable com-
pany that we noticed, was composed entirely of free blacks. They
were all fine formed men, and the bright colours of their uniform,
contrasted finely with the sable hue of their complexions. It can
easily be imagined, that a company thus made up would have a
much better appearance than another, composed of n heterogeneous
assemblage of blacks, whites, Indians, and all the numerous inter-
mediate shades which result from the different combinations of each.
The pecuniary remuneration which the common soldiers receive for
their services is extremely small, not amounting to more than five
or ten cents per day. Thus we were informed by Joaquim, who
was himself obliged to perform military duty one or two days during
the week. The regular imperial troops stationed at Peru, are com-
posed mostly of native Brazilians, but still they are a swarthy and
ugly-faced set of fellows, and but little superior to the provincials
in their general appearance.

The Brazilians are noted for the kindness which they exercise
towards their slaves, and this is particularly the case at Para. They
are here treated with extraordinary clemency by their mastet*» ^vwA.

242 VAU\ ; OR,

but 1iu)e labour comparatively is required of thecn. Having per-
formed the usual amount of work that is assigned thero, they irt
permitted to work during the residue of the day for whomever the;
please, the proceeds of which goes towards purchasing their free-
dom. Even their masters remunerate them for whatever laboo
they perform^ beyond that regularly allotted them. This decidedly,
is one of the best traits of the Brazilian character. Instances ti
singular generosity towards the slaves occur frequently at Para. A
Scotch gentleman, well known for his liberality and many good
qualities, loaned to a certain slave of an enterprizing turn of mind,
an amount sufficient to purchase the freedom of himself and family.
Godolphus (for this was the name of the slave,) was a noble fel-
low, and as much esteemed as any one could be, occupying his low);
condition. Having acquired his liberty, a new course of life oiTcmti
before him- By dint of industry and perseverance, he finally be-
came the leader of a large company of ^anhadores and began lo
accuraulale money very rapidly. For a black, his reputatioD wu
wonderful. Whenever a number of men were required to lands
vessel, or to perform any operation which calletl for the exerci&e of
physical jwwer, the applicants were always referred to Godol-
phus, who furnished immediately whatever number of men might
be desired. Pros])erity and happiness smiled upon him, and in less
than two years he paid off the entire sum that his kind-hearted
benefactor had loaned him. Godolphus became known and re>
spcctetl by everybody ! His heart bounded with joy ! — for he wi»
released from servile bondage for ever^he was a slave no more!

The beggars of Para are so numerous that they may be said to con-
stitute a distinct class of society by themselves. On account of
their great numbers they are only allowed to make their professvynal
visits on Saturday. On this day the streets literally swarm with
them. 8ome have bandages round their heads; others have their
arms suspended in slings ; while many are afflicted with blindness,
and divers other maladies, which we will not take upon ourselves to
mention.

The people for the most part are disposed to be charitable towards ■
these poor mendicants, and no one thinks of refusing them thrir |
regular vinten. Should a person be so unwise as to do eo, instead
of a blessing and a score of thanks, he would probably be saluted
witli a shower of reproaches, accompanied with imprecations and
epithets of a highly derogatory character. This being their policy,
it is no wonder that their business, in a pecuniary point of view, is
so attractive as to draw into its ranks such a long li^t of votariea.
Besides the uniformity and blandness of the climate, although ex-
ceedingly invigorating for consumptive invalids, seem to have on
enervating eflect upon the character of the natives, indisposing them
for exertion of any kind, and rendering them insensible to all the
finer feelings of humanity.

It now behoves us to say a word concerning the character and
personal appearance of the women who inhabit this fair section of
the globe.

They are of many kinds — of different races — and of many varia-
tions of complexions; but, with few exceptions, they all have fine
forms — and are jovial and light-hearted in their dispositiuns. Their
passions are strung, and their aflections ardent; and when jealousy

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

243

invades their bosoms their resentment knows no bounds. It is a
well eittablished fact, that the bliss of acute love, founded on passion,
\& ot\eii as transient and deceitful as the awful stillness of the ele-
ments which precedes the hurricane, and followed by consequences
as deplorable and severe. Hate takes possession of the mind, and
the heart itself is soon converted into an infirmary of wickedness.
Revenge follows, and crime throws a dark pall over the scene !

The pasMons predominate in all tropical countries, and amonf^ the
women ; this is particularly the case at Para. The blacks have all
regular features and are in some instances quite good liK^kinf^— the
mulattoes are quite comely — the confusas (a mixture of Indian and
black) are very animated, having the features of the former and the
curly hair of the latter — the Portuguese and native Braxilians are
^nerally pretty ; but to our taste, the manielukes or half-bred
Indian girls, with their dark eyes, luxuriant hair, and olive com-
plexions, are dccitledly the most beautiful and interesting ! The
women make use of no more clothing than is absolutely necessary ;
and the children, of both sexes, may be seen running about the
streets continually in a state of utter nudity. The men, on ordinary
occasions, wear white pantaloons, and frock-coats, or blouses of the
same material. But no person is considered in full dress, unless he
is habited in black from head to foot.

Whenever a person is invited to a select dinner-party, it is always
expected that he should make his appearance in a sable coat of clotft ;
but. immediately on his arrival, he is invited to take U off] and offered
a light one of tine linen to substitute in its place. This custom is
founded on correct principles, and always meets with the entire
satisfaction of strangers — for it is indeed a hardship, to be obliged
to wear a cloth coat at any time, in so warm a climate, especially
at d'iuttcr, when one likes to have his motions as free and easy as
fashion and the laws of etiquette will permit! The less restraint that
is put upon a per.son in the mastication of a meal, the more cheerful
and animated will be his conversation— the more pungent his wit,
the more tiearty his jokes, and the more perfect and satisfactory his
digestion !

The greater proportion of the white inhabitants of the city are
Portuguese; and their language is the one that is principally, if not
universally, spoken throughout the province. It is soft and musical,
and is acquired by foreigners with extraordinary facility. The
English and American residents are sufficient in number to form an
excellent society by themselves, and they are all extensively engaged
in commercial transactions with their respective countries.

The festivals of Para arc numerous, and appear to be well suited
to the romantic beauty of the country, and the superstitious charac-
ter of the inhabitants. Almost every other day, is the anniversary
of some distinguiblied »aint, ami is celebrateil with all the pomp and
magnificence of the country. The bells are kept ringing throughout
the day — a gorgeous procession moves through the narrow streets,
and the evening is consecrated by dancing, fireworks, and illu-
minations.

The most remarkable holyday season that U observed in the pro*
vince is termed the '• Festa de Na/.are." This great festival takes
place either in September or October, according to the state of the
the light of that luminary being indispensable on this ucca-

ftM

para; OB,

gion. The usual period of iia continuance is about two weeks,
during which time the stores in the city are closed, and busines*
almost entirely suspentlecl. All take part in the festivities, both the
old and the young, tlie rich and the poor; and for weeks previous

Iireparations are being made, and nothing is talked of but the d^
ights and pleasures of the approaching season. The wealthy con*
tribute large sums in cleaning and beautifying the grounds, and in
erecting temporary habitations, for thcmselvea atid families to
occupy during the period of the feast.

The poor eitpend whatever they may have amassed by months of
untiring labour, in purchasing gala dresses, and ornnments for the
occasion. An intense excitement prevails among all clashes, such M
those only who have been there can possibly realize.

The origin of the feast was given me by a venerable old man io
nearly the following words; —

Many years ago, as a certain horseman was riding on the flowery
plains of Portugal, he perceived a nimble deer, gracefully gliding
over the grassy meadow, a long way off before him. In a moment,
he " dashed the rowels in his steed," and was bounding over the
plain in eager pursuit of his intended victim. Like an arrow frocD
a bow, the ill-fated deer continued his rapid 6ight, but, notwith-
standing all his efforts, every moment brought his pursuer nearer. The
eyes of the horseman were so intensely fixed upon the animal llul
be was whoUv regardless of all else than the possession of his prey/
and this single object 61letl and engrossed all his faculties. Danger
was near, but being unconscious of it, he pressed recklessly on ; at ls$t
the deer arrived at the brink of an unseen precipice,and plunged head-
long into the abyss beneath. The horseman, vho was but a short
distance behind, followed with lightning-like rapidity onward—
when within a few feet of the verge, the rider was suddenly arouied
to a sense oC the awfulness of his situation. It was a critical and s
solemn moment! — all human aid was vain! This the rider knew,
but still his courage did not forsake him, even in the presence of the
impending catastrophe; raising hittarms imploringly towards heaveo.
he inwardly murmured, *' Santa JMaria, salve me," (holy Mary, save
me.) The prayer %vus heard ! — by her supernatural influence, the im-
petus of the fiery charger was checked — and his rider was saved! From
this wonderful interposition on the part of the Sainted Virgin, the
festival of Nazare is said to have derived its origin, and however
absurd the story may appear to the reader, yet it is positively be-
lieved by many of the simple-minded natives of Para.

The historical account of the origin of the festival, as given by i
celebrated Portuguese author is far more satisfactory and credible
than the foregoing. According to it, there lived many years ago,
in the vicinity of Para, a certain mulatto, by the name of Placido,
who was distinguished for his extensive piety and devotion.
This solitary individual had in his possession a small and rudely
carved image of the Virgin Mary, which he was accustomed to
worship both morning and evening. This he kept in his little
leaf-covered habitation, and guarded it with the greatest assiduity
and care. On the death of Plactdo, the sacred image fell into the
hands of an exceedingly zealous person called Antonio Angostinho,
who, by his extensive influence, induced a body of religious entliu-
I siaits to build a kind of hermitage for its accommodation. TUi

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

245

hermiuge was situated within a short distance from the city, and
l>eing easily accessible, it soon became a place of popular report by
many of the citizens, who frequently repaired thither for holy pur-
poses. Finally^ on the 3rd ot July. 171^3, it was solemnly decreed
by the captain-^encra) of the province, that a regular festival, in
honour of the Vir^n Mary should be held near this place every
year. Thus was the Festa de Nazare established — and so well
did it accord with the spirit and genius of the people that it has ever
since been most scrupulously observed.

The festivities on this occasion are commenced by a brilliant and
extended procession, which forms in the city, and moves out late in
the aflemoon, towards the Largo de Nazare. The procession is
Jed by a number of citir.ens on horseback, after whom an immense
Tehicle, styled the " car of triumph" is drawn along by a pair of
oxen, handsomely decorated with ribbons and flowers. Within the
car are several youths, who afford entertainment to the vast multi-
tude by occasional discharges of rockets or other fireworks.

A fine band of music next follows, prece<ling a large body of
military. Then comes the pres^ident of the province, mounted on a
richly capariitoned horse. After him succeeds a chaise, bearing in
it a single priest, together with the sacred image of the virgin. The
procession is closed like all others in Brazil, by a motley crowd of
the lower classes — men, with huge trays of fruit and sweetmeats on
their heads — Indian damsels, witn chanis of massive gold suspended
round their necks, and children of every complexion, revelling in
all the freedom of absolute nakedness.
■HSTbe procession having arrived at the Largo, the image of
^B»ra Senhora is deposited in the little church fronting the
lioscenia de Nazare. A holy ordinance is then performed, and a
hymn sung ; and, every day throughout the festival, these religious
ceremonies are repeated in the chapel, both at sun-rise and sun-set.
The church being exceedingly small, but few persons are able to ob-
tain an entrance, yet hundreds crowd together before the porch, and
zealously engage in the chants to ttie blessed Virgin. The services
being concluded, the populace are allowed to enter the church, and
e«ch, in their turn, to kiss the consecrated ribbons by which it ia
profusely ornamented.

In the evening an infinite variety of amusements are resorted to.

Fancy yourself, dear reader, for a moment transported to the
enchanting province of which we write. It is a lovely moonlight
evening, such as is only witnessed in the tropics, and you are strolling
out of the city with a friend, to observe the festivities of Nazare !

How beautiful the dense thicket of shrubbery through which you
are wending your way — how prettily those tall palms droop their
feather-like branches and quiver in the fragrant breeze — how mer-
rily the insects hum and Hit about in the pure atmosphere! but
listfn an instant to a sound surpassingly rich and melodious, that
now breaks upon your ear, like a voice from the "spirit land,"- — ay,
it is the plaintive note of a " southern nightingale," charming his
mate with a love-song of bewitching sweetness. Attentively you
hearken to the delightful strain, and a soft melancholy steals over
Tour mind. But at length you arrive at the monument of Naaare!
What a gorgeous spectacle now meets your eye, and what a rapid
transition in the state of your feelings instantly takes place.

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247

CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES AT ROME.

DV Mns. PBROY eiNNBTT.

HKFOaMRH Rome is just ns rich in huIiJays ns the Rome of the
Miticlle Ages, — nay ricner. Tor the oUl list is increased Uy the ail<H-
lioiioftJie political and nntional guard festivalA; and, ou all these
da^'Sj galleries, museums, imd shops are clused, and no one will "do
any manner of work." Of course I do not mean that the Romans lay
themselves under any restraints like tht)8e of a Puritanical Sahbalh ;
their reason for refraining from work is simply to enjoy play. In
u'liat manner thiti inordin:ite lioliday-niakjng will be found to agree
with the requisitions of a reformed constitution, nml an improved
administration of public affairs, I cannot imagine, but fortunately
it's no business of mine.

After the Christmas-eve came tiiree Christmas-dnya, 8nturdnr>
Sunday, and Monday ; Friday, the New-yparVeve» was also ob-
served with all the honours, — New-year's-day is a holidiiy all the
world oi'er. The next day was Sunday, and nobody of course could
object to being idle then; and to-day, on which I am writing, is no
less a day than llie day of the Trc Re Mogij or Twell\h-day, as it is
prosaically called in England.

Here, tnen, are six whokv and three half holidays^ out of fourteen
duys, in which the great necessities of life are lost sight of, and no
doors but those of restaurants, cafes, or perhaps apothecaries, re-
main open.

We northern travellers are, however, well pleased to find that
Rome is Rome still, and still wears, in spite of reform, the robes of
her ancient mngnificence, with nothing retrenched, oidy here and
there a little addition mflde. The guartlia civiro, with its glittering
helmets, dazzling uniforms, and broad Roman swords, does but in-
crease the splendour of the ecclesiastical processions, and harmonizes
well with them ; these in the Christmas of 1847 answered precisely
to the description written of them in 1447, and many times since; and
for this reason you need not fear my inflicting upon you a description
of them now. The thousands of wax-li^^hts and the decorated crib,
reminded me of what I had seen in Germany ; but here grown
people were kneeling in apparent devotion round these wax and
woudeu dulls, which looked peculiarly mean and paltry in Rome, where
art ennobles and reconciles us to so much that would be otherwise
painful- They who were kneeling were, it is true, mostly peasants,
but wh}? should they not rather kneel to the exquisite Madonnas
and holy children which the old masters have called into life, than
to those newly varnished things dressed up for the occasion. I
know not, but it seems the old faiih clings to them in preference.

On the New-year's-day, a beneficent tramoniana had driven
away the rain clouds, piled up by a sirocco of long continuance, and
to enjoy ray holiday, I ascended the tower of the capitol, and gazed
down on that living picture of the past, the present, and the future,
that there lay spread out before me. Old and new Rome was at my
feet, bathed in guldeti bunshinej and while in niy native north all
nature lay wrapped in snow, here the fresh green was every where
bursting forth among the palaces and temples, anil aU ttN^x ^Xv»

S48

CITRTSTMAS FESTIVITIES AT ROME.

vegetable gardens and corn-fields in the distance. The Alban and
Sabine hills seemed floating in a violet-coloured vapour, and onlr
the highest summits of the Appenines were still enwreathed with
wintry clouds. On this, the first day of January, the winter seemed
already past ; a few storms, and it is all over ; and in another week
the whole country will be bursting into bud and blossom, and the
violets be springing up amongst the ruins. As for the daisies, ox-
eyes, SiC, they have been emulating the cypresses and oliveSi and
have been blowing all the winter through.

Just as brief has been the stormy period of the political world.
The clouds that for a while looked threatening, have been blown
away, and all is again confidence and peace. The Pupe and his sub-
jects are of one heart and one mind ; a step has been made on the path
of progress; and during the Christmas holidays even Naples and
the TeJeschi are forgotten, and pleasure is the order of the day.

Many of my readers, perhaps, have witnessed the celebrated
Christmas markets of Germany, which, from bavins been originally
merely an accessory,— a means to the important end of the purchaafi
of playthings and presents, — have come gradually to be themselves s
principal feature in the festivities. In Rome there is a grand market
held for a similar purpose, but twelve days later than Christmas-eve,
namely, on the eve of the day of the Trc Re Magt, This is the
Befana market, to which every body goen ; for even those who dont
intend to buy, have to look at those who do. Ity the by, it ceems
to me that there is more of a symbolical meaning in the time chosen
for the Roman celebration, for there does not seem to be any con*
nection between the event of Christm;is-day and the makmg of
presents, whilst tJie day on which Kings of the Kast brought ibeir
gifla might naturally suggest such a custom.

This incident seems especially to have seized on the imaginatiomsof
our forefathers, for throughout the whole course of the middle ages,
we find it frequently referred to, and illuminated with all the moft
glowing coloura of fancy, and all the powers of art. I recollect an old
Florentine picture on this subject, — I believe in the AcadcmU delU
Belie v4r/i,— where the artist, not content with lavishing upon the
three kines all the most gorgeous colours of his palette, has called
in the aid of the goldsmith and jeweller, and bestowed on them
crowns, swords, spurs, and jewel-caskets of solid gold, and gems.

What the Befana has to do with the Three Kings of the Kast, ii
more than I can tell, or whether she is uf ancient classic, or Lom*
bardo-Gothic origin, but she is, I think, certainly of the same faaiily
as the German Kuecki Rupert, and comes down the chimney in his
fashion, laden with presents for good children, in the night between
the filth and sixth of January ; and I am told that in the excited state
of the imagination of" Young Rome," there is not wanting testimony
to the fact of her having been not oii\y heard in the chimney, but
actually seen stepping cautiously out with her arms full of presents
— but then of course witness had to close his, or her eyes, for those
who watch, it is known, get nothing. The morning of Twelfth-day,
when they get their presents, is the festival of the children ; the
eening before that of the present-makers, the grown people.

The fair is held in the little market-place of St EusUce. a space
so small that the lender care of the Prussian police would not allow
more than a hundred people to enter at a time lest they should b«

d ; yet. here thousands stream in and out, without even any
■enient crowding or pushing, which is a fact I must say incora-
isible to me, as well as that none of the fragile wares with which
Dtbs are covered should be thrown down and trodden upon^ and
le dealers should be able to do any business in Buch a throng,
m the market-place, which is its centre, the fair radiates in
8 directions into the neighbouring streets and alleys — and it is
a striking picture which is presented by these narrow lanesj
ed in by massive houses, towering to the skies, till they look
arrow clifts or chasms between lofty precipices, and below a
* light from thousands and thousands of wax lights, fading
gradually on the upper stories. There is something in the

of this seemingly subterranean labyrinth, that reminds one
*. Grotto-worship, and of KleuMnian mysteries. Some magic
must certainly be in operation within it, for almost everyone
nters its precincts, is immediately seized with a kind of insanity,

induces him to suppose himself again a little boy, and not
>uy drums, and trumpets, and whistles, but immediately try
jowers, and go squealing, and too-tooing, and row-de-dowing,
the fair, to the perfect distraction of all within hearing,
id at first declared my intention of not going to the fair, but
>st looked at roe when 1 said so, with such astonishment tliat
quite ashamed of myself, and hastened to retract my words,
esolved, being at Rome, to do as Home did. 1 noticed, that
^ the rattletraps exhibited on the booths, the usual policinellos,
loons, &c. had been in many instances replaced by images of
ew civic guard done in sugar, in wood, or in lead ; and one
e of the popular life in Home which I was here struck with, I
i not pass over, namely, the exemplary order and mutual po-
M that prevailed amongst this noisy merry throng, and how, in
idst of the wildest tumult of fun and frolic, no word, no gesture,
le, betrayed any of that brutal coarseness of feeling mostly so
illy observable in popular sports. I noticed the same thing in
ace, and this is, in my opinion, a fact well worth pondering

THE CHIhD OF 6£NIU8.

BT ALPBED CROWQUILL.

SAW him litting on the dark vay-side,

Amtd^l the throng n solitary child,

Wuli ringlets fuir uiid eyt'H mi blue and mild.
But on hi« lip a noble conseiouK pride;
Hi* dark Ufth, fullint? on hia ruddy cheek,

TrembltKl with one bright Mrrow-speaking t«ir,

AlTei^tinn's gem for ilU long-loct and dear!
What dt»tttutioa did these signs besjKok !
My soul felt heovy us I passed him by,

And AAw liis martile LJnihR in tatters shewn;

And heard the loir nnd grief-represMing moan.
While kindred tears bedewed my pitying eyol
I turned to question one so all furlDm.

He M gone ! but where or how ? no one was by.

I siop|>ed, to wipe the tear from off my eye,
And fQund my handkerchief was aUo gone I

250

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

BY PR0PB880B CKSAfilT.

TWm Cinr bMlla» «f whitk a eoUfwy ctant would have cMeatiallT vmned
MM «r tfM ««rU £■ aD iUMikMqiwn HcnM«— Uallak.

No. III.— THE METAL RUS.

Qnid il^tiFM, «li Bmbb, Nenoaihas,
T«NU Mcaanim ftiaan, et Ujadnibal
PiniiiUM, t ftilchar fbfuis
nk diM I^tio tcaobcu. &c

UoBATiui, ir. Otf. 4.
Ttie tofiaii] Nms who nftde the naeMaUed march, which dereived Hamuli
And defeated HaadrahaL tbcrrty aCTMnpfahiay aa achievemeut almcMt imrirvUed
in miULATT annab. The fini iotdOagoioe of ta% irciim, tn tiannibaU was lia
light of Uaidrabal** bead Uirovn into his camp. Whra Hannitial saw this, he cc>
dikifned with s sigh, that ** Home would now be the mistress of Uie world.'* To thii
rkiory of Nrro'i it might be owing that bis imperial naxntMske reigned at aU. Bai
the tnfamT uf the oo« has odip — d the fflorf oC the other. When the name of Nen
is heard, who thinks of the consul ? But such are human things. — Bvaox.

About midway between Ritnini and Ancona a little river falU into
the AtlriatiC:, ftfYer traversing one of those districts of Italy in whii
the present Roman Pontiff is striving to revive, after long centui
of M^rvitude and shame, the spirit of Italian nationality, and i
energy of free institutions. That stream is still calle<l the Metauroi
and wakens by it^t name recollections of the resolute daring of
cient Rome, and of the slaughter that stained its current two
sand and sixty years ago, when the combined consular armies
Livius and Nero encountered and crushed near its banks the van
host, which Hannibal's brother was leading from the Pyrenees, thai
Rhone, the Alps, and the Po, to aid the great Carthaginian in hijl
f^tern struggle to trample out the growing might of the Roman Ke-l
public, and to make the Punic dominion supreme over all the natioiul
of the world.

The Roman historian, who termed that struggle the most memo-
rable of all wars that ever were carried on,* wrote in no npirit of j
exaggeration. For it is not in ancient, but in modem history, thsti
parallels for its incidents and its heroes aie to be found. The simili-
tude between the contest which Rome maintained against Hannibal,
and that which England was for many years engnged in ngainst
Napoleon, has not passed unobserved by recent historians. " Twice,*
says Arnold, t •* has there been witne8»e<l the struggleof the highest'
individual genius against the resources and institutions of a greatj
nation ; and in both cases the nation has been victorious. For seveiwj
teen years Hannibal strove against Rome; for sixteen years Napo-
leon Uonitpttrte strove ngainst England : the efforts of the first ended
in Znma, — ihewr of the second in Waterloo." One point, however*
the similitude between the two wars has scarcely been adequately
7cll on. That is. the remarkable parallel between the Roman
icral who finally defeated the great Carthaginian, and the English

LivT, Lib. xxi. Soc 1,

t Vol. UL p.

S«e also Alison,

THE SIX DECISIVE BATiXES OF THE WORLD.

251

ral, who i^ve the last deadly overthrow to the French emperor.
pio and Wellington both held for many years commands of hif^h
portaiicc, but distant from the main theatres of warfare. Tiie same
untry was the scene of the principal military career of each. It
IS in Spain that Scipio, like Wellington, successively encountered
Ind overthrew nearly all the subordinate general of the enemy be-
bre being opposed to their chief champion and conqueror himself,
poth Scipio and Wellington restored their countrymen's confidence
^ arm's, when shaken by a series of reverses. And each of them
josed a long and oerilous war by a complete and overwhelming de-
feat of the chosen leader and the chosen veterans of the foe.
Nor is the parallel between them limited to their military' charac-
and exploits. Scipio, like Wellington, became an important
der of the aristocratic party among his countrymen, and was ex-
to the unmeasured invectives of the violent section of his po-
antagonists. When, early in the last reign, an infuriated mob
ulted the Duke of Wellington in the streets of the Knglish capital
the anniversary of Waterloo^ England was even more disgraced by
iat outrage, than Rome was by the factious accusations which dema-
»gues brought against Scipio, but which he proudly repelled on the
ly of trial by reminding the assembled people that it was the anni-
ersary of the battle of Znma. Happily, a wiser and a better spirit
IS now for years pervaded all classes of our community ; and we
lall be spared the ignominy of having worked out to the end the
OBllel of national ingratitude. Scipio died a voluntary exile from
e malevolent turbulence of Rome. Englishmen of all ranks and
llitics have now long united in aHfectionate admiration of our mo-
vn Scipio: and, even those who have most widely differed from
e Duke on let^islativeor administrative questions, forget what they
^em the political errors of that time-honoured head, while they
ratefuUy call to mind the laurels that have wreathed it. If a pain-
l1 exception to this general feeling has been recently betrayed in
ic expressions used by a leading commercial statesman, the univer-
tl disgust which those expressions excited among men of all parties,
served to demonstrate how wide-spread and how deep is £ng-
d's love for her veteran hero.

Sdpio at Zama trampled in the dust the power of Carthage ; but

power had been already irreparably shattered in another field,

here neither Scipio nor Hannibal commanded. When theMetaurua

itnetfced the defeat and death of Hasdrubal, it witnessed the ruin of

e acheme by which alone Carthage could hope to organize decisive

cceu, — the scheme of enveloping Rome at once from the north

the south of Italy by two chosen armies, led by two sons of

amilcar.* That battle was the determining crisis of the contest, not

lerely between Rome and Carthage, but between the two great

kmilies of the world, which then made Italy the arena of their oft-

rnewed contest for pre-eminence.

The French historian, Michelet, whose " Histoire Romaine " would

are been invaluable, if the general industry and accuracy of the

Writer had in any degree equalled his originality and brilliancy,

iifquenily remark.% " It is not without reason that so universal and

livid a remembrance oi' the Punic wars lias dwelt in the memories

if men. They formed no mere struggle to determine the lot of two

* See Amoia, vol. iii. S87.

VOL. XXIIK

2ff2 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

cities or two empires; but it was a strife, on the event of vhidi
pendecl the fate of two race^ of mankind, whether the doroinios
the world should belong to the Indo Germanic or to the Seoii
frfVnily of nations. Bear in mind, that the first of these com
besides the Indians and the Persians, the Greeks, the Rom
the Germans. In the other are ranked the Jews and the A
Phcrnicians and the Carthaginians. On the one side is the
heroism, of art, and legislation: on the other, is the spirit of M
try, of commerce, of navigation. The two opposite races have er
where come into contact, everywhere into hostility. In the
tive history of Persia and Chaldea, the heroes are perpetuaTly
gaged in combat with their indu:itrious and per6dious neighbov
The struggle is renewed between the Phcenicians and the G
on every coast of the Mediterranean, The Greek supplants
Fhcenician in all his factories, all his colonies in the east : voofi
theHoman come, and do likewise in the west. Alexander did far
against Tyre than Salmanasar or Nabuchodonosor had done. 3
contented with crushing her, he. took care that she never should
vive; for he founded Alexandria as her substitute, and chang^
ever the track of the commerce of the wurld. There remii
Carthngc — the great Carthage, and her mighty empire,— mighty
a far different degree than Phoenicians had been. Home annih
it. Then occurred that which has no parallel in history
civilization perished at one blow — vanished, like a tailing s'
Periplus of Hanno, a few coins, a score of lines in Plautus
all that remains of the Carthaginian world !

'' Alany generations must needs pass away before the struggle
tween the two races could be renewed ; and the Arabs, that
midable rear-guard of the Semitic world, dashed forth from
deserts. The conflict between the two races then bec-ame
fiict of two religions. Fortunate was it that those <)aring
cavaliers encountered in the East the impregnable walls of
tinople, in the West the chivalrous valour of Charles Alartel, and
sword of the Cid. The crusades were the natural reprisals for
Arab invasions, and form the last epoch of that great struggle b^
tween the two principal families of the human race."

It is diflicuU, amid the glimmering light supplied by the allu^ioai
of the classical writers, to gain a full idea of the character and insti-
tutions of Rome's great rival. But we can perceive how infen'or
Carthage was to her competitor in mih'tary resources^ and how bt
less fitted than Rome she was to become the founder of concentrated
centralizing dominion, that should endure for centuries, and fuK
into imperial unity the narrow nntioimlilies of the ancient races, that
dwelt aruund and near the shores of the Alediterranean sea. m

Though thirsting for extended emnire, and though some of hM
leading men became generals of the nighest order, the Carthsj^
nians, as a people, were anything but personally warlike. A»
long as they could hire mercenaries to fight for them, thev hid
little appetite for the irksome training, and the loss of valuable
time, which military service would have entailed on themselvlfl

As Michelet remarks, " The life of an indualrious merchant, ol^
Carthaginiun. was too precious to be risked, as long as it waspo^
sible to substitute advantageously for it that of a barbarian frooi
Spain or Gaul. Cartha e knew, and coulil twJl to i drachma

III. — TTIE METAURirS.

25d

of a man of each nation came to. A Greek was worth more
Canipanian, a Canipaninn worth more than n Gaul or a
When once this tariff of blood was correctly made out,
began a war as a mercantile Bpeciilation. She tried to
Hique^ts in the hope of getting new mines to work, or to
Vefih markets for her exports. In one venture she could afford
nd 50,(XH) mercenaries, in anotlier, rather more. If the returns
{ood, there was no regret fell for the capital that had been
the invefilment : more money got more men, and all went on

■ceive at once the inferiority of auch bands of conttofitrt-i,
bt together without any common bond of origin, tactics, or
the legions of Rome, which at that periotl were raised
very flower of a hardy agricultural populition, trained in
test discipline, habituated to victory, and animated by the
»lute patriotism. And this shows also the transcendency of
[us of Hannibal, that could form such discordant maleriala
ipact organized force, and inspire them with the spirit of
liscipline and loyalty to llieir chief, bo that they were true
in his adverse as well as in his prosperous fortunes ; and
Jbout the chequered series of his campaigns no panic rout
iisgraced a division under his command, and no mutiny, or
!mpt at mutiny, was ever known in his camp.
'esifge of national superiority had been given to Rome by
tardly submission of Carthage at the close of the first Punic
^action and pusillanimity among nis countrymen thwarted
*8 schemes, and crippled his resources. Vet did he not
eplace his country on an equality with her rival, but gave her
•eemed an overwhelming superiority, and brought Rome, by
wn acknowledgment, to the very brink of destruction.
ut if Hannibal's genius may be likened to the Homeric god,
in his hatred to the Trojans, rises from the deep to rally the
mf Greeks, and to lead them against the enemy, so the calm
|E with which Hector met his more than human adversary in
untry's cause, is no unworthy image of the unyieluing magna-
Ldisplayed by the aristocracy of Rome. As Hannibal utterly
h Carthage, so, on the contrary, Fabius, Alarcellus, Claudius
Peven Scipio himself, are as nothing when compared to the
and wisdom, and power of Rome, The senate, which voted
"l« to its political enemy, Varro, after his disastrous defeat,
he had not despaired of the commonwealth," and which
either to solicit, or to reprove, or to threaten, or in any
^notice, the twelve colonies which had refused their accus-
ipplies of men for the army, is far more to be honoured than
jueror of Zama. This we should the more carefully bear in
'because our tendency is to admire individual greatness far
thnn national ; and, as no single Roman will bear compa-
CO Hannibal, we are apt to murmur at the event of the con-
,nd to think that- 1 he victory was awarded to the least worthy
combatants. On the contrary, never was the wisdom of Go<t's
Jence more manifest than in the iitsue vi the struggle betwfen
' an<l Carthage. It was clearly fur the good of ntankind that
ibal should be conquered ; his triumph wmild have stopped
pew of the world. For great men can only act permanently

254 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTI-ES OF THE WO]

■1

by forming great nations ; and no one man, even Ui
Hannibal himself, can in one generation effect such a wi
the nation has been merely enkindled for a while by
spirit, the li^bt passes away with him who communii
ihe nation, when he is gone, is like a dead body, to wl
power had for a moment given unnatural life : when the
ceased, the body is cold and stiff as before. He who gi
the battle of Zama. should carry on his thoughts to a pe
years later, when Hannibal must in the courbe of nature,
dead, and consider how the isolated Pha*nician city of Cml
fitted to receive and to consolidate the civilization of
its laws and institutions to bind together barbarians
and languaj^e into an organized empire, and prepare
coming, when that empire was dissolved, the free mein]
commonwealth of Christian Europe."*

When Hasdrubal, in the spring of 207 B.C., after fikill
tangling himself from the Roman forces in Spain, ai
march conducted with great judgment and little loss U
interior of Gaul and the formidable |>asses of the Alps, S|
the country that now is the north of Lombardy, at the hea
which he had partly brought out of Spain, and partly le*
the Gauls and LiguriauKun his way; Hannibal with his un
and seemingly unconquerable army had been eight year
executing with strenuous fcri>city the vow of hatred to Ra
had been sworn by him while yet a child at the bidding O
Haniilcnr; who, as he boasted, had trained up hi* three I
nibiil, Hasdrubal, and M.ngo. like three lion's whelps, to ]
the Romans. 13ut Hannibal'ii latter campaigns had not be
ized by any such great victories as marked the 6rst ye
invasion of Italy. The stern spirit of Roman resolution, ev
in disiister and danger, had neither bent nor despaired \h
merciless blows wnich the dire African dealt her in r
cession at Trcbia, at Thraaymene, and at Cmnte. Her j
was thinned by reneatetl slaughter in the field ; poverty t
scarcity ground down the wurvivors. through the fearfu
which Hannibal's cavalry spread through their corn-1
pasture-lands, and their vineyards ; many of her allii
to the invader's side ; and new clouds of foreign war thi
from Macedonia and Gaul. Hut Rome receded not. Rich
among her citizens vied with each other in devotion to thei
The wealthy placed their stores, and all placed their Hv^
state's dii^posal. And though Hannibal could not be dri^
Italy, though every year brought its sufferings and sacrific
felt that her constancy had not been exerted in vain. ]
weakened by the contiimed strife, so was Hannibal also ; <
clear that the unaidi^d resources of his army were uneqn
task of her destruction. The single deer-hound could not |
the quarry which he had so furiously assailed. Rome
stood fiercely at bay. but had pressed back and gored herai
that still, however, watched her in act to spring. She wi

• Arnohl, vol. iii. p, GI. The blto%f is oue uf the numeroui biuvU O
thnt lulorn Arnold's but volume, nnd cause sudi deep rv^prt that tt
should havtf brt'n the Iniit, aud its great aiitJ giKxl author have be«n cutj
work tliui inottmjilcte,

bleeding at every pore ; nnd what hope ha<l she of escape, if the
> hound of old Hamilcar's race should come up in time to aid
rother in the death -;,;rapple f

t armies were levied for the defence of Italy when the long-
led approach of Hasdrubal was announced. Seventy-five thuii-
Homaus served in the fifteen legions, of which, with an equal
>er of Italian allies, those armies and the f^arrisona were com-
I. Upwards of thirty thousand more Romans were serving in
f, Sardinia, and Spain. The whole number of Homan cilixens
i age fit for military duty, scarcely exceeded a hundred and
r thousand. These numbers are fearfully emphatic oC the ex.
n.y to which Rome was reduced, and of her gigantic efforts in
p-eat agony of her fate. Not merely men, but money and mili-
Itores, were drained to the utmost ; and if the armies of that
should be swept off by a repetition of the slnughters of Thra-
tie and Cannce, all felt that Home would cease to exist. £ven
I campaign were to be marked by no decisive success on
f side, her ruin seemed certain. Should Ha^rubal have de-
d from her, or impoverished by ravage her allies in north
; and Etruria, Umbria, and north Latium either have revolt-
f have been laid waste, as had been the case in south Italy,
Igh the victories and mancpuvres of Hannibal, Rome must
Ily have sunk beneath starvation ; for the hostile or desolated
try would have yielded no supplies of corn for her popula-
. and money, to purchase it from abroad, there was none.
bt victory was a matter of life and death. Three of her
rmies were ordered to the mirth, but the first of these was
[red to overawe the disafl'ectcd Ktruscana. The second army
le north was pushed forward, under Porcius, the pra?tor, to
and keep in check the advanced troops of Hasdrubal; while
[bird, the grand army of the north, under the consul Livius,
had the chief command in all North Italy, advanced more
y in its support. There were similarly three armies of the
\f under the orders of the other consul, Claudiutj Nero,
knnibal at this period occupied with hia veteran but much-
^ed forces the extreme south of Itnly. It had not been
tttd eitlier by friend or foe, that Hatidrubal would effect his
Ige of the Alps so early in the year as actually uccurred. And
rwhen Hannibal learned that his brother wa^i in Italy, and had
^cetl as far as Placentiu, lie was obliged to pause for further in-

rnce, before he himself commenced active operations, as he
not tell whether his brother might not l>e invited into Etruria,
i the party there that was clisafl'ected to Rome, or whether he
d naarch down by the Adriatic sea. Hannibal concentrated his
\K, and marched northward an far as CanuMum, and there halted
nect^lion of further tidings of his brother'^ movements,
tanwhile, Hasdrubal was advancing towards Ariininium on the
Hic, and driving before him the Roman army under Porcius,
jifrhen the consul Livius had come up, and united the second
third armies of the north, coidd he make he;u) ngaitist the in-
ra* The Romans still fell back before Hasdrubal, beyond Ari-
Bui, beyond the Metaurus, and an far as the little town of
he soulh-ea<it uf that river. Hasdrul>al was not un-
:' the necessity of acting in concert with liis brother.

256 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORl

He sent messengers to Hannibal to announce
march, and to pro^Kjse that they should unite their
Umbria, and then wheel round against Rome. Those m
traversed the greater part of Italy in Rafety ; but, when cl<
object of their mission, were captured by a Roman detachna
Hasdrubal's letter, detailing his whole plan of the canspi
laid, not in his brother's hands^ but in those of the comn
the Roman arraios of the south. Xero saw at once the ful
ance of the crisis. The two sons of Haiuilcar were now w
hundred miles of each other, and if Rome were to be saved
thers must never meet alive. Nero instantly ordered sc
sand picked men, a thousand being cavalry, to hold then
readiness for a secret expedition against one of Hannibal's \
As soon as night fell, he hurried forward on his bold entei
against any petty garrison, but to join the armies of the n
crush Hasdrubal, while his brother lingered in expectati
intercepted despatch. Nero's men soon learned tlieir leadei
and each knew how momentous was its result, and he
depended not only upon their valour, but on the celeriV
inarc'lh The risk was fearful that Hannibal mi^ht receive
tion of the movements of the armies, and either follow thei
fatal pursuit, or fall upon and destroy the weakened Rora
wliich they had lel\ in the south. Pressing forward with
and unintcrmitted marches as human strength, nerved i
superhuman spirit^ could accompliiih, Nero approached
league's camp, who had been forewarned of his approach,
made alt preparations to receive this important reinforcen
I his tents without exciting the suspicions of Hasdrubal.

sagacity of Hasdrubal, and the familiarity with Komui
uhic'it he had acquired in Spain, enabled him to detect the
nK both the Ruman consuls in the army before him. In d
difficulty as to what might have taken place between the I
the south, and probably hoping that Hannibal also was appi
Hasdrubal determined to avoid an encounter with the C
Rmnan forces, and retreated towards the ]\letauru8, which, if
have passed in safety, would have been a barrier, behind \
might safely have kept the Romans in check. But, the Qa'
cruits, of whom a large part of his army was composed, wen
ed fur mancEUvring in retreat before an active and well-cUi
enemy. Hotly pursued by the consuls^ Hnsdrubid wheeled t:
gave them battle close to the southern bunk of the stream, E
bers were far inferior to those uf the consuls ; but^ all that
ship could accomplish was done by the Carthaginian com
His Gauls, wlio were the least trustworthy part of his force,
up on his lefl on diHtcuU and rising ground ; his Spanish
fonneil his right ; and his centre was composed ofthe Ligurian
whuse necessarily slender array he placed his armed elepha
a chain of moving fortresses. He seems to have been defi
cavalry, — anarmiii which Nero's reinforcement gave peculiar)
to the Romans. The consuls, on the other side, led their
to the attack, each commanding a wing, while the pra'tor
faced the Ligiirians in the centre. In spite ofthe disparity*
bers, the skill of Hasdrubal'a arrangements, and thcobstinaU
of his Spanish infantry, who received with unyielding

III. — THE HETAURUS. 257

shock ofLivtus' legH>ns, kept the i&sue ol'the Jight long in suspense.
But Nero, who found that Hasdrubal refused his left wing, and
who could not overcome the difficulties of the ground in the quarter
assigned to him, decidetl the battle by another stroke of that mili-
tary genius which had inspired his march. Wheeling a brigade of
his best men round the rear of the rest of the Romitu army, Nero
fiercely charged the flank of the Spaniards, who bad hitherto held
their own against Livius with heavy mutual carnage. The charge
was as successful as it was sudden. Rolled back in disorder upon
each other, and overwhelmed by numbers, the SpanianU and Ligu*
rians died, 6ghting gallantly to the last. The Gaul^, who had taken
little or no part in the strife of the day, were then surrounded, and
butchered almost without resistance. Hosdrubal, after having, by
the confession of his enemies, done all that a general could do, when
he saw that the victory was irreparably lost, scorning to survive the
gallant ho^t which he had led, and to gratify, as a captive, Roman
cruelty and pride, spurred his horse into the mid&t of a Roman
cohort, and, swurd in hand, met the death that was worthy of the
son of Hamilcar. and the brother of Hannibal.

Success the most complete had crowned Nero's cnterprize. Re-
turning as rapidly as he had advanced, he was again facing the
inactive enemies in the south before they even knew of his march.
But he brought with him a ghastly trophy of what he had done.
In the true spirit of that savage brutality winch deformed the Roman
national character, Nero ordered Hasdrubal's head to be flung into
his brother's camp. Ten years had patised since Hannibal had last
gazed on those features. The sons of Hamilcar liiid then planned
their system of warfare against Rome, which tliey had so nearly
brought to successful accomplishment. Year after year had Ilanni-
bal been struggling in Italy, in the hope of one day halting the
arrival of him wliom he had left in Spain ■ and of seeing his brother's
eye flash with affection and pride at the junction of their irresistible
hosts. He now saw that eye gl.-ixed in death, and in the agony of
his heart the great Carthaginian groaned aloud that he recognized
his country's destiny.

" Meanwhile, at the tidings of the ^^reat battle Rome at once
rose from the thrill of anxiety and terror to the full confidence
of triumph. Hannibal might cling to hi» hold on Southern
Italy for a few years longer, but the imperial city, and her allies,
were no longer in danger from his arms. And, after Ilannibal's
downfall the Great Military Republic of the ancient world met in
her career of conquest no other worthy competitor. Byron Jius
termed Nero's march *' unequalled," and, in the magnitude of its
consequences, it is so. V^iewed «»nly as a military exploit, it remaina
unparalleled save by Marlborough's bold march from Flanders to
the Danube, in the campaign of Bleidieim, and, perhaps, also, by
the Archduke (Charles's lateral march in XjUd, by which he ovrr-
whelmcd the P>ench under Jourdain, and then, driving Alorcnu
through the Black Fore.^t and across the Rhine, for a ythi\e freed
Germany from her invaders.

SS8

SKETCHES IN SWITZERLAND.

of ifoot Breaon and its

rf _ .

ft tmmm pfwlhili BMiked oat for the veagnoce of the

lad vver againp and Tv-bai)|

It IB mam two yrmn dnee iu laat demolition

|m «f ibe lMuldiiig&. Nothing c«

it prawats at tlk« moment ; tWn

aaa jpQa «f ataocs as tbey M|

b kalMaases mi^ Macfe loaois iobabited tq

vfca ^ Ml saas la lave tbe heart to desi

TUs place has long bcei

sf vatcfcBskerSy iMMt of the works being

aapfj y Cit r a «kh its est eemid merchandise.

ficv tiha ■MMttaias, d te p M and deeper still tba

rf wight ai uto aJ L aaoy the lime we readwi

TJIhy af dk. lEartia, edrhntad §tT the gWioiu view of

of which an
«ar jouney. I hsd pre*
a hotwa of teeing the view, $$ t
vesalKyre thecsrcling
ubHgtd to take mj place in the ci
B as t» ChaaMsay, as oager carnages
sl^ tha laad. A few migmiiUs appeared 6tiu
that V Goat^ aad te Dwae^ b«t Moat fihuic was inexorable. Onti
af te hig he tt vaa^ I had m trareUed led us iowardH Chedc
the waads were thidk below, and the hedges covered with i
Matii^ aaaae of which I gatbend as s reminisoeDce of a home
former enjoyment of which tbe moment reminded me, and I
beginning to rejuice in the awakened hope of fair weather from a sud-
den I^Mun a»d the apparitMo of several fields of snow directly befuR
ofc raaa a chaaga caiaa as rapidly* and huge grey masses of cloud biii^
ried acroas the view, shutting it out altogether ; a few drops of rsift
began to fall, and we reached the village of Servos in a hard shoveft
The viUaga was all alive with a wedding, and by tbe time the gsf<
party caoM out of the neighbooring chnrch, tbe rain bad cea«edt sad
]>ermitted tbe duttenng procession to appear in all its splendour. A
train of voung women came forth, very neatly dressed in bluck off
purftle petticoats, n-iih their white broad caps filled with bright Sowei*
and ricb-coloured ribboas, their cavaliers having pty ribbons in their
hats also. The lively, stout, merry bride paced juyou&ly along, and
every laee waa smiling and Iiiippy, as ibey greeted us where ue sat il
our char-a-^OMc wailing for burses.

Scarcely bad we left Strvoz, than the gloom increased, and the
ending rain augmented the torrent cascades, which tumbled over th0
:kR in our path. i

Alas I Btill heavier and more decided grew the inauspicious aspedf
of our star, and at ten o'clock in the morning we druvc into Ch^

1 Uh

deJ

BUMMER SKETCHES.

SSd

Auuny, Acarceljr able to distinguish through the mist the ailvpr glacier
^i Bos'son, which announced the wonders of its iiei^hbimrhood.

In a torrent of rain precisely similar to that which a few years be-
fure had ushered me into the deep valley of the Baths of Mont Dore,
tlien first visited, our char drove up to the hotel, and we were assisted
from our dripping "leathern conveniency/' Out of u countless range
of rooms, we chose those that suited us, had a blazing Hre lighted, and
resigned ourselves to our fate. All that day, with intervals of about
twenty minutes, the rain descended with indescribable fury, and ahnost
all that time did I stand at my window watching for the sight of a
friendly ray which should disclose the magic picture covered by an
envious curt^iin. Those gleams came; rapid, and beautiful, and
vtrungeiy deceptive, were the forms they exhibited, a thousand shining
aiguilles bristled up into the wreathing cloud^t which waved over the
blue surface of the most lovely of glaciers, now showing its broad motion*
leai waves and arrested foanii now hiding it in a robe of transparent
niat* and then dropping down over the whole scene, and descending
onoe more to swell the raging, terrified Arve with an increasing deluge.
In the midst of one of tlie most violent showers, as I stood regarding
the gambols of the river close beneath my window, the apparition of
a party of travelliTs, drenched and fatigued, and looking the pictures
of woe and disappointment, flashed upon my sight. There were three,
and one was a female ; they bore long alpenstocks, were covered with
mud, and their clothes clung close to them like their skin. Thev were
returned from an excursion across the Tete Noir to the Jardin, had
passed the night in a chSlei on the edge of the ice, had had nothing
but fog, ruin, and cold, for their portion, and now descended to Cho-
mouny drowned and dispirited. We could not but congratulate our-
selves on our own escape, for the time we should have chosen would
have been that selected by these ill-fated adventurers. Still, there
was little to boast of in our own y>osition, except shelter, for the thir-
teen thousand feet of ice above us was as distant from our vision as if
we were " in England far beyond the sea."

It is true I heard, or fancied I heard, the shrill scream of an eagle
over the great glacier, and imagined or saw the flight of an eaglet
through the mist, hut the only certainty was, that the rain poured in*
OMsantly, and no hope dawned for that day.

It seemed incredible the number of guests at the iabU-d'hdie, for
the iun was liushed and quiet as if no one was breathing within its
walls. All were telling of adventures, but none appeared in spirits,
and looked forward with apprehension to the morrow. There were
travellers of all nations, but fewer Knglish than usual, as was the case
thix year throu<;hout Switzerland, owing to the political commotions
which continued to agitate the country. We ventured out for a few
uinutea in the evening, but were warned by a peasant to return, which
we did just in time to escape a deluge, and were forced to retire to
rest nnaatisfled and murmuring.

At daybreak the next muming I looked out in the direction of the
glaciers, but all was dim and dreary, and sadly and sorrowfully I re-
turned to bed, thinking

" No future grief ontiM touch me more."
1 think 1 fell asleep, wearied with watching, but was roused by a
bright liglit in my room and, losing not a momeut. I was again at my
vtatioOy now indeed repaid fur severe disappointment.

Before me curled in ■ bUze of sunsKine the one, broad,
of the Glacier de Boasoa, with alteadant peaks shining <
gold against a sky intensely blue without a cloud. A ]
glittering |)oint8 ran along as far as I could see^ and a part
de Gloco ilsflf spread out^ white and cleur, although ms yel
by the vivilyiog ray which brought gladness to the earth.

No time was litst in our setting furth to the source of Uu
for we thought it poaaihle to accomplish that object, at A
the bright moment tbat invited us. ^

We soon reached the fine amphitheatre of roclcs at tlie
glacier, and climbed amongst them to the source, whic
curious than imposing : a tine ice bridge, of a rich blu^
fiilltn only a few days before, and its mosses were lying p^
the stones: it will form again and renew the beauty iH
which now suffers from its absence. A grove of very l^rge 1
at the edge of the river, and here we left our char while wi
about the dry bed of the stream, which in spring must pre
ditfercnt aspect from that which it now offered; for no w,
be seen, except a narrow rivulet of intense blue-greei
amongst ]>ebbles, and winding round huge masses of stone.

Of cour^, we did not resist the importunities of several ]
Tendon of mineral treasures, almost infanta, with soft cleai
like the ice above them and round laughing cheeks a« bri
robv hues on their native peaks. Nor did we fail to yield ti
tation of possessing ourselves of others more elaborate, offi
shop in Chamouny kept by the numerous guides.

The morning couliuued still to incrt:ase in splendour^
pronounced by the experienced one of the moett proniisinj
been known in Chamouny during the summer. Mui^s and h
instantly in requisition, and the clatter of hoofs and the soun
anade a strange contrast to the disconsolate stiUne&s of the d

While other travellers were departing, and our mulea a
preparing, we hastened to explore the sliops, which are full
of iuteiest; and, at last, it was with infinite joy that I fou
ounfurtablj seated on a safe saddle, which had been, aoeordi
UnUi carenilly visited by competent authorities, and, enco)
the tmuranoea of tw o of the bfst guides of the country that
rrawMliblr expect beautiful weather, we set forth on the m«
and delightful of all adventures, a visit to the Mor de Glace.

h\v the next five hours we were ascending the beautiful
•ft ibt tummit of which the treasures of Mont Blanc are spn
•Utbtir glory. We had two guides besides on rusuul careful i
and were joined early on tlie ascent, by a very pretty interest
[trL the daughter of the eldest guide, a man who ap|ieared

Kith

reputation for b<»1dnesa and experience, and to be the ackt
of hia class, lie h»d been three times to the hummi
Blanc with different travellers, and narrowly escaped with 1
m Md uvcasion, when three pcrbous were killed by the sudd
Ml avalanche: he was himself precipitated into an ice chaM
vAlnenteil with extreme dilliculty. ■

♦'When 1 was drawn out," sttid he. *' and recovered my

Ilk »er th«> ihrei' IkkIIcs of my dead friends lying uxti
MNr* All 1 that was a Mght to make one ikink !"
U« W»» ?vry gnAve, and the fearful dangers he hud gonej

my
Lei^

Del

IN SWITZERLAND.

261

peared to have deeply impredsed his mtnd. Tlie other guide was
fomewhat of a dandvj M\ of compliments, and culling bis expressions
u if be intended to make a poay of tliem, all being selected appa-
rently according to Airs. iVIaluprop's plan of forming " a nice derange-
ment of epitbipLs."

The lively young girl was dressed with peculiar neatness, and wore
a large straw hat, tied with hlue ribbons: she held, like the others, a
long alpenstock, and as she skipped over the rugged paths she appeared
a must poetical specimen of a mountain maiden. Every now and then
she paused to gather wood strawberries which grew almost on tbe
brink of the glacier, and loaded us with them and wild Huwers, which
we admired, and kept or flung away, according as tbe smoothness or
roughneas of our road inspired us.

It in very toilsome, but extremely exciting, this riding up the almost
perpendicular mountain: there is but little danger, and, with so many
protectors, it would have been absurd to feel nervous: nevertheless, wc
met with one adventure which might have gone far to frighten a timid
traveller ; a little more courtesy on the part of those who cauaed the
embarras would have made tbe circumstance an ordinary aifair, as it
was there was some peril and annoyance.

We hud juat reached a very steep corner where tbe zigzag road was
peculiarly broken and rugged, and where so much of the mould had
ieen washed away, by the recent rains, that the path was quite Itollow,
and there was scarcely standing room by the side of a twisted tree
which grew close to the roud over a precipitous descent : at this mo-
ment one of the guides ran forward and shouted to a party descending
on mules, begging tht^m to pause higher up, and allow us to pass, as
it was dunger«jus to meet on the spot where we stood.

Regardless, however, of his request, and our exclamations, we beheld
twu persons mounted, coming, as it were, straight down upon our
heads ; the equestrians moved doggedly on, and, as tbey approached
nearer shewed by their looks that they had no notion of making way
for ua. As quickly as thev could, our guides, finding further remon-
Urance unavailing, dnigged our mules on one side, and I found myself
perched almost on the branches of the old tree, while the invading
lady and gentleman, silent and sullen, pushed by, their saddle-girths
being rudely wrenched by dose contact with those of our steeds as
they forced their way through the ravine. On went this singularly
independent pair, without a word of commeat — what country had the
honour of claiming them ha her children we did not discover, as no
word issued from their lips ; and we were left to conjecture, while our
divcoroposed girths and coverings, which had been displaced on their on-
ward march, were set to rights. As they took the inside they would
have been perfectiv safe, even if they had pushed us over the precipice,
therefore their minds remained placid while ours were for some mo>
oieuts considerably ugitateil.

We aooQ fitrgot this incident in the sublime prospect before and
around us, as we passed through woods of gigantic pines, and saw the
iced turrent whose course we had been following upwards, increasing in
volume and width. At length we reached the summit, and, dismount-
ing, gave our steeds to the care of the mountain maid, and proceeded
at once to the brink of the Icy Sea.

The sun wus brilliant, without a cloud over thu whole face of tbe
intensely blue sky: broad fields uf azure icii ploughed with huge

ht Miierf liif fir to U»

^MK ■•( Wae itt avftl

isdawfiil n it tosftiad oa a mms «£ iecv fl^e of*
««v«« Ift a ptti it tj M^ Hid iMk mud oa Ike ttilM wmters wUek
ecCMM^ M if raady to r«sk donra in torrents and
•11 totoRw Abaw rise ptoks aad jiTvlito W tiiiaii^iM,
to tW vther otf' which tha ejv wwden k their bmmk an
oalM orrr— iadiridttak af the fnmtm anay ofa ftvaea rrgiaa. There
ar« tli« AicuiUet B ao g ea — the OnmA Maleto, the Efrdets, the DUtiere.
thr Unuid Periadeik Lcchsnd. the Chapcas, the Col tie Baime, the
Brvwu, the Flagita— three, seres, thirtrcst ihinniaial £rat ahuire the
irr viiller^ — there spread fmr avaj, into iwairaiiinblg dataaee, gladicr
n^cr )(li^ier— da Boia, da Boooos, da TalcA^^ nrnnnitotiMT hj ■
tliouMuid glitwring pinoades, where, abava then al^ the pore tm»-
^parant Aiguille V'crte

*" PoioU with its ti^vr ipir« to lw»vea.**

IN SWITZERtAND.

263

After linf^ring for some time in the snnshine» on tlteae icy rocks
we descended lo the '* Pierre des Anglais," so culled from Uie two
En^rliftlimt'ii, Poct»cke and Wyndham, who first reached this point in
1741, A century has not chant^ed the glaciers round, but» since our
sdrenturoiis countrymen first gnzcd upon the wondrous scene, singular
hame been the facilitiefc afforded, so that the mere "inquisitive trarcl-
Jer *' can now penetrate much further with little or no peril.

As 1 had no scientific pur|Mise to attain, and the one grand effect had
been produced upon my mind, which no future sight of ice or snow
could increaae, I was content to return from this excursion without
reoturing further amongst the icy billows of the Alonlanvert. Most
bappily had this charming journey been accomplished, and feeling that
•everau long whole Runimers ivould be insuthcient to i^hew me ull the won-
ders &nd beauties of this magic region, I could not regret leaving enough
for a little life to come, and, after a lingering look at the sparkling
Mer de Olace, I turned away — with pensive steps and slow- — and took
from this icy Eden— my solitary way, indulging, meantime, a hope that
another day I should renew my slight acquaintance with a land sacred
to tliought and poetry*

On our return to Chamouny, having resisted the temptation of
taking the route by the Tete Noir, because the day was too far ad-
vBQced to allow of our crossing the mountains without risk of being
benighted, we prepared to quit the scene of these adventures, and to
pf buck to St. Martin for the night, on our way to Geneva.

While waiting fur our char-a'bauc we strolled into a house, where
we heard there was a newly caught chamois to be seen. We mounted
a steep Hight of stairs, and there, in a rt»om on the first floor, strewn
with hay, stood a beautiful little creature, worthy of being the cherished
guelle of Leila. Its terror on beholding our entry was extreme — ita
6ne dark eyes were distended with alarm — its limbs shook, and, with u
rapid spring, it perched itself on the ledge of the chimney-piece, sup-
porting its delicate body on itK four little feet placed close together, as
one often sees the pretty animal represented on a pinnacle of ice at
inme high point of its native mountains. In vain we tried to soothe
ind encourage the wild little creature, and we left the room at the
Mtsgestion of the proprietor, who seemed dreadfully afraid of its making
a oSirt and clearing the stairs at u l>ound. I felt greatly inclined to
wish it had done so, for the mercenary being who had charge of it did
nut denexve that bis domicile should be ennobled by its fairy presence.

Quite unmoved by our raptures at his graceful inmate— perhaps
fearing that in our absence of mind we should forget his claims upon
oor purses — the insensible churl had hardly shut the door upon his
gazelle than he began to clamour for immediate remuneration for the
light. Indignantly we dispensed the gmtuity, reproaching him with
hi* greedinci^a which could not wait even till we had descended his
it#ep atairs, but we could not help mischievously assuring him that
kia too evident anxiety for lucre had deprived him of customers for his
•tore of crystals, which he now wanted to recommend. With considerable
tttisfaction we went into a rival shop before his eyes, and enjoyed bis
vexed expression. There is. however, much less clamouring and un-
civil importunity than formerly at Chamouny. Visitors, we were
totd> were so much annoyed by incessant demands of tlie most extrava-
gant description, thut at lust they became wearied with the intiiction.
Chamouuy got a bad reputation, and the magistrates were obliged to

wU, fcj tlM bfCb aU kflfft Aifi

WIOI MM ViiM fvproml him, tar tWy ««

IW cirilitj Mi^iWiBti— wlnck xkej rvBllj
^« raiUcd CImomui J lata •■ ■ f
«t fM. Mtftio M bcfertr wd now ill

•• TU nUffjr ky I

whicti w*t li:ul pAftfted tbfl dijr Wort ta tormfta «£ rmnu sad docM
a veil uf mikti wtiich iliut out rvery object. Pram crerr bcigbt
down dlvirr catiimru nver cTMf^gj rocJcs of immeafte Mxe»
roormmia tr«eii nnti ((re«ii bunk*. We left the beautiful Glacier
BuMofi« l)i*hinil, i^hininft in the »na with nil the coluun of the
bair. TUin ^Ui'ii^r in of tho most exquiftite form, by far the most
any ; il hun^ in mii* immeiiHe wave on the rocka, undulating vhk

r^vful curvoti, ntiil crowned with a diadem of foam, which ia changed
icy iM»inti npreiuling over the aurfacc: the under side of the gr««(
.bilhtw in of a rich cUnir trrtnHpar<*nt blue, which fthines out against the
diirk nmntinc honrnth it, and contrasts with the dazxline whiteneflo^
itlie tnowa abttve. It heema alwflyi to shew it»elf in pronle, and offm
ctiulinuul heauiii*a in rivalry with its mighty neighbour, the Merde
Ohici*. We hiul continued our wnv for sonic time» the high surroond-
in|{ mouniainii hiMuinin^ in the valfey. und shutting out all view but of
their nnuw-cn|ipiHl heiuUi when, us we ascended a steep road» I wtl
•truck UB I l<H»kcd from the char-o-hanc at the sudden apparitioo ofi
lon^ lino, of whnt mvmcd to l>e a gi^ntic mass of white clouds bbl
in II itky of drtKxlini; blue. I exclaimed in admiration of the
cent ftight : the char was stopped and the truth proclaimed.

The vipiion wai nothing leaa than the atupeadoos range of Ml
HUnc it*clf, erery peak, rrarj nimection. eren* dome, ererv
nac4c. all cloar* un»aAdrd and distinct, the outline so sharply
against the »ky that it aeemed almoat too tramckmmi far aalurvb
imrgvous apoetade had startvd forib as if by mixade, foe, k
Uf% hf aaviral wnin do inb a bkaat «f tbe vaUej bad
glhniiM of ibt IHAtl laaaarcb wba M«r ^akaed to
■MTtal aras fai all bk tadfaat gUir.

Mafawowt as tba Pjim m «pp«r
MMdttpMi lbc«r kNi( wwaaad mk tbegiwcMoniaar «f tbe
mU, I bad Mf«r Wm la alartM » aa lb»
tbe tna>nMrfi>t •filotttar af
Qaatf. wftb a aWwaiiM aw asBr nmwim iP ana Ae a— » Jcr,

af aabti^Miid «aa^ ■imalM Aa Im^M ^m af ai

IN SWITZERLAND.

S65

We coTikinned our route by the beautiful Col de Forclaz, and
Ktrned nside to visit the pretty secluded baths of St. Gt^^rvaiH, where
ve lingered for some time, dilighted with the situation and the
.irrangements nf this delicious spot. Behind the enormuua building
irhicli IS a perfect town, where the patients reside and where there are
fine salons and ball'roums in the usual style of public baths, a winding
Mth leads from a rustic bridge which spans the roaring torrent of the
ooorant, up a precipitous hill, the toilsome ascent uf which is repaid
by the sight of a series of cataracts of the most pictures<]ae chiirflcter,
foaming and leaping over projecting ledges of rock embedded ia a
thick \4 wid.

As erery one of the patients nt this extensive establishment whs
out on excursions in the neighbourhood, it did not appear that they
were great sutTerers; indeed, the marvellous accounts given by the
guide of the sudden miracles perfurmed it would seem by the very sight
of the valley and the rapidity with which ailments oi the most ob-
stinate kind disappeared after a few visits to the wondrous well,
night convince one that the waters are like those of Zemsem, able
to cure all evils.

A few weeks passed in this charming retreat must indeed 1>e very
rnjoyable, for there is every accommodation that the most fastidious
could require, and, moreover, the charges are more moderate than nt
many other places of a similar nature*

I suppose, to Judge by the vastness of the building, the concourse of
strangers must, At times, be very great, but so uncertain is the favour
of robust invalids, that I undenttuod another spring, higher up the
mountuin. not long since discovered, bad in a great measure super-
seded that of St. Gervais, for several seasons. The rival is said to be
even more charmingly situated than this, but I cannot imagine that
possible, so much was I delighted ^vith the spot nltogether.

H'e were rather late in arriving at Sallenches, our road being at the
foot iif a most beautiful mountain, whose heights nnd glades and voles
presented scenery as fine as any we hud seen, lighted up by the glow
of a rich bunset.

Sallencbes is another Cluses, a town reduced to the very depths of
ruin and desolation In consequence of a frightful conflagration which
has burnt almost every house to the ground. A more wretched effect
than its desolate and encumbered streets present cannot be imagined,
Mid the air of gloom and melancholy on every countenance was really
distressing.

^lien we were at Chnmbery, on our first arrival in Savoy, we had
heard of the catastrophe which had destroyed this devoted place, con-
tinually subject to the same visitatiim ; ana we were told also that the
King of Sardinia proposed going himself to Sullenches, to judge of the
state of things, of which he must have heard a very false report if he
thought the town was not altogether ruined. It seems, however, that
he never came, but had sent persons to see the spot and to afi^ord relief
and assistance.

We crossed the bridge to St. Martin, and there took possession of the
nme rooms we had occupied before, being very uderably accommo-
dated and clamorously welcomed.

366

A RAMBLE ALOXG THE OLD KENTISH ROAD FROM
CANTERBURY TO LONDON:

ITS CDBI081T1S8 AKO ANTIQUXTIKS.
BY nBNBY CUBLINO.

** Gadsbill ties to-oight at Rochester.

SUAKSrEABE.

Time and space allow not of dilation u|)on the various localities and
places of interest durinf^ a rumble over the scarped and countcrscarp-
cd neighbourhood of Clmtham. The duck-yard would itself take some
time to look over, and is well worthy of the trouble. Good Queen
BesSs who had an eye to business, and was the friend and patroness of}
all the strongholds, ramparted towns, and forts and castles in the
kingdom, considered the dockyard at Chatham worthy of favourable
consideration. She paid it a visit of inspection, and built Upnor
Castle for its defence. Discipline and good regulation are so appa-
rent in the various departments and spacious store-houses and maga-
zines, that, immense as ib the quantify vi' stores deposited, they are
arranged with such " man-of-war" precision, that whatever is needed
can be procured with the greatest dispatch.

The homr hand of the antitjuL'-looking clock (which seems gibbeted
in the narrow street of llochester) pointed to eight as we neared it.
The clock-house WLiB built by Sir Cloudesley Shovel in 1G86, who also
presented both house and clock to the mayor and city of Rochester
for ever; and to this day the inhabitants entertain a great feeling of
affection and respect towards the great round-faced dial and its do-
micile. When, however, one of the line regiments was marching
through Rochester, after disembarking from Spain, this clock suffered
some little damage and Indignity at the hands of the officers. It
10 happened that a huge broad-wheeled wagon (one of those bygone
wains of the Old Kent Road, which quicker travel has altogether su-
perseded) was stopping for a short time during the night, cloi^e under
the clock ; and as several ofiicers, rather flustered with flowing cups,
were returning to their billets, they espied the wagoner asleep, and
noted the gaudy face of the pendant clock above. Full of the delight
consequent upon returning to their native land, they resolved to have
a spree at the expense of the wagoner; and accordingly, procuring a
coil of rope, they threw it over the cluck; attaching its end to the
tail of the wagon, they then quietly ignited their cigars, and awaited i
the event. By and by, the parcels for which the wagon )uid becD U
delayed being brought by his mate, the man gave the word to his fl
team. The strong-jointed beasts pulled at the huge wagon, the
cable strained, the great clock groaned and creaked, but not a foot ^
did the concern budge, to the no small astonishment of the burly fl
wagoner, who dang'd and gee'd, and lashcd^at his great rhinoceros- H
shaped beasts in an awful state of surprise and anger. Me;jnwhile-
thc noise, the clatter of hoofs, the creaking and straining of timber,
and the slipping up of the poor beasts as they lugged under the lash,
aroused the sleepers in the immediate vicinity, and a dozen night-

CANTERBUnV TO LONDON. 267

capped heada were poked out of the windows on either side, in front
and rear of thi& exhibition, just as tlie ill-used clock began to separate
from the building. Crack, crack, went the great beam above, and
crack crack went the heavy whip of the carter. The wagon began
to move, and the clock, drawn all awry^ would next minute have come
down smash into the middle of the road, when the whole turn-out
I was arrested by a dire yell from the citizens at the windows. ** The
1 clock f the clock !" resounded on all sides, " Stop the clock! here,
watch ! watch I where 's the watch ? Stop this rascul I he 's carrying
: off Sir Ctoudesley Shovers clocks house and all, with his wagon to
* London 1"

^ Tor the truth of this story I cannot take upon me to vouch. I tell

, it as it was told to me by an oHicer of Highlanders, who, as is usual
in such cases, aifirmed that he bad spoken with a man who knew an
officer who had seen a wagoner who was first cousin to the identical
driver of the very wagon fastened to the clock; and it only remain*
to be told, that the parties who were guilty of this attempt upon the
clock had to pay a heavy sum before the offt^nded dignity of the chief
Diagibtrate was satisfied, or rather appeased.*

The great point of interest at Rochester, althougli it remains almost
neglected in its feudal strength and grandeur, we think is the castle.
This stupendous record of chivalric pride and power seems to stand
and frown with contempt upon the frivolity of the dwellers in its im-
mediate vicinity. Tower, and wall, and battlement of enormous
strength and great height, here have maintained their stand against
the efibrts of time and the vi!e cupidity of man, who for a few
paltry guilders would, again and again, have demotishcd the entire
building, and levelled it with the ground. t The town of Rochester,
which is inferior in point of antiquity to few cities in England, is
situated so as to command the passage of the Medway, and was early
a place of importance. Even the Britons, after their rude ideas of
forti6cation, had some works here to secure the passage of the river.
It was the Durobrovis of the Komuns, and their ancient Watling
Street ran directly through it. Nay, so late as the Conquest, it was
still governed by a chief magistrate called prmpo$Uui.

As we generally look out for the most ancient hostel wherein to
locate ourselves, we in this instance rode into the Inn-yard of the
Crown. Here, as the shadows of evening descended, and we watched
the ostler rubbing down our steed, we found sufficient subject of con-
templation. Before us, and forming one side of the Crown yard,
stood a long deserted building which had once been ttie principal hos-
tel of the town — a rare specimen, we believe, and almost unique in
the country,

A single glance at the outward favour of this interesting building is
sufficient to show its great antiquity, whilst a peep within Immedi-
ately presents us with a perfect specimen of an interior in the days of
Shakspeare,

As we stepped back from within the curious apartment, the feeling
which had impressed itself upon us from the moment of entering the

The Btory is the more likely to be correct, u the cicizeni of Rochester ara
very fond of relating it over a pipe and lankard.

t Rochester Cutle would bave been demolished long ago, but was found to
•trong that the attezo^ft at pulling it down wa* alwndoned.

very fond of relating it over a pipe and lankard.

t Rochester Castle would bave been demolished long ago, but was found to
strong that the attempt at pulling it down wa* alwDdoneid. ^^^^H

I XXJII. "v ^^^1

£68

CANTERBURY TO LONDON.

inn-yar^V. every part of wbicli, from its quiet and antique I
seemed sobered down and removed, not only from llie bi
world without, but altogether from the present timely i
explained. A sort ol' shadowy recollection of the plac«i
identification of the locality, on entering the gateway, I
from the Br&t moment pervaded the mind, which the sigbi
tcrior instantly increased, till on looking round, we at odg
tlie inn-yard at Rochester where Gadshill tries to aift tl
riere, and gather the hour at which they mean to start fb;

We wish our readers fully to understand us in saying U
by no means so inKiyom^'iv as to believe in the reality of a I
never existed except in tlie inimitable fancy of the poc
have a suspicion that Shakspearc himself hath been a gi
hostel, that he hath mingled amongst the bustle of this ii
beneath the gaping chimney of its peculiar kitchen, and p4
in one of the low-roofed, lattice-windowed rooms above. N
the scene itself — that inimitable scene in ** the inn-yard
ter" — was written whilst he was a guest here. Every par
cality is iilhakspearian. The massive iron-studded door, ih
the pigeon-houses built in the thick walls, the huge archi
to the yard, the yard itself, bounded by the massive flanki
the castle, — all are Etizabeihan, and at the same time j
pressive feeling somehow connected with travel and trai
riers and gentlemen of the shade, and liouses of entertaini
jovial, bustling, good old days.

Whilst we continued to contemplate the locality, a sul
quaintly dressed fellow, having a " discarded serving-mao'
dered into the yard, and, entering the old deserted kitehei
upon an overturned barrel, and commenced puffing aiv^
pipe he produced from his pocket. ^

So perfectly in keeping was the man with the building,
solved to accost him, and try if we could gather anything h
of information, and accordingly we entered the apartmenL

" A curious old building this," we said.

'• Ra-ther," said the fellow.

•* Very old is it, think ye ?'' we enquired.

" Very old," was the short answer we received.

" How old do you suppose?"

** What, this house? how old? why, as old as the castli
1 should say. There's neither brick nor beam altered in
was a boy, as I can see, — and I've been here sixty odd yea
on." M

*' Do many people come to look at it?'' I said. ^

•* Nobody ever comes to look at it, now," said the fello
merly, when folks used to come through Rochester, there w
of folk had a curiosity about the old inn here. Sir Walter!
came whilst I was o postboy in this yard, years and years
seemed greatly struck with the look of thfe house and all b€
it lie seemed to consider more of this inn than of the
and he took a good look at that, too."

** Did he make any remark about it ?" I enquired.

<* Not as I heard," said the man ; ** but he thought

CANTEUBTTRY TO LONDON,

S69

pparently* He examined it very curious-likc> inaidc nnd out,
I here under tlie great chimney, and leant his chin upon his
id looked very 6xed-like. He seemed as if he saw a H-bole
* in the room before him, and smiled to himself; and then lie
od clambered up them old steps there, into the rooms above,
le old beds is. and walked about, and looked out at the win-
j9 sounded the flooring/'

» do you know it was Sir Walter Scott?*' wc enquire<I.
fei't know nothing about it, except from hearsay," said the
^ was one of the down-boys that drove him, and I heard he
fgrcat book-writer, that everybody was mad about. He
&* tacked to his name at that time. He earnt tbot, I heard,
lb.-

K of steps at the extremity of the Crown yard, and which
(tip amidst the massive ruins of the ancient outwarks, leads
|t of pleasaunce of the castle, and we are immediately in the

S^ and indeed within the '* roundure of its old faced walls."
rander amidst fruit-trees and flowering shrubs, and frag-
f outworks of immense strength, which arc reared on the
(the rapid stream, in u perfect scene of the past. Every
if the magnificent tower of Gundulph, as wc approach and
pit of it amidst the foliage of the gardeu, speaks of the 6erce
tos of the Norman period, when war was the business of life,
t kings struggled amidst a bright host and with all the pomp
i of chivalry. Helm and shield and blazoned banner, seem
ft still pertaining to the locality. The very spirit of the

rod the noble — a sort of Plantagenel spirit, if we may so
seems to breathe in the neighbouring air. Yes, as we
Hud we feel that ^ve arc standing upon the very ground
le those thick-ribbed towers where the fierce contentions and
I conflicts — those flery encounters in which mailed knights
opposition hand to hand — Iiad taken place during the many
is castle has sustained. Hero, in the immediate neighbour-
fbich we stand, the barons of England, nay, even the kings.

Eon of England embroidered upon their glittering surcoats,
to seam, have smote with deadly hand, amidst the din, the
Ind the shout of horrid war — the war of " pomp, pride, and
luce" — in which the heraldic device upon the shitld, the gon-
pennon, the bright armour, and the gilded trappings of tlie
"jnt a lustre to the deadly nnd raging field, which our own
ped and noisy system knows not*

V 1

270

THE TWO FUNERALS OF NAPOLEON.

BY ROBEBT POSTANS.

Bul vhvre u he, the champion and the diild

Of all thai *ft great nr little, wi»e or vitd ?

Whou game was empirea, and whoee stakes were thrones?

Whose table earth — whose dice was hnraan hones ?

Behold the grand result in yoa lone tale.

And. M thy njiture urges, weep or amile. — Btkox.

The change from the calm to the tempest — from the deep and im-
pressive Golitudes of the ocean, to the busiest haunts of men — froi^
savage to civilized life, are prominent examples o^ the mutations
which seamen are liable. And these events sometimes follow in rt
rapid succession, and are of such varied import, that even their trul
ful narration appears as though decked in the borrowed hues of fictif
To use an uneasy metaphor a sailor may be said to be a naval kntgl
errant, with the ocean for his steed, upon which he rides in quest
adventure* Thus mounted, he sometimes stumbles upon sights
rare, and scenes as beautiful, as any that are to be found in the stor
bookn of yore ; and perhaps there are but few who will deny that
pages of Dampier and Captain Cook are as full of chivalry as
Chronicles of Froissart, or that before the majestic daring of Columl
all knighthood pales.

These notions received additional strength, aa my eyes fell'
the subjoined sentence inscribed in an old log-book, which 1 had ji
then discovered^ somewhat mildewed and raoth-eaten, at the bott
of a sea-chest.

The Free Trader Homeward Bound, Matf 5M, 1821.

A MEMORABLE EVENT OCCURRED THIS DAY.

Apparently, at the time these words were written, it was support
that they would be sufficient to recall to the memory, at a fud
period, the circumstance they so brie6y recorded, for my old joui
said nothing more about it. True, it was further stated lower doi
on the same page with genuine nautical brevity under the head
Hemurk8>

"All useful sail set."

" Beul the best bower."

" Pumped ship."

•' A itranger in sight," to which was added —

"Lat. by observation 10' 30" south, Long. 5' 30" west.

Assisted by the latitude and longitude, as well as by the dale, I mn(
two or tlireu desperate dives into the stream of time, hoping to reMi
fron» oblivion the " event," and, after a hard struggle, succeeded il
bringing to the surface of my memory, the leading incident, and tb<
the whole affair floated through my mind with all the freshness
yesterday. And, perhaps, it will be as well to state, for the inforwl
ation of the general reader, that on the day in question, tlie Fretj
Trader was running before the southeast trade wind, over
aqueous portion of our planet, which rolls between the Cape of Gi
Hope and the island of St. Helena.

TWO FUNERALS OF NAPOLEON.

21 \

Prom what has been stated, it was evident that the " memorable

fjiat" had been dismissed in too summary a manner, and, indeed.

Circumstances, after the lapse of a quarter of a century, have induced

ne to take up tlie scanty detail at that moment, when the morning
M/n 6rst broke upon the white caps of the waves, with the Indiaman
in their crests tipped and gilded with his light.
i was my morning watch, and I recollect leaning over the capstan,

id lapsing into one of those paradoxical states, when, although at-
iding to nothing in particular, yet ulmust every object within the
range of our senses undergoes a sort of dreamy observation. I could
see the man at the helm, and note how firm he kept the plunging
ship in hand, his sinewy grasp seemed by a secret intelligence to
impress his will upon the vast mass of the vessel. Without disturbing
the process of observation, a shoal of porpoises would occasionally
rush along, pursuing their earnest and busy passage at a velocity, com-
pared with which the progress o( the swift ship was tardiness itself,
i'or I could hear the hissing of the crisp sea as it curled into a crescent
of foam beneath her bows. Then came the busy hum of the " morn-
iog watch," mingling with the welcome sound of "eight bells," and the
merry whistle of the boatswain piping to breakfast. The motion of the
rolling vessel — the freshness of the delicious south-east trade — the
thoughts of home — the dancing waters, and the sparkling sunshine,
each of these, in their turn, would for a moment slightly arrest the
attention, but vigilance is a cardinal virtue in old Neptune's duniaia^
and bustling times were close at hand. A ship in the middle of the
Atlantic, with a rattling south-easter, whistling through the rigging,
is not the bed where da3'-dreaming can be indulged in with im-
punity, and so it soon appeared, for a hoarse voice from the main top-
tnast cross-trees, as if by magic, dispelled the illusion^ and brought
my senses to their duty.

"Sail, hoi"

" Where away?" was the prompt demand.

** Right ahead," returned the seaman. *' I make her out a full
rigged ship lying to,"

The officer of the watch had barely time to apply his ** Dollond/'
in the direction indicated, when the man alofl was ogain heard
shouting.

" l^nd on the larboard bow."

Ai the Free Trader had been traversing the ocean for weeks,
with nothing to relieve the eye, but "The blue above, and the blue
below/' the excitement which was caused by the discovery of the
stranger, coupled with the sudden cry of " Land," is not surprising.
Kor it is in the deep solitudes of the ocean, that man most keenly
feels how dependent he is upon his kind for happiness. In such
situations the most trifling incident arrests the attention — a floating
•par, or even an old tar-barrel, become objects of speculative curiosity.

Accordingly, as we ncared the strange ship, the cut of her canvas,
snd the mould of her hull, were critically examined by the more ex-
perienced seamen, who can generally guess from the appearance they
Iprcsent, not only the nation to which a ship belongs, but her occupa-
lioo also. But, on the present occasion, they were puzzled to give a
reason why a large vessel like the stranger, should be lying to,
ju»t where she was, (that seemed ilie mystery) and appaTenv\>( ww\\i\^
our approiub.

272

This quiet bearing lasted until the Free Trader
of passing the strange vessel, and then, as if suddenly ro
her lethargy, a thin volume of white smoke wtts seen curli
one of her forward porta. The explosion was followed b
pearance of a flag, which, after fluttering for an instant, blei
out, and much to our satisfaction, displayed the blue field
cross of the English ensign.

** What ship 's that ?" bellowed a loud voice from our f
looking neighbour, who had ranged alongside the la
enough to be within hailing distance,
'• '["he Free Trader."
"Where from ?" was ilemanded.

-* Calcutta, and bound to London," replied our captain*.
**Do you intend calling at the island?"
"Yes I"

" Then send a boat on board his majesty's frigate, Utc
instructions/' was demanded in tones that left no dou
be the result of a non-compliance.

An interchange of visits speedily followed between the
the Indianian, and boon after they were sailing side by jj
direction of the land, keeping company until llie Free
received such sailing directions as enabled her to sta
island alone. The frigate then took up her cruising grou

It would require but a slight stretch of the imagination,
the per]>endicular cliffs of St. Helena into the enormous
sea-girt castle. There is an air of stern and solemn gloon
by nature upon each rocky lineament, that reminds one o
racteristics of a stronghold. Not a sign of vegetation is
visible. Headland after headland appears, each in its tui
more repulsive than those left behintl. The sea-birds, ami
their discordant screams, seem afraid to alight, but whafl
lofty summits of tlie bald rocks in a labyrinth of gyrations;
everlasting surf, as it advances in incessant charges at L
rumbles upon the car in a hollow ceaseless roar.

It was during the operations of working the Free
one of the points of the island, that the heavy boomin
large gun was heard, slowly borne up against the w
surface of the sea. As the sun was just then dipping in 1
of the Atlantic, it was generally thought on board to be Ui<
gun. Rut again the same solemn heavy sound floated by on
.\gain and again it came in measured time, when ac len^
cleared the lust projecting headland, the roadstead and the I
suddenly into view. At the same time the colours at tb
Ladder Jlill, and on board the admiral's ship the Vtgo, of
were seen fluttering at half-mast, denoting the death
son of distinction.

While sailing into our berth, and after the anchor had
the land, the reports of the cannon came U|K>n us at interval
sounds seemed bodeful of some great event. We all U
cjuiringly for some explanation, but before any positive in
had reached the ship from the shore, surmise alter surmise
n'ay to a settlcti conviction ; for by one of those inscruta
of the mind, every man in the Free Trader felt assured
guns announced the death of Nnpolcon

At L

OF NAPOLEON.

S78

p.. ..^.J.-,, , w.^ -w, (, w. --.— ^,-w ., -«

[ividual in the ship had speculated during the voyage upon
:e of seeing Napoleon alive. However, by an easy transition.

Our Bus[>ensc was brief, for soon af\er the anchor was down, ashore
Lt came alongside, containing an official |>erson, to demand the
OBture of our wants, and he confirmed our suspicions. This intelli-
^ence^ although anticipated, created a feeling of disappointment, as
tfery indi
the chance

now that he was dead, we wondered whether we should be permitted
to witness bis funeral ; but as no communication was allowed from
the ships in the roads to the shore between the hours of sundown and
sunrise, we were obUged to pass the night in conjecture. Under
these circumstances, we were scarcely prepared for the news that
reached us early in the morning. It was a general notice to all
■tnogers and residents, informing them that they were permitted to
mit the island and witness the ceremony of tlic body of General
waparte as it lay in state.

After tlie lapse of six-and-twenty years, and now, when the
^tosions of that mighty conftict which Blled Europe in the early
part of the century are extinct, it would be difficult to make the
present generation comprehend the profound emotions which thi^
news had upon those who, like ourselves, happened to be at St.
Helena at tnis eventful period. Consequently, on the second day
after Napoleon's death, nearly every individual on the island, as well
as tltose in the different vessels at anchor io the roads, repaired to
Longwood, the place where he died.

Of course the house was thronged with people, but as the greatest
order prevailed, I was soon in the room with ail ttuit was Icf^ of the
most wondrous man of modern times. Suddenly coming out of the
glare of a tropical sun into a |)artially darkened room, a ^vw moments
elapsed before the objects were properly deBned. Gradually, as the
contents of the apartment tumbled into shape, the person of Napo-
leon, dressed in a plain green uniform, grew out of the comparative
gloom, and became the loadstar of attraction.

He was lying on a small brass tent bedstead, which had been with
him in most of his campaigns. I found it imposgible to withdraw my
eyes for an instant from his countenance : it caused tn me a sensation
difficult to define, but the impression can never be forgotten. There
«ms acrucifiTcon his breast, and by its side glittered a large diamond
star, the brilliancy of which strangely contrasted with the pallid face
of the dead. The skin was of a most intense whiteness, and looked
like wax.

What struck me as most strange was the mean appearance of the
surrounding furniture, and of the "getting up" of the ceremony.
Few people in England, or indeed in France, would credit the dilapi-
dated slate of the apartment. It was literally swarming with rats and
other vermin. There appeared, however, to be no want of respect to
the memory of the dead hero, whatever might have been his treat-
ment when living. But the knowledge of this tardy justice did not
prevent a comparison between his fallen state in that rat-pestered
chamber* and the magnificence and power with which imagination
invested him when living. And although it may be idle to compare

* It is a well. known Tact, lliut after N.-ipoleon*!i itody witR nponod. his Uvntl
wu |>liiced in a vcaacl in ihia rooni» sud that duriiig ibc nigbc a rut devauivtl «
Ui^« portion of ic.

my, wm Ae nolii
lhbtacnao0a^

■pecf c fe teen mm dMt ^,
I fame BSB dnwn
Sc Helcss oo Uie aap nay at fint mpftm to be
ID remliKj it is not ml A glance <ir tm9 m svficicoK la
it U pUced a the ceatre of ihe great hi^vay of th
the occcMitics of coiBicrct, aod tke vantt aod haaai
frooi a sca&riag life, are the means of briagiag uigeche
of the booas race. And if tbe denae oiaaKS d
thronged to hU aecood foacral at a laore recent peri
dear Fraoce» vere vanting, their deficiency in minbei
sort cotnpeoaated by tbe Tariety of men : or if tliere m
tude, there vat, at least, a meiUey of curious gazers.

Foremost in intelligence were tbe French and Engl
from these stood the wondering African negro, — the uc
tot from the Cape— the yellow Brazilian from South
fierce-looking Lascar from Bengal — and the quiet, inoff
from remotest Asia. Some of these knew but little
renown, but, being inoculated with the prevailing ei
like the more intellectual European, to gaze upon
dazzling meteor, the blaze of which had so recently

The same tincture of corruption dyes all mortality,
as well as common clay soon becomes offensive in a ti
Even on the second day after his death, it was al
should have been soldered up. With a knowledge c
Governor-General had ordered the funeral to take pb
(hus allowing only four days to elapse between 1^
burial. ^

In ihe meantime, the spot where the pioneers wei
grave, became an object of mingled curiosity and vi
only in importance to the illuitrious hero who

iv3

OF NAPOLEON.

275

it bis abiding place. It was close to a eniDll spring, of which
Nspoleon always drank, and occasionally he breakfasted beneath the
iliade of two willows that bend over the bubbling waters. The grave

8 »ingularly made. It was formed very wide at the top, but
oped gradually inwardst having the appearance of an inverted
pyramid. The lowest part was chambered to receive the coffin, and
one large stone covered the whole of the chamber. It was said that
ttiis covering was taken from the floor of the kitchen at Longwood,
where it had been used as a hearthstone in front of the fire-place;
though why it should have been removed for such a purpose it is dif-
ficult to comprehend, for the island is not deficient of the requisite
material. Ttie remaining space was to be 61led up with solid
masonry, clamped together with bands of iron. These precautions,
it appeared, were intended to prevent the removal of the body, as
much at the request uf the French as of the governor of the island.

Divested of the associations connected with his fame. Napoleon's
funeral at St, Helena was a simple, though heartfelt alTair. His long
Sffony on that sunburnt rock commanded the reverence of every be-
holder. Consequently, on the 0th, all the inhabitants and visitors on
the island flocked to the line of march. Like many others, I selected
a prominent position on the shoulders of a hill, from whence the
tolemn procession could be traced, as it threaded its way through
the gorges and ravines of this picturesque place> on its way to the
grave. The coflin was borne upon the shoulders of English grena-
diers, and followed by the soldiers who had contributed more towards
bis downfall than those of any other nation. Their solemn tread and
grave deportment contrasted strongly with the heartfelt sorrow of
Count Montholon and General Bertrand, who bore the hero's pall.
Madame Bertrand followed next, in tears, and then came Lady Lowe
and ber daughters, in mourning ; the oflicers of the English men-
of-war next, and then the officers of the army ; the Governor- General
and Admiral Lambert closing the rear. The 66th and :20th Uegi-
ments of Infantry, the Artillery, and the Morincs, were stationed on
the crests of the surrounding hills ; and when the body was lowered
into the tomb, three rounds of eleven guns were fired. And thus
t]>e great soldier of France received tlie last tribute of respect in
honour of his achievements from the hands of his most constant, but,
&s he described them, the most generous of his enemies.

The last years of Napoleon's life, except so far as they derived a
gloomy and awful importance from the remembrance of his terriBc
career of blood and power, were as insignificant as his first. He could
neither act upon, or be acted upon by the transactions of the world
He seemed to be buried alive. Kept as he was in close custody by a
power, with whose strength it was useless to cope, and whose vigilance

ere was little chance of eluding.

Ou the following morning the sounds of labour were heard from
every quarter oC the Free Trader, and the long drawn songs of the
mariners were rising in the cool quiet of the early dawn. Then com-
menced the heavy toil which lifts the anchor from its bed ; the ship
once more released from her hold upon the land, stood across the
Atlantic for England, and long ere noon the sun-blicitcred rock of
St. Helena was shut out from our view, by the rising waters in whicli
it seemed to submerge. And thus ended (he "memorable event"

276

THE TWO FUNERALS

which fomied tucth a wngular epUode to the olfaer«i«e moaolonou*
voyage of the Free Trader.

Oa an ioteoady cold morning, aome twenty vean after the occar*
feaees abore narrated, 1 was proceeding to Pans aa fast as a Freadi
diligenee eoold carry me. After paasio^ through a long winter't
Di^t« cramped and stiffened for want of ezerciite^ it was with fe«lin^
delight that I beheld the French capitaL But as tii«
■d ue gay metropolis, it waa impouible to aroid beiag
sorpriwd at the appearance of the populace. Every body ivas going
towards Paris, no one appeared to be going in anv other direction.

The moltitade iacreaaed as we progressed, am) when the dUigfnce
entered the Boolerard, it was with great difficulty the lumbering
veUcte was orsed throo^ the living moss. On either aide of ns wu
a tene crowd of beads, eagerness pictured on ever)- conntenaoor.
the jobber arising from so large an assemblage, was heard tbe
sound uf artillery^ min{;ling strangely, nay wildly, with the
solemn tolling of the great bell of Notre Dame, which every now and
then fell upoa the ear, without mingling with the great tide of sound,
bat each vibration seemed distinct in its isolation. It was impossible,
from the vexed and confused nature nf the turmoil, arising from bells,
gnna, and drums, to form an idea whether the people were celebrating
a holiday, a spectacle, or a revolution.

Most human feelings are cooto^uus, and I was soon inoculated
with a desire to mix with the crowd, and see what was going oa.
Accordingly, as soon as the diligence arrived at the Mes^agerie, I left
my carpet-bag in the custody of an official, and set forth to satisfy 015
curiosity. Once fisirly in the throng, I was soon urged along the
place de la Bourse, and from thence op the Rue Vivienne to the
Boulevard des llalieunes, happy in having availed myself of anr
change, whether of sentiment or situation, which would rouse my half*
froxen blood into action, and enable me to compete with a temperatuio
ten degrees below freezing.

Forward, forward, along the interminable Boulevard, I was forced
by the dense mass, and extrication became hopeless. That hnmi
thoroughfare seemed to be the main channel through which flowed tbe
living tide, and, as it was continually being fed by the streets on cither
side, it ultimately was crowded to a dangerous degree.

At the magniricent church of the Madeleine, a divided opinion
upon the people, and gave me scope for action. I followed that
tion whose destinies led them to the Place de la Concorde, where 1
had scarcely arrived, when preparations of on uncommon descriptioD
came at once into view.

Salvos of artillery were still heard, or ruther they had never ceased;
the bclU also tolled incessantly, and that intolerable beat of the French
drum, mixed with the noise arising from a crowd of thousands of
Frviicbmen, was most bewildering. But as well as the confusion
would permit observation of the surrounding objects, it seemed tIiat«0Q
euch sioe of the broad avenue of tlie Champa Elysees, large statues hod J
been raised, each symbolical of some mental attribute, such as justice^l
valour, fortitude, and the like, and between their ci^lossal figures niag-
uificent tripods of a great height were erectedj supporting vases
"*iid with flumes.

I OF NAPOLEOK. 277 ^^M

m^ The spectacle had approacTied its crisis when I hud arrived at the ^^^|

Place de la Concorde, and my position utforded me a good view up the ^^^|

avenue. In the distance, dense columns uf hurse und font soldiery ^^H

were slowly marching, preceded by bands of military music, playing ^^H

solemn airs. Column after column paraded by. The whole chivalry ^^^|

uf France had a^cmbled to do homage to some dearly-loved object, for ^^^|

every class of French soldiers had sent its representative^ and every ^^^|

department of the kingdom its deputy. The procession appeared in- ^^H

terminable. On cume, in every variety of uniform^ the soldiers of ^^H

II(»che, of IMureau, Juurdan, iVIassena, and Aiigerean, of Davoust, Ney, ^^^|

Muiat, Kleber, and Kellerman. Fragments of all "arms" of the ^^H

Imperial Guard were there represented, strangely mingled with the ^^H

picturesque dresses of Mamelukes and guides. ^^^|

At length a moving tower of sable plumen, rolled by upon golden ^^^|

wheels, drawn by sixteen horses. Immediately following came the ^^^|

R<»yal Family of France and the great ministers of Gtate, decorated ^^^|

with glittering Ktnrsund orders. ^^^|

Twenty years back I had witnessed the funeral obsequies of this ^^^|

remarkable man, fur of course, by this time, I knew that it was the ^^H

secuiid burial of Napoleon at which I was a chance spectator. Since ^^^|

then a great alteration had taken place in the affairji of Europe. A ^^^|

cuarter of a century of profound peace had rendered the entente cor" ^^^M

a'taU apparently perfect- British ships of war no longer muzzled the ^^^B

mouth of every French port from Dunkerque to Toulon. The cnrrec- I
tion was done, and the rod was burnt, and in the fulness of time came
the crowning act of grace, when, as M. de Ilemusat stated in the
Chamhre de Deputes, Kngbnd had magnaiiinKmsly consented to the
proposal of the French nation, to return the remains of Napoleon,
thus surrendering the trophy of the moftt unparalleled struggle in mo-
dern history.* And yet, incredible as it may eeeni, when France
was receiving from British generosity a boon which she cuuld not ob-
tain by any physical appliance, the law and medical students of Paris
diitplayed a base and infamous hostility against the country which was
in the very act of returning, with a noble and chivalrous sentiment,

" An amusing act of gasconade, the performanco of which rumour airarderj to
the Priuco de Jotnrille, was freely commented upon in naval circles about tills
period. It will be remembered, tfiat txis Uoyol IJi^bness was diitpat^'heil by the
French gitvemment in the Belle I'nute^ ilic liiiest frigate in their service, to con-
vey lk« remaiDS of Nap^fleon from St. IJelena to France. After the exluimation
of the body, which was perfiirmed in the presence of ninny Engliisb and Fn^nch
officers, the features of Napuleun were recognised, contrary as ft wbs stated, to
French expectation. The cofBn, after being placed in a sumptuiius one brought
from Furnpe, waa conveyed^ after many compliments upon the honniir and good
faitb of Kngland, on boanl the Belle I'nule, which, with its sacred freight soon
after put to sen. Tlie faith of peT^de Altion was not so bad as expected. A few
weeks after the Freiidi frigate had ukcn her departure from St. Helena, and was
neoring tlie coast of Europe, an English frigate hove in sight, and perceiving a
French ship-of-war, she bore down upon her, to spenk her. Frtim sume unexplain-
ed reason, the Prince imagined she might be sent to capture the prciiouH relic he
had onboard tlie UcHe PouTe, and ru&hiogon the quarter deck, be ordered hiscrew to
quarters, :uid prepared for nction. A word, however, from thecnjttain of tbf Kiig;hNh
frigate was enough Co dispel Uie gullunt prince's vain alarms, and tlie ex])lauati(iuii
which soon fDllowed, alfurded the British lars a hearty lau^h at the distorted view
the Frenchmen had of KngUsh fiu't]]. This rumoured bravado of the prince, ts
neverthdesB in perfect keeping with hiu But>adii |>ainphlet. published sixm after
his return with NapidcoDs remains, in which he attempts to dhow how easily ho
could invade Eughuid, if hu had only ships viuiugli, with men uf the rii^bt sort u% ^^^^

man them. ^^^|

278

TWO FUNERALS OP NArOLEON.

the nndjing token of her own sHpremacif, and the bumiliation of ber
enemies, such expressions as A hat Pahierston, A has Us Anglais,
sounded oddly enough in an Knglishman's ears, with these recollec-
tions still throbbing in his memory.

It was to do honour to those precious remains that France, nay Eu-
rope, had assembled her thousands in the Champs Klysees on that
day. His fuultit, as well us the unbounded sacrifices made to bis dar-
ing ambition, seemed to be forgotten. Men appeared to point only to
the bright and burning spots in Napoleon's career, without rccollecl-
iug whut they cost to France and the world. It was a spectacle of t
nation paving homage in the names of freedom and honour to the re-
presentative of military power.

It bos been said that French enthusiasm is easily excited, and that
it as easily cools, seldom lasting long enough to ripen into the more
dignififd sentiment of traditional veneration. Certainly it incon-
sistently decreed the honour of national obsequies on Napoleon, whose
full was hailed by the great bulk of the nation, after the battle of
Waterloo, as the term of their unbounded t^acrificew, and as the seconcl
dawn of their public liberties. But little penetration was required to
discover that curiosity was the strongest feeling exhibited, or at the
most, it was a galvanised excitement — it wanted the reality of natural
emotion. To those fiew, whose lot it was to witness both the burialt
of Napoleon, this mast have been apparent. They could not fail to
note the contrast between the gorgeous display of the second ceremony,
and the simple, but deeply heartfelt, funeral at St- Helena. In Psrii
every thing seemed unreal. For a burial, the secoud ceremony wai
too far removed from the death; people, if they had not forgotten, bad
ceased to lament for him. The charger led before the hero's hearse
had never borne the hero. And for a commemoration it was much too
soon. True, the remembrance of his reverses and his sufferings at Si.
Helena commanded the sympathy and reverence of every Frenchmm
present: doubtless they felt, and felt keenly, the return uf their for-
mer hero, though dead ; but the reflections were bitter to their sensi-
tive natures : they felt that though the bones of their idol was amongst
them, yet the sentence which indignant Europe had written on the
rocks of St. Helena was not erased, but n-as treasured in the depths
of men's minds, and registered in the history of the world.

As the cataf'aifjvc slowly passed by, over the bridge, along the
Quay d'Orsay, until it was iinally bidden from the view by the trees
of the Esplanade of the luvalides, it was evident, that let his country-
men do what they would, let them fire their cannon, sound their
trumpets, unfold the dusty banners of past wars, they failed to impart
to the memory of the vanquished of Waterloo a becoming character:
their funeral ceremony wanted moral grandeur ; they converted into
a theatrical show, what was intended for a national solemnitjr, for
mourners ihure wore none ; his own uniforms were not even seen
around him, and the only eagles there, were those which were cut in
yellow pasteboard. But the light had burned out which projected the
gigantic shadow ou the canvas, and what was left behind ? nothing
but a name,

" The »pori of fortune and the jest of fame."

HOAX OP THE SHAKSPEARE BIRTH-HOUSE;

AND

RELIC TRADE AT 8TRATFORD^N.AVON.

BY A WARWICKeHIRB MAN.

Tbv dorousmania of these latter days outruns the hibliomanmofthe
mlie«t biblioranniac on record, whom Scott says, •* We take to liave
been none other than the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, as
SBong other slight indications of an infirm understanding, he Is
ItMed by his veracious historian, Cid Hamet Benengeli. to have ex-
changed fields and farms for folios and quartos of chivalry." If the
Don was deemed of "infirm understanding" for exchanging farms
for folios, who can shield from the charge of raging madness, the list
uf royal, noble, and learned enthusiasts who have given tliree thou-
Mttd pounds for an old cottage at Stratford not worth as many hun-
dreds. There has been a struggle too to get possession of" relics"
of the poet of all times, and for a certain jug and cane, a particularly
fierce one — a word or two about them, in the first place.

These articles which, it is pretended, belonged to Shakapeare, are
in the possession of the grand-children of Thomas Hart, who was
tbe fifth descendant of Joan Shakspeare, the eldest sister of William
Shakspeare. Thomas Hart died at Stratford on Avon, about fifty-
three years ago, at a very advanced age. Mr. Robert Welch, formerly
of Stratford on Avon, one of the receiving officers of taxes, whose
high character, well known scrupulous accuracy, and strong memory
place his statements beyond a doubt, said, in a letter to the Brighton
UeralH, in 1844, and has repeated the same to me lately, "1 knew
Thomas Hart, and his house intimately, and can speak to every
tnicle in his house. I was constantly in the habit of calling upon
him for many years, and I am confident, if these articles were in his
possession, I should have seen them or heard of them. They never
were in his possession. I have certainly heard him sa}', that the
UTDchair in which he sat belonged to Shakspeare, but we all treated
the assertion as a joke. The make of it wa.s of the period of James
n,, but not prior, from my knowledge of furniture design. Our
impression was that tbe old man, being in indigent circumstances,
would have had no objection to any one bidding him a handsome
turn on the credit of his assertion, but no one in the town believed
that he had any relic of Shakspeare in his possession. I never heard
of his being able to sell this chair as a relic of Shakspeare; but I
know we were both surprised and annoyed at his selling four other
chairs, a few years before his death, as having belonged to Shakspeare,
and that his neighbours were tender in their raillery at the fraud,
from compassion on his circumstances and infirmities. The maker of
these chairs was more than once pointed out to me; in fact, it was
well known. " It may be asked if the jug and cane were the property
of Shakspeare, how came they to be in the possession of the Hart
family ? It will be seen, on reference to the poet's will that he left
his sister Joan Hart, twenty pounds and his wearing apparel, and to

280

her three sons five pounds each. The benuepts of the
set forth ; for instance, to his daughter Judith, his sil
a legacy in money ; to his wife his best bed; to a gentlen
town his dress sword ; and all his other property of ever]
lion to his daughter Susannah. If these articles (the jug-
of which engravings have appeared in the illustrated nei
belonged to Shak&peare, how came they into the hands ol
Hart's children? It is certain the old gentleman never hat
his possession, or ever knew of their existence. Had the
the pu&se&sion of Thomas Hart or Sarah Hart, hi:» sister^
would have known it; and so should we atl who were jcalo
identity of any article belonging to our illustrious townsma

Shakspeare died iu 1616, leaving two daughters, £
married to Dr. John Hall, and Judith, married to Mr.
Quiney. Lady Barnard, the poet's grand-daughter ^and i
viving offspring of Shakspeare's daughter) died in 1670,
brother left no issue ; so that in JO7O, there was no lineal de
of the poet ; the next of kin being clearly the dcscendu
sister Joan. Joan Shakspeare married William Hart, of $
and from this marriage the Harts of Tewksbury, the Ila^
tingham. and the Harts of London, are descended. H

I\lrs. Fletcher, of Gloucester, its possessor, is a descendai
Harts of Tewksbury, a grand-ilaughter of Thomas Hart, ant
she bought the jug from Miss Turbeville, of CheltenI
nineteen guineas on the faith of its being a relic of Shi
the strength of her faith adds nothing to its history, nor wi
identity. Aliss Turbeville, bought it from ^Ir. James
printer of Tewksbury, for thirty pounds. Air. Bennett h
twenty guineas for it in May^ 1841, at a sale of Mr. Edwin
Korlhampton Cottage. It was there stated that the jug I
purchased by Mr. Lee from the daughter of Mr. James Kii
whose wife (formerly Miss Richardson) inherited it from hi
Henry Richardson, of Tewksbury. To account for Henry I
son's possession of the jug, it was said to have been taken in
his father, John Richardson, cousin of Sarah Hart (who n
in 17^) in lieu of twelve guineas owing to him by the sail
who was then married to Mr. John Mann.

The mcdaUion on the jug was added by this Mr.
though described, in some of the magniloquent accoui
engravings, as a coteraporary portrait _

Thomas Hart is now declared to have been the fortunate pi
of the cane as an heirloom ; but had this been the case. Hart
the mtin to keep his treasure a secret, whilst it was no jteci
ready he was to attach a rcliquiurv reputation to any art
which a penny could be turned. There are several alive wh
him and the contents of his house well ; but of cither the
cane they never heard. It appears that Mr. Fletcher, of W
Street, Gloucester, was induced to give five pounds for this
Mr. Bennett, who. it will have been seen, made ten poundi
by hi"* speculation in the jug. In his cane investment he waa
lucky, having bought it from Thomas Shakspeare Hart I
guineas. Thomas Shakspeare Hart was the son of Willian:
ipeare Hart, grandson of Thomas Hart, who died in i7i^3.
At each sale or transfer of these articles, entire reliance

■J

unfl

BTRTH-HOUSE HOAX. 281

have been placed on tlieir *Uraditionary reputation." As any repu-
tation is better than no reputation at all, the house Jit Stratford, sold
by the Courts the other day, was described by Mr. Kobina as resting
its character on "traditionary reputation." It happens, too, that nil
the buyers and sellers of the iug and cane in direct or indirect suc-
cession date from their modest era of 17ti7* Why did not they
venture a little further back ?

The minute history of the cane and jug, from Sarah Hart, who
was born 17^^ and who is said to have sold the latter as Shak-
Bpeare's in ]7^7f ^^^ nothing at all to do with its identity. Sarah
Hart was, in all probability, its very first owner. Shakespeare died
in 1010. What is iti» previous history between these periods?
Where was its traditional reputation — at Gloucester or Tewksbury ?
It was certainly not at Stratford. "I have conversed," says Mr.
Welch, " with old Thomas Hart and his son, well known as Jack
Hart, many times. His daughters, Jane and Martha, were domestic
servants in my father's family, J knew many other descendants of
Joan Shakspcare ; but I never heard a whisper about the * tradi-
tional repiitition' of the jug." Everyone connected with Stratford-
on-Avon knows that the manufacture of relics of Shakspeare is and
has been a profitable business, and the persons engaged in it are
well known.

The chairsj the chest, the table, which form the furniture of the
room shown as the one in which Shakspeare was born, have been
placed there within the memory of several the writer could name.
Of one of the alleged possessors of the cane Mr. Welch says:—
" William Shaksj)eare Hart was I suppose the son of Jack Hart, the
old gentleman's only son ; at least, I never heard of another, and I
have a perfect recollection of this son ami his family leaving Strat-
ford for Tewksbury. Had a cane of Shakspeare's been in existence
I should have heard of it, and would gladly have given fifty pounds
for it, and I believe there are wealthy antiquarians who would give
five times that gum for it; yet it was sold, we are told, two or three
years ago, for two guineas. If proof were wanting of its spurious
origin, this transaction would supply it."

The supporters of the genuineness of the " jug and cane" say they
were omitted in Shakspeare's will because they had no intrinsic
value; but Shakspeare specified his bequest to the Hart family so
miuutely, that no mistake can arise about it.

Mr. Welch tells me " there is no doubt that the jug was the pro-
perty of Sarah Hart, who first propagated the fiction 178 years after
her great-great-great^great-great-uncle's death. Not the slightest
trace of it can be found before her time. It was never heard of in
8tratford-on-Avon until the publication of Sir Richard Philips's
book. The proof that this cane was the wa|king.-stick of VVil-
liam Shakspeare — proof Uo satisfy a jury of the most scrupulous
antiquarians/ — is this: — The widow of William Shakspeare Hart
is the * existing evidence,' and she can prove that she heard her
husband's mother say * this was Shakspeare's walking-stick.' So
this is the 'existing evidence,' to 'satisfy a jury of the most scru-
pulous antiquaries.' One old woman heard another old woman
say so ! — I again assert that old Hart never possessed the cane. I
was constantly in the habit of going to his house in my early youth,
and was acquainted with every article in it. He has told me tliat

S8i

THE SHAKSPEABE

tb» olU duir in which he usually ut belangcd to SlukspetK.
bvt aeirer Mid « word about sny other article m tke hease. That
mm a manuftcript which he said wa» SbakR>eare\ and whkh wtf
aL rikati time in the hands of a near and dear r^ladve of miiie
ty for a ftum of money borrowe<I by the old gcatieman.

t^ was afVerwards sold, and I was present when it was
TW purchaser waa a stranger to me. I saw him lay down
a number of guineas — I believe thirty. I saw my r
I a bundle of papers, and then my relative took up
Old Hart took the remainder, and put them
ihu beasonable relief kept the poor old raan &om
dning few months of bis life. The chair coul
purchaser. Three chairs had been previously sold,
iBfriduals, each warranted as the identical chair tl
in ; but this fourth chair required time to girt
■■MftsBM itawit alion.' A few years sufficed for the purpose, I
k «■■ fliU m 17B6 for twenty guineas."

*'CndBtiona1 reputation" will maintain the value of then

•ext sale, remains to be seen. It is a matter of won

It did not make a search among the old clotbiJ

m§Km pmnof antiquated garments, and exhibit tbemai

of the immortal poet. Here, at all ereotSg

aoiae countenance from Hhakspcare's will, for

their ancestor inheriting the whole of fait

This hint should not be thrown away upoa^fl

-•"the faittt oate proprietors of this invaluable prop||^H

ta collect doublet and hose, in fine motb-olH

Holywell* street, and arrange them under glM

^""■^ — I'a coal and waistcoat at Greenwich HospitiL

and the harsh punishment inflicted by Hir

r^cy, wm • 6rv«urite theme for half a century with Sbak*

i% katflMBkcra. There never was any truth in it. It is ool

tdogy would have inflicted the indi^Tiity fdf

exasperation of some of these gri«rvanc«-

postcrity to visit upon the inheritors

intimate terms with the young
flf Stitttford, and was with him. about ibk
CSBOeraiDg their mutual friend j^Ir. Uaziract
vae of the witnesses to the poet's will
v«tiia] aifair in those days. The date
Un aHosft about Stratford is free from the rout
ifSL Ctttil dhr tiaw «f Ganrick there was little interest attached
the laUlBri a hm Hktk wf aw spent the last days of his life ; no«
CBB a^ %hua he spcsit thefuaisr number. The room in which 1
wralc " Bankt** is worth a visit ten times over, or even the sp
cryphal oaciac« where dwelt demure Ann Hathaway, the maM«
IMid of twcn^<-arvco, cec^nSulating herself on the " good cattk,
whm about to maffrr the cldaai scm of the most thriving tradeaasd
in Stiadiord. who had baan chief asagistrate or bailiff' of h too.
The shrewd c«nA^ saw the uaprcssion she had made o<i the »a»-
|tkb)e bof . and improvhw h^ opportunity before it could c«al
le bfrsnf Mrs. H mkai Shakapcare, consort to the heii^apoarffi
. thriving wool-ati^br* What Mr. Sbakspeare, the Mm,
{ht when he hoard af hia son w«ddii|f htmsalfj at thriyi 4^

■ BIRTII-HOUSC nOAX. 283

nineteen, to a woman of twenty-seven, wc art' not lold. Some
venturesome novelist has written what was called '• The Courtship
of ^nn Hathaway, a Komance, in three volumes." J never heard
of anyihinp^ more niattcr-of-fact than the poet's marriaj^e.

A lively and all-believing writer in "The Atlas." a dramatic
author of no mean merit, tells us, in a pleasing recital of his visit
to Stratford on the eve of the pseiido sale, — ** Up the Stour und the
Avon, away over the green fields and through the bosky paths to
Shottery and Charlecote, to Drayton Bushes and Wcllesbourn Wood,
the name of Shakspearc is held in reverence by the rural population,
and the town itself subsists solely upon the glory of having given
hira birth — you find some remembrance of hira at every turn."
Garrick could find none ninety years ago ; Betterton could find
none, though he went to Stratford on purpose a hundred years ago.
Our dramatic author goes on, — " Rude effigies and busts of Shaks-
peare, prints of his house/' — very modern ones, — "of Ihe grammar-
school where he was educated^ of the gate of Charlecote, where he
is said to have pinned up the lampoon on Sir Thomas Lucy, of Ann
Hathaway's cottage, where he so ofken made love in the chimney-
nook," — where love was made to him, folks said at the time, — ** and
of every spot known or supposed to be associated with his life, even
to the mulberry tree he planted, and the crab tree, under which,
a loose tradition says, he once slept after a night's carousal, ur€
scattered about in shops and stalls. Wherever you move you are
reminded of the fact tnai he belongs lo Stratford, and Stratford
to hira. The town, from suburb to suburb, is literuUy Shaks-
pearean ground." Our author, however, adds syniptora.itic mis-
givings, that alt is not absolutely true in ''floating tradition."

" To be sure, the inhabitants," continues the author, " know-
scarcely anything about the actual incidents of his life; but they
have caught up the floating traditions and hallowed them. The
stir made by the committee has drawn crowds of people to the
town. From the moment the committee was formed, visitors have
increased in a ni})id ratio, to the especial satisfaction of the ancient
hostelries. And, speaking of hostelries, let me say a word for the
White Lion, which stands in Ilenly Street, within a few doors of
Shakspeare's house, and is certainly the most conunodious house in
the town. Independently of its other claims on the good will of
visitors, it has some special attractitnis in relation to the divinitv nf
the place. It is said to have been built from the materials of New«
Place, the house in wliich Shakspeare died."

The committee have given the same impulse to the ** floating tra-
ditions" we read of, that James Watt gave lo the steam-engine. Both
may take cre<lit for superadding the eccentric movement.

The Visit to Stratford is very pretty, — bert irotmlOt and that is
all. t know Wellebboume and Drayton, also the Stour, which
does not approach within two miles of Stratford, but its bank«
are innocent of anything Shakspearean. I question, too, if any
of the "rural population" of VVellesbourne, which is five miles
from Stratford, ever heard his name mentioned until lately ; and
HOW certiiinly. Court's house, passed ofl' on Lunnun flats for Mu-iter
Shak.speare's. is a topic of talk at the public-houses in the neigh-
bo urhoorl.

Jt happens unfortunately for the cl«mB for veneration of thft

VOL. XXIII. ^

284 THE SHARSPEARK

materials of the White Lion, that it was built thirty years befon^
New PUce was pulled down.

In July last the Archaeological Association viaited Stratford,

** Who tare at the flAggon,
And prog io the waggon,
Did notbing ch« muse ever heard of to hrag on."

Belief or disbelief for fifty years of our lives may possibly be i&j
the while prejudice, and the evidence of our senses but a delu8)oc|
and a snare. Venison pasties, veal pies, cold turkey, and iced chj
pa^ne, are as requisite now-a-days to supple the stiff necks of
believers in Archjeological identities, as ine breviary-shaped boCtlttj
of the Portuguese friars were for stimulating the conversion of tbcj
people of Melinda in Brazil,

** Thus did Bacchus oinquer India ;
Thus philcMophy Meltnda ;**

as Rabelais tells us.

So, after an early dinner, rising from the table of that jgenoioi
relic of old Sir Thomas at Chanecote, his descendant, Mr. O. P.
Lucy, the archa^ologisu placed Sir William Beethum. M.RT.A,
" Member of the Right Thinking Association" (a capital name, ai it
puts all other societies and associations in the wrong,) at their bead.

The newspapers described at length their aspirations of veneratioi)
at the sight of Homsby's relic shop, and their pious ^enuBeuom
beneath the ancient little portal of Thomas Hart's pork-shop— for
Thomas confined his knife to pig-slaying: his slaughter was not
indiscriminate. We are now told that Thomas Hart's trembling
venture of vending a chair at a time, and at intervals suitable to obli-
viousness, has swelled into "a rare and valuable collection of the
relics (• selection,* I beg pardon, was the word, in deference to
those in process of manufacture), of the immortal poet. Many i/
them were shown at the residence of Mrs. Reason, having been re-
moved from the house in which Shakspearc was born. Amon^
them wa& the book containing the signatures of Oeorge IV., Wil-
liam IV., Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, the King of the Frenc
and some thousand celebrities. Besides thefe objects of venerattaS
are the chairs which were presented to iShakspeare by the Earl of
Southampton, a walking-stick, the lock of the room in which the
poet drew his first breath, the iron box in which he kept his will
his smoking-chair, and the dresiing-case that was presented to him
by the Prince of Castile. The room in which these cherished
ot departed genius arc kept was numerously attended by per?
who viewed them with feelings of deep interest.

These are the same articles which were offered for sale in October
last, M-hen the house was sold, as genuine relics. The following
articles were sold at the same lime: — five carved wnlnut-tree chairs,
for 5/. 6*., to Mr. N. B. Fletcher; an old chair, with cane bac
7L Is., to Mr. Lilly; a carved cabinet, 10/. I0j.,to Mr. A. L. Butler
carved oak cabinet, 10/. IOj., to Mr. Weed on ; a small wooden bu
of Shakspeare, carved from the veritable mulberry-tree, 18/. 18#.
to Mr. Wilkinson ; and the book containing the autographs of vi*i
tors, for nearly 100/.. from the year 1794. when Hornsby started lb«
speculation.

ii. ,

U,
3 him
relic»fl
r«>aw

tober"

•Km

THE SHAKSFEARE

ShakftpMT* (in 1564) and his ai»ter Joan, and
were bom. Eleven \earft af^er the birth of lii«
Shakspcare purchased two more houses (freeholil
some numlrcd v^rds further off. Oae came inu
quently of hi* daughter Joan, married to William
great-^rand-father of the Thomas Hart of whom
Ui'iJ, and who was well known to many now Uv
tpeare was a wool-ftt^pler, and aa there is reason^
carried on considerable bu$ine5s, must have requirfl
to its nature and extent. It i^ altogether absurd tc
house lately sold to the '* National Shakspearc
have been adequate for a business of the soi
abode of a wool-stApler in the humblest way. Ji
bailiff (chief magistrate) of Stratford; his nai
and fifty times in the town records, and curioi
fourteen different ways- Four times Shakspere
Shakespeare, eighteen times Shaxpere, sixty-right
once Hhackupcre. and so on. Tlie situation for tra^
the house now said to have been John Shakspeare'i
ehlest son's birth, whilst that which he did inbab
known to have been one of the best in the town^
smaller, with the adjoining one was purchased 9
investment, and bequeathed to his children, whiw
occupy the larjfcr house near the centre of the tO'

Mr. Robert Welch, to whom 1 have before aJludi
better able to pronounce a decisive opinion on the va
the pretended relics and pretended bouse of his renc
states, *• Af r. Rowe's life of Shak&pearc was publishec
the materials of his life were collected by Betterton
veneration for the poet inducetl him to go to Strati
pose; but no mention is made of the house in wl
was bom, though his enquiries after everything
the poet were diligent and unremitting. He was
of articles said to have belonged to 8haks{>eare, but
all as unworthy of credence. When Garrick heli
Stratford, sixty years later, there was no mention
which Shakspearc was born, and the only relic he
bore the stamp of authenticity was the mulbei
planted, no one knows, but it was found in tl
longed to Shakspeare. At the some time thei
supply of other relics exhibited to the great actcM
declined to purchase any. Had Thomas Hart's hi
had the slightest traditional reputation, honourable
have been made in some at least of the numerous ao
at the lime of the details of that famous jubilee, wl
that had any connection with the idol of the day
light.

" Mr.Skottowe, in his life of Shakspeare published
of much research) is entirely silent on the subject. ]
when this house was first said to have been the birtt
^peare, and the feme entertained of the fabrication c
by his neighbours.

"After Thomas Hart's death in I7i>-1, the housej
session of a man named Hornsby. in the spring

BIRTH-HOUSE HOAX.

Burried Hart's eldest tlflughter. Thiv man was a butcher in a small
t«Y, and in needy circumstances, and was not lung in posae^siun
More he put up a board in front of this house with the following
iofcription :

*• ' VViUiam Shakspeare waa born in this house, XJrd April, Anno
Dorniiii I6(>4.*

** I have a perfect recollection when this board was first exhibited,
and the remarks it called forth from many old people of the town.
One und all condemned it as a trick to extort money from strangers
risiiing the town, and openly reproved Hornsby for setting up such
an infamous falsehood.

" I have frequently conversed on tliis subject with the udmirtM-^
of Shakspeare, and from some liave fallen expressions of regret at
being deprived of a plea<iing illusion."

The Reverend George Wilkins, of Wix, near Ipswich, who was a
ichoolfellow of Air. Welch at the Guild School at Stratford, where
they were both born, says, in a letter to the Brighlon Herald, De-
cember 14, 1844, — "If people will talk about Shakspearian relics, I
will observe, that there was an old carved uak desk in the Guild
School, which was called Shakspeare's desk, and at which I myself,
beinf; the senior boy of the school, always sat ; but, afler all, what
i4 there in a name? The desk had never been Shakspeare's, though
it might have been in existence when he received his education
there. A9 to the house palmed upon the public as that in which
William Shakspeare was born, it has, I know, no prelennions of the
•ort. When I was at Stratford, it had one of the best conducted
beat frequented inns in this kingdom, and many persons re-
ed to it for the mere pur]>ose of making inquiries in the neigh-

arhood respecting Shakspeare; but little or no information could
be obtained, and as for relics, search might have as succesiifully been
made for some belonging to Homer. Among the guests who fre-
quented that inn. was the father of a very intimate friend of mine, a
man full of anecdote, facetious, and fond of company. That gentle-
fflMi told me frequently, and his son never ceased to lament it to the
day of his death, that he himself was a party to the deception con-
cerning the house. The account he gave was this : — In consequence
of the numerous inquiries made at the inn and elsewhere fur the
birth-place of the bard, and no information being to be obtained,
because none was known, it was agreed by himself and others, his
eoinpfinioiis, to suggest to the occupant (Hornsby) of an Elizabethan
bouse in the same street, and almost next door to the inn, the While
liion, and which was a building exactly suited for the purpose, to
bang Dp the board above mentioned* and to exhibit the house in
future to all inquirers as the identical one of which they were in
search. The deception took inuantly ; customers flocked to the
inn, and visitors to the house ; no inquiries were made, for we know
it is the easiest thing in the world to deceive people who themselves
riah to be deceived ; and thus, from that time to the present, has
the deception continued, and, as it is a source of gain to the de-
ceivers, and gratification to the deceived, probably will be continued
IS long as dupes are to be found to believe and pay for it. I knew
8iratford-on-Avon well, and continued to visit it for many years
after I left school, but I never knew a gentleman who could give
Ally information as to the house in which his immortal townsman

%oa

BUra-BODSE HOAX.

the inimitable, is knoi

dvOtscd world will bout, ai

•^g «• tkcre shall be a head to

§m to tike Imb for all in all, his like

» k will never be again. Ai

sag a moment's thought.

I aijacir, and my friend

, and for a particular

A oat that coald be

ihoald have been ipaidj

wa» bequeathed b^- John

hi* ^faiit aoiw WSaBk^ who bequeathed them to ha
r« Sai^HBi^ kflk RtHed §m hM atiter Joan a tifl

pabt
of

Shahaprre ever occupied is
■cated to be his bi

into a small
Mrt. Hall, Shak
flf the property on the death
Mn. Hal it petwd to' her doaghter. La
of Abiuciluo, Xorthampton^i
it tolwr OMuioi^ Thomas
t. Ib the iMMetaion of
the I w gi i M i g of the present cfl
I Ay ii t ed, and the
pot of one beiog converted
bnd was a^. Mid in 1806 thel
Coait* whose widow proved
to the da/ of its sole. So Utile
ti» m31 in the eorij dajs of iu assumed c

the sdMBT, oold it, twelve ^-eors^^B

iacmsngly by the re vl
ooie people get from ti
do thcj encourage falsehooi
penoDS visited the spot;
bf OS BkSBy OS seven thousand persons
year* a v«a propaetion of whom were Americans
Had the spccaktivc Vankee carried olT the frame-work of Courll
hovar to be exhibited in the Xew Wurld, the ground could bal
Ctfcti« the area boogbt for 6fty pounds^ and a monurod
hf thnar who clia|^ to traditions, with a truthful inscripCiol
soch as <*On^s spot stood a house belonging to WiUaaro Snaki
■Hro." Whr not erect on the site of New Place, which he boa^
nooi the Ciopton family, where he really lived and died, a nionl
latM, or obdiak* aauUr to the Scott memoriAl at Edinburgh, or tk
Burn* monument at Dumfries? The proceeds of the ball on tb
LMi May would be well applied to this purpose.

1CB& ALFSED AFGrSTCS FOTT5
A TALs or Tms isri.rzsijL

«Bov 6m

id* IwMtt

The doctor
Mn. A]ix«d
tcnthniiMol'
lotlw
VM reaigned — qaile ao^
So was Mr. Alfred A
carl J period of Ina
ind on the ii c eAcm
He totk oat hb
it waaa

Iw bad becft from a rcry
fife; H vas Ida ordiMry im» oT be^
be saw DC I pawn to dnart &oai it.

bowever, aod remarked, that
s influctiza.*'

^By Jore, it u, ur," and the little doctor, with the utmost gW.
of a pretty many of us, in no time, voung» old. and

"Middle-aged," lug^^ested Mr. Potta.

it waa a prudent dauae, and liad reference to the invalid lady
above staira.

"* And is onr dear friend really so very poorly?" «ighe<l MissLavinia
SimcDX — a fair, faded, sentimental, elderly, younr lady, presiding
II the tea-table, who bad been attentively engagea in perusing th«
doctor's countenance, from the moment he had entered the room.

" Poorly I I consider Mrs. Potts is in a precarious state — her
iptoma fterious, Misa Lavinia, excessively so, and in ca5es of this

tnd," continued the doctor, turning his jovial face on Mr. Potts.
*' I conceive it my duty to be candid — perfectly' explicit — your goml
lady, sir — "

"God bless my soul !" cried Air. Potts, starting up from his chair.

** My dear friend, my strong-minded, exemplary Mr. Polls, be
composed, don't give way," entreated Miss Lavinia.

•* What 's to be done? what's to become of n»y infant fumily ? —
my poor orphans," exclaimed the prospective widower.

" That 's an after consideration," said Doctor Dobbs, with (aa
Lavinia thought) a peculiarly expressive twinkle of the eyes. She
cast down hers. *' Our present business," he continued, '* is to de.
vote all our energies, sir, to bring the patient round."

And thereupon, the doctor drawing a chair to the table, devoUnI alt
bis energies, to the discussion of the fragrant souchong, and uicety
buttered muffins, which Miss Simcox was dispensing.

*' Capital tea this," he exclaimed, "admirable flavour! where do
you get it, Air. Potts ?"

" From Twinings, in three pound packages. // ia good tea — but
I assure you, doctor." continued Mr. Potts, " half the secret ia in
the making."

"Oh. ilr. Potts!" Lavinia exclaimed, "you are too good— too
complimentary/*

290

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

•• By no means," he replietl, " I never knew what real good lea
was, I may say, till— uU— my poor dear Airs. Potts unlbrtunatdy
got the hifluenzH, and Miss Simcox was so kind— «o very kind. «
to — to — "

•• Supply her place." observed the doctor.

'* Exactly bo," answered the afllicled husband. "I protest I'm
to overcome by my feelings," he added, " feelings quite natural and
spiuble to the occasion, as you will acknowledge, doctor, Uul I
hardly know how to express myself/*

"Take another cup of tea. Dr. Dobbs/' said Miss Siincox- "Do
you know/' she continued with charming vivacity, *' I quite pique
myself upon my second cup."

** Ah." 8uid the doctor, " in general that's a weak point with tw-
makers."

"Now, doctor," simpered Lavinia, "you are a ^eal deal too
bad. I can't forgive you— I really can't. My de«r Air PotU, I
uppetil to you — is not your second as good as your first?"

** Better— a thousand limes better," was the prompt reply. " B«l
I have not got it yet/* and Mr. PotU btretched out hi^ cup lo be
replenished.

*' You liear what Mr. Pott» says ! Hey, Miss Lavinia ! " cried the
doctor, and he chuckled.

Miss Simcox was agiuted — she blushed— she sighed. Mr. PoUi
might have heard her heart beat — he did hear the sugar tongs fall-
he stooped to pick them up — he handed them to her — their eje*
met — providentially Mr. Potta squinted.

" What can he mean ?" she thought " ' Better a thousand timet
than his first;' it was a strong expression, and had perhaps, uiuiir
the circumstances, a deep meaning."

While she thus pondered, Mr. Potts was sent for by the sick
lady. Left tCie-d-ictc with the doctor. Miss Simcox turned to him.
'* And you tell me there is no hope?" she said, with mournful
impressiveness.

" Lord bless you, ma'am. I told you no such thing — no hope, in-
deed !"

" I — I — understood you to say as much/' observed the crert-
fallen Lavinia.

"No hope!" repeated the doctor — "no hope!— while there's life
tlicrc *s hope, and though I say it, that shouldn't say it, while there 'i
Thomas Dobbs there 's hope."

This lafit assertion was made with so much energy, that Mi>i
Simcox immediately acknowledged her mistake. *' There was hopt
— she was confident there was — every hotje/'

Yes — every hope but the right one. Poor Lavinia! she fell intfr'
a reverie, that lasted for tlie next five minutes, then starting sud-
denly from it, tried to brighten up her face, twitched her cap,
twirled her ringlets, and looking up sweetly at Dr. Dobbs, aai(
"she was (»Ud — very glad/'

"OUd ot* what, ma'am ?" said the doctor.

Miss Simcox might have found some difficulty in explaining hefj
foflings, to so literal an auditor, but she was spared the task. bein|
hiutily summoned, in her turn, to the bedside of *Mrs. Pott».

Hhc stole softly up the stnirs, and entered the sick clianiber onj

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

291

^H** I hear a rustle — ihe rustle of her best striped Bilk," said a voice

^Rnn behind the curtains — a voice *' made faiut vith too much

tweets/' black currant jelly, pulmonic paste^ and pectoral wafers.

" 1« it my friend ?" it saiil.

Lavinia declared that it was, and approaching the bedside ex-
prened her overwhelming sorrow, at fintling her dear Mrs. Potts so
poorly.

"My Simcox !" said the sufferer, plaintively.

It was one of her charming little peculiarities, to deei^ate her
friends and acquaintances bv their surnames. Her husband was
•imply "Potts" — iri(h mt\ Lavinia was wont to think, he would
hare been Alfred Augustus, and what a pity 'tis, the name should
Im thus thro-nn away.

"My sweet, my sympathixing Simcox!" pursued Mrs. Potts—
" Draw near to me — do you know why I have sent for you ?"

"No, my dear friend," said Lttvinia ;" but never mind it now —
don't worry yourself, I entreat. I — I — assure you everything goes
on down stairs, just as if you were about again, as I trust in heaven,
you will be soon, — next week perhaps."

"I shall never be about again," said Mrs. Potts, solemnly — '* but
jJ^'fBi resigned, quite so,— we have made up our minds to it, Potts

'^Mr, Potts made no observation as to his mind — he muttered
something from the other side of the bed, re&pecting his heart,
which, according to his statement, was torn to pieces, picrce<l,
cut through and through.

Lavinia said nothing, but she wept sufficiently.

"And you can't tell what I want to conHde to you^you don't
know why I sent for you?"

"No," sobbed *Miss Simcox.

" You don't know the anxiety that is upon me^the weight."

Mr. Potts adjusted the quilt — a heavy Marseilles.

"It isn't //m/, Potts — Oh no J It's a very different kind of weight
•—you little know what it is to lie here hour ai\er hour and think
ancl fret."

** My dear dear Mrs. Potts," entreatc^d Lavinia, " don't agitate —
don't excite yourself,^! protest to you solemnly, everything is
going on below like clock-work, and I shall see to those pre-
serves Diytelf, I promise you, on Monday — I shall make a point of
doing so."

'• A lb. an<l half of pale Seville oranges to one lb. and half of
sugar, double refined," murmured Mrs, Potts, " Boil together gently
for twenty minutes ; if not &ufficiently clear, simmer for five or six
minutes longer, stirring gently all the time — page 132, leaf doubled
down — and the book is on the second shelf, right-hand corner of the
little closet next to the ' Holy Living and Dying,' and you will be
sure to follow the receipt exactly, Simcox.— But after all," pursued
Mrs. Potts, *' what's in a receipt? there is an art in marmalade,
and to be sure there never was any like mine."

" Never, never," said the disconsolate husband.

"Oh, Polls!" the wife replied, ** how you did enjoy it! and the
children — I think i see them now, poor dears, with their pinafores
on, and their sweet sticky little lips and fingers."
^tf he picture was io viviil, that when Airs. Potts paused to cough.

Sd2

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

Miss Simcox cast a tVightened glance upon the beat striped silk, and
drew its folds more closely around her in alarm.

" Little ungels ! " said Mrs. Potts, still apostrophizing her young
family, '* And that cherub Tommy !"

" Don't — don't be uncomfortable about him/' said Miss Simcox,
" How well he got over the influenza — and his new tunic is come
home — he looks so sweetly in it, little darling!"

" He'll look sweetly in his mourning," replied Mrs. Potts, with
infinite pathos. '* Six of them, like steps of stairs, and all in black
for their poor dear mamma ! " J

" Oh ! it 's too much !" cried Potts. ^

Perhaps he metuit /oo many ; he spoke vaguely, but the feelings
of a man who stands, as he did, on the brink of widower-hood, are
too sacred for investigation — a deep myatery they ore, even t/^M
himself. ^

"And you'll take them all to church the first Sunday, if their
mourning can be got ready ?" said Mrs, Potts.

" Ail^" enquired Potts^ whose grief now assumed the semblance ■
of terror. 1

"All," replied Mrs. Potts, with eublime composure, •' All except-
ing baby; and fifteen months is too young — he might take com ;
but, Simcox," she added, turning towards her friend, "His feather
must be dyed, and I depend on you about his sash."

" Blackj or French grey ?" enquired L»vinia, in a muffled tone.

" I — I shall go distracted/' exclaimed Potts^ " Upon my word I
shall."

As a preliminary, he drew his fingers through liis hair, and
rushed to the door.

'* Come back. Potts," cried his wife.

His hand was on the lock, but obedient to tlie conjugal com-
mand, he turned.

" Come, and stand beside my dying bed."

He did as he was bid, but at the same time took occasion to in-
form Mrs. Potts he " wasn 't fiiut or marble, or the nether mill-
stone, and that this sort of thing tried him."

" You must endeavour, my dear Mr. Potts," said Miss Simcox.
who was industriously employed in drving her eyes. ''You must
endeavour to overcome these emotions, laudable as they are."

"They are an honour to your head and heart, but they mutt bA^
overcome/' said Mrs. Potts, somewhat peremptorily. f

" I am not a btoic philosopher, nor a Brutus, no, nor a brute.
Mrs. P.," he replied, "and 1 must be allowed to feel, I really
must."

Lavinia, with uplifted Imnds and eyes, protested she had " never
seen such a husband — no, never — sucli devoted love!"

Mrs. Potts raised her head from the pillow, nodded approbatioa—
to this sentiment, and then sank back exhausted. fl

There was silence in the sick chamber — Mr. Potts was dying t(>"
be out of it, and to go distracted in the parlour, where he had left
the doctor, and the tea. Mi^s Simcox began to feel her situation
embarrassing. Mr. Potts might now be considered a single man — a
widower, with black crape upon his liat — her poor dear friend was
evidently all but gone. Mrs. PotU, herself, broke not the stillness;
she uttered no murmur, no complaint; she did not even cough.

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POrrs.

S9S

but she covered up her face with the bed-cluthes, and lay in medita'-
lion — she was collecting strength for a great effort.
At last she spoke —
" Simcox/' she said.

*' My sweet sufferer!' Lavinia responded.

** When 1 'm gone — when I 'm laid in my cold cold grave," (here
Potla was observed to shiver convulsively,) " will you be a mother
to my orphan six ?"

*' J 'U try," said Lavinia ; and Lavinia said the truth.
"Compose yourself, Simcox — It's all very natural, and creditable
to your affectionate dispoMtlon, to cry and give way 80, but you
inuttt hear me — come nearer both of you."

Lavinia came close — very close indeed. Potts was more slow of
approach.

" Remember it is my last wish, that you should be poor Potts'*
consolation — his second choice."

*' Mrs. P.!" exclaimed that gentleman, who appeared to consider
himself aggrieved.

"Potts/* said the lady, emphatically, "it must be/'
" It's — It's premature/' stammered out the unhappy Mr. Potts.
" Don'l^-don'l talk so — dear Mrs. Potts/' said the agitated Lavinia.
*' It looks as if I hadn't been a good husband — it looks as if 1 wasn't
' sorrv> Upon my word> Airs. P — , any stranger would think that
we did not regret you."

"Oh, dear Mr. Potts/' screamed Lavinia, "how can you give
utterance to such horrid thoughts I"

" I am sure you do regret me, Simcox/' said Mrs. Potts. " I see
how you feel — I see it perfectly well/' Lavinia winced — *' but
there are plenty of artful Misses/' continued the sick lady, with re-
markable energy — " whom I know to be on the look out, and I 'm
determined to disappoint them all — those Fusbys here three times a
' day to enquire !'*

I ■* Only twice," mildly observed Mr. Potts.

I "Twice — three times — don't I lie here and count the double

' knocks?" said the lady with much asperity — "but I see how it is.
Potts. — I see through it all — Oh, that Fanny Fusby I"

Mr. Potts protested his innocence with regard to Fanny, or any
other Fusby.

Lavinia was alarmed — she recalled the Fusby eyes, as black as
I sloes — the Fusby skins, as while as cream — the Fusby cheeks, as
ted as roses — the Fusby faces, mude alYer the pattern of a princess
in a fairy tale — no wonder that she trembled and turned pale.

** Promise me oji your word of honour, Potts," said his wife,
^^.*'that you '11 never marry Fanny Fusby." He gave the promise.
^^k '* Give me your hand." He gave that too.
^» "Simcox, where is yours .^" said Mra. Potts, and she sat up in

the bed bolt upright.
i Lavinia produced her hand, with a good deal of alacrity^t wu

«hrouded in a worsted mitten.

"Take off that glove/' said Mrs. Potts. " It 's more impressive
without it." Lavinia obeyed.
L "There/' sai<l Airs. Potts, as she seized her friend's hand, and

I placed it in that of Mr. Potts — " there it's done now — they 're joined
^^^— let them not be put asunder."

294

3IR3. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

" The very word* of the Prarer book/' murmured Lavinio.

" Premature/' muttered Mr. i^otts again, and bis fingers struggl
faintly for release — Lavinia held them tight.

*' By no means. Potts/' said his wife — " I don't wish it to lake
place for a year — one twelvemonth you shall wear your crape. I
ask no more — but promise me again, that Fanny Fusby never
darkens these doors."

'* I wish to heaven/' cried Potts, now evidently on the very eve
of distraction. *' I wish to heaven, I had never seen Fanny Fusby.
She has brought all this upon me."

" Dless my stars!" Doctor Dobbs exclaimed, as he bustled into
the room — *• there's ^Irs. Potts sittinff up in bed! — talking, I do
believe! — lucky, I 'm sure, that I lookeid in before I left the house —
lie down, lie down, my good lady — I can't answer for the conse«d
quences of such doings." V

'* Oh. doctor !" said Lavinia, " we have been begging and praying
her not to exert herself."

"It's cruel, downright cruel/' protested Potts. "She dues not
consider me, Dobbs — not in the least — one would think I waa a _
block to hear her talk /' ■

Mrs. Potts informed the doctor, that she had merely been com- ^
municating her last wishes to her dear husband, and her dearest
friend, and then went on to chant her nunc dimittit, in a voice more
sick and low than ever — (she was always more piano in the medical
presence than at any other time). — " Now she could depart in peace
— now all was settled — now Fanny Fusby could not dance upon her
grave, nor snub poor little Tommy — Simcox would watch over binij
and be poor Potts's comforter."

The doctor listened in mute amaxement— Mr Potts was evidently
growing more and more bewildered, between conflicting duties ;—
the present and the future Mrs. P. were both before him ; he knew
not where to turn or look, and stood gazing into vacancy, with his
hands now freed from Lavinias grasp, and firmly planted in his
pockets — Miss Simcox, herself, was nearly overcome by the novelty
and complexity of her emotions. Sensitive and shrinking by nature,
her modesty on the present occasion was excessive, and manifested
itaclf by a determination of blushes to the nose — it was a moment
fraught with intense feeling— with high interests— one of those
moments of such rare occurrence in this work-a-day world — that
come upon us like fountains in the desert — like dew-drops to the
thirsting fiowers; tiiere was something of sublime, in fact, in the
])aui>e which followed Mrs. Potts's address, but it was broken by
the doctor's whistling.

•• Tol e ro) lol, my good lady," he said, " we must put a slop to
this work — time enough for my friend Mr. Potts here to advertise
for a wife twenty years to come, and I 'd lay my life Miss I^vinia
would rather not wait so long/'

'* Then you don't quite give me up, doctor?" said the patient.
•* To be sure I don't — who «iid I did, I 'd like to know ?" en-
quire^l the doctor.

*• / didn't, I 'm sure," Mid Lavinia, and (to use one of her own
Civuuritc figures of speech.) she " trembled all over."

** I never dreiimed of such a thing," Potts «aid. in as still and
>»all a voice, as if his conscience had found a tongue to tell the fib.

MRS. ALFRKD AUGUSTUS POlTS.

»5

" Don't Ulk, don't excite youraelf, my good laily," said the doc-
tor, *' it 's high time that you should take your draught, and settle for
the night."

The enraptured Pott* caught at the iiuf^j^estion, and immediately
convinced that any further converiiation (not strictly medicfll) might
interfere with Mrs. IVs prospects of repose, proposed leaving her
with Doctor Dobb^. Miss Simcox was of the same opinion, and,
taking an affcctionntc, perhaps even pathetic farewell of the sick lady,
they left the apartment.

'Together they quitted it, together they groped their way down
the dimly lighted stair case, Lnvinia starting at every noise, (for she
w«s nervous,) and pressing nearer to the side of him, whom she now
loake<l on as her natural protector — together they sat by the cheer-
ful parlour fire — their feet upon the fender in sweet proximity—
iheir hands — but Potts still kept his in his pockets, ao Luvinia was
fain to cross hers on her bosom — together, as the evening advanced,
they discussed their little supper, and the Fusby family — the clum-
siness of their ancles — (\\ere Miss Simcox was unimpeachable, and
glanced with pardonable triumph towards the fender)— the flaunt-
ingnesa of* their attire — their numerous small imperfections, and the
unaccountable delusion under which poor dear Mrs. Potts laboured ;
with respect to Miss Kanny— the second eldest Fusby — "the most
unlikely young woman in the world/' (as JMiss Lavinia more than
once observed,) "to attract the attention of the mort refined, and
most truly elegant minded, of his sex "

In converse such aa this, the evening sped swiftly away, — the
doctor popped in his head for a moment, to bid them keep up their
spiritSj and to promise to look in early in the morning.

Doctor DobbB had spoken truly; the influenza tirox "a treacher-
ous complaint." The next morning, Mrs. Potts, (who could have
believed it ?) was a great deal better ; " She had taken a turn," her
own maid said, the fact was, she had taken a beef-steak.

"I do believe they arc keeping me too low, Jones," she had said
to the maid in question, when Doctor Dobbs had taken his leave
the preceding night.

" Ves, ma'am, and they has their reasons/' said the maid; a
woman of sense and few words.

•* I smell somethiTig/' said the invalid ; " something savory."

" Yes, ma'am."

" What is it, Jones ?"

'•Master and Miss Simcox is having toasted cheese for supper,
ma'am." Jones spoke with considerable emphasis.

"^ Umph," muttered Mrs. Potts; "I tliought she told me every-
thing went on like clock-work — pretty clock-work ! toasted cheese !"

*'They has a tray every night, quite comfortable/' observed the
maid, with admirable innocence.

To confess the truth, Jliss Simcox was not a popular member in
the lower house^ — as to Jones, she entertained a strong objection, as
any reasonable servant might to two Alissuses, and "didn't see, for
her part, what business they had of interlopers."

Presently, the odour emanating from the parlour and the toasted
cikeese became so potent, that Mrs. Polls declared "she could not
sleep for it/" — presently, she thought "it gave her quite an ap-
petite/' — presently, she fancied "she could pick a bit/' and 6nally,
she enquired with much interest, "what they had in tlie lurder ?**

ht I

W Mn. FiMZs'f naMvr
Fbi^ Aniny-room, awl

i* tike hftU <ftoor, ihe ffttftrtl Eke & g«Hy tlaig^|
DtMTc forth em aaA m motmam? m coU. S^

wIm wottU vcBt«re Corth

9lw lw>mffrt alif hesrd a voiee funifitf to
I dbUma were its totne^^—thewe iu wotds.
tHc«e oanla and Mr*. Po(t»

on, kmd, dear,

t» the Mk$t$
Sey I

Has PnuBT in p«rticulcr, and «• Jtfiv
^otu,^ caJlrd f« ^jm, mind, to rrtnrn thanks for tlicir
quinn and obliginip attentions during the Isflvksza,"

297

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS AT THE
QUAI DORSAY, AND AT NEUILLY.*

SovBREiaNB and princes are not the only persons who have their
courtiers and flatterers ; the circumstance of being received at the
palace, and going thither frequently, is alone sufficient to bring
about you a troop of sycophants. Since the Revolution of July,
more especially, it has been my fortune to come in contact with
many very extraordinary people. My position about the royal
family naturally led mc a great deal into society, and obliged me to
receive all sorts of persons, some of whom were useful in one point
of view, but despicable in many other respects.

The meetings of the Phrenological Society were held in my
drawing-room twice a month, and I often presided at them my-
self. All our principal medical men were present on these occasions,
Monsieur Broussais and his son, Houilland^ Andral, Fossatti, Gau-
bert, Lacorbiere^ Dcmontier, Harel, Dcbout, Voisin, Salandiere, and
others, and any foreigners who, during their stay in Paris, were desi-
rous of iitfurmiiig themselves of tlie system of Gall and Spurzheim.
Sometimes these meetings were particularly interesting. One even-
ing two head^, covered with flesh, were brought mc in a basket. At
first I thought they were modelled in wax, for they were placed
with much caution upon the table, which served as a desk for the
president and Ins secretaries. The eyes were open, and the features
in a slate of perfect repose. I drew near to the table, and recog-
nized the faces of Lacenaire ami Avril, two murderers whom I had
visited in their cells. The boy who brought the two heads to the
Phrenological Society, said to me, "You consider them very good
likenesses, don't you. Monsieur Appert? " Upon my answering in
the affirmative, he smiled, and observed, "^ that that was not very
astonishing, for they had only quitted their ahoidders four hours
ago." In short, they were actually the heads of those two cri-
minals.

A curious circumstance happened to me in connexion with Lace-
naire, which is worth relating. A short time before he committed
the horrible murder for whicli he was sentenced to the scaH'old, he
paid me a visit, on pretence of having an important secret to confide
to me. I knew him immediately, for I had seen him in prison, but
1 had nothing to fear from him as reganled myself, so I desired that
he might be shewn into my study, in order that we might not be
overheard by my secretaries. As soon as he entered the room, he
closed the inside blinds, and, placing his back against the door, he
said, — '* Do you know, my worthy Monsieur Appert, that you are
very incautious to place yourself so completely in my power, and in
an apartment too, where all your money is kept. I was aware of
this when you brou;;ht me here. Your cries for assistance would
not be easily heard, we are so far removed from any of your house-
hold. I hnvc arm» secreted about my person, and am already guilty
of several crimes: what should prevent me from killing you ? But
you have nothing to fear," added he immediately afterwards.
■* What man would be such a monster as to harm you, you who are
• From the French of M. B. Appert.

298

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS

the iViern) uuJ coinlbrtcr of prisoners ? No." said lie with ener^;
"rather would I die this instant than cause you a monieiit's pain.'
I answered him with a smile, " Am I nc»t perfectly acquainted with
you all, with all your characters? Vou have very fearful, d»r"
thoughts at times, undoubletlly ; but still there is no reason whi
should prevent me from trusting myself alone with you ; in fact, i
any danger menaced me, it would be in a prison or bagnio that I
should seek refuge."

Lacenairc was much affected at this reply; for a few minutes hi*
feelings quite overcame him ; tears rolled down his cheeks, and he
addressed me in the following remarkable manner,— ■' Ah, Alonsieur
Appert, if 1 could remain with you, under your iinmediale autho-
rity, I swear to you that I would renounce the evil course of life 1
have hitherto led. Vou cannot conceive what a guilty wretch I am.
I have committed murder several times, but only when ray brain
has been in a state of frenzy. At these moments I lose all sense of
what I am doing. Often I think how different I might be : I forget
the horror of my past life, and, in your presence, on beholding your
perfect confidence in me, murderer as I am, and you too quite in
my power. I feel an unaccountable emotion. It is you who make
me tremble j you are completely my master ; speak only., tud I
throw myself at your feet."

This scene had powerfully affected me. I raised Lacenaire, and
took him by the hand, and, in order to prove to him how entirely I
trusted in his right intentions, I opened my cash-box, which was
filled with gold and bank notes, and, going towards the door, said
to him, " I have some directions to give, Lacenaire ; wait here a few
minutes, and take care of my money." He appeared stupified it
these words. 1 went into my secretaries' apartment, signed soib«
letters, and then returnetl to Lacenaire, and closed the door. *' This
is the Brst time that a cash-box has been so well guarded by you ;
eh, Lacenaire?" This strong man, this great criminal, was coio-
ptetely subdued, controlled as a wild beast by its keeper. He
seemed to be in want, so I offered him a loan of thirty francs. It
was only af\cr I had written him an order to receive this money,
that he would accept it. We buth of us forgot the secret which he
was to confide to me. Only a short time af^er, this unfortunate man
was condemned to death, with his accomplice, Avril ; Francois was
sentenced to hard Inbour for life. A man visited me one day, who
could not be induced to give his name. It was impossible, bow-
ever, to be deceived as to his being an inhabitant of a bagnio. The
character of his physiognomy and his manner proved it. He said
to me in a low tone, — for he came to me during one of my morning
audiences,— '^'iMonsieur Appert, my friend, Lacenaire. who is shortly
to be executed, wished me to see you. He did not ask you to go
him, for he thought it might give you pain, but he has desired
to thank you, and to return the thirty francs which he owes you
The stranger clipped the moni-y into my hand, and disappear
without giving me tinte to utter "a word.

After these two anecdotes, you will easily imagine it was with
considerable emotion that I gazed upon poor Lncenairc's hea(h for
he had made a great impression upon mc. To complete the account
of this strange iiffair, the executioner sent me the great-coat whi "
'his wretched man wore at the time of his execution. During eacl

lly ,

AT QUAI d'OBSAY AND NEUTLtY.

S99

day I received persons of almost every de^ee in the social scale, and

Cerhaps a few anecdotes of these interviews, dinners, and asseni-
lies, may not be uninteresting to the reader^ especiaUy as I shall
relate only the simple facts.

One morning a little man came to see me, in a blue blouse, with
a sort of helmet on his head. He had re<l pantaloons, great clumsy
sho«8, and a white cotton cravat. His complexion was very tawny, his
eyes were black and piercing, and his hair resembled a Spaniard's ; he
looked exactly like a waggoner. "Why, Monsieur Appert, don't
you remember your little Bonaparte of the Rochefort bagnio? I
promised to come and see you. and here I am at lost. You recollect
that I was sentenced to be imprisoned for life. 1 have managed to
escape, but let me tell you, there is no slight risk of being seized in
travelling from Rochefort to Paris." 1 soon recognised him, for I
bad talked to him a great deal when 1 visited tlie prison of that
town. He was considered a desperate character, an<f the name of
Bonaparte, given to him by his companions, shews at any rate that
he was enterprising and courageous in carrying out his plans. I
asked him if he had firmly resolved to lead a better course of life.
He gave me the word of a galley slave^ and I have never been de-
ceived in trusting them, though I have sometimes been disappointed
when I wished to reform them, by their refusal to make me any
promise. People who have a more honest reputation are not always
so scrupulous in keeping their word. " I shall want twenty or
five and twenty francs," added he ; ** another pair of pantaloons, for
these will surelv betray me, and a hat in place of this prisoner's cap,
A shrewd genaarme would discover it immediately, even at some
distance." I made one condition with him, that if I granted him all
these things, he must leave off stealing, and try to gain an honest
living in another country. When he had agreed to all I re-
quired, I desired my valet to give him a pair of trousers, a hat, and
some of my old waistcoats, and as soon as he had received thirty
francs, he took his departure. A short time aflerwards he wrote to
me from Strasburg, teUiiig me of his safe arrival there, af\er several
adventures with the gendarmes. He declared that his promise should
be religiously kept, and that he had fixed upon the Duchy of Baden
for his new country.

This visit brings to my mind a curious circumstance about another
prisoner, who made his escape from a bagnio at Brest. He did not
dare to enter Paris, so he very quietly proceeded to my country
house in Lorraine* and when he found that I was absent, he begged
my steward to give him a room next to mine, "fori am engaged
by Monsieur Appcrt as his head-cook," said he, "and he has sent
me forward in order that I may make preparations with you to
receive him. You see, my good fellow, our master possesses a great
deal of forethought." I arrived at night, and perceiving a stranger
atlvance to offer me assistance in alighting from the carriage, I was
about to ask who he was, when he whispered in my ear, *' I am your
head- cook ; 1 will explain everything to you by and by." This

t rogue took nothing from me during his unceremonious stay in my
house. The next (lay I gave him ten francs, in order that he might
return to Vosges, where he was born.
Among the people who frequently dined with me on Saturdays in
Paris or at Neuilly, were the Archbishop of iVIalines, tlie Viscount
VOL. XXIII. V

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS,

may

cle Lascazea, Count LaniiiinRts^ Generals Sclir&ma^ FeistharmeU
Guillahcrt, Gemeau, tie Wielbans, Deputies Etienne, Marchol, Caijjh
not, Gosse de Gorre. Gaiijtnier ; Messieurs Arnault, De Jouy, Ai^|
miral Laplace, KiijLcene tie Pradele, De Crusy, Dulrone, De Gerenl^^
Outlard Laroy, Guillaumc, of the house of Orleans, Proiessors Va-
letie, Cftsimir Broussais. Messieurs Fourrier, Considerant, Doctors
Hutin, Cliapelain, Maltligny, Destouche, Lord Durham, Dr. Bow*
ring, peer and member of the English parliament ; Alexander Dumas,
Balzac ; the painters Allaux, Roqueplan, Schnelz, Picot, Klandiii.
Lppaule, Bor^et, Dumoulin ; Gamier, the engraver, the friend of
my boyhood; Huet. Camille Jube, Gourjales Gcntilhomme ; youn^
authors, Captains Peney» De Cartousiere, Mona. Jullien of Pari
my excellent friend and notary, M. Ancelle; M. Labie, the
of Paris ; the much esteemed and regretted Monsieur Amet

These reunions of remarkable people were extremely interesting.
Sometimes I invited Vidocq and Samson, the chief executioner of Paris,
the son of the man who executed the king and Marie >\ntoinctte and
other illustrious victims in 1793. All my friends begged to join
my party when these two last persons were to be my guests. As I
never received more than twelve at dinner, it will be readily ima-
gined, after the long list of people I have mentioned as being in the
habit of dining with me, that I was obliged to give a succession of
entertainments, in order to pay attention to everybody, like the
ministers, when they wish to bring over t!)e House of Peers to their
side of the question. The Archbishop of Malines, and Monsieur
Arnault, were the only two of my friends who refused to meet Sam-
son, and I honestly confess that I shared in their prejudice. The
following is a description of one of my dinners, it was the first to
which Samson, the executioner, was invited, and look place on Good
Friday. The manner in which I secured him for my party was rather
singular. Vidocq, whom I had known some time before, was dining
with me, and we were unanimously expressing our desire to get up
another merry meeting as stwn as possible. We determined that
Samson should be of the party, at least if he would accept the invi-
tation, and wc were not quite certain that we could induce him to
join us, for, from the nature of his character and employment, he
visited very few people. " It shall be ray business to invite him,"
said Vidocq ; " leave it to me, I 'II take care that he comes." About
the middle of the following day, a tall, gaunt man, dressed in black,
and wearing the old tasliioncd frill, and u huge gold watch and chain,
inquired if he could see me, but refused to give his name. When
my secretary mentioned that somebody wished to speak to me, he
added, that he thought my visitor was a person of condition, he ap-
peared very much like the mayor of some district, who was going to
{)reside at a marriage at the mayoralty, or who was ul>out to place
limself at the heed of a municipal deputation to the king. 1 de-
sired that he might be introduced, and after I had offered him a
chair, I asked whom 1 had the honour of receiving. " Monsieur
Appert," saitl he, " I have long entertained great respect for you,
but if 1 had not been assured of your kind invitation for next Friday,
I should never have taken the liberty of calling u|>on you, for I am
the chief executioner." I could not help feeling a slight repugnance
when I goxed upon this man. Since I first visited the prisons he luid

AT QUAI DOR8AY AKD NEUFLLY.

301

executed the chief part of the unfortunate criminals whom 1 had at-
tended in their Inst moments. *' I have invited you for next Friduv* Mr.
Samson, and I liope I may depend upon the pleasure of seeing you,"
" As your invitation was brought me by Vidocq* with whose tricks
I am well acquainted, I thought I would come and ascertain the truth of
it from you. I lire generally so quietly, and am only in the habit of
mixing with my colleagues, the chief number of whom are my rcla-
tionss that I did not exactly know how to trust Vidocq's story, but
I shall be most happy to accept your invitation, Monsieur Appcrt,
for, as I said before, I have been long anxious to make your acquaint-
ance.'* This piece of politeness on the part of an executioner, ap-
peared to me rather original. I permitted him to take his leave* for
I knew I should have plenty of time to talk to him on Friday.

When Friday arrived, all ray guests were punctual to a minute.
My party consisted of Lord Durham, Messrs. Bowring, De Jouy, Ad-
miral Laplace, Etienne, Gaugnier, Muel, Doublat. Hector Davclouis,
Vldocq, and Samson. I placed the last on my right hand, and Vidocq
on my left; my other friends disposed themselves as they pleased.
Samson looked very grave, and did not seem quite at his ease with
all these great people, as he called them, for he whispered his opi-
nion in my ear. Vidocq, on the contrary, was full of life and wit,
making all torts of epigrams, and joining with spirit in the conversa-
tion. He said jestingly to the executioner, " You are not aware,
perhaps, Mr. Samson, tliat I often gave you employment when I was
commander of the safety brigade," *' I know that too well, Mr,
Vidocq/' replied the executioner ; and then' putting his head down
to my ear, he observed, " I would not have met that fellow any where
but at your bouse : he is a good-for-nothing rogue*" Vidocq whis-
pered to me almost at the same time, " That Samson is a good fellow,
but it seems very odd to me to dine at the same table with him."
My guests soon entered into conversation with the executioner.

M. de Jouy. — ** Yours ia a very terrible office, Mons. Samson, yet,
in shedding blood, you only carry out the extreme penalty of tho
law."

Samson — "You are right, sir; I am only the instrument. It is the
law which condemns."

Lord Durham. — " How many persons have you already beheaded,
Mr. Samson ?'*

Samson, — " About three hundred and sixty, my lord."

Dr. Bowring. — "Do not your feelings frequently overcome you
when you are on the point of securing the poor creatures to the
block?"

Samson. — "That is the business of my assistants, as well as to cut
the hair and place the baskets ready to receive the body and head ;
I have only to sec that everything goes forward as quickly as pos-
sible, and to slip the cord which suspends the axe.'*

M, de Jouy. — " Do you think that they suffer at all after the
stroke?"

Samson. — "Undoubtedly; the face is distorted with convulsions,
the eyes roll, and the head appears violently agitated. I was near
my father when he was compelled to execute poor Louis the Six-
teenth, to whom our family was much attached. He was obliged,
according to the directions he hadreceived» to take up the head by

V 2

302

EVENINGS AT QUAI D'ORSAY AND NECTLLY,

its hair, and show it to the people; but when he beheld thecnlm and
benevolent expression which the features Mill retained, he was com-
pletely overwhehnetl by his feelings. Fortunately I was close at
hand, and being rather tall and large, I succeeded in sheltering him
from the gaze of the mullitutlc; for if his emotion hod been perceived,
we should have been certainly guillotined in our turn. Soon after
these sad events, I became captain in the artillery ; but my father
said to me very sensibly one day, ' Samson, my office will fall to your
lot ; it has brought us more than twelve thousand pounds — an enor-
mous sum at that time. You will do well to take it* my boy, for
there will always be certain prejudices which will prove obstacles to
your rising beyond a certain jmint; iind they may even prevent you
from remaining captain. Our ancestors have exercised the office of
executioner for more than a century : you will be able to live quietly
and comfortably, and, at all events, nobody will liave any right to
interfere with your affiiirs.' "

Vidocq. — '* Your father ought to have added, ' Except those people
whose throata you cut.*"

Samson.—" No jesting, Mr. Vidocq ; I am relating facta."

Vidocq. — ** Yes, alas T'*

These words wounded the executioner to the quick, " That man
is very coarse," whispered he : " you may see that he is not accus-
tomed to good society ; he has not my department."

M. do Jouy. — "Before the invention of ihe guillotine, M- Samson.
your ancestors made use of a sword which struck off the head at a
single blow, did they not?"

Samson.-—" I have the terrible weapon still in my possession,
M. de Jouy ; it is a Damascus blade, and was worth twelve hundred
pounds at the time it was bought at Constantinople. My father
marked the side with which he cut off the Marquis de Lally's head
with a piece of thread, us well as that which beheaded the Chevalier
de la Rarre. When 1 was much younger than I am now, and rather
more fond of adventure, I remember going out one night with this
Jong weapon concealed under my great-coat- Some men attacked
roe for the purpose of emptj'ing ray pockets, and indeed I might
have been murdered. They were at least eight in number, and
I knew it would be impossible for me to struggle with so many rogues;
80 I had recourse to a little daring. I darted upon them witH
my huge sword, shouting out in a croaking voice, * Don't you kno«
that I am the executioner of Paris ?* They all took to their hecUll
these terrible words, as if I had been a thunderbolt to grind them to
powder."

Lord Durham. — " I should like very much to see the guillotine in
operation, Mr. Samson."

Samson. — " You have only to fix a day with M- Appert, my lord,
and I will have it put together by my assistants in the coach-house,
where it is kept ; for it is always taken to pieces after every execi^-
tion. The coach-builder, in whose house it is at present, lives not fiU"
from my house, in the Rue des Marais du Temple."

The conversation, which had been more particularly addressed 1^
Samson, now became general, and for the rest of the evening VidocQ.
shared our attention, and, as is his wont, he was very agreeable V>d
amusing.

303

THE YANKEE AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

A YARN, BY ▲ OAPB COO0BR.

Do I b'leve in the sea-sarpint? You might as well ax me if I
b'leved in the compaiis, or thought the log could lie. Tve never seed
the critter myself, cos I hain't cruised iti them waters as he locates
himself in, not since I started on my first voyage in the CanRdence
\rhaler, Cabling Cotfiiig ; but 1 recking I 've got a brother as hails from
Nahont. that sees him handsome every year, and knows the latitude
and longitude oi' the' beast just as welt as 1 knows the length o* the
f'ultock shrouds o' the foretops.

Brother Zac's pretty 'cute, and kalkilates from actil observation how
much tlic surpint grows every year; and then he gets sifTerin*, and fig-
gerin'^and reckonin\ till he makes out how tarnal long it took the sarpint
to extensity himself to that almighty size — offerin' to prove ihat the
critter was one o* them ar' creeping things what Commodore Noah took
into his boat at that ar* big rain as the Bible tells on ; and perhaps, as
Zac says, he is the real, original^ etarnal sarpint, as got the weather*
gage of Mrs. Eve, and gammoned her to lay piratical hands on her
husband's stock of apples jest as he was gettin' bis cider fixins ready
iu the fall. And, by gauly, old fellers, there aint nothin* agin natur*
in that yarn, nyther — Tor brother Zac says, he can prove that that ar'
sarpint must have partaking o* the tree o' life as growed in the gard-
ing of Eding, afore them first squatters what had located themselves
thar' was druv* off by the angel Gabriel for mukiu' free with the go-
vernor's trees. Welt, there was a nigger as 1 knowed once down south,
'niongst themcotting plantashings — and this here darkey used to get
his rum aboard ratlier stiff— so, one night, havin' stowed away a
soakin* cargo, he found the navigation pretty considerable severe, and
after tackin' larbord and starbord, mukin* short legs to winderd, and
long uns to lewerd, he missed stays, and brought up in a ditch.
While the darkey wus lettin' off the steam and snorin' himself sober,
a mud tortle, about the size of our capting's epdlitts, crawls right
slick into his open mouth, and wriggles stret down into his innerds.
Waell, the nigger felt the effects o* loo much tortle to his dying day
— and that's the case, 1 guess, with the sarpint — for havin' fed in his
infancy on the fruit o' the tree o' life, he was obligated to keep on
livin' ever arter, and can't die no how he can fix it. And so he keej>s
on a gettin' longer every week, like a purser's account, and nobody
can't guess what for, nyther.

Did j/oit ever see a marmaid ? Waell, then, I reckon you'd best
shut up, COB I have — and many on 'em ; and marnien too, and mar-
raisacs and marmastcrs, of all sizes from babbies not bi<;ger nor mac*
krcls to regular six-feeters, with starns like a full grow'd porpus. I've
been at a marmaids' tea-party, and after larnin' the poor ignorant
sculy critters how to splice the main brace, I leil the hull hilin' on 'em
blazin* drunk.

You see when our crafi was cruisin' up the Arches, we cast anclior
one moruin' in pretty dc*ep water just abrcst of a small green island

,wasnH down in the chart, and hadn't got no name^ nyther. 15ut

THE TANK£E

kaoved what he vac arter, abeout as right as nioepeoce,
I iiewuci caaic aloog-ckle pretty sune, freighted with
wme fbr the oCocn* what they 'd ordered for their o«ra
Waefli At afioga vaa run up to the eud o' the miiu-^
jani, and the wsisicn were hasj houtin* up the barrils, when a caik]
o* braody rf i ypcd ftoa the afings as it was t>eing canted round, and
diupy c J right iytaah rate the aea, linkin' right away. Upon 'zamina-
tiooiag the aaaiifeBt, it proved to be the best cask o' brandy in the
•d froaa Boerdo direct for the capting him&elC lie

a gretty ■■■> I g*c»» ngbt off the reeL ** You d etamal

leay ■ackera," said he* *" look hm I tAke all the boat«* anchors, lash
*CB loHBlfctf ia lew* ea aa to fona grapnels o' four pints each, and
dfBg Ml about bere fcr that ar^ brandy — and mind you find it, or 1 11
pttt erety mother's aoa of you oo abort allowance o' rye for the next

WacH, the boats was ordered out, and a gropin* we wenL I wai
pfaned ia the jolly, with Sy Davis and Pete Slinks, and a middy to
direct. The middy was a pretty considerable smart fellow, and jest as
we was paUiD^oC be oodded up to the chaplin as was leanin* over the
nde, and says, " What ay yoo loan boarsj float upun this here gUsty
aea?** The paraoa waa down by the man ropes in a minoit, and off
we sol a fishin* fbr the brandy tub.

The current ran pretty slick by the side o* the little island, and tliM
second luff, who was in the cutler, ordered us to go ahead and wat^^|
along the shore jest to see if the tub wam't rolled up there by the
tide. Wc pretended to look right hard for the tub. till wc made the
lee o' the island, and then if we ^dn*t resolre to take it easy and ruD
the noobc o' the jolly into the yallcr sand o' the shore, there aio^t no
snakes. I held on in the sum bv the grapnel, and the parson pulled
out of his pocket a good-sized satrnple bottle o* the new stuff as he'd
jest bought, and wanted the middy to tasle — and arter passin' their
Ideas on the licker, the chaplain gave us men a pretty stiff horn a
piece, now J tell you — and first rate stuff it was, I swow. It iled the
parson's tongue like all out doors — it look him to talk — all abeout the
old original anteek names o' the islands that laid in spots all about
thar' — classic ground, as he called it, and a pretty yarn he did spin
lew. He talked about the island of Candy nhar' the sweetest gals
was in oil creation or any whar* else — and of a great chief called Beau
Lasses or Molusses, who killed a one-eyed giant of a blacksmith
named Polly Famous, by spitting in his eye — and about a fireman
named Hencarus, who carried out nn old man, one Ann Kysis, on
his shoulders when his house was a fire; tor you see many o* them
old Grecian men had wimraing's names, and wisey warsey tew. But
what took my cheese u-as the parson's tellin* us abeout tew fellows
as got up the biggest chunk of a fight, and kept right at it for ten
vears stret out, and ail abeout a gall named Kllen what skeetcd from
her moorings, and run off to Paris. Then the parson tried to pint
out tile iejand of Lip-Kalve, where a she-conjuror, called Sarcy. from
1LT boldness, used to keep a hull skeul of singin' girls called syringes,
OS they sucked the sailors ashore and then chawed them right up
ke a piece o' sweet cavendish. Then the middy, who'd been keepiu'
yin' low all this time, show'd his broughtens-up, and let
tadsidc at the parson about them ar' byringcs and ut

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

395

ulll

blus wimming, such as King Nepching'e wUe Ann Thracite, und
she Try-ic-oDS, and Necr-a-heads, and river golla, right down to
arm aids.*

Waell, you see, all this ht;re talk made us dry as thunder — so the
]in said he guessed the sun was over the fore-yard, and baled us

t another horn o' licker all round. Then be took a ** spetl ho I" at
the jawin' tuckle, and allowed there was a river in Jarniiity whtre all
our Dutch inu-gronts hails from, and that a gall used to locate
herself in a whirljtool, and come up on moonshiney nights and sing
a hull bookful o' songs as turned the heads o' all the young fellers in
them parts. VVaell, reports ruz up as she 'd a hull cargo o* gold
stowed away at the bottom o' the whirlpool, and many a wild young
Jarman, seduced by the gall's singin' and hopes o' goldj lept into the
river, and wurn't heered on never arier. These matters hurt the
youiig gairs kariter, and the old folks, who'd always allowed that she
was a kind of goddess, began to think that she warn't the clear grit,
Bod the young fellers said her singin' was no great shakes, and that
her beauty warn't the thing it was cracked up to be.

When the chaplin had expended his yarn, he sarved out another
allowance o' licker. I recking that he was the raal grit for a parson,
— always doin' as he'd be done by, and practisin' a durned sight more
than he preached. '* 'Tuint Christian-like," says he, "to drink by
one's self, and a raal tar never objects to share his grog with a sblp-
maie." Them's the gin-a-wine Bunker Hill sentiments of spiritual

vashing, and kinder touch the bottom of a sailor's heart \

The middy then uncoiled another length o' cable abeout the fab-

us wimming o' the sea, and said it were a tarnation pretty idea^
that ihem angels from hewing as ruled the airth should keep wutch
over the treasures o' the water. Then he telled a yam consarnin*
the capiing of a marchantman as was tradin' in the South Seas, layin
at anchor, becalmed, one Sunday mornin* abeout 6ve bells, when a
strange hail was heerd from under the bows o' the craft, and the
bands on deck as answered the hail seed somebody in the water with
jest his head and arms stickin' out, and holdin' on to the dolphin
striker. Waell, I guess they pretty soon tbrow'd him a rope^ and

uled him at)oard, and tlicn tliey seed he was a regular built mar-
1, one half kinder nigger, and tother half kinder Hsh, but altoge*
ther more kinder fish than kinder nigger. So, as I was lellin' you,
they got Iiim aboardi and he made an enquerry artcr the capting,
who come out o* his cabing, and the marman made liim a first-rate
dancin'-skeul bow, and says in ginncwine English,

"Capting, I sorter recking it ain't entered into your kalkilation as
this here is Sabber-duy, for you've dropped your tarnul big anchor

ht in front o' our meetin'-house door, and I'm d— d if eeny of our

ks can go to prayers."

Waell, the capting was raytbcr taken aback, and the calm, you see,
ovcrlayin him in that thar' hot latitude, bad sot his back up above a

• If the reader litis noi rcfrefthetl his Bcudemical lore by a recent dip into Homer

and Virgil, or Lempriere, the (oggy nature uf the fuutor'a dnicnpLioQ may render

ao explaattiioa iMcetsary ; but the cbssicisl will eaitily mxignice tlie isle of Cnndio,

Ulytscs and (he Cyclops, Pol)'pbemuft, Eneas, ^' whu from the Aames of Troy

UiA shoulders tlie old Aiichites bore i" Ut-leu of Troy, the i»Ie of Cttlyi»o,

re Circo dwelt witli her Syrvns, and Neptuuu't wife, AmpbiiriU}, and the

it«>oi iuhI Nereids.

llu

OV£

and
K

chefidkcsoTtheaoi? But Uwre'i lie
*s ia« « leede bom »-pt«ce in tW

|L IWlMfffclorbraBdjhMiaal

if the rating <fid Docfly

1 ever did tefi. H^

tf tlie boftU* crevi.

r tSI the tub «m found if it

•ee. tbehaadi was piped todfa^

m the boats* mm! take keare the;

t g^ aaa wbai with tbe panoa'i
' sjringet, and vater-gatK
mtziDg
tbeatarn:
vitb my bead a leette o«nr the boat's qoartcr, I tbooght it
vna^ thai tbe far»dy tab kada*! bees fetched a|s and that tbe^
Mia' the giap^ks mast ^ve ihirh«d as «e did. coft, if they
m they oi«fa«er, they brmI have seed the barrel, for the water
petickler dear that joa cookl diasara the crabs craalin' otct tbe
rd ffodka at the bottooa o* tveaty ftthoai

WaelU while I was lookin* into the ocean to Bee if I oould
Hpoa the barret* a leetJe o' the largest fiah I erer did see, come
awum right dose to the bottom of the sea, jest under the '
l^en it kefvt rttin* and ri^in', till I seed iia long 6ns were sha|
•m^i's arms; oxmI when it conie near tbe sarfis, it turned on

id then 1 ftcrd a huaian face! I koow'd at once that it WMt,

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

S07

lammid, or a marmoii— -or one o' them amfibberus criuers called
ibbetus springes, as the chaplain had been spinnin* his yarns abeout.
Oy the critter popt its head up jest above the water, which was
nooth as glass, and a little snnoother tew by a darned sight, and jest
I clear and jest as shiny ; and says he to me,

•* Look here, slrannger, you and your shipmates ain't doin' the gen-
rel thing to me no how yuu can fix it, for they're play in' old hub
ith my garding grounds and oyster beds by scratchin' and rakin'
m all over with them ar' darned anchors and grapnel fixins, in a
anner that's harrowin' to my feelins. If the capting wants his
lundernation lickcr tub, lot him jest send eeny decent Christian
>wn with me, and Til gin it him.*'

Waell, I'm not goin' to say that I didn't feel kinder skecred, but
le chaplain's yarns had rubbed the rough edge off*, and the notion o*
idin' the capting's cask pleased me mightily, cos I knowed it would
c;kJe the old man like all creation, and sartinglygct me three or four
>erty days for shore goin' when we returned to Port Mahon. So,
I I hadn't on nothin' petickler as would spile, only a blue cotting
kirt and sail-cloth pantys, and the weather bcin' most uncomntoD
arm, I jest told the marman I was ready, and tortled quietly over
le boat's side into the blue transparent sea.

The marman grappled nic by tlic fist, and wc soon touched bottom
>w I tell ye. I found as 1 could walk easy enough, only the water
rayed me abeout jest us if I war a leutle tight, but 1 didn't seem to
iffcr noihin' for want of breath, nythcr.

We soon reached whar' the brandy cask was lyin' right under the
lip's keel, which accounts for it's not bein' seen nor nothin' by the
>ats' crews. I felt so everlastingly comical abeout findin' the tub,
lat 1 told the half-bred dolphing feller, as pinted it out, that if 1
nowed how to tap it* I wish I might die if I wouldn't give him a
ftllon o' the stuff as a salvage fee.

•* What's in it?" says the marman.

** Why, licker," says I.

" Waell," says the marman, "so I heerd them scrapin* fellers in
le boats say ; but I guess I've licker enough to last my time, tho' I
^king your licker is something stronger than salt water, seein* it's
»oped up in that almighty way."

** Why, you lubber," says I, "it's brandy — the raal ginnewine
>neyh8ck.**

" And what's that ?'' says the marman.

" Why, dew tell — want to know ?** says L " Have you lived to
[>ur time o* life without tastin' spirretus lickcr? Waell, I swow, you
Lighter be the commodore of all them cold water clubs, and pcrpe-
lal president of all tcmp'rance teetotallers. Go ahcad^ matey, pilot
le way to your shanty, ond I'll roll the barrel arter you, I'll sune
ve you a drink o' licker that will jest take the shirt tail off eeny
ling you ever did taste, now 1 tell you."

Waell, the critter flopped ahead, for you see it's the natur* o' the
armen, secin' as they've no legs, only a fish's tail what's bent under
lein* jest like the lower part of the letter J, to make way by flop*
n' their starns up and down, and paddlin' with their hands — some-
liri' between a swim and a swagger^but the way they get through
tB water is a caution. I rolled the tub along over the smooth white
liny sand, and the crabs and lobsters skcelcd off right und left sides

COI

309

uut o' my way regular skecred, and big fishes of all sbnp
with brUUin' fiLOft, swum close alougstde me, aiid looked
awful with their Miiall gooseberry eyes, as much aa lo
iiatioD are you at ?"

Bymeby* the niarman brought up in front of ray ther-^
or groito of rock and shell work, kivered with korril
So, you see, the tub was put right on eeud in one coi
an cnquirry o the mannan if he bad a gimblet, and he
there was sitch a thing in tlie hold or cellar ; he'd foui
tool-cbest in a wreck a few miles to the easCerd, and h^
six or seving o' tlie leeUc fixins, thinkin' they might be l
i>u be opened the back door^ond huUed a young uiann^M
the gitnblet. U

Seeing as there was no benches nor notbin' to sit d<m
BUOTBau and marmaids don't desire, cos they've no ait
their bodies, whicUi is all fish from their waistbands, 1 Jl
top o* the brandy tub. and took an observation of tlie^
me. His face was reglar human, only it looked rayther
flabby» like a biled nigger, with fietiy eyes, and a mouth
torn cod. His hair hung stret down his shoulders, aoc
and thick, like untwisted ratUia' ; his hands were aomi
gooae'a paw, only the fingers were longer and thicker; i
was not exactly like an Injin's, nor a nigger'ji, nor a white
was it yaller, dot blue, nor green — but a sorter ultogc
mixed up colour, lookin' as if it were warranted to stan^
Jest obeout midships, his body was tucked into a fij
huge green scales right down lo the tail.

Whilst I was surveyin' the niarman fore and aft,
opened and a she critter flopped in, with a young man
breast. The Icetle sucker was not bi^'ger thau u pickerel^
of a delicate saaimun colour, and a head and body jest li~
small tan monkeys, with a face as large as a dollar. Tl
troduced the shecriiteras his wife, and we soon got Lnt
right slick, all abeout the weather, and the kcare
young family — and 1 wished i may be Bwanij>ed if
warn'l a dreadful nice critter to chatter. Like all wimmii
was plaguey kewrous us to tvliur' 1 was raised and rigged-
1 saiil 1 guess 1 hailed from Cape Cod, and all along slion
looked at the marman, and said to me, " Waell, 1 never —
why, strunnger, 1 guess there must be some finuity in our

Waell, you see, I grew rayther kewroua tew, acid wanc«(
petiklers o* the ualerol history o' the race o' mumien — so I
enquerrics respccun* their ways o lite. ** 1 guess," says
a tarnal good 6sh-market in these here parts, and keep you
supplied with hallibut and sea-bass, and black-lish, eh?"

" Why, straiu>gcr/' says die marman, raytlicr wrathy^f^
you I won't be offended, or, by hewing, if that speech U
to make a marman feel scaly, why then it ain't no mutter,
to be half tisli in our natur*, and I reckon you don't kalkila
bles our relations? there 's sea varmint enough in all consc
as oysters, and clams, and (fuahogs, and mussels, and crab
slcrs. Wc go the hull slioat uith ihem ; and then we ctd<
and other sea truck in our gardings, and sometimes wc

tog*

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

301)

the wild fowl as the> 're floatiD*, and Jerks down a fine duck or a gull,
or gathers their eggs ofT the rocks, or the barnacles off t\nlX wood."

Jest then, tlie marraan's eldest son-fish ibtched in the gintblet, and
brought up the marman's jawm* tacks with a round turn. Hie young
un u as about the size of an lojin boy jest afore he runs alone — luUf
[xtpoose, half porpus. He got a Icetle skecred when he clapicyeson
tnc, but I guv' him a stale quid o' backer to amuse himself, and the
sugar-plum made the marmaster roll his eyes above a bit, now I tell
you.

Waell, I bored a hole in the brandy-tub, and pickin' up an empty
c]an)-shell, handed a drink to the lady^ and told her to tote it down.
She swallor'd it pretty slick, and the way she gulped afterwards, and
•tared, and twisted her 6:ihy mouth, was a sin to Davy Crockett, llie
marman looked rayther wolfy at me, as if I 'd gin her pisin ; bo I
drawcd a shell-full and swalJered it myself. This kinder cooled him
down, and when the marmaid got her tongue-tackle in runnin' order
agin, she said she guessed the Itcker was the juice of hewing, and
she'd be darned if she wouldn't have another drink right off the reel.

Seein' this, the marman swallered his dose, und no sooner got it
down than he squealed right out, and clapped his webby hands toge-
ther, and wagged his tail like all creation. He swore it was elegant
stuii', and he felt it tickle powerful from the top of his head to the
eend of his starn-fin. Arter takin' two or three horns together, the
sonny cried for a drink, and I gin him one that sent him wriggUn' on
the sand like an eel in uneasiness. Ho, the marman said as the lickcr
was raal first-rate, and first-rater than that lew, he guessed he'd ask
to his next door neighbour and his lady, jest to taste the godsend.
Waeil, in a nilnnit, in comes a huge marman ol the most almighty
Hxc, looking jest like Black Hawk when he was bilious; he fotched up
bis lady with him, and Iiis eldest son, a scraggy hubbadeboy marman,
■nd his darters, two young mormaids or marmisses, jest goin' out o*
their teens.

The news o' the brandy-tub spred pretty slick, for in half an hour,
I 'tl the hull grist o' the marmen belongin' to that settlement cooped
up in the cavern.

The way the drunk affected the different critters was right kewrous,
now I tell you. One great scaly feller stiffened his tail all up, and
stood poppindickler erect on the peaked pints of the eend fin, like a
jury-mast, and jawed away raal dignified at all the rest, wantin' ihem
to appoint him a sort o' admiral over the hull crew. Another yeller
feller with a green tail^ was so dreadful blue, that he doubled himself
into B figgcry S, and sung scraps and bits o' ail sorts o' sou songs, till
be got tew drunk to speak at all. Some o* the marmen wanted to
kiss all tlie mormuids, and tew o' the ladies begun scratchin' and
6ghtin' like two pusseys, cos one trod on t'other's tail. Some went
floppin' and dancin' on the sand like mad, raisin' sitch a dust that 1
could not see to draw the licker — but the party round the tub soon
druv' tlkcm to the right abeout, as incerferin' with the interest o' the
settlement. Every minnit some fresh marman dropped on the ground
with the biggest kind of load on ; I never seed a set o' critters so al-
mighty tight, ycUin*, swcarin', huggin', and fightin'^ till they gruwed
so darned savugcrou!^ that 1 kinder feared fur my own safety amongst
them drunken uioffradiic sta aborigines. So, you sec, I up and told

a hull raft o'
Toccd thmt I
evct^ MB-tfTHKea — fiu— saddeolj be-
ts ha^ me L|vche4 and tft vcrc Mtttcd at Kut cfatf
•B a niU aaid dwa toned aad fieatbered. But.
artcr tbe lai and the tar, tbe rcM •'
la aaaaasneoat the Udker; aad ai
ta fcase the keare o* tbe preeiooi
C they aaaa iMad a fitjnj —, aad heptaBteana' at each other
a pach • walvci. Seeia' thii» 1 )e« liailff icatrd ^oictlj vny
I the caae pmu a j tifl I caai' ia alght o* the shlp^ wbea 1 ftrack
MifatheflB^Mdv^frr^vGfe.^ 1 m«i leed that die

■w Bcs 1 jot laid bold a'
hi ptectj ^oicUjr, and iaid njadf
dam a dbe iM»«hccti. w ir 1 'd ae«cr becB oat o* the baat.

1 ^^'^ Ud Ihv h^Ta III iii, whcB I lead a bow jea lor dl

•«v ai heaA. 1 raa a^ aiad thar" vera the capti^ vid the bill
Cffw laahaa' aver the Mps ode at aw — the aSccfs ia a tamal rtfc.

* Baaae ^^ 50a iHi^^dad Ib^ saafa^ aod briag the boats ia ftno

the heaA. Am yea goM* to ifeep all ^jr ?*

•^Av, ». ST.* ^ 1, iM^'^p ia the boat, vhea aU the

aT w lie fc^ tl I mm my— I'd beea ai

withdwaiMLB. I feh kinder sheered feet the

il» but aheo I stood op be kaghcd rigbt out, sfld

» did the haN crev tew.

** Wbjr* he « aot aw^sfce y^ said the capda^ * Bosen, give hio
-■ t^ - -■■ -^ •

MOKT IMCSet.

Tea aaa they wasted to prriaadc me thai I 'd fell asleep io the |pgt
6at aa a veatia'-hooMw wmA skpt thar* the hull while ihe crew were

couldn't waken me up — m
the boeai aad jest ^ve aie a couple o* burkeu 0*
Whea I told 'em mj ydru abeout the
iavitia* lae down, and all abeout
r the feaadjr-tab and the rest, they aware that 1 'd got drunk
i*a ficher, aad dreaat it ^ ia the boat. But I guoH I
I did seek jot aheeat as stick as anybody ; and the chsp
iMa htievad the buO staiy ; sad said that as I 'd learnt the mariMSi
the vaDey o' licker, tbey 'd |>et boatin* up all the tubs and barrels out
oit the didfemit wrecks in all the rarious seas ; and thflt intemperance
WhHikI Mpiit the race, and thin 'em off till they became one o' the
thii^ that WAS — jest like the Injins wbat*s wastin' away by the pover
o* rum and whiakey given *eni by the white man.

1 rcv'kmg the t>arM>a wam't fmr out in his kalkilashiog. The love 0*
lickrr has had its effect upon the marmen and the marmaids; tliejr
miut liave tliittned oif surprisin'ly, for 1 ain't seed none since, nor 1
dun't know nobody that has, nyiiter.

Sll

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

THE TRUR TALK, DIVESTED OP ITS TRADITIONAL FIBS;

f A good vfay ) from the German,

ITTBN AND ILLUSTBATED BY PRBOY CRUIK8HANK,

A LONG time ago, I cannot aay wlien.

But somewhere, I thinks near the c«nt«ry ten.

When Kritnns couUi sin^ " BritunH ne'er would be slaves,"

And nriCannia was really just ruling the waves,

A pest was diarovered, — a horrible thief, —

A great deal more hitin^ than parish relief;

Fathers and mothorfl,

Sisters and tjn»thera.
Very joiiall babie>a, and ladies* pet pages.
Poor commoners all, no matter their ages.

Umbrellas and boots.

Long Chancery suits.

Were treated as smoke ;

In fact, to he plain,

An up or down train,

Luggage, people, and coke,
le *d have swallowed, and laughed at the thing as a joke.

Well then, to begin :— There stood.
Close by a dark and lonesome wood,
The house, or rather, DeviPs lair*
No morning calls were made out there.

* The above engraving is an accnrate copy of the coin struck on the accession
' George (who at his dpHth wan hnnaured with the dtpiity of uiint), nnd suppoMHl
I be tlw only one exunt, now in the possession of that celebrated antiquary Vr,
lummydust.

312

ST. GEOROR AND THE DRAGON.

For they hud pot n wholesome dread,

Tliat they jwrforce miKht leave a head-
It wa« not biult of ru^^ged stone*
Nor plas-tt^r. hut of English bones,
Cemeulod fast with blood.

Inffteud of tiles, the roof waa spread

With huta of victims lonf^ fiince deiid ;

The srmper, too, wan nicelv made

From some young' gent's white shoulder blade
And very well it Ktood :

The knocker large was rtronpe to view, —

Not Brummagem, — a thin^ quite new.
A skeleton fist was suspended before.
And a skull, vcn' snubbed, was fixed on the door :
If any one calleif, it was meant that the blows.
By lifting the fist, should fall whndc on the nntte;
But no one disturbed the dread Dragon's repose

He prorgcd on all things

^Vhich a pampered taste brings.
So bis bruin became )>othered with so many dishcfl
One after another, none answered hia wishes

He became discontented.

What could be invented?
At last he resolveil on an uncAmmon thing.
Ho couldn't do better, he 'd jtmt try a kinp[ '

Sit resoIve<l became he

That his next dish should be
Hex Britanniffi !

He M be better for -aage !

AV'hen he thought of his age.

Threescore ! old enough.

He feared he'd be tough,

That was like enough.

He turned to the oueen, —
She once nad Keen
Sweet seventeen, —

Now fifty, — (good l<M)kiDg)
But not good for much (as far as bis taste went) for cooking- 1

At last he swore,
With a hideous roar 1
Which was heard at Dieppe, on the opposite shore.

That by every drop of blood he had shed.

Unless something nicer came into his head,
ffe *d twuUov? lite yUJji ! — (not nt all a bad notion)
For revenge, — then he 'd wash it well down with the ocean.

But when he came to cool reflection.

He saw a very great objection ;

He thouf;ht perhaps this draught and pill

Mif:ht tond sumehow to make him ill.

At Inst his eye, with gourmand leer,

Shewed that'he'd got a bright idea.

So he took iHit a sheet of post.

To write about a younger roast.
Ah I well may we our own limes bless.
That they arc better !
For, in hia letter.

He wrote lo onler a princess ! !

When he *d finish *d this sad job.

He drew his wnti'irfn»ni out hib fob.

8T. GEORGE AXT) THE DRAGON*.

3!3

Sealed it with a grim death *9 he«d,
Then took his dip, and vent to bed.

It was just at that time of the year

M'hen Sol sleept rather lon^r.
And VValUcnd coals grow rather dear,
And Jock Frost waxes stronger ;
A letter was Been
To be thnist between
Tlie ban* of a gMe,
lich shut out the vuk^r from royalty's state.
And tlie bearer observed he *d no orders to wait.
The chief hlirk in waiting, who saw the note fall,
HTio liked not the bearer's bold bearinjf at all,
Picked it up. like a man who ex|>li>sion expects.
And therci on the envelope, saw written^ Rex I
He ran without state

»To the king in debate,
WhoM 1>een sitting up Ute
To decide ftome one's late.
The king, who was bold b» a king onght to be.
Without hesitation or timidity,

red. " Znunds ! who the devil can this fellow be? **
But in that letter which w.-ls sent.
There was n most unplea<uint scent.
It smelt like stuff in which they dip
Matches, only at the tip.
The king cried ** Brimstone ! " he was right,
Hitt royal hairs stooil 1)olt upright :
Oh : oh ! oh !
Here's a gn !
lie has sent for the princes I»y way of a treat,
^^Vm I the brute's butc/uT, to nnd him in meat ?
^E He — no one asked wh» —

^F They very well knew,

And that made them all look uncommonly blue.
A terrible frown
^L Raised Rex's crown,

Hnle was circumsliigdojhtgised past all relief;

He wi§hed that his mibjects had chopped olT his heBd,
In fart, he repeatedly wished himsetrdead^
Or that, when a hahy, he 'd never been fed.
He stormed and he capered bt.*yond all beliefj

I And said, " I *1I bestow

On him who will f^o
And baste this liold monster until he is hrown»
My daughter as wife.
If he'll save her life,
And after 1 'm dead he shall have half-a-crown."
Though clever at bruising,
They all fell a musing,
Didn't like to accept, and afraid uf reftising.
The king w:is annoyed, so his temper broke Imme,
Ami nith it came out most unkingly abuse.

It was all of no use,
Nat one of the lot had the pluck of a goose.
As his ire almtod.
A gentlemnn stated,
At the sign of the Crown,
A little way down,

Lived a wittier,

good one Ut fight, and an out and out skittler.

314

BT. OBOROE AND THE DRAOON

So if they 'A but mention
The royal intention.
He *d wa^er & crown
That the dra^^n was down.
The kinfc bit bis thumb, and then railed for a li^bt.
Saying, *' S«j what I *ve sawl," and turned in for the nigbC
But s^eas* if you au, the sad. awful distress.
The Ule of tlie Dragon had caused the princess,
Mlien she thought of his jaws, which often had been
Described to her, just tike a Rausafe machioe ;
How he 'd mumble and munch
That sweet form for his lunch.
Oh, horrible thought ! if the monster should win.
What a stew, or a pickle, she soon would be in.
But Geonre was renowned, and his very least thump
\)'ould floor a mad bullock as flat as a dump ;
Besidea. at Stone-benge, he had lifted with ease,
Thoae ponderous rocks, as though they 'd been fleas ;
'Tiui't f^enerally known
Hiat this singular stone
Was none of the L>ruids\ but solely his own-
Gtttrge lowered his pipe when he heard of the job.
Looked serious rather, and then scratched his nob.
Then he pulled at the measure that warmed on the hob.
Called the Dragon a rough uDj
Said the job was a tough un,
But thought he 'd much better.
In form, write a letter.
And state to the Dragiin on what day he *d meet him^
And put aj«idt> bragging, just promise to eat him ;
And further tu say.
That on next boxing<-day.
In the morning at eight, what he owed him he 'd pay.
«••••■«
'Twas a wintry ni^ht,
Quite froety, not bright.
For the sun had long cribbed every atom of light ;
The wind whistled ^rill, and it rattled the trees.
Like a murderer's bones, as they swing in tlie breeze.
And the chains make a noise like a big bunch of keys.
A good rousing fire was blazing away
In the L>ragon'» front parlour, 'twas light as the day ;
^»nie juvenile bones remained on tlie tray.
With a t>ottle and s}nsn, some tobacco and clay;
He had finiiihcd his booze,
And was taking his snooze,
When a knock at the door
Put an end to his snore.
A knoc^ at the door ! 'twas a singular fact.
The perwn who gave it was certainly cracked.
For he very well knew no sensible brain
M'uuld think about venturing near his domain.
The knock was so bang,
Tor his titrer he rang.
And told him to go
And answer below.
He was n't a tiger with buttons and hat,
But stripes on his coat, and a Kkin like a cat,
A very long tail, and he walked pit-a-pat.
He oi»ened the door, and looked cautiouitly round.
Looked up to the aky, then looked down to the ground.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 315

^^?^ m ha would, there wae nobody foand,
yScJ^ ««ora 'twM A nmewsy knock, he'd be L _
*Zr^ on ttvenly tnrnuur, a thiof met his lights

^ -IVl** I t_-_ Tj J III I i.:_*_r l:«.^ .

f^ "Htht was uncoDunon, end nude him soppoee
^^^ akall hftd a co)d, and wes blowing his nose,
^^S 00 doser inspection, he saw that it meant
^'ctter was left, like a circular sent,
Q ^eo. through alterations, a draper is bent
V^^ selling his goods, minus so much per cent.
j}*^*^e a cook, when her dinner's done brown,
^*>d on it a bushel of soot tumbles down !
~V Cabman who *s taken a pewter half-crown !
Y^ liandsome pet parson stripped of his gown !
imagine, — but words have never been spelt,
^O give an idea of the rage Dragon felt, —
He cried with a sneer,
What ! feel any fear
Of a vendor of beer !
He is sick of his life, ao that 's perfectly clear.

The day it arrived, and the sun he got up,

And took of the morning dew just a small sup ;

He heard of the fight, so he hurried his race.

And looked, with exertion, quite red in the face ;

'Twas early, but still there a figure was seen

Directing its course towards Salisbury Green.

And ver^ ill tempered, to judge bv its mien.

For it kicked every stone with a devilish spleen.

The Dragon was coming ! to settle the doubt

Of which of the two was the b^t at a bout.

Now I beg to observe, that this battle of mine

Will in no way resemble the penuy design,

^Vhere the Dntgon is dying, with blood like port wine

Or the five shilling piece, where the saint, on a steed.

Is poking the monster, and making it bleed.

But the true English art, with plenty of knocks.

In the style, a-la-Cribb, in the technical box.

The thing they describe so well in *' Bell's Life,"

When a battle comes off, and they publish the strife

In a very long column, condemning the knife.

Geoige was there, and, in round one.

He M his back turned to the sun,

His first blow echoed like a gun ;
The Dragon then parried, and gave G. a noser,
A throw ! and the fiend, he went down in a closer.
Round the second began, but with more cautious play.
Each trying to find out the other*8 pet way ;

One or two smart blows

Just over the nose.
Then the