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187 I. 








s to implore 
always liad the 


HE usual design of Addresses of t!iis 
the Candour of the Public ; we have 
more pleasing Province of returning Thanks and making 
our Acknowledgements for the kind Acct'j>tance which 
r Monthly Collections have met with." 

I had the pleasure of addressing my readers in these terms one 
h<mdred and liiiny-threc years ago. My friend, Dr. Johnson, regarded 
a Siting prelude to a general chastisement of my 
■rupulous opponents. It would be a great satisfaction to me if 
could now witness the peculiar realisation of his prophetic treat- 
ni«atof myfocs. For example, the preface of 1738 was chiefly devoted 
to the annihilation of the writer of a certain periodical entitled 
Cfftnmim Smit, " printed by Purser, of White-Friers." My public 
notice of this person had so filled his head with idle chimeras of 
iplause, laurels, and inmiortality. that he indulged himself in a wild 
irediction of the honours that would be showered upon him by future 
Bges. " The plagiarising rogue ! " exclaimed my friend the Doctor ; 
'* if he ever becomes known lo posterity, it will be for his stupidity 
and ingratitude, and that only by our favour." I at once suggested to 
my illustrious contributor the propriety of embodying this thought in 
' a paophetic criticism to grace my next preface. 1 turn back to the 
well-known page with a sigh diat the learned Doctor is not here to 
see how completely his words are verified. Commort Sense is only 
known through The Cmtieman's Magazine, and I myself might have 
forgotten that spurious work had not my memory been excited by 
the following letter ; — 

" Mr. Urjian,— As you are the oldest condoclor of periodical litcralurc in 
Enflanil. so I imagine ydu must lake the greatest pleasure in icferrtng to the 
illdstrioua memoiics wlitcb are associated with vouT youthful days, and thisviitbout 
showing any signs or thai imbecility which belongs (o the mere laudator lemporis 
atti. If you are suscqiCible of such feelings, I suppose you can never peruse 
without gtstificatiiin the elceant little ode which, according . >. - 


^^ noi 

. Boswell, 

a translation, which is given at full length ia the notes to Boswelt's great work. 
Ii is my exlieme dissatisfaction with (he manner in which the elegant simplicity 
of the orijp'nal is diluted with clumsy verbiage in this iranalalion, which 
induced me looffer you what I consider a superior version. Trusting that jim 

vi. Preface. 

will receive my conlribntioo with some favonr, 

the opportunity it gi^es you of recalling the cherished gli 

1 remain, Mr. Urban, youj sincere Iricnd, „ , 


Oh! Urban, unsubdued alike. 
Though labours press and slanders strike. 
The wreatli upon lliy learned brow 
Shall ever flourish green as now. 

Unmindliil what the commoa crew 
Of imitatois threat or do, 
Happy in mind aud studies, choose 
Xht paths devoted to the Muse. 

The doll darts of the spiteful tongue 
Break, in calm silence proudly strong ; 
Thy strenuous zeal shall qnell thy foes. 
And force its way though crowds oppose. 

Put forth thy strength, and, smiling, foil 
Each jealous rival's idle toil : 
Put forth thy strength, and thou shall claim 
The Uuses partoers in thy aim. 

No page ii dearer to the Muse 
Than that whose genius can infuse 
Grave themes with light, and tnfles lind 
or power to ease the jaded mind. 

Fair chaplct! . 

Relieve the redness of the m^e. 

With various tints thus Iris glows. 

1 my early days it was a popular custom for editors to receive and 
publish complimentary letters. My correspondents addressed me in 
laudatory prose and glowing verse. Fashions change. New men, 
new manners. I have always laboured to adapt my work to the 
times, only accepting changes when I was convinced that they were 
improvements. My correspondents are not less numerous than they 
were. Some of them want the courtesy and grace of style and 
manner which characterised the epistolary work of a hundred years 
ago. Contributors are more irritable than they were in my early 
days. This probably arises out of the higher rate at which 
literary labour is now paid. A hundred years ago many of 
my best articles were gratuitous contributions. Indeed, some of 
my distinguished friends would have thought it undignified to 
receive an honorarium. All this is changed. Authorship is an 
honourable profession. Princes and peers add to their dis- 

ttncboQ by successful competition wilh the professional writer ; 
and neither prince nor peer is ashamed to receive the commercial 
reward of literary success. If competent writers alone favoured me 
with their manuscripts, my position would be one of especial com- 
fort It is the amateur essayist and the unfledged poet who plant 
thorns in my chair, and make me sometimes long for the lungcing pen 
of Dr. Johnson, who had no mercy upon vanity and stupidity. I 
remember me now, in that same preface, how boldly he talked of 
the miserable persons who dared to raise their heads in the august 
presence of my shadowy figure. Frequently he passed over the 
calumnies of my competitors, not only, as he said, because it is 
cruelty to insult the Depressed, and folly to engage with Desperation, 
but because he considered all their outcries, menaces, and boasts, as 
nothing more than advertisements in favour of my publication, being 
e%"tdently drawn up with the bitterness of baffled malice and dis- 
ajipointed hope. Ah, they were brave days, those days of my early 
life, when authors hit out right and left, with an earnestness that 
shames modem criticism ! 

The New Zealand magistrate is alone to blame for this prefece on 
a preface. His letter recalled the old days so vividly that I could 
oot resist the desire to print his communication. That point settled, 
I had no other resource but to introduce it with some few words of 
my own. I fee! assured that my readers will agree with me in 
regarding the letter of my colonial correspondent as a notable and 
interesting communication. What revenge could be more complete 
than to find in 1871 a British colonist solacing his leisure by doing 
into his narive tongue the Doctor's Latin song of triumph over 
enemies whose works find their only lasting memorials in my 
own pages ? The resident magistrate has justified his criticism of 
" Briton's " version of this elegant composition. I prefer my new 
corttribu tor's lines to the more elaborate verse of my friend who sent 
along with his translation in 1738, the following characteristic tribute 
in prose ;— 

"Mb. IIrbah, — Thro'the whole Course of the Oppeisitlon you have met wilh 
Erom your weak AntagoDisls, I cannot recollect diat you have ever used any other 
Method of convincing the Publick of yooi own Merit, and the Talsv Insinuations 
of your Advenaries, than that of fair and open Reasoning, undeniable Aigument, 
and impartial Evidence ; or (hat you have ever attempted to hector Persons bto 
an Approbation of your Work. Nor do I remember that you have by empty 
Paragnphi of Buffooncty in Newspapers, forged Advertisements, or any other 
unfair Manaer of Proceeding, attempted to slain the Character of your Rivals. 
No: I am sensible you think, as any one who pretends to Candour or Uaaour 
wontd do, that such base, meoo Artifices, are utterly beneath you. Bui. ootwith- 
I Uandillg all this, the Limden Magaiinm have, n-ith their usual Impudence and 
Scunility, ventured to publish some Lines in theii lost, betow the most abject { 
n_j...>.«. -.( /:„.i. ., — , I ,, ^ti, . yg,^ under the Name of an Imitation 

Productioa of Gmb-ttreel I c 


of the Latin Ode to you to your Magaane for Marrh. This was the Oeeaakra oT 
my now sending you the following Vcnion of it : And llio' I could not pretend 
lo render it in its native Beauties, I have nltempted to do it in its true Meaoing, 
and therefore hope it will not be unacceptable lo your Readers." 

I commend " Briton's " letter, as a curiosity, to the colonial magis- 
trale, and I rely upon the forbearance of a generous public to pardoi 
my discursive introduction lo this volume of my latest series. It will 
be not a little singular if the native New Zealander, when he sits oa , 
the ruins of London Bridge, should have imbibed an early knowledge | 
of the literature and history of the metropolis from certain magazines 
which my colonial correspondent is evidently turning over with pride 
and pleasure. If my late contributor were at my side, he wo 
into a learned and thoughtful disquisition concerning the indirect 
influence of these volumes upon the administialion of British law in , 
the New Zealand gold fields. I shall not venture lo imitate him ' 
in that respect, even if I piossessed the lexicographer's power of 
analysing philosophical problems. 

In conclusion I will only briefly refer to the varied contents of 
this half-yearly volume, as evidence of promises fulliiled and hopeful 
prospects in the future. I regret that the fourth part of " The Fall of 
Paris " has not yet reached me. The writer has met with a serious 
accident in Paris, where he resides. This misfortune and the 
interruption of communication with that unhappy city are ample 
excuses for an author, who, having fled from Paris to avoid the German 
siege, now finils himself sufl^ering from the unexpected investment of 
the place by its late defenders. I hope to resume and conclude the 
writer's personal narrative in my next number, and I venture to 
commend it to my readers, as one of the most truthful reflections of 
the effect of the late war upon the social and domestic life of France 
which could be given in so short a space. Mr. Charles Cowden \ 
Clarke commences, in this volume, a series of valuable essays u|)on ' 
the " Comic Writers of England," and I have other works in hand 
which I trust will be as acceptable to my modem readers as the 
Gentlfman's writings were to their forefathers a hundred and fifty 

s ago. 

Sylvan us Urhasj. 



After Dinner Speeches. By Charles Pebody 15 

Are We Really Shooting Niagara ? By George Smith . 533 

Ai^tralian Race, The. A Retrospect. By P. Aris Eagle . . . 563 

Ballad of Sir John de Courcy, The. Translated from the German. 

By Syzygeticus . . . . , 313 

Boms at Work, By Charles Pebody 593 

Bygone Celebrities. By R. H. Horne, Author of *• Orion " : — 

I. — ^The Guild of Literature and Art at Devonshire House . . 247 

II. — Mr. Nightingale*s Diary 660 

Calais. By Percy Fitzgerald 197 

Charge of Cavaliy, The 686 

Charles Lamb at his Desk. By Charles Pebody 285 

Chinese Society in Victoria. By P. Aris Eagle 651 

Clairvoyant, The. From the German of Zschokkk -570, 696 

Coaching. By Alexander Andrews 675 

Comic Writers of England, On the. By Charles Cowden Clarke : — 

I. — Introductory : Chaucer, &c 503 

II. — Ben Jonson 63 1 

Coming of Age. By Mortimer Collins 715 

Deer-StaUdng on the Black Moss 146 

Duck Shooting and Retrievers 422 

England and her Ocean Empire. By A Naval Architect . . . 299 

Fall of Paris, The. A Diary of the Prussian Occupation of Versailles. By 

A British Resident 383, 542 

French Army, The Defects of the. By Walter Thornbury . . . 317 

Fly-Fisher's Fancies, A. By J. E 609 

Fly-Fishing Song, A 673 

Honiton Lace 164 

Iron and Iron- Workers. By J. C. Tildesley 263 

Kaulbach. By the Countess von Bothmer 137 

Life Recluse. By the Author of *' Festus " 375 

Malvina. By H. Sutherland Edwards :— 

Chaps. XXX. — XXXIV 83 

„ XXXV.— XL. 212 

„ xu.— L 325 

„ Ll.— LVI 470 


Moimeis Makyth Man 444 

Mongrels. By"lDSTONE" 31 

New Anivols. By an Absentee ot Seventeen Years. Being t. Fragment 

of Autobtogiaphy. By R. H. Horne 119 

New Zealand. A Glance at the Maori i8q 

Prayers and Piomises 10 Piay. On Some. By ROBgST Hudson . . 149 

Rooted SoiTOwa. By J. Crichton Bkownb, M.D., F.R.S.E. . . . 456 

Rough Gallop, The. A Sporting Sketch 416 

Royal Matriagc Act, The 272 

Season's Playgoing, A 7,7 

Ship of the Desert, The 59 — 

Sieges of Paris. By Waltkb Thorhbii«« i 

Sonnet. By Guv Rosivn 171 

Spectre, The, By William Sawtbx 136 

Spring Psalm, A. By Edwako Caperm 608 

■■ Stone Walls do not a Prwon Make." By"Oaiais" . . , ja 

Studies for the Times. By A Countv Meubeb :— 

I Russia's Gage of Battle 105 

n.— On Things in General 184 

Sylvester's Laws of Verse 3S 

TableTalk 111, 242, 370, 498, 626, 74a 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow. By R, H. HaKNC . . 426 

Trout Stream in Normandy, A 522 

Tybumiana. By W. Clark Russell 172 

Universily Boat Race, The. By"AsTBROlD" 735 

With a Show in the North. Reminiscences of Mark Lemon. No. VI.— 

The Last. By Joseph Hattom 68 

Within and Without. A Scries of Mosaics from the City. By D. MoRlEK 

I.— The Skeleton Equipage 204 

n.— " The Old House in the City " ...... 306 

III. — "Change — Past and Present 490 

IV.— The Lamp of Life 619 

v.— The Great Hctr Stein von Stork 733 

Gentleman's Magazine 

December, 1870. 

Sieges of Paris. 

JHEN Cksot camt- first lo Gaul, Lulece, or Paris, hod J 
■J walls, and was men-'ly a cluster of poor huts, de- 
fended by a river that wound its way between forest 
and mareh. In the great insurrection when the wild 
&uil! refused any longer to contribute cavalry to the Roman 
irain, Cssar, before his defeat in Auvergne ajid his retreat lo 
Champagne, sent Labienus, his lieutenant, lo attack the Parisians, 
The barbarians on his approach burnt their fortresses, destroyed 
their bridges, forsook their woods, and encamped to the north of 
'lie town. In the battle that ensued the Clauls were routed and 
iheir chieftain, Camulogene, slain. In 356 Julian the Apostate cleared 
•^ and its environs of the hordes of German barbarians who had 
overrun it for five years, gave the town a municipality, and built the 
PaUisdes Themies (now tlic Hotel Cluny). The Roman camp then 
lood on part of what is now the garden of the Luxembourg. 

Luietia — the favourite city of Julian the AposL-ite, the pleasant 
ttplal of Roman Gaul — was much tormented by those rapacious 
Danes who in the ninth century came down in hungry swarms 
&™i Uicir northern pine forests upon the unhappy countries of J 
theii choice. In 841, fresh from burning Nantes and spoiling the J 
S»Ricens of Spain, the Danes rushed on Paris. The river was 
wdo then, and as Sir F. Palgrave learnedly e.xplains, there 
*ete but two- bridges to the city island, and probably only one 
gilt The Palais des Thermes was still a noble structure, the great 
nunasteries ■ of Sl Germain l'.\uxerrois, St. Germain des Prts, Ste. 
Cenevieve, and St Victor, were castellated fortresses, used as strong- 


holds in such hours of need. On the approach of Regner Lodbrok 
and his horde, Charles the Bald concentrated his army at St. Dents, 
before the Abbey {St, Germain des Pr&s), and opposite to an island 
of the Seine. The Danes did not attack, but spread over the 
country, burning and ravaging. The friglitened inhabitants aban- 
doned Paris, and on Easter Eve the Danes entered it. Tlie monks 
had fled with their shrines' relics, the citizens had borne away or 
hidden their valuables, so the Danes carried off only the iron gates 
and the roof beams of St. Germain, to show as trophies to King 
Eric of Denmark, and when the too free use of wine brought on 
dysentery in their army, they consented to depart on Charles the 
Bald paying them the enormous subsidy of seven thousand pounds 
of silver, a sum equal, say the Academicians, to 520,000 livTes, 

In 857, these pirates were again on the Seine. The monasteries, 
heretofore sacked, were now destroyed. St. Denis was burnt and a 
heavy ransom demanded for the Abbot, Charlemagne's grandson. 
Notre Dame {then St. Etienne) and Sl Germain des Prfes alone 
escaped. The savages also broke open the tombs of the Merovingian 
kings, and scattered the bones of Clovis. Even till the era of 
Louis XIII. a clause was retained in the Ste. Genevieve Litany, 
" From the fury of the Norsemen, good Lord deliver us." 

These sea robbers came again in 885. RoUo had then reoccupied 
Kouen and advanced on Paris ; Sigfricd leadbg their host of 40,000 
men in boats and barges that covered the Seine for two leagues. 
The city was now fortified, a painted bridge stopped their vessels, 
and the Grand Chatelet was defended by Eudes, son of the Count of 
Paris, This is the defence that Ariosto has immortalised in his gay 
and chivalrous verse. A treaty refused, on Ste. Catherine's Day the 
Danes fell to it, trying to stomi the Grand Chatelet, and wounding 
Bishop Gauzelaine, The siege lingered on for four years, but the 
Danes made no great way. One spring the Seine swelled ; carried 
off several piers of the Petit Pont, and ojiened a way to the Danish 
vessels, but Bishop Gauzelaine instantly repaired the bridge and 
manned an adjoining tower with twelve brave citiiens of the mer- 
chant forces. The Danes tried in vain to bum the painted bridge 
with fire ships, but the Bishop sunk them ; the tower however they 
burnt and butchered the defenders, wlio surrendered. Bishop 
Gauzelaine dying of vexation, the Emperor sent a grand army to 
raise the siege, but the Danes caught the leader, Count Henry, in a 
pitfall outside their camp and killed him. Eventually diaries came 
and gave them a subsidy of 1,400 silver marks and But^gundy, which 
had recently revolted from him. Sigfried' was soon after killed in a 

Sieges 0/ Paris. 

foiay in Holland. The J^msians refusing to allow die Danes to 
iscend the Seine, the l.'ortliinen dragged their vessels round over 
bndi and about 50 years since, says Sir F. Palgrave, a curious 
Danish boat, hollowed out of a single piece of timber, that had 
been iwallowed up by the silt, was dug up near the Champ de Mars. 
The DaiifS lingered for a year or two round Paris, till every sti%^of 
ihc iilack mail was paid. 

Puis had then some little rest, nearly a century's repose, till 978 
b [act, when the Emperor Otho attacked Lothaire, one of the last of 
[lit Cirlovingian race, with 60,000 steadfast Germans. The French 
Ktiisai to fight, all except one kniglit, who slew a German ritter who 
rode up in defiance to the Chatelet gate. Enraged at this reticence, 
Oiho ascended the heights of Montmartre, and there sang exulting 
hiUeiujshs over the city, having first ridden lo the Chatelet, and 
coniempmously stuck his lance into the door. 

The great wars between France and England in the reign of Edward 
in. originated in Edward's claim to the French throne on the death of 
CfiatlesIV. Philip of Valois derived his title by being cousin-german 

■ the deceased monarch, while Edward claimed it as nephew of 
' i^les, ignoring the Salic law, which forbad women to ascend the 
:!iiijne. and wliich debarred his mother, a sister of Charles, from 
ill) right. Edward also espousing the cause of a fugitive Count of 
.^ois, and of Artevelt the rebel brewer of Ghent, an enemy of 
f rince, fumbhed fresh causes of quarrel where none were needed. 
\^ 3 climax to these sources of hatred, King Edward added tliis also, 

■ uhc Emperor Louis at a diet at Coblentz put Philip under the 
li.-.n, ind appointed Edward vicar for all lands held by France on the 
le/i bank of the Rhine. Chivalrous Sir Walter Manny broke the first 
spar by attacking Mortaigne, the French retaliated by landing at 
Southampton and pillaging the town. About St. John the Baptist's 
Dijv 1346, says Froissart, King Edward, leaving his brave wife in the 
tire of her cousin, the Earl of Kent, embarked ivith his men-at-arms 
lad aicheis at Southampton. The English were to have landed in 
Gucony, but afterwards decided on Normandy, as being fuller of 
lich towns and handsome castles. Our army landed at La Hogue, 
snd took Caen, sacking the place and obtaining great plunder of 
■ • n robes, jewels, and gold and silver plate. The English then took 

■ ii'.iers and burnt Gisors, Mantes, and Meulan, and pushed forward 
Foissy, only seven leagues from Paris. The bridge here being 

broken down, the patient army remained five days while it was re- 
pairing, our knights in the meantime solacing themselves by burning 
% GemaiB-eo-Laye, five leagues from Paris, St. Cloud, Boulogne 


4 Tke GenlLtnan's Magasine, 

(Bois de), and Boisay la Reine. "The Parisians," says the chronicler, 
"were much alanned, for Paris at that time was not enclosed." Still 
the invaders hesitated about marching on, and King Philip beginning 
to srir, pulled down all the pent-houses in the city, and went to St. 
Denis to meet the King of Bohemia, Lord John of Hainault, the 
Duke of Lorraine, the Earl of Flanders, the Earl of Blois, and others 
of his allies and vassals — barons, knights, and lords. The Parisians, 
hearing he was leaving the city, came and fell on their knees, and 
said, in the simple-hearted language of those times : — 

" Ah, sire and noble king, what are you about to do ? To leave 
your fine city of Paris ? Our enemies are only two leagues off. As 
soon as they know you have quitted us, they will come directly, 
and we are not able to resist them ourselves nor shall we fijid any to 
defend us. Have the kindness therefore, sire, to remain in your 
good City of Paris and take care of us." 

The king replied : " My good people, do not be afraid ; the 
English will not approach you nearer than they have done. 1 am 
going to St. Denis to my army, for I am impatient to pursue these 
English, and am resolute lo fight without delay." 

Soon after this came the English march into Picardy and tlie great 
victory at Crccy, where the English heralds counted among the 
French dead eighty banners, eleven princes, i,ioo knights, and 
30,000 common soldiers. 

In 1357 Paris was enclosed for the first time. The Provost of 
Paris fortified it with walls and a ditch — employing 300 masons for a 
whole year. And the time soon came to test the new walls. The 
Duke of Normandy, Regent of France, collecting 300 lances, besieged 
Paris, on the side of the Faubourg of St. Anthony, his head-quarters 
being at Charenton and St. Maur. He held both the Mame and the 
Seine, allowed nothing to enter the city, and burnt ail the suburban 
villages. The city was defended by the King of Navarre, the Provost 
of Merchants, and some Navarrese English archers. Peace was at last 
proclaimed, but the Provost sdll intrigtied for the King of Navarre, 
who remained at St. Denis, and allowed his English soldiers to brawl 
and riot in tlie city, where sixty of them were killed in one fray alone. 
The Parisians arming to retaliate, the English were set upon as they 
were returning by the gate of St Honor*!, and 600 of them stain. 
The Provost at last planning to let in the English to sack the city 
and kill all the Regent's adherents, some citizens set upon him on 
the steps of the fort of SL Anthony, struck him down with a battle- 
a.\e, killed six of his fellow-conspirators, and brought the Duke of 
Normandy in triumph from Charenton to the Louvre. 

Sieges of Paris. S 

Kin ij)9 Paris was again besieged by the English, who had sailed I 
n Dover two days before the feast of All Saints with cries of ■ 
)0d and St. George." Marching though Picardy and Rheims, they ' 
due course arrived at Montlh^ry (seven leagues from Paris), and 
Btt sent !o Paris heralds to offer battle to the Regent, who, 
uuKva, refused to come outside the waits at a disadvantage. It 
ns at this time that the good knight Sir Walter Manny, eager for 
lince-bf caking, requested the king to let him venlure with some 
^^-On-made knights as far as the barriers of Paris. The son of Sir 
^HVidiQlas Dam breti court, a squire of the body, the king had H-ished to 
^^BiBof ihe pany, but, as the chronicler sarcastically perhaps mentions, 
^•Bfce young man excused himself by sa>'ing he could not find his 
IwlnieL In these skirmishes many hard blows were exchanged, 
■•bid) ended by a French knight being captured by a stratagem 
before the English retreated. I am afraid we were cruel in 
ihose times. An eye-witness says, " No living being to be \ 
seen from the Seine to Eiampes ; all have sought refuge in the 
three faubourgs of Sl Germain, Sl Marcel, and Notre Dame 
del Champs, Montlh^ry and Longjumeau are on fire— all round 
•e see the smoke of burning villages rising to heaven. On Easter 
ilay 1 saw the priests of ten communes officiate at the Cannelites, the 
next day orders came to burn down the three faubourgs. Some 
*'ept, others laughed. Near Chanteioup 12,000 persons, men, 
*oincn and children, threw themselves into a church, which was 
burnt by the English ; and not 300 escaped." " I learned," says the 
eye-witness, " this lamentable event from a man who had escaped 
through our LK)rd's will, and who thanked God for it." Paris was in 
grai distress, for Burgundy sent up no more fire-wood, and fruit trees 
W to be used for fuel The English King at last drew off his forces 
towards the Loire, promising to return to Paris at the vintage. In 
May 1561, he made peace on receiving Aquitaine, and a ransom for 
King John, of 3,000,000 of gold crowns, 600,000 to be paid before 
he left Calais. Paris went frantic with joy at this treaty that saved 
them, and even presented the English ambassadors with some | 
tltoms from the real crown at the Samte Chapelle. "All rejoice," 
Mys the chronicJet, "but the armourers. The levied towns and 1 
prorinces were alone miserable, the Rochelle people saying they | 
*uuld rather pay half their incomes ; and adding, ' we may submit to | 
'he English with our lips, but with our hearts^ never."' 

!n those cruel wars which devastated France in the teign of 
Charles VII., when Burgiindians and Armagnacs were more dreaded 
in Paris than even the English, Joan of Arc, after saving Orleans, 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 

making the redoubtable Talbot prisoner, and crowning Charles King 
of France at Rheims, experienced her first reverse at Paris. Against 
her wish (for poor Joan after the coronation had fallen at the King's 
tnees and begged him lo let her go back to her father and moihcr to 
once more giiarc! their sheep and tend tlieir cattle), [he Pucelle led 
the French troops in August, 1430, to wrest Pans fi-om the English by 
a coup de main. Her angelic voices had warned her to go no further 
than St. Denys. At the first attack she carried an outpost by a rush. 
She crossed the first fosse, and even the mound that separated it from 
the second. Finding the second fosse full of water, amid a storm of 
arrows she called for fascines and began sounding the water with her 
lance. Just then, as she stood there conspicuous, an English arrow 
pierced her thigh ; she strove to resist the pain and to urge the 
troops to the assault, but faint with loss of blood she at last sought 
the shelter of the first fosse, and late at night was persuaded to return 
to the camp. But 1,500 were killed or wounded in this attack, and 
the army accused La Pucelle of imprudence, and beheved her justly 
punished for her impiety in giring the assault on the anniversary 
of the nativity of Our Lady. Soon afterwards the brave girl (a 
Charlotte Corday in armour), was stricken from her horse at the 
siege of Compitrgne, sold to John of Luxembourg, and cruelly burnt 
alive. It was not till April 1436, that the brave Breton Constable of 
France, Count de Richemont, and the gallant Dunois, immortalised 
by both Shakespeare and Schiller, took Paris from tlie English and 
put the garrison of rough invaders to the sword. 

Another lull till 1465, when the proud and warlike Count of 
Charolois, afterwanis that Duke of Burgundy whom Sir Walter has 
sketched in such a masterly way in "Anne of Geierstein," invested 
Paris in order lo bring his deadly and wily enemy, Louis XI., to 
terms, Commines, who was with the Duke, computes his army of 
German cross-bow men, Neapolitan horsemen and Swiss halberdiers, 
at 100,000 men. They routed a handful of French archers at 
Charenton, and passing over the bridge there encamped at Conflans, 
beside the river, enclosing their army with waggons and artillery. 
While the scared citizens were still hesitating about an armistice, 
the subtle King slipped into Paris with a, 000 men-at-arms and half 
the nobility and volunteers of Normandy, and lent new vigour to the 
sallies on the Burgundian foragers. The enemy not having blocked 
the three rivers, Mame, Yonne, and the Seine, provisions were plenti- 
ful in Paris. " In a word," says Commines, " Paris is surrounded by 
the finest and most plentiful country I ever yet beheld, and it is 
almost incredible what vast quantities of prortsions are brought to it." 

Sieges of Paris. j 

The Parisians made frequent sallies, and in many a wann skirmish 
drove back the Burgundian outposts of 50 lancers at Bercy. The 
tallies of Paris being spectators, roused the cliivalry of the 2.500 men- 
of-arais who helped to defend the city. One day particularly 4,000 
of the King's Franc Archers (young Queniin Durwaid was perhaps 
among them, and certainly grim old Baiafrfe) came to Charenlon, 
Arew up a barricade, dug a trench, and began to cannonade the Duke 
of Calabria's quarters on the opposite side of the river, even killing a 
tnnnpeter who was bnnging up a dish of meat to the Count de 
Charolois. The Burgundians instantly mounted their cannon (ail but 
tlieir cumbrous bombards) along the river wall, and gave tongue, 
having either sheltered themselves in a convenient stone quarry or 
di^ pits before their tents. During this temporary success, half Paris 
came out to have a safe peep at the enemy. The Burgundians then 
made a bridge of planks laid on barges, broad enough for three men 
abreast, and at daybreak passed over ; but on a sudden the men in 
the trenches shouted "Farewell neighbours, farewell," and setting fire 
to their tents drew off in a huge cluster towards Paris. The King, 
sa3rs Conimines, did not dare attack in force, being suspicious of some 
of his officers, having indeed one night found the gate of the Bastille 
(of Sl Antoine) towards the fields left open. At the grandest sally 
ihcre were to be three attacks ; one a general sortie, the second at 
the bridge of Charenlon, the third with a brigade of aoo men-at-arms 
from the wood of Vincennes. At daybreak, when the attack opened, 
the Bui^ndian array sprang in a moment to arms, and a hot 
cuinonade began on both sides, though the walls of Paris were a 
good two leagues olf ; the Count's scouts in the mist mistook a field 
of tail thistles for the King's lancers advancing in force, much to the 
amusement of the rear guard. Peace was soon after proclaimed ; 
Louis, for 300,000 golden crowns, giving up to the Duke Amiens, 
Abbeville, and other fortresses on the Somme. The Burgundians 
were, however, again shaking their lances at Paris in 14O5 ; they 
attempted to surprise the gate of Sl Denis, but being repulsed at the 
bsuriers they cannonaded the town ; and during this attack, says Jean 
of Troyes — the supposed author of the "Chronique Scandaieuse" — 
a cowardly rascal of a liailiD' frightened the citizens almost into tits 
by running up and down, shouting at the top of his voice, " Get into 
mr houses, O Parisians, for the Burgundians have entered the 
'Sown." Louis arriving just as the Count had stormed St. Cloud, felt 
the Burgundians at Mont Chery, defeated their vanguard, and 
captured their baggage. The Bretons and Burgundians, during this 
siege, cut down ruthlessly all the vines at Clignancourt, Monimartre, 

The Gen/leman's 



and St. Courtille, and made wine of the green grapes ; and the 
Parisians, to save the fmit, did the same to all the other vineyards. 
During this danger the citizens of Paris barricaded their streets with 
chains, as the Provost Marcel had first done during the Amiagnac 
and Burgundian troubles of 1356. great bonfires were burnt nightly 
in every ward, and watch was kept all night at the Hotel de Ville. 
Louis XI. again temporarily bought off his enemies by concessions 
of money and territory, and so the war ended. According to 
Dulaure's calculation, there were at this time only about 150,000 
souls in Paris. 

After the hero of the " Henriade " had stricken down the insolent 
Spaniards and the fanatic Leaguers at Ivry, he invested Paris. 
Choosing a dark night, he told off twenty divisions, to carry at the 
same time the suburbs of Sl Antoine, Sl Martin, Sl Denis, Mont- 
martre, St. Honor^, St. Germain, St. Michael, Sl Agnes, Sl Marceau, 
and Sl Victoire, in order lo cut off all supplies from Paris. " I wish 
for peace," said the King ; " for a battle I would lose one finger, for 
a general peace two. I love my city of Paris : she is my eldest 
daughter. I am jealous of her, I am desirous of doing her service, 
and would grant her more favours than she demands of me ; but I 
will not be compelled to grant them by the Duke of Mayence or the 
King of Spain." Heniy, attended by his wise favourite SuJly, who 
had been severely wounded at Ivry, and by his secretaries and 
physician, sat at one of the windows of the Abbey of Montmarlre, 
and watched the two hours' cannonade, and the tiames that sprang 
up with horrible rapidity in a hundred different directions. The 
Duke de Nemours, who defended Paris, defended it well, nevertheless. 
Thirty thousand poor wretches died of hunger in the space of a 
month ; mothers fed upon the flesh of their children, and by the 
advice of the philosophic or fanatical Spanish ambassador the citizens 
even dug up dead bodies, and pounded the bones into a kind of 
horrible dough, which generally caused the death of its consumers. 
The half-starved people fought with fury, even the Capucin and 
Carthusian monks put on armour over their frocks, and fought beside 
the citizens. Sully, however, says the city could never have held out 
if the King's officers had not allowed provisions to pass in exchange 
for scarfs, plumes, silk stockings, sashes, gloves, and beavers that 
they wanted from within. Eventually, either owing to hopelessness 
or fear of the cruelty of his Huguenot soldiers, Henry IV. raised the 
siege, and retired to ChalJes, a town between Paris and Meaux, where 
the Duke of Parma (grandson of Charles V.) was encamped, and 
soon after retired to the castle of Creil, on the Oise. 

whole ^^^ 

Sieges of Paris. 

liis w»s, no doubt, a discomfiture, though Solly coloured it 
' '594> Heniy fairly bought his capital of the League gov* 
! OMini de Brisac. for 1,695,400 livres. The royal troops wert' 
Mtmitied by the Porte Neuvc, at the Quai du Tuilvries, whicli had 
been banked up. the Porte SL Hunord, and the Pone Sl Denis. 
The caatiOD on the ramparts were at once turned on the city. 
■:idiere from Corbeil and Melun landed at the Quai de Celestins, 
-ime German soldiers who resisted at tlie Quai de I'Ecole, were killed 
lad thrown into the Seine. The Leaguers in vain endeavoured lo 
a*e the Temple. The agitators excited the people in the University 
<{uartcr, but a lame-legged captain falling down and breaking his 
(ooden leg and musket, covered with an air of ridicule the whole 
tmfatr. From a window near the Porte St Denis, the King hi 
itiouied to the Spanish soldiers as they left the city, "Gentlei 
jommend me to your master, but never return here." 

Jut the siege that after all more nearly concerns us, and was 
I by events that bear more resemblance to what may soon 
I, was that conducted by the Allies in March 1814. A short 
"wnativc of this one day's siege will have a special interest to most 
■ r our readers at this moment The Allies, eager to at last revenge 
the losses of Marengo, Jena, and Smolensko, took an ungenerous 
It umiatural advantage of those disasters of Napoleon that had 
L Beresina and at Lcipsic, and crossed the Rhine, 
Bering with their reserves scarcely less than half-a-million of men. 
■ Emperor with a genius soaring above all dangers, instantly 
Pirated 80,000 men at Chalons and ordered a levy of 280,000 
» conscripts, intending to form three camps, one at Bordeaux, 
Mcond at Met/, and a third at Lyons, 

The grand tunning fight which the Emperor carried on throuj 
Champagne ended in his being frequently overpowered and alwa] 
overweighted by his relentless enemies. Unwilling to be crushed 
to death between Blucher's and Schwartzen berg's divisions, he at last 
retreated, hoping to be joined by Sachet's army from Catalonia, and 
Angcrcau's regiment from Lyons, and then to hurry back and defeat 
hif enemies under the very walls of Paris. In the meantime, as 
Mannont and Monier fell back to the capital, the Allies approached 
the gay city by three ro\iie3. Meaux, I,agny and Soissons. Tho, 
pfcparatioos in Paris for real defence had hitherto been but 
Napoleon had either never relied on the luxurious and excital 
people of the capital, or what is more likely, had, like his nephew;' 
been afiaid to trust ihera with arms. There were two hundred 
cannon at lilnceimes intended fbr the heights, but ihey were nox 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 

yet mounted No barricades had been thrown up in the streets 
near the Octroi wall. Of the 30,000 National Guards, not more 
than 6,ooo had been provided with muskets. The redoubts before 
the gates were mere " tambours " of palisades, and without moats. 
The 50, or 60,000 volunteers with fowling pieces that could have 
been mustered, had not been called upon. Paris was not yet fortified, 
and all was excitement, confusion and distrust ; while the actual 
reliable soldiers did not number more than 25,000 men. 

Paris, protected by a curve of the Seine, is naturally strong on its 
north and east sides ; but its other sides are weak and paralysed. But 
then the Seine has to be crossed on the weak sides, and the enemy if 
repulsed is in danger of being driven into the river. " On the east 
side," says M. Thiers, who prides himself, and with reason, for having 
urged Louis Philippe to fortify the city, "from Vincennes to Passy a 
semi-circle of heights encloses the most populous and richest part of 
the city. From the confluence of the Seine near Charenton to Passy 
snd Auteuil, the heights, sometimes in plateau as at Romalnville, 
sometimes salient as at Montmartre, afford valuable means of 
resistance. South were the encampments of Menilmonlant (at the 
back of the cemetery of Pfere la Chaise), Charonne, and fiirthest south 
of all, the forest'and chateau of Vincennes, a natural rampart reaching 
to the banks of the Mame. Beyond Belleville (now like Montmartre 
within the enceinlf), stretch the gardens, orchards, and vineyards of 
Romatnville." North of these are the villages of Pantin and Prfes SL 
Germain, on the west is Bondy, still outside the fortifications, but now 
almost as much part of Paris as Kensington is of London, North of 
Romainville and towards Montmartre comes the high ground called 
the Butte de Chauraont (now just inside the encehile railway), to the 
right hand, also inside the walls, stands La Petite Villeite, and on the 
left the larger Villette. At St. Chauraont the ridge of heights sinks, 
and admits an aqueduct called the Canal de I'Ourcii. The ground 
then rises to that steep quarter of Paris called Montmartre, where in 
old time Sl Denis is said to have been martyred. Before the fortifica- 
tions it was necessary for an army, M. Thiers shows in his history, to 
'fcst sciie the plateau of Romatnville, or he might be cut off at once 
rfrom his Allies on the north-ea^t If the plateau was disregarded the 
defenders could fall on the flank of a regiment coming from Vincennes, 
or on the flank of a column crossing the plain of Sl Denis to attack 
the barriers of La Villette, St Denis, or Montmartre. 

On the 39th of March the Allied Sovereigns met at the ChSteau of 
Bondy ; and dreading the tiger-like rush of Napoleon, resolved to at 
once storm Paris, and by the right bank of the Seine, so as not to 


Sieges of Paris. 

haw to lecross the river if repulsed, There were to be three simul- 
taneous atlaclcs. On the cast (the German side), Barclay de Tolly, 
with 50,000 men, was to march by Passy and Pantin, and cany the 
pUteau of RomainviiJe ; on the south, the Prince Royal of Wurtem- 
betg untiertook, with 30,000 Germans, to break through the wood of 
Vincennes, and to reach the barriers of Charonne and du Trflne ; 
the third attack, on the north (the English side)) was to be led by 
grim old Blucher himself, who was to force his way through 
Monier's grenadiers and over the plain of St. Denis. 

On the French side, Marmont took Vincenncs, the Barriers du 
Trone and Charonne, and the plateau of Romainvilie as far north 
behind this plateau as Pri SL Gervais ; while Mortier defended the 
plain of St. Denis and the space round the Canal of the Ourcq. The 
Russians won the first move. Misled by an officer, Marmont was 
mortified to find the Russians already in possession of Romaitiville. 
With 1. 300 men of the Lagrange division, however, he threw himself 
on Iheir rearguard, and drove them hotly back on Pantin and Noisy. 
Al the same moment the Ledru des Essarts division swarmed hotly 
into the wood of RomainvDle, whose heights border the plain of St. 
Denis. Marmont then distributed his troops. The Duke of Padua 
placed his men on the extreme edge of the plateau of Romainvilie, 
in the tallest houses of Bagnolet and Montreuil, where the gardens 
slope down towards the city. In the centre of the plateau Marmont 
drew up the Lagrange division, backed by the houses of Belleville, 
while the Ricard division was in the wood of Romainvilie on the left, 
and to the north the division of Ledru des Essarts- At the foot of 
the plateau, in the plain at Prts St. Gervais, stood the Boyer de 
Rcbcva.1 division, while the Michel division guarded 1^ Grande and 

' Id Petite Villclle. The cavalry was posted between Charonne and 
Vincennes, About eight o'clock, Joseph, posted safe like Jupiter in 
Montmartre, heard the musketry begin to rattle. 

The brave I.ivonian, Barclay de Tolly, vexed at being pushed out 
of Romainvilie, called up his reserves to retake it Paskiewich's 
grenadiers were to scale the heights on the Rosny side, while Count 
Pablen's cavalry attacked on the south from Montreuil. ,\t the 
same time Prince Eugene of Wiirteinberg was told off to attack 
Pantin and Prts St. Gervais lo the north, and to contribute to the 
recovery of the important post of Romainvilie. The Ru.ssian attack 
prospered. General Meyerzoff, who had been repulsed in the 
morning, forced back Lagrange, and wrested from him the heights. 
The Russian brigade also turned the plateau by Montreuil and | 

.fagnolet, and the Duke of Padua, being outflanked, was driven 

1 2 The Gentle^tian s Magazine, 

slowly but surely backward. At th^ same time the Russian cuirassiers, 
storming along the plateau, charged the French infantry, but were 
repelled by the drifting fire. At Belleville, too, the narrower 
plateau gave the French, by concentration, greater strength. The 
tirailleurs threw themselves for cover behind the houses of Bagnolet, 
and found shelter in the wood of Romainville. The French batteries, 
though served for the most part by mere lads from the Pol)rtechnique, 
kept up a relentless fire that drove the grey coats backwards, at 
the same time Ledru des Essart's Young Guard won back, tree by 
tree, the wood of Romainville, and outflanked the Russian force. At 
the foot of the plateau, the French still held Pantin and Prfes St 
Gervais, and repelled all efforts of the Prince of Wurtemberg to win 
them back. If the French had now got but ii,ooo more men, their 
historians say, the Allies might have received a severe check ; but 
they had not. 

About this time, while Schwartzenberg waited for the two other 
attacks to begin, that weak and vain man, Joseph Bonaparte, 
hearing that Cossacks had already been seen near the Bois de 
Boulogne, and that the capital must soon be surrendered, fled back 
to the city. 

The other attacks were now commencing. Blucher was on the 
plain of St. Denis. Langeron had driven through Aubervilliers nearly 
to the Bois de Boulogne. He then sent his Prussian and Baden 
Guards to help Prince Eugene to carry Pantin and Prbs St Gervais. 
The Prince Royal of Wurtemberg was also moving forward to the 
south by Neuilly and the forest of Vincennes. 

The Allied forces were now in line. 1 o the north Prince Eugene, 
backed by Prussian bayonets, fell fiercely on Pantin and Prbs St 
Gervais, and tried his best to drive out the Boyer de Rebeval 
divisions and the Young Guard. Slowly but surely Romainville was 
won. The Russians, though at first repulsed, at last seized Montreuil 
and Bagnolet, and took possession of the nearest houses of Menil- 
montant, and the Duke of Padua was outflanked on the French left 
The Ledru des Essart division was beaten from tree to tree out of the 
wood of Romainville, which they had so lately conquered. Pressed 
on both flanks and enveloped in fire, Marmont struck a brave blow for 
life and for victory. Throwing his troops rapidly into four massive 
battalions formed in column, he rushed like a sword-fish at the 
Russian centre. Twelve cannons loaded with grape welcomed the 
fierce assailants, and at the same moment the Russian grenadiers 
pressed upon his front, while Miloradovitch's heavy cavalry hewed at 
his flank. The French columns bent, wavered, and retired before 

Sieges of Paris. 

iliese myriads ; but a brave fellow, named Ghesseler, breaking 

100 men from a wood, gave time to Mannont to retreat towards^ 

Belleville. The game was all but played, [he struggle all but oveij 

Everywhere the French were oulweighied and retiring. |[The 

Md plateau were now both lost. The centre stood near Belleville' 

naimed and enfeebled. The Padua division was at Menilmonlanl. 

The Michel and Boyer divisions battled still, but almost hopelessly, 

for Paniin. In the plain, too, there was tough fighting; La 

Villette and La Chapelle were both assailed. General Billiard's 

cavalry was keeping Blucher's dogged squadrons at bay. It was at 

this crisis that General Dejean arrived from Napoleon, and cheered 

on the men for a last rush by the enormous and reckless lie that ihe 

Emperor was almost in sight, with a force of 600,000 men. There 

hope still at Vincennes. A battery nobly worked by 

.Polytechnique lads, advancing too far from the Barrier du Trone to play 

Pahlen's cavalry, got cut off by some German cavalry, and were 

ly saved by their own steadiness and a dash of some national 

iifuards and dragoons, who would not leave them to perish. Belle- 

riHe, the key of the height, still held out ; and there Marmont had con- 

centtaled his field artillery and the wrecks of his shattered divisions, 

sendbg word to scared Joseph, like an obstinate old soldier that he 

[.■■Ws, that as yet he saw no reason for surrender. 

the end was now near. Schwartzenberg, dreading every 
.moment lo see the flash of Napoleon's bayonets on the eastern 
borizon, ordered a general attack. Five columns (north and south) 
*ere to cut off Belleville from Paris. Brigadier Paisch, with eight 
heavy guns at Menilmontant, four more at Belleville, and eight on 
^Ihe Butte de Chaumont, received them with a mowing fire, but 
ig could stop such deluging masses ; they were everywhere 
'Mperior, and Belleville fell. Mortier, afraid of being cut off, then 
Collected all his forces, charged on the Russians, already entering the 
Temple Faubourg, drove them out, and resumed the defence of the 
Octroi wall. In the meantime another division, fighting desperately 
on ihc plain of St Denis, was jostled back to the barriers, while 
Langeron took the now undefended Montmartre, and marched on 
ifae Clichy barrier, held bravely by Marshal Moncey. Marmont, 
unwilling to see the city destroyed in a useless defence, now proposed 
terms, and surrendered the city to ihe Allies. Thus with a total loss 
of 16,000 men (10,000 Allies, 6,000 French), fell Paris after one day's 
bard fighting. 
Will the city, beautiliil and fierce as a tigress, make a desperate 
now is the great problem that may be solved before this 



The Gentleman's Magazine. 


article appears. We think not A few sharp days, and the forts 
will fall, and with the forts the city. Still we must remember that 
Paris is now far stronger than in 1814; and instead of a few con- 
temptible redoubts and too guns, has twelve leagues of wall and 
sixteen citadels. Instead of 30,000 men, she has at present, by the 
most trustworthy accounts, 5o,ooo soldiers, 100,000 Gardes Mobile, 
190,000 National Guards, 9,000 volunteer Franc-Tireurs, and to,ooo 
auxiliaries from the municipal services. The reliable defenders of 
the city are computed by General Trochu, a cool and determined 
man, at 410,000 armed men, ready for instant service on the ram- 
parts. This sounds well, and much may be expected from the rage 
and despair of such a multitude, even though two-tliirds of them 
are yoimg recruits. Still we do not think that Paris will rival even 
Sebastopol, much less Troy, Numantia, or Saragossa. Yet there 
are certainly elements of strength unknown in 1814. The popula- 
tion, then only 700,000, is now 1,696,000. The whole twenty-two 
miles of ramparts only require 1 50,000 men to man them ; and if the 
total number of guns required, 3,640 (the Allies of 1814 only took 
100), have really been mounted, and the thirty-six entrances hitherto 
left open have been well fortified — if there is no treason, internal 
insurrection, or panic — Paris may still make a bloody resistance, and 
many thousands of Prussians may perish before its bastions, even in 
the few days of storm that we expect The rain of fire and iron 
must soon, we fear, descend upon the fair siren of cities, God grant 
her days of suffering may be short, and that the simshine of peace 
nay follow speedily the cruel tempest 

Walter Thorn bury. 

HERE are three or four things that most people think 
they can do till ihey try ; waltz, for instance, or throw off 
a Times leader, drive tandem or draw up a budget Of 
the secrets of Printing House Square of course none of 
us know any more than we know of those of the (Ecumenical Council 
or the Court of the Grand Llama. But if Mr. Delane ever takes it 
into his head to give us " The Autobiography of a Journalist," he 
»i!l, ! have no doubt, be able to illustrate one of these foibles as 
interestingly as Mr. Lowe exemplified another in his speech at 
Gloucester a couple of years ago. All the world knows how Sir 
WiEiaiD Jones used to upset the quadrilles at his friends' houses, 
»hen young ladies, anxious to trot out the lion, assumed as a matter 
of MUtse that the man who could spell out an inscription on an 
Aisjfrian obelisk, must know all the figures of a quadrille ; and you 
have only to keep your eyes open during a London season to meet 
*ilh scores of instances of the superstition that a man lias only to 
take his seat on a box, and flourish a whip, to distinguish himself as 
the driver of a four in hand. But after profound meditation, and 
» diversified observation of public dinners at the London Tavern, 
*t the Freemason's Hail, and at Willis's Rooms, I have come 
to the conclusion that the most general, the most alluring, and 
I may add the most fata!, of all the known forms of tempiation, 
is the temptation to stand up with a glass of wine in your hani^J 
and propose a toast fl 

An Englishman, as Frere said, generally opens best, like the i 
oyaer, with a knife and fork, and it looks so easy to get on your 
legs after dinner, when your blood is five or ten degrees higher than 
Wual, and when your intellects are as keen and as fertile, in your own 
.tion at least, as those of Barry Cornwall's happy Squires, — J 

Wilh brains made clear I 

By the iiresistible strenglh of beer, ~ 

»nd set the table in a roar by a few happy flashes of wit, of satire, or 
of humour. The profusion of plate and flowers, the rattle of glass, 

t inspiration of the claret, the apparently thoughtless geniality of 
guesU, the anticipation of waking up next morning and finding 
[self &tnous — your speech in all the papers, your h<m mols in all 

nnutl, ! 

The Genlletiiaus Magazine. 



mouths — fonn together a combination of temptations that may well 
turn more heads than they do. 

And yet what failures most after-dinner speeches are. How 
they associate themselves in one's recollection with mental nausea, 
with fits of indigestion, blue devils, Gorgons, hydras, and chimeras 
dire ! Run over in your mind's eye all the after-dinner speeches 
you have heard in the course of your life, select the best, and if you 
are of a critical turn of mind analyse them, and what are they ? You 
might as well attempt to analyse a butterfly's wings or the motes in 
s sunbeam. A single speech of Mr. Lowe's or of Mr. Disraeli's 
upon a question that stirs our passions or touches our imagination 
will, I venture to say, be worth all of them put together. 

How is this? In Parliamentary eloquence, the eloquence proper 
to business-like assemblies, we have no rivals. Mr. Gladstone, 
Mr. Disraeli, and Mr. Bright are not only the first of English orators, 
they stand at the head of all contemporary orators. The traditions 
of tlie English Church do not favour the growth of eloquence, 
especially the growth of extemporaneous eloquence. The churches 
of the Continent cultivate it as one of the fine arts, as one of the 
first of their professional accomplishments— cultivate it, that is, as 
we do Greek and Latin. And in the mass, these churches probably 
possess more fluent and striking preachers than are to be found in 
all our churches. Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Nonconformist. Yet 
if we take the most distinguished lights of their pulpits and compare 
them with our Stanleys, our Liddons, our Wilberforces, and Cairds, 
WC do not believe that we need blush for ourselves even on this 
score. In Sir Roundell Palmer, in Sir John Coleridge, in Sir John 
Rarslake, and Mr. Henry James, we have, too, lawyers of the most 
distinguished powers of oratory. Here, however, our boasting must 
end. We do not possess the art of making after-dinner speeches. 
Public dinners are our forte. But after-dinner speeches are our 
foible. We have only two or three men out of our thirty millions 
who caji talk a little agreeable and witty nonsense at the head of a 
dinner-table that will look as light and sparkling in the type of the 
Times the next morning as it sounds with the voice of the speaker 
Still ringing in your ears. One of these is a popular divine, another 
a comic actor, and the third one of the most distinguished of Her 
Majesty's ministers. The mass of after-dinner speakers are in- 
tolerable, and not to be endured. They are vapid and pointless to 
a degree which is hardly conceivable by those who have not con- 
scientiously gone through a course of the banquets by which, during 
May and June, the millionaires of the metropolis are hocussed out of 

AflerDiniier Speeches. 

guineas under the genial and exhilaraiiiig influence ol clieap 
ipagne and pathetic statistics. Is it that the genius of our 
not lend itself lo the persiflage that forms the staple of 
iiappiesi specimens of after-dinner oralory? Thai it Is not 
idcntly plastic ? That it is not sufficiently precise and pictuiesque 
reproduce the fleeting fancies of the raonicjit with the piquancy 
and delicacy of the French or the Italian ? Or is it a sort of con- 
stitutional defect? Is it a superstition of our own that we open best 
like the oyster, with knife and fork ? Or what is it ? for we are at 
our wits' md to suggest any plausible hypothesis in the form of a 
universal fact. 

Many of our failures aiise, probably, from the want of preparation. 
People go to dinners anticipating to be called upon to make a 
speech, and yet go without a single sentence upon their lips, without 
a single thought in their heads. They trust, like Telemachus, at the 
Spsutan Court, to the inspiration of the moment, and, like that 
:resting youth, when the moment comes they are as mule as rata 
rho have just crossed the floor of the House of Commons. They 
fluster, acknowledge the cheers which greet them with a 
gfaasdy smile, stammer out a few words, pause, hesitate, stop, quote 
poetrj", or get on the stills and talk hyperbole or nonsense, 
according to the turn of their minds, reijeat themselves two or three 
times, and sit down in a cold sweat, possibly thanking Heaven that 
they are not under the lable in a fit of apoplexy, or perhaps con- 
soling themselves with the reflection that after all they have not inade 
kter asses of themselves than the rest of the guests, and that ihey 
atone for their failure by adding live guineas extra to their ^ub- 
Kription. We are thinking now only of the more favourable cases. 
Now and then you meet a man who is perverse and stupid, who does not 
sit down when his head is gone, who treats a cough with contempt, and 
resents conversation as an impertinence ; a man who simply stands 
still when his ideas have all vanished, and who, although conscious 
that his mind is an utter blank, nevertheless persists in keeping on 
his legs and firing ofl" odd little sentences that mean nothing, like 
riflemen firing off blank cartridge, after their shot is all gone. Most 
after-dinner speakers are simply bores. These are a nuisance. 

All our failures, however, are not to be explained on this hypothesis. 

!ore men break down, perhaps, from want of preparation than ii-om 

lylhing else. But this is not tlie only cause. There are many 

who possess every gift by which the most brilliant after-dinner 

q>eakers Me disunguished — imagination, wit, keen powers of ridicule, 

a. polished style— all except one : suflicieni strength of nerve to st^id 

Vol. vr., N.S. 1870, t 


. solin, 


The Genllanans Magazine. 

upon their legs for ^en minutes in the presence of two or three 
hundred pair of eyes. At their desk, with a pen in their hands, these 
men are perhaps among the most thoughtful and suggestive of writers ; 
and. over a glass of wine, with half a dozen friends, the liveliest and 
most sparkling of talkere ; but the instant they feel themselves on 
their feet, asking permission to propose a toast, or acknowledge their 
own health, they sink to the level of the ordinarj' stutterers of 
common-place. Thackeray belonged to this class. It was a positive 
torture to him to be called upon to make an afterndinner speech. 
"Why don't they get Dickens to take the chair?" he used to say 
peevishly when a deputation had just pestered him into attending 
their anniversary at the London Tavern. " He can make a speech, 
and a good one. I'm of no use. They little think how nervous I 
am ; and Dickens does not know the meaning of the word." And 
this was the fact. Thackeray scribbled out a draft of all his speeches, 
and revised, and altered, and polished them as he did a chapter in 
" Pendennis " or a " Round About Paper," and then learnt them by 
heart. But it was a thousand chances to one whether he got through 
half of what he had thus prepared ; and whether he did or not, he 
was like a toad under a harrow all the evening, and very seldom 
made the slightest play with his eloquence. 

And this is generally the case with men of Thackeray's type. It 
was the case with Theodore Hook. In a Club smoking room the 
witty editor of yo^H .ffw// would mount the table and keep a select 
circle of boon companions laughing for a couple of hours, by 
mimicking the style of most of our Parliamentary orators. Peel, 
Palmersion, Croker, Althorp, " the brilliant Baron," LjTidhurst, 
Brougham and Follett, reproducing their style, their thoughts, all 
their little affectations and tricks, with astonishing fidelity. Yet when 
called upon to put a few sentences together at a Lord Mayor's 
dinner, the keenest wit in London was brought to the stand-still at 
his third sentence for a thought or a phrase, and never, I believe, in his 
life got beyond a dozen sentences. Pen in hand Jeffrey was the most 
fluent of men. He threw off page after page of a slashing criticism 
for the Edinburgh Reviciv in the course of the evening, without a 
single erasure or interlineation, without even a pause for a word. 
But at a dinner table it was a mere chance of hit or miss whether his 
speeches were brilliant successes or contemptible failures ; and in the 
most important afterndinner speech that he was called upon to make, 
that of proposing the health of Charles Kemble when presenting him 
rith a testimonial in the name of the City of Edinburgh, he broke 
down at the very outset of his speech, and had to sit in confii- 

A/hT- Dinner Speeches. 

Ion and shame. Lord Lytton's speeches read well, but to listen 
» them as they fall from the lips of their author they are as flat as 
lampogne in decanters. Goldwin Smith is ineffective. Anthony 
roliope is surprisingly feeble, although, perhaps, now and then, as 
s recent speech at the anniversary of the Newspaper Press Fund, 
u may trace a flash or two of the author of '■ Barchester Towers." 
roude is as dull as an alderman. Edmund Yates is pert Sala 
s like a school-boy repeating a half-kamt lesson. Tennyson, I 
■believe, has never risked his reputation by the slightest attempt at 
any kind of eloquence ; and Longfellow systematically refuses to 
touch a toast list e%'en with a pair of tongs. These names run so 
high and so low, in the ranks of literature, that I should be disposed 
to lay it do^Ti as a rule that poets, novelists, and historians arc not 
of the stuff tliat brilliant afler-dinner speakers are made of. Their 
intellects arc not sufliciently flexible. Their wit is not poit.ible. 
Their nerves are too weak. Charles Dickens was, I believe, the only 
exception to the rule ; and, wilh Charles Mathews and Mr. Lowe, 
he was the best chairman in London. He never lost his balance. 
His wit was always sparkling. His strokes of humour never failed to 
tcU, He was as much at his ease at the head of the table with loo 
guests, as he was in his own library chair throwing off a page of 
dialogue between Mr. Grewgious and Rosa. He did not know 
what nervousness was. "The first time I took the chair at a public 
dinner," he told one of his friends, " I felt just as much confidence 
as if I had done the same thing a hundred times before." And his 
fluency was equal to his self-possession. He was never at a loss for 
a happy expression, a bit of humour, or a telling anecdote. 

Princes, dukes, bishops, and soldiers of all ranks may be classed 
with poets and novelists as, on the whole, bad after-dinner speakers. 
They are too dignified for the work. They cannot abandon them- 
selves to the inspiration of the scene. Imagine the thrill of horror 
that would ascend to heaven from every niri-decanal chapter from 
Penzance to Berwick-on-Tweed if the Times were to publish a speech 
of Charles Mathews or Buckstone under the name of the Bishop of 
Lincoln or of the Bishop of Oxford ! No j humour and shovel 
hats do not go together ; and the first thing that a doctor of divinity 
ought to do after he has been gazetted is to clear bis mind of all the 
anecdotes that have been storing themselves in his recollection from 
his college days, and to cross himself whenever he happens to think 
K of that mad wag, Sydney Smith. Yet even here you may find excep- 
^h tions. The Bishop of Winchester and the Bishop of Peterborough, 
^^^DT instance, are admirable after-dinner speakers, although neither of 


The Gentleman's Magazine. 

them equals the Ven. Archdeacon Denison. He is superior 
Buckstone at a cold collation. The Duke of Cambridge, too, can 
speak well at a military cluh dinner or a volunteer banquet. 

Men of science often speak well. Professor Huxley, Professor 
Tyndall, and Professor Rankin are equal to Ciiailes Mathews in his 
best form. The Royal Academy possesses but one orator ; but Sir 
Francis Grant is as distinguished by his speeches as by bis pictures. 
His speeches at the Royal Academy dinner are of the highest type 
of after-dinner eloquence. 

Of politicians I cannot say much. They are, as a rule, too heavy. 
Sir Robert Peel generally operated as a wet blanket upon the guests 
at the Mansion House ; and Sir Robert Peel's roost distinguished 
pupil, Mr. Gladstone, is apt to bore one with his grave and earnest 
eloquence. Lord Houghton is pleasant and polished, and thai is all. 
Mr. Bright is a political Paganini. He always plays on one string, 
and there are few notes in the gamut of his eloquence. He is either 
political or nothing. Lord Granville and Mr. Lowe are the only 
good after-dinner orators in the present ministry. They are equal to 
Lord Palmerston, light, racy, anecdotical. Mr. Lowe is apt to be a 
little loo cynical, and Lord Granville's geniality now and then 
becomes perhaps a trifle too effusive. Taking ihcm all in all, how- 
ever, they are super-excellent They are never stupid, never insipid. 
They never get too serious. They never lecture their host or his 
guests. They throw off the minister, throw off the politician, and 
adapt themselves to the tone of the compiany in which they happen 
to find themselves, never rise beyond the level of conversation, and 
never attempt anything more rhetorical than an epigram. They have 
but one rival in this art, and that is the leader of Her Majesty's 
Opposition. Mr, Disraeli's after-dinner speeches are perfect in their 
way, sparkling with keen and witty observation, graceful personal 
allusions, terse and picturesque phrases ; and, like the speeches of 
Mr, Lowe and Lord Granville, they are, except upon rare occasions, 
very short. 

This, in fact. Is one of the suggestions that ought to be written in 
letters of gold at the head of every list, " No speech to exceed 
a quarter of an hour." Very few of Mr. Disraeli's or Mr. Lowe's 
do. The worst speaker that ever laid his hand upon his heart 
10 declare this the happiest moment of his life, may count upon 
the patience of his fellow guests for ten minutes, but the best diner- 
out in London is thought a bit of a bore if he interrupts the 
circulation of the claret beyond a quarter of an hour. " The instant 
you have made a hit, raised a laugh or a cheer, sit down," was the 


After-Dinner Speechts. 2 1 

teof one of the most accomplished masters of the art I hav$' 
; and tt was sound advice. How happy we might all be 
acted upon a little oftener ! To this I should be disposed tOj 
add another hint or two. Know what you are going to say befortt] 
yoo nsc, say it. and sit down. Avoid politics like the plague. Keep 
clear of every controversial topic A dinner-table is not a discussion- 
fbnim, and you may always console yourself with the tlioughl that 
the Times or the Tdtgraph is open to you. Never apologise for your 
own ii>ca[iacity. That may always be taken for granted. Your own 
bicods know it. Those who do not know you will assume it for 
thonsclvcs afier they have heard your first ten words. I need say 
nothingalioutlheuseof the phrases, "Unaccustomed as I am to public 
speaking," and " I could have wished that this toast had fallen into 
abler and better hands." All those flowers of rhetoric have long 
since been abandoned to provincial aldermen. You might as well 
drop the aspirate at once as use them in Willis's Rooms. I ha« 
one more hint to add. Eschew eloquence. It will spoil your diges-' 
lion ; and that consideration to the wise will, I know, be enough. 
But there is another, which ought to be conclusive with all. Il will 
l)e thrown away everywhere— except, perhaps, at an agricultural 
iljnncr. People who have dined well do nol wish to be worked up 
'■mo a [lassion ; and passion spoils the palate. Put into a single 
■ '-nicncc, all these suggestions may be summed up in three at- 
^uir words— " Never violate good taste." An after-dinner speech 
.. to the higher forms of eloquence what a sonnet is to an Iliad, 
i>hat French vers de socikte are to English epics ; and the 
jualtties of brevity and buoyancy which Mr. Locker insists upon 
-..-■ absolute essentials in their case. I should insist upon as the 
Liioiutc essentials of after-dinner speeches. Like them, they should 
iiF Rhort, elegant, refined, and fanciful, nol seldom distinguished 
!)>- chastened sentiment, and often playful ; and when they 
this, our after-dinner speeches will be as perfect as our political! 
, and forensic, and not till dien. 

Charles Pehodv. 



5tone Walls do not a Prison 

MT is not the brilliant and humorous irork that leaves the finnest 
impression upon the mind. The happiest and most joyous 
character has a less permanent charm for us than that which 
is tinged with melancholy. Joy palls upon the appetite. It 
needs the shadowy back-ground of sober sadness. We cannot always 
be laughing. A book entirely devoid of padios cannot last. No 
life that mingles not tears with joy is woith the reading. 
" In every life some rain must fall, 
Some days be dark and dreary." 

Philosophy accounts for the attractiveness of melancholy subjects by 
setting down the spirit of sadness as in keeping with man's innate con- 
sciousness of misery. We do not for a moment propose to inquire 
into this feature of ihe human constiiution. The idea occurs lo us in 
connection with two men who are gone, and two books that remain 

The two books are the works of the two men. The two men are 
Charles Waterlon and Henry Dixon. The latter gentleman we knew 
personally, and he knew the former. If Dixon had been a merry, 
jovial fellow when we fir^t made his acquaintance, four or five years 
ago, we might have retained a less vivid recollection of him than that 
which remains with us now. It was the melancholy position of the 
man that drew us lo him. He was getting into the sere, the yellow 
leaf Thin, gaunt, haggard, with big intelligent eyes, he was propped 
up in his easy chair, a prisoner lo lung disease. 

" 1 shall never ride again," he said ; " never be able to go about as 
1 did. If I am to write any more, it must be from drafts upon my 

" Don't take a despohdent view of your state," we said, as cheerily 
as we could. 

" No, 1 do not," he replied. " I have been sitting in this same 
chair without daring to go to bed for many weeks. When I can 
breathe at all comfortably I am happy. I have my work about me, 
you see." 

* "Saddle and Sirloin." By "TheDniid," London; Roeenon and Tuxford. 

Prison Make." 

L)ing upon a table near hira were several sporting journals, 
sundry volumes of The Gentleman's Magazine, the daily papers, 
and his pen and ink. He wis writing thai chapter iu the life of 
Lord George Benlinck which appeared in the first number of tlie 
new aeries of The Gentleman's, and he was full of ideas for other 
pipers. The waits which shut in the man doomed to his arm-chair 
only seemed to give more scope to the exercise of memoty. But he 
ne^'er trusted to memory alone, He always managed to revise his 
(wrn fects by the memory of a friend. 

"Ifl can only get out by-and-by," he said, "and spend a day or 
two with old friends, I dare say I can tell some stories wortll the 
telling. I want to sit on the corn-bin at the stables with some of the 
lads, and talk over past days." 

His hopes were fulfiiled. With the warm weallier he recovered 
some of his strength, and during the last few years, when he could 
escape from his arm-chair, he made quiet excursions into the 
country, refreshing his memories of the field and the farm, interview- 
ing femous famieis, breeders, dealers, trainers, naturalists, and indeed 
all classes of men with whom he had come in contact when he waa 
in health and spirits. The results of these last days of the sporting'! 
lanister (who knew the pedigree of every crack horse and every f 
herd, and yet never made bets or speculated, even upon the | 
races) are to be found in the new series of the periodical ia j 
we are permitted to write these lines. Some of these papers I 
VXat. back to the general reader in scraps of anecdote and incident, i 
>0 figments of facts and figures, through tlie pages of Mr. Dixon'l I 
last book, "Saddle and Sirloin." And we venture to say that the 
iliar charm of this work lies in its melancholy characteristics and J 
itions. In the first place, it is the last book the author wrol^ I 
is part of an unfinished design. "The second part," wrote I 
wihor in his preface, "will (D.V.) see the light in the course of ] 
tte present year," D.V. 1 Poor Dixoo I he knew thai it was more 
than probable Death would countermand the publisher's order for 1 
the second part. What were his feelings when he inserted those two j 
hnes between parentheses at the close of his preface ? Hope I 
t'tnUed in die hand that death was paralysing ; but " The Druitl " 
had prepared for the end long before. He knew that his footsteps J 
*ere draa-ing near to the goal ; he had seen " The End " written up 1 
miidlj- in the future \ he felt that any day the words would stand out I 
HI bold relief, marking the last proof of the last printer ; and he wrote 
"Kotdingly, hopefully but resigned, " D.V." 

Almost the last time we had a long chat with Dixoa was 



H^ 24 The Gentleman s Magazine. ^^^^k 

the close of ihe Royal Agricultural Show at Leicester. Havln^^ 




exhausted the subject of a peraonal discussion which had taken place 
at the Council Board of the Association, some paragraph which we 
had both noticed in one of the country papers about VVattrton, the 
natiiraiisl, gave rise to a cooversntion of which we are forcibly 
reminded in a paper contained in Mr. Dixon's last work. His story 
of Waterton is full of sympathetic interest, although the sportsman's 
feelings with regard to hunting and coursing limited his sympathy 
with the naturalist's enthusiasm to admiration for his personal 
character, and unvarying interest in his e.xperience at home and 

A stranger must have felt a peculiar sensation on arriving at 
Walton Hall. Afler a walk of three or four miles from Wakefield, 
with railways in all directions, it was a sudden and remarkable trans- 
formation to find yourself within a solitude of wood, field, and water. 
The naturalist surrounded his wonderful estate by a nine-foot walL 
He had accurately gauged the jumping power of a fox, and it was his 
boast that one, and only one, had ever got its pads on the coping, 
and that this act of daring was never repeated. It was like a grand 
old wayside refuge, Walton Hall, where the mind could rest and 
dream. The owner was a sort of modem Robinson Crusoe in 
affluent circumstances, an educated and thoughtful Crusoe without a 
gun. There was not a fowling-piece nor a trap about the domain. 
The golden age had come again within that nine-foot wall. Every 
living thing that obtained admittance there was safe to come and go 
as it listed. The birds made their nests and reared their young 
unmolested. Shy members of the feathered tribe found out the 
naturalist's retreat, and made him happy with their curious presence. 
His lake swarmed with rare aquatic birds, his woods were ever 
musical with song. Mr. Dixon suggested to the owner that the 
water-rats must increase terribly under his benign rule. He replied, 
almost angrily — ■" Kill the water-rats I They are my greatest comfort 
— ^they are the English beaver." This definition would have been 
more striking applied to the otter, of which there are many to be 
found in the northern rivers. We remember a rare day's sport 
hunting otters with a pack of excellent dogs in Northumberland. 

To most men the nine-foot wall which surrounded the Waterton 
estate would have been a depressing barrier, making Walton Hall a 
prison. But Waterton was a philosopher as well as a naturalist 
In early life, when his wealth would have been sufficient passport 
to all that is commonly understood as pleasure and recreation, he 
preferred the swamps of the Oronoco and the forests of the Amazon 

^aione watts do not a Prison Make." 

to dw cotalbrts of his own land. His heart yearned for the closesf- 
imcrcourse with nature. He rejoiced to be with her alone in tlie 
■mooAti ind forvsts, away from the footprints of man. Sudden remorse 
soicd him one day just before the hunting season began. He had 
a great hunter wiih the Badsworth when " Darlington's peer " 
his prime. Suddenly, as if by divine inspiration, he fell that 
after foxes was not " life in earnest" He longed to change the 
ly-bol" and "Ware wheat !" for the more mysterious sounds of 
Bnxtltan forests. Ou his way to Ixindon, en route for the distant 
he met the Earl himself, who begged him to change his mind, 
but wiilioui avail No convoy, however, could be got for six weeks, 
and in this interval he stole back again ; but, true to time, forsook 
Woracrsle)'. and Hemsworth Lane Ends, and dropped down the 
Channel on his Wanderings up and down the world. His own 
account of what he did and saw is a work of rare inlerest. He 
was in downrighi earnest. " The sun exhausted him by day, and 
Ihe mosquitoes bit him by night," wrote Sydney Smith ; "' but on 
«f*ni Mr. Charle.* Walerton. ... He rejoices that he is the only 
man there ; that he has lell his species far away, and is at las 
It of his blessed baboons." 
longst tlie most picturesque of moated residences 

cal house at Wells in Somersetshire, Lord Beaucham] 
mar Malvern, and that of Walton Hall. Near the drawbridge 
to the latter residence, rising above the \\y, lowered the 
tmblera of Chailes Waterton's iaith. A pronounced Roman Catholic, 
brapuoaed some of our " Christian martjrs " most unmercifully, 
[h be was in every way courteous to visitors who entertained 
entirely opposite to his own. The late .Archbishop of 
ilcrbury, who frequently visited him. must have smiled, as did 
lEAOf others, when ascending his noble staircase, to encounter among 
of humming birds, toucans, and the other results of his 
ings, the " English Reformation Zoologically Illustrated," If 
an uglier monkey than usual in the menagerie-offerings 
made to him, he stuffed il to represent Old Nick, or 
it " John Knox." Tiius Oates, Cranmer, and Bishop 
••ere illustrated from reptiles of the lowest order. " Molhi 
Cln»rd^ anil her Dissenting Fry " were made up chiefly 
and "Queen Bess at Lunch " was an appalling combinatil 
lixanb and newts and other unhallowed things, sm 
'B (trengthcned the hellish mixture of the witches' cauldron 
Beetles and flies, as emblems of the devil, bore 
Ihn strange medley ot polemics. Vou could not le«\ 



Tlti Cenlle>HaHS A[a<razhie. 

with the old man for relieving his mind in this diaracterisiij eiibi- 
tion of his opinions. Man raust explain himself in some way. If 
he live in the remotest solitude, the subjects which hy,ve moved him 
most will find expression. Moreover, Mr. Waterton was a very 
earnest and religious man ; and if he did ridicule Protestantism in 
his own hannless way, he would have been kindly and respectful and 
loyal even to Queen Bess if she could have called upon him, just as 
he was to the Archbishop of Canterbury. And }'ou thought only of 
his deep devotion when you saw him bend his shrunken form before 
the Eucharist, and heard him bear his part at vespers m the Hymn of 
St. Bernard : — 

"My comfort in ihe wilderness, 
But oil ! when (ace Iti face ! " 

Alas! since those days archbishop, naturalist, and author have 
each solved the great mystery, and we cannot but feel assured that 
they have met with their exceeding great reward, for they shared 
Cowper's sublime feeling with regard to nature. " I delight in 
baubles, and know them to be so ; for, rested in, and viewed without 
a reference to their Author, what is the earth, what are the planets, 
what is the sun itself but a bauble ? Better for a man never to have 
seen them, with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what 
he beholds, than not to be able to say ; ' The Maker of all these 
wonders is my friend \ ' " 

"Every tree at Wallon had its slory, or was ]ic!o|)led wiih some mjMerions 
feathered tenant in fee. There wat the owl't hole in the tnk beyond the bridge ; 
■ tower was pierced with 'chambeis' for the jackdaws' parliament which never 
' rose for the holidays ;' the American haw ivas there in plenty, for the miseltoe- 
tlmish or Ihe slorm-eock ; and Ihere too was the shattered elm, ftum wbose shtule, 
OS lie so often recotmted, uniler a prescience of ill which made him hurry home 
from the eonfessiona!, he warned off two visitors, just before it was struck by 
lightning. He dclighl«] to jiolnl out the window from which when a child the 
good Abbe rescued him, as be climbed along the sill to gel at a nest in the eaves; 
Inil on the point as lo whether he hail really tied up his arm in a sling and tried 
to hatch an eg^ in liij armpil, and was within four days of being a mother when a 
Bchoolfelluw pushed him and broke it, we did not find him decisive. He seemed 
content to lei the slory rest in the shape which it then bore. We loved best lo 
see bim in his most inspired attitude, watching in the October evenings whether 
the rooks would lake tlicir regular departure for the season after their evening 
meal for Nostell Wood, or linger one or more days "over the ninth." He would 
almost drag you out, and stand bare-headed on the lann long after nightfall, 
listening to (be quack of the mallard, and telling each fresh water-fowl by its tone, 
■s it settled on the lake, with all the quickness of Fine Ear." 

The naturalist, while playing the part of a hermit at home, took 
Hi interest in the events of the outer world, and read the newspapers 

" Sione iValii do not a Prison Mak,-. 

diligentljr. Occasionally he came to London, and, when he did s 
ihe Zoolo^cal Gardens were always visited. 

f TIte pcupic stsccd famously when they saw him enter the age wilh t 
r, hoUine bu righl h»nd «l > certain conventional distance from [he grounAlM 
'Lmi! ril it iennJ l/taCi the BiKtBr' 'No, maJam,' he repliB4rl 
B alung his eye aS the beasl aa it crouched rn the corner, 'ymtr miitaim, ifr^ 
M^ Ut Aftthaary;' an answer which gave bim greal delight, and puuled t 
<M laly Llilt Diore. He left liome very lillle, but every ChrUlmas he repaired M I 
"k-'-y oU coHrge at Sloayhursi, for a week, to meet his friends and see the boys M 

"The Druid" was not altogether at home with Watenon, despi 
V.s h^hly appreciative account of Walton and its owner. Mn.' 
Waienon was too stubborn in favour of his own theories for the 
pracdcal and experienced judgment of the author. He thought 
iade«d w-onhy of a note that Mr. Waterton did not seem to allow 
thai ihe world had grown older, and that other men as well as hinv- 
aelf Itad grown grey with thoughL "The Druid" felt this, no doub^, 
keenly, when called upon to " handle the paragon bull," the puintS' 
« which did not strike him widi very great admiration. Probablj 
he was fresh from a visit to Mr, Bruere at Braithwaite, where he hadi 
been counting up the triumphs of that famous herd commenced with 
lily and Damsel He was so enthusiastic about bulls, and had such 
an ialimaie knowledge of stock, that even his admiration for Charles 
^^'J^c^o^ would not induce him to cancel for the moment his 
opinions atiout the animal which his companion wanted him to 
}>taise. Even when sorely pressed and anxious to please the 
ruturalist, he acknowledges that he did not speak so reverentially of 
the beast as his iriend wished. He was nonplussed in this way more 
ihaii ooce during a ramble round the park, every incident of which 
lingered with him and dung about his memory. Waterton laid down 
jvtbe law most emphatically — for example, about stags and foxes, 
li he had not hunted for fully fifty years. This did not astonish 
con evidently so much as did the naturalist's refusal to accept the 
tit of practical authorities ujjon points of difference between 
The opinion of men like Charles Davis and Harry Aj-ris on 
! tiptnts in question did not weigh an ounce with Waterton. 
Aing at this from the barrister's view, it sutnled Mr. Di.xon ; but 
rding it more as a sportsman, he was evidently embarrassed with 
. Waicrton's obstinacy, though bis sympathy wiUi the more 
niDcnt features of the naturalist's character made him acknowlet 
this peculiar tenacity of opinion gave a unique charm 
Ht'« convcreatjon, when ODce you got accustomed lo Yiim. 



The Gentleman s Mamsine. 

"We wound our way onward to the grove facing the rock, in one of wfaott 
recesses be sat like a prophet of the cave, the live-long sutnmet day, 'musing 
upon numy tbings' in his green chair, and listening tcj the biiils. It was with 
them far more than insects that he loved to hold communion. A hen-pheasant 
flew across tlie drive, and as we heard her male crow to her in the wood, b£ 
recounted <o us how thai bird is ihe direct anlithesis of the cock, and crows b^ort 
it claps it& wings^ ' Hark, ther/j ojay,' he would suddenly observe, grasping oar 
■nn J 'Liilin! Iktr^i ajeHtiyarrta ; did yau rvir ktar hrr singV Had he spokea 
of Kettledrum and Duchess 77lh we might have said something, but this was ■ 
poser— only lo be made a note of. Then a magpie struck in, and he was quite 
eloquent again. But there our colloquy was interrupted for a time. He suddenly 
discovered ihat some rude visitor on the open days had cut his initials an the baik 
of a tree, near ihe swings. Hence vre had lo seek out the carpenter together, and 
get a neat liLtle piece of wood ; and ere long he had written, in his fine Roman 
hand, and nailed up against that tree, his love, in most pungent terms, for all such 
itnpid clowns." 

They both felt the poetry of nature, these two men so opposite, 
yet so much alike in character. Dixon would dwell upon the scenic 
surroundings of a race or a farm, as if the hills and dales and the 
sunshine were as important as the main subject — and so they were 
to him. He combined the naturalist's and the poet's love of fields 
with the sportsman's enthusiasm. He loved everything that belonged 
to the land, and no man had such a fund of curious and entertaining 
knowledge of sports, sportsmen, and farming. His conclusion of the 
details of his visit to Mr. Walerton is as striking and characteristic as 
the last of the naturalist's own touching story . — 

"Once more we were on our way, past the spot where the watercress grew, 
perhaps looking al his peculiar wickets, and hearing of his charm tor cattle. Not 
■ hedge was cut wiihin the park, which seemed fiilly two miles round, or else 
'there would be no berries for Ihe blackbird or the poor man.' Then he paused 
over ihe Ihom which 'bloomed in the winter of its days,' like its sister of 
Glaslonhuiy, and was rich with white honours on Christmas morning. We saw 
the keepers' huts, and then turned, near the spot he had chosen for his burial — 
over the little bridge by the cranberry tree, and away lo the heron nesls. On our 
left were twelve large willows, one of which had been broken during a thunder- 
storm, and had been spliced up again with iron. ' Thtrt,' said he, 'are the Twth^t 
Afvtila ; thi broitn one u yudai Iicariot ; I hear it groaning like a troubled ifiril, 
nhen Ihe -.Bind ii high. ' And so we left him in his lodge in the wilderness, and we 

Could anything be more poetic than this idealisation of the 
willows ? Can anything appeal more pathetically to the imagination 
than the naturalist's burial ? True to the sympathies of his earliest 
years, he directed by his will that his body should be rowed to his 
tomb, which had long been erected near the top of the lake under 
the shadow of two venerable oaks. At the setting of the sun the 

^ 2^^H 

H^e funcnltook [>Iace. The old man passed through the midst ^^H 
Wliia unconscious feathered friends on the calm lake ; and thea^ by 
Ihc hiliade he was laid, the words of the service of his Cliurch 
Hunting wiih the ciy of the heron. Since those days the priinrosc ^^^ 
and die violet have gathered about the turf beneath which he rest^^^H 
snd ihe birds overhead sing the songs which he loved to hear. Th^^^H 
groaaing of the stricken tvillonr no longer troubles the old man'i^^H 
hncjr. He is at home with ihe Great Master, who could even pity \ 

Judas Iscariot. "I'ray for the soul of Charles Waterton, whose 
veartcd bones rest here," is the epitaph written by the naturalist in 
l^lin. If it docs not accord with our Protestant notions, it is at ^^H 
least a beautiful sentiment ; and whatever be his creed, the visitor ^^H 
■ho contemplates the last resting-place of the wanderer will be ^^H 
uuble lo keep back the internal prayer, " God rest him I " 
Henry Dison speaks of the last letter he ever received from the 
alist Dated January zznd, 1865, it was written in a finn hand, 
li told little of eighty-three. The characteristic postscript con- 
id Ac gist of the whole letter. " Walton Hall is twelve miles 
fa (rf Leeds, and the nightingale breeds here and sings here 
Biingiy." I have before me while I write the last letter of him 
P tfgaided this very postscript only the other day with thoughts 
sdness, looking back as he did to that never-forgotten ramble 
mWalton. It will be Interesting to the readere of The Gestle- 
x^n's Magazine, as an appendix to his article on " Steeplechasing." 
Kdening to a aiticism upon that article to which his attention had 
l«n drawn, he says : — ^_ 

" I tntcd in the uiide that I confined myself lo the 1S43 limit, because aiter ^^H 
itat banillcipping and all iis Icehic accompaniments came in. I dwelt on tbe ^^H 
*""• tooiws, the grand pdcTS, and the grejlt horses of the golden time 1837 — 43, ^^^ 
Tnu wu my cKpre^ limit, .... 1 do not cali it one of tny hesl artides. 
Tl* reuon a this. I appointid to spend Ihe evening with a celebrated sleeple- 
™u. T O , to work op all his stories, and I did j but one of his 

R blogj ^(ailin^ hod just lallen and injured bei^elf severely In Lhe foot, and it 

B die Eu edge off Tom completely, and my article sulTered." 

'e cannot say of this letter what the writer s^d of the last com- 

ion he received from the naturalist It is not written with a 

id; anything but that. The steeplechasing article was poor 

last in The Gentleman's, and I note in his letter the un- 

' hand of the confimied invalid subject to paroxysms of 

("tog and shonness of breath. One or two newspapers miss his 

ty pen, and msiny friends feel that one of 

between the difoniclc.! of the present and iV 

30 The Getttlemati s Magazine. 

broken. Heniy Dixon's memory will ever be associated with the 
men of the old school, whose stories he has told, and whose virtues 
he has held up for the emulation of modem sportsmen. Like 
Jerdan, who shone in another walk of literary exercise, Dixon wrote 
his last essay for The Gentleman's Magazine. Both writers were 
enthusiastic in the cause of the adaptation of Sylvanus Urban's 
periodical to the requirements of these latter days. It seemed like 
the revival of a personal friend to both of them, the popularising of 
Mr. Cave's famous serial. 

*' When shall we again see such a man as Mr. Osbaldeston, on 
such a horse as Assheton, and Vaulter at his side, and two such 
whips as Tom Sebright and Dick Burton ?" exclaims " The Druid," 
in an article on John Gully. We are amongst those who are inclined 
to support the maxim that there are as good fish in the sea as 
ever came out of it But our practical philosophy, like Dixon's, 
is shaken every now and then when men who seem to be specially 
set apart for a special purpose fall out of the ranks. There is 
certainly no writer to succeed Henry Dixon in his own peculiar 
walk ; no other memory so richly stored with notable incidents as 
his was. All who are interested in the life of an English country 
gentleman cannot be too grateful for "The Druid's" reminiscences 
of a thousand things that are worth remembering. 




,0 aninuls have met ft*ith more scorn, conlempt, and! 
kicks, than "half-bred curs." The "Dog Show," that! 
hobby of the day, the " tag " to most agricultural ex- ] 
hibilions, flower shows, and poultry gatherings, repui/ia/aM 
'■ ■ rn. There never has been a prize, or a cup, or " a gold whisde,"* 
■' "ihe best crossbred aninwl of ali breeds." These waifs and strays 1 
' .mine life are utterly without friends, save amongst the poorest,! 
' ■■^yO, and occasionally the gender sex. 
To be fuUowed by a nondescript aiiimal, argues that his owner is no \ 
i-insinan. Once the vague suspicion of impurity in any of the dog i 
■ "ijilitj— foxhound, pointer, setter, mastiff, bloodhound — and the 
' ''ii^ppy ijuadruped is destined to ridicule or the rope. 

Tht pedigrees of our foxhounds (especially of the Belvoir Pack) 
"■-■■'-f back perhaps to the time of Edward I., though men of that day 
'i not, of course, hunt in the modem style (adopted by Lord 
iii^tfotd in thcCotswold about 140 years ago), and from that time 

IV have been btcd lo follow certain instincts, especially— 
'^"^ old Beckford's simile — to "go like the horses of the sun, all ] 


1 he purity of tlie foxhound has been vigilantly guarded, since its j 
*'e>clopmcai from the old st-jck of the southern-hound, the blood- 
Wnd, or the lalbol, and I fully and entirely agree with that first of I 
■I authorities, Stonehenge, that it is " more than probable that he has | 
'■tj originally crossed with the greyhound and bulldog." In the J 
day, when the foxhound has reached perfection, hounds of ^ 
wo inches, with the blood and symmetry of Osbaldeston's 
i," Vanquisher or Rasselas, would be more than equal 10 their 
With this exception all sporting dogs, excepting Clumber 
:1s, have had some crosses from a dislifut race, and they have 
teen the better for it, 
Tbe setter a an bnproved spaniel — improved as to coal, pace, 
" action, by crossing with the greyhound, and, 
ice also, which was increased by the infusion of 



The pointer is the result of judicious crossing with both grey- 
hound and foxhound. The cross of the latter hound was notably 
present in Colonel Thornton's " Dash," one of tlie most eminent dc^ 
of the past century. 

Various crosses have been Cried with the greyhound — a breed 
tracing back further than any other species, and well known in 
England in the loth and i ith centuries. They were possessed, how- 
ever, by the Anglo-Saxons, and a sort of manuscriptal painting of a 
brace, belonging to Elfric, Duke of Mercia, still exists. These, 
descended from Plato's " Spartan dogs," were keen-scented and ^od 
on iraii. and Argus, the dog of Ulysses, is described by Homer as 
possessing both powers. 

" His eye how piercing, and liis seem how Irne." 

As they were used for hunting the fox, the wolf, the deer, and the 
goat, it was well that they should possess both powers, and they were 
bred by means of a mastiff cross to enormous stature (a height and 
muscular power now lost) for an especial purpose. When they were 
kept solely for coursing they were rfrfflA/(/:»7(/n by selection, until it 
was absolutely necessary to cross them with the bulldog, to give them 
stamina and courage. Lord Rivers probably, and certainly the late 
Lord Orford, adopted this expedient, one of his best greyhounds 
being "laSth part bulldog." Mr. Hugh Hanley tried the same 
experiment, and proved that in the third and fourth cross very little 
trace remains of bulldog formation. 

No long-standing breed, or " variety," to use the very proper 
designation adopted by Stonehenge, can be traced to its soiu'ce willi 
any certainty. All the established breeds have been manufactured 
from time to lime, and reproduced, by refined skill and selection — 
that is, by the eye, the observation, the genius of successive breeders, 
who have manufactured greyliounds, bulldogs, foxhounds, and ter- 
riere — even the seven -inch-high turnspit for some especial work and 
purpose, and when their occupation has gone, the breed, as in the 
case of the last-named animal, and the grand Irish wolf hound, has 
died out too. 

Purity of blood may mean a fifly years' descent claimed at the 
present time by certain breeders, or it may be intended to point to 
certain arbitrary forms, colours, and great qualities, which are not of 
a certainty handed down to successive generations. The demand 
creates the supply. Witness the present number of foxterriere, 
Some years ago a gracefiil, short-legged, sharp-muzzled foxterrier was 
hardly to be found, and the ears of these poor animals were always 

Si Ihe foUy of oiudkcioo was Ton^ibly insisted uiion by modi 
It WAS also pointed out that the ear in its natural stal 
kj ]w mimII and thin, and that it should hang close to the head 
)(e«Jmle ennh or sand. Selection has produced this charming race 
Ito^uiiilc form, and to obtain a first-class specimen is simply a 
eicif price. Probably the Italian greyhound has been used to 
rtfiot the old standard, originally much crossed with bulldog. 
laiMily the white English terrier has been remodelled by this 


J (TOtSS, 


It iHjuircs X very kee; 

to arrive at a 

The first cross i 

man; jars uken j 

I eye, acute judgment, and practice or 
true conclusion as to the parentage of 
; frequently a surprising one. I have for 
lotes of the curs about my neighbourhood, 
-nd in nany cases their parentage would defy the keenest scnitiny. 
TiLt^ for instance, a dog about four years old, which constantly 
'iftira a hsskel or bundle past my door. His father is a pure J 
'Conftm," one of the brace of orange-coloured ones which a high* 1 
tftd bladt and Ian " Gordon " is sure to produce, owing, I have no 1 
'iKibl, lo some former cross of the red Irish setter. His mother is 
J hioken-haired, " barred." or brindle deerhound, with a strong dash 
I'f mMti£ The offspring ol the two is orange-coloured, slightly 
Iwlien-liaired, and with the long hiunt head, small car, and " stem " 
^r the dog incorrectly engraved by Bewick as the Irish wolfhound. 
Ht his sujicrior intelligence, points like liis father, " carries " like a 
fffirver, but shows no taste for deer. This may be because he is 
■I ilaiiy assooation with large herds of red and fallow, the calves and 
'*ns occasionally grouping round him with curiosity, and feeding 
^W to him as he lies unchained. 

Otddedly. intelli^aict is developed and increased by the crossing 

"f breeds. Take as examples retrievers, the most sagadous of all 

■Pwing dogs. These companionable animals are bred for beauty 

wd iccomplishments. Uninterrupted association with one master, 

^lihough a most important aid to the development of their wonderfiil 

ttise and discrimination, would be thrown away unless it were 

■>ii/wedupon a gifted animal. Necessity led keepers to look for 

I'l' Rock that would produce it, and it was discovered in the 

' Iriadoror Newfoundland, minus to a certain degree 'cuieness or- 

'■'iliiM. nnd determined perseverance in hunting. Various crosses 

■'■ tried with some success, but the colley cross in the third or 

^'unh gciKfation answers admirably. Possibly constant fellowship 

k the Gaelic shepherd from generation to generation — the living, 

[, feeding with a human being isolated on muirs and Vmcs, 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 

may have given a power of reasoning, thinking, or understanding 
short sentences to this mysterious companion, and wonderful tales 
have been told of his intelligence. U is said that it was no uncom- 
mon thing for the Highland drover to waive back his dumb servant 
from crowded Smithfield, and that the colley never failed to make 
the best of his way to his owner's Highland cabin, anticipating bis 
owner yi\io followed on the mail. 

The poacher's dog — bred from the English sheepdog and grey- 
hound — displays the craft of the farm dog and the speed of the 
racer. No dogs are more intelligent, subtle, and cautious than 
these lurchers. They forage for their own living, they seem to 
recognise and hide themselves from rural police and keepers, and 
they have to my knowledge done things in desperate circumstances 
positively marvellous. A black dog named "Sam," the property of a 
gipsy, seemed to pick up his knowledge, like Sam Weller, by being 
turned loose upon the streets. At a year old he could pick up a 
hare — he "ran cunning," of course — and he would kill and leave it a 
mile from home until nightfall, when he would bring it to the tent 
with as soft a mouth as the best retriever. At night he would drive 
to a gate net, and squeeze hares or rabbits just enough to kill them ; 
but if watchers or keepers were lying ptrdu, no persuasion could 
make him range off. Having been caught once and nearly strangled 
by a wire (set by his own party), he ranged at night with his head 
high, and before he was fourteen months old he would, in " night 
driving," keep hares cleverly out of covert He knew where the 
villagers' pigs were (aliening, and he would wait at nightfall until they 
were served and the master had gone indoors. He then leapt over 
the fence, and helped himself. I have watched him perform this 
feat more than once. He would work for, follow, and approach no 
one but his master or the children, and he gave a gun or a velveteen 
jacket a wide berth. 

Sometimes very singular results follow (he mixture of "varieties." - 
Pointers and setters will produce half of one breed and the rest of 
the other — pure for that generation only, but not reliable. The 
mixture of Labrador (imported) and a black and tan terrier resulted 
in one of the cleverest little retrievers I ever saw. In form he was 
like a half bred spaniel. He was reared as a "novelty" — the term 
used for a curmiiy — by an underkeeper or watcher. The man was 
a widower, and dog and man were constant companions. The idea 
of a witch's "familiar" may have arisen from such an association or 
mutual understanding as obtained between this dog and man, existing 
between an old woman and her black cat. In the case of this 


r and his dog the terra "familiar" would have been well 

Labourers are very methodical in their habits, and nothing 

pi more with a dog's humour than routine. It accords wiih the 

Bfill creatures in a state of nature. No larger than an ordinary 

"Havelock" — a singular name by the way— could catch a 

St before his prey was fairly at speed, and he invariably brought 

"4 unhurt. Bred up amon^-st tame pheasants, he would keep 

p tiAin bounds as though they were a flock of sheep ; and scare 

h yelp and bound ja::kdiws, rooks, and all winged vermin, 

It hiwlu. which defied him. Crouml vermin had no chance ; 

■ nihe ntghi he w-ould keep off the deer which upset the "coops." 

V WM often "sharp set," but he could be left in charge of the 

■ ulft! rabbits, " minced " for the birds' last meal, and never purloined 
' niuBd ; content to await his master's supper for the scraps. And 
■JiM the old watcher shut his clasp-knife he knew the signal, curled 
'i.'Eudf up in the spot pointed out to him for his one-eyed sleep, and 

■ jV((J noi encept to defend his flock or obey some signal. Though 

■ 'injil lie could bring a fallow deer to bay, and his honest, faithful 
. ■'iuil and " trail " of an outlying one carried on for hours brought 

"Jt Ihsi inflammation of the lungs which caused his death. Though 

■ *■« cfidenl (I quote his old master's words) — "Though I knew 
'- :5u!»in't gel over it, I hadn't the heart to put him out of his 

■-~3r, and I couldn't d bear to see him die. I made him up a bed 
'' Jie of the feeding houses as comfortable as I could, and I tried 
JS^ihim to drink a drop of warm new milk, but he turned his head 
■'•)'■ I put out my hand and said, 'Good-bye, "Have"" (the 

■ n fijt •■ Havelock "), "and I declare he put his paw in it like a 
' 'I'tiin. When I came next morning he was 'gone.'" 

\naHia dog of precisely the same breed (my own property) was 
■he opposite form. He exactly resembled a wire-haired black 

^'■J, and he possessed very much the same qualities and in- 
;fncc. He was a good "spaniel," "retriever," "rat-dog," 

"iith-dog," and "diver." His eye was actually eloquent, and 
' ihat of a human being. It looked through you. As you 
h(d him you couldn't help believing in the transmigration 
■-■full. He liati memory, discernment of character, wonderful 
":iiH[ power, industry, self-control, courage, self-reliance, all the 
!C3 and none of the vices of a "Christian." "Havelock" 
:tned ihc farm to some extent, though in miniature, of both 
■ni», «ith rdrirt'fr instintls. My dog possessed the terrier 

■!'i. with ihc faculties of both [wrents combined. 

Ifjtute pTpftiJc parcni of most 


The Gentleman s Magazir 

He is almost always shrewd and morose like an English shephei 
He transmits this shrewdness to his offspring, but in them this suUe 
ness is frequently exchanged for snappishness. The drover's dog 
nineteen times out of twenty partly sheepdog and bullterrier. T 
least cross in the bulldog takes away the tendency to go to the he 
and induces the habit of going to the heels. This is precisely wl 
drovers want. They also prefer a dog to bay at a bull, and wol 
not keep one that " pins " him. The sheepdog cross promotes ti 
tendency. The shepherd's dog barks and mumbles, he does not b 
or " fasten on." Any one who has watched the " herd's " dog, or t 
drover's, will see them adopt this system to turn or baffle bulloc 
They also possess that marvellous power of learning their trade wh : 
is inherited by all mongrels, and many a dairyman's dog will fet 
up and take back his master's drove alone, though their pasture nr 
be a mile or so away. 

"Trickdogs" are selected for their ^y9j, not for their appearaa 
With one exception every performing dog I have ever seen has be 
a French poodle, or a mixture of "varieties." One of the clever 
acting dogs ever seen was a mongrel carriage dog which took 1 
part of clown in the London music-halls some few seasons &j 
Punch's dogs were all curs ; so are the dancing dogs which genera 
accompany the bear and monkey. 

Ratcatchers, whose dogs display the most perfect training, ar* 
combination of all breeds, the distinctive character of the race bei 
ugliness, skill, and quickness qX apprehenswn and prehension. Trufl 
dogs, which are said to be Spanish poodles, are decided mongr* 
descended from one pair originally brought from Spain. 

Bargemen's dogs, the most vigilant and trustworthy of guardiaJ 
are any monstrosity brought up in the narrow limits of the cabin, a- 
taught to keep off all intruders. 

A combination of qualities may be obtained by breeding from r 
good specimens, and these combined gifts may be formed intc^ 
breed. The otterhound is an example of this — a grizzled, rouf 
haired, large-eared hound of a grand type, not unlike the Fren 
" griffon," possibly bred from that old race crossed with our gloric 
foxhound. It seems hard to call so grand an animal a mongrel, t 
let us say he is of mixed race, of enchanting form, of imdenial 
courage, of great endurance, and marvellous sagacity. These houn 
are very properly recognised as a breed, but it seems doubc 
whether they boast of ancient lineage, for not many years ago t 
otter was pursued by old (or draft) foxhounds, terriers and bulldo] 
associated in a pack. 



No other mixed races except what are known as bullterriers have 
established themselves as a breed ; but both otterhounds and buU- 
teirieis are pre-eminently handsome. Even retrievers are not a 
distinct race, and no other sorts occur to me. Strange that the 
curled tail is one of the most pronounced marks of cross blood, and 
that it not unfrequently shows itself in the purest breeds. The 
moustache, or slightly rough muzzle, is another mark, as also, except, 
I believe, in greyhounds, is the half-pricked ear, or the protrusion of 
the under jaw. These are defects which offend the eye, but constant 
production of specimens from the same stock weakens the brain and 
produces nervousness or cowardice, and we must follow in such 
cases the example of our ancestors and have recourse to the three 
great sources of all that is great and good and grand in our canine 
nu:e— the greyhound, the bloodhound, and the bulldog. 


ROFESSOR SYLVESTER, a mathematician of Em)- 
pean reputation, makes his /f^^u/ as an art critic with 
a book now before us, entitled ** The Laws of Verse," 
and consisting of a short but comprehensive ptcfatory 
essay, indicating the existence of what we might term a grammar 
of rhythm, followed by some poetic translations and original stanzas, 
which are intended to illustrate the technical rules laid down by 
our author in his introduction. Bound up with this work is an 
annotated reprint of Professor Sylvester's "Inaugural Presidential 
Address to the Mathematical and Physical Section of the British 
Association at Exeter ; " but with this latter portion of the book, 
deeply interesting though we have found it on perusal to be, we have 
no concern in this review. 

We regret for Professor Sylvester's own sake that a contribution 
to literature so valuable as his " Laws of Verse " is not as syste- 
matic as it is suggestive. True, he excuses himself in his preface for 
this want of method, on the plea that his " Laws of Verse " have 
grown upon him as they passed through the press. But had he only 
known the many difficulties and many sources of misconception to 
which he was thus destined to subject his readers, he would, we are 
sure, have treated his " Laws of Verse " with a closer regard to his 
own great principle cf continuity. But after a close study of our 
author's pithy preface, and a hard hunt for further information through 
his pleasant though too discursive notes, we confess to being amply 
repaid for our pains by what we regard as the revelation of a new 
field of critical research. 

The proposition with which our author preludes his preface nins 
as follows : — 

" The technical or material ^zxt of versification (the art of rhythmical 
composition), like that of any other of the fine arts, is capable of 
being reduced to rules, and referred to fixed principles." 

• The Law's of Verse ; or, rrinciples of Versification Exemplified in Metrical 
Translations. By J. J. Sylvester, LL.D., F.R.S., of the Institute of France, the 
Royal Academies of Science of Berlin, Gottingen, Naples, Milan, &c., Ryimiptf 
in Mathematics to the University of London. 



I Otil 

Sylvester's Laws of Verse. 

Of in other words, the material, as opposed tc tht amative divhioit 

of |>oe[i}\ is reducible to technical niles. 

Now that this was only to have been expected is evident by 
Kfcrence to the sister arts of music, painting, and statuary. We, 
ce of moaical composition, a science of perspectiv^i 
ind 1 iciency of anatomy. The discovery of these sciences did noti 
originate the arts they underlie. Far from it. Their presence 
Jjipreciated and iheir limits gradually assigned them by qualified^ 
JDilj-stsi and to their recognition as constituting the technical! 
tlements in their respective arts, and to the consequent attention ihqrj 
hive received, we must attribute the remarkable material correct-] 
ness in these three branches of Esthetics which ts so characteristic 
o[ [he age, 

Is tlie Art of Poetry lo be regarded a.<> standing utterly apart 
flora her sistera ? Is she the only lawless one of the group ? or may 
*e not rather infer that her very relationship to the rest involves a 
iuiure, like them, subject to technical law? i 

We ire fully convinced that this is the case to a much greater 
Mtenttlian most men will be readily prepared to admiL Inspired 
u liie voice of Poetry no doubt is by a fancy that we cannot fetter 
"ith Ibnnularies, an imagination which mocks all scientific control, 
ffie utterances of that voice, if they are to satisfy all our sympathie*, 
"lun Ailiil many more rhythmical requisites than the listener would' 
at first be led to suspect. 

u Wt say " more requisites," because that mere versification is up 
Bl certain point reducible to law, nobody will deny. But, with 
Bpssor Syliester, we hold tliat the science of versification is inany- 
fcd,and that hitherto it lias only been looked at from but one of 
■broider and but few of its narrower aspects. We would do well 
^^ to quote the passage in our author's preface which immediately 
Hws this main proposition as printed above : — 
VI viih the lille of ' I^ws of Verse, or Principles of VenilicBtioii Exemplified,' 
Bi andmlood in the lense of an aitempi to illustrate this propusitian by 
H^la. This is not a Treatise on Prosody, neither is ii ■ discourse de Artt 
BUL Mortwrr, / dn not fro/as la lay dirwH a systematic body ef detfriiu an Ik* 
Bg'f'(V(^&a/n>H, but merely lo indicate, in the way nf cursory commenl ehicflyj 
^Mud ib noles to the tcxi, the existence of such a doctrine, and the possihilllf ' 
^HHldJDE it into a certain (leRnite organic form. In poetry ue have sound, 
H|^l, and words |(./., tliought clothed in sound); accordingly the subject falls 
HNlUy Into tliree gteit divisions, the cojjilalive, the expresslonal, and llie 
Bml) to whicli we may give the respective nam« of pneumatic, linguistic, 
^Pbythmic It b only with rhythm that I profeis to deal. Tliis branches off 
^nbno Ibrec principal branches — metric, chromaiic, and synectic. . . . Aiy 
HpfcuuMU it wM iytuclk. " 





40 The Gentleman s Magazine, 

This passage is of twofold importance to us. The fint Sentence 
which we reprint in italics points to the existence of hitherto un- 
known laws on the "Art [we should have said Science] of Versifica- 
tion." The second italicised extract gives names to the two most 
leading of these laws of rhythm, calling at the same time the chiet 
attention of his readers to that one which he entitles "Synectic" 
" Metric," he justly observes, " is concerned with the discontinuous, 
Synectic with the continuous aspect of the art 

" This also, on a slight examination, will be found to run into three 
channels — anastomosis, symptosis, and between them the main flood 
of phonetic syzegy. 

" Anastomosis regards the junction of words, the laying of them 
duly alongside one another, like drainage pipes set end to end, or the 
capillar)' termination of the veins and arteries, so as to provide for the 
easy transmission and flow of breath (unless a suspension is desired 
for some cause, or is unavoidable) from one into the other. 

^^ Symptosis, as its name implies, deals with rhymes, assonances 
(including alliterations, so called), and clashes (this last comprising 
as well agreeable reiterations, or congruences, as unpleasant ones — 
/>., jangles or jars). 

" How," he resumes, " can a theory dealing with discrete matter of 
this kind come under the head of synectic ? 

" But the answer is easy ; for if the elements with which it deals — 
its matter — is discontinuous, not so is the object to which it tends 
(its form) ; just, for instance, as in an iron shield or curtain or a trial 
target, the bolts and screws and rivets are separate, but serve to con- 
solidate and bring into conjunction the plates, and to give cohesion 
and unity to the structure. 

" The great topic of phonetic syzegy has something in common with 
each of these flanking principles. In matter it agrees with symptosis ; 
in form (in respect of operating w-ith distinct reference to continuity 
of impression) it borders upon anastomosis. 

" We look to metric for correctness of form, to chromatic for beauty 
of colour ; it is to synectic and to its main branch syzegy that we 
must attend in order to secure that coherence, compactness, and ring 
of true metal, without which no versification deserves the name of 

Here we have in a few sentences what all thinking men must 
regard as the foundation of a new and most interesting study. And 
whilst stating this conviction, we desire the reader distinctly to 
remember that Professor Sylvester nowhere presumes to bring poetry 
under mathematical control, as some of the critics-^sneering at the 

Sylvester's Laws of Verse. 41 

ns of a great scieDtific scholar upon an art-subject — as falsely 
k Bippantly assert. A reference to the 6rsi passage from his preJace 
b wc have quoted above, abundantly proves this. For aclcnow« 
giDg here, as elsewhere, the presence in poetry of pow 

Ation and fancy — which are utterly incapable of scientifii 
c merely comes forward as the pioneer to a hitherto unex- 
g^on of literary investigation. The title of his work is 
\ its dogmatic tone being quite out of keeping with the 
r of his ireaiisc, which is Intended simply to indicate the 
c of a code of rhythm, such as is paralleled in two sister arts 
f the theory of music and the law of the composition of colours. 
B critic who knew his work could have failed to understand the 
1 thus taken up by Professor Sylvester ; and we can only 
!t in the cause of common justice that several would-be 
\ book have proved themselves either too obtuse or toi 
.( to recognise this, the very obvious standpoint of its authi 
I We readily accept the broad conclusions arrived at by Profe: 
jrlvester in this introductory exposition of his theory ; and only 

1 detail, both of them bearing on the arrangement of his 

; have occurred to us. We admit the separate existence of 

c of his divisions of rhythm, with the exception of phonetic 

IS opposed lo synectic, diough we confess that we mi 

f vrith his method of distributing them. 

I The rhythmical tree, so to speak, that Professor Sylvester presi 

^ to, is the following :— 


Accenl, Quantily. Suspensions, Jur] 

is. Phonetic Sficgy. Sytnptinis. 

Kow we should rather Iiave expected the arrangement below ;- 

Syucctic 01 syic(^. 

iiciric, 01 ihe law of disconiinuLijr, j 

, I 

ChrattiMu:. Sym ptosis. 

\ »fter all, if we rcfrr to his definitions, we shall find our author's 
yr^q^ 10 lie iq ofect identical with syQecu^, uA. 

42 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

his own arrangement of it under synectic, side by side with anas- 
tomosis and symptosis, a cross division, and, as such, unscientific 
Again, that colorific succession of vowel sounds through and out of 
each word into its successor, to which Professor Sylvester gives the 
name chromatic, we own to regard in the light of the third branch of 
synectic, and as capable, from this point of view, of a fruitful analysis. 

But however we may difler in detail, we in the main confess to a 
cordial acceptance of Professor Sylvester's views of the functions of 
synectic and its subdivisions, and to these subdivisions let us now 
more particularly direct our attention. 

On the subject of anastomosis Professor Sylvester has said but little, 
yet the truth of that little has been strongly confirmed, since the 
publication of the " I^ws of Verse," by two extremely able and 
suggestive papers by Dr. Hake, in the AthencBuw of the loth and of 
the 17th of September. The appearance of these papers is the more 
remarkable from the fact that although " The I^ws of Verse " was 
reviewed in the Atheficeurn of the Saturday preceding the insertion of 
the first of these communications, in neither of them does Dr. Hake 
take any notice of the fact that Dr. Sylvester has anticipated him with 
the public in the statement of two out of three observations on 
rhythm, by means of which Dr. Hake has subjected the poem 
presumed by him to be an unpublished epitaph of Milton's, to a just 
and searching criticism. 

But let Dr. Hake speak for himself: — 

"Without pretending to exhaust the subject, I can state confidently that the 
perfection of verse, as rcj;ards form and mclcdy, depends more or less on the 
following conditions : — 

** I. The presence?, in the greatest possible abundance, of auricular rhjTnes and 
cadences in the body of a verse, not according; to spelling, but to sound, and so 
nicely hidden as to elude observation, at the same time that they give rise to a 
sense of melodious diction. 

** 2. The presence in greater or less number of open vowels, and of what may 
be named confluent consonants, and semi-confluent consonants, to the exclusion, as 
far as possible, of non-confluents. These are the predominant sources of sweetness 
in verse ; but for the absolute perfection of metrical composition another source of 
beauty must be added, namely, — 

"3. The presence of ocular, /. ^., orthographical terminal rhymes or cadences, 
to the exclusion of auricular rhymes, or cadences, which chime only to the ear. 

"Before attempting to apply these rules it will be necessar>' to give a short 
explanation of them. 

** I. As regards latent rhymes and cadences, the announcement of their universal 
prevalence in poetry may excite suipribc. yet the genius of composition shows itself 
widely, perhaps chiefly, in their use. They are to be found in almost every line of 
poetry ; for my own part, there is scarcely a line that I have examincxl in ancient 
or modern verse that is not crowded with them. Alliterations, both of vowels and 

Syhtiler's Laws of Verse. 

noticeable in many poenu ; bui ihc talent tliymc and cadence,. 
«tul ii Kin more imporiant ia ultimate analyt^is, the latent semi-riiyrne i 
ctdcDce dsooTenble in the hilf-asonance of (he diphthong, ate only lo b 
by inalytlt^ tCK«tch. It (& qaite ceriain that no author hiu hithi 
coRKlau* or diawing on these elements vf melody iluring composition ; ihey obey 
> ^lAed eat, while the mind is unable (o analyse Ihe lawi which Eovera its 


\ to his last sentence we are, with Professor Sylvesler, agreed 
Dr. Hake m tola. But what grounds has Dr. Hake for die 
ittous statement, that "it is quite certain that no author has 
lerto been <»nscious of drawing on these elements of melody 
lOg compoiition?" We venture to stale our most firm convic- 
tion that, of living poets, Mr. Tennyson and Mr. Swinboume pre- 
f^noitly show design in their juxtaposition of vowel and of con- 
^uoani sounds > whilst of our classical writers, Milton, Pope, and 
Moore notably betray their study of the more subtle principles of 
Such ti3i:cs of the phonetic file are quite enough to prove that in 
syaeciical as well as in die metrical division of rhythm the gifted 
tmy be guided by a judgment experienced in tone ciTecis. 
In support of these remarks, as far as they concern Milton, we refer 
Hake to the conclusion of the second chapter of Mr. Guest's well- 
work on English Rhythms. 
Little efibrt is wanted." as Johnson once observed, " to make our 
harsh and rough. It cost Milton no trouble to double his 
Its, and load his line with rugged syllables when he described 

conflict between his angels But when he 

could also glide upon his vowels and make his language as 

as the Italbn It Is a remark of Cowper that a 

rixigh line seems to add a greater smoothness to the others ; and no 

unc bciliT knew the advantages of contrast than Miiton. There can 

be little doubt many of his harsher verses, some of which contain 

rely a bwd-roll of names, were introduced for the sole purpose of 

lightening ihe melody of the lines which followed." 

Wc have said that the truth of Professor Sylvester's principle of 

btomiHis has been confirmed by Dr. Hake, for when he considers 

nuitibcrs of open vowel^ of confluents, and semi-confluents, used 

'to cwmect the words of a poem, Dr. Hake is in effect invesiigatin 

(lint iniportaoi aynectic principle indicated by the author o 

lA-mtii Vetsi;,"' 

We should like to quote all Dr. Hake says upon the 

wiU only permit us very bhdly to suniniaiise 1 



Anastomosis is facilitated by open vowels, whether at the end or 
commencement of a word ; by confluent consonants, which we may 
define as two like or homologous consonants in juxtaposition, the 
one at the end of a word, the other at the beginning of its successor, 
which have a smoothing effect upon verse ; and by serai-confluents, 
or unlike consonants possessed of confluent properties. 

Of tliis law of anaslomosis Professor Sylvester makes this interesting 
remark in afoot-note on page 45 of his "Laws of Verse:"— "Anasto- 
mosis, although little talked about, is no secret, being necessarily 
ferailiar to writers of words for song music, and all judicious singing 
masters, a great part of whose business is to teach the art of keeping 
back the breath." We have no doubt that the marvellous smoothness 
in versification of Moore's Melodies in respect of anastomosis is a 
proof of the justice of the above observation ; for in singing the 
stress of the voice is laid upon vowel sounds, and it becomes therefore 
necessary for the song-writer to keep his consonants as much as 
possible in check, and since they are nowhere so apt to accumulate 
as in the transition of one word to another, special attention ought to 
be given by him to anastomosis. 

We have already indicated our conception of "Chromatic" 

Its charm consists in a succession of happily modulated or varied 
vowel sounds, such modulation or variety depending much for eflfect 
upon the relation borne by the consonants that encase them to these 
sounds themselves and to one another. We believe that a carefiil 
study of chromatic would result in the discovery of fixed principles 
regulating the harmony of sequent tones. Of this department of 
synectic, as we believe it to be, Professor Sylvester thus eloquendy 
writes ; — " Of course I am not unaware that there is a third source 
of phonetic beauty in verse (the highest of all), which depends on 
gradations of tones, on the agreeable succession of allied sounds, in 
especial, though not exclusively, vowel sounds, has a continuity like 
that of the colours and tints in the solar spectrum," and produces "a 
pleasure like that we feel in a sunset, or a rainbow glow and fade- 
away in the sky." 

Some of the most beautiful and popular lines in Gray and Byron, 
he adds, owe their chief charm to the prevalence of this elemenL 

From chromatic we lastly turn to a brief consideration of symptosis. 
Professor Sylvester's subdivision of this branch of his subject into 
rhymes, assonances (tinder which he includes alliteration), and clashes, 
does not quite satisfy us. Admitting these as distinct kinds of 
symptosis, we would, under conection, submit the following scheme of 
symptosis to him, explaining as we do so that Scandinavian allitera- 

Sylvesters Laws of Verse, 


tfoji means " alliteration neither necessarily initial nor final," as Mr. 
Angus expresses it — as in the example — 

Dep/^s eye ha/>4 not fa/^omed : — 





Vowel clash. 


Consonantal clash. 

Vowd chime. 

Consonantal chime, or alliteration. 


Common alliteration. 


Scandinavian alliteration. 




\ I Internal. Final or Spanish rhjrme. 

OcoXaj. Auricular. 

^r. Guest has written so exhaustively upon the chiming principles 
of rhyme and alliteration, that in the present paper we shall not 
attempt to discuss them, except so far as to observe that assonance 
seems most easily producible in blank verse, being apt to interfere 
with as well as to be deprived of its due effect by rhyme. On the 
subject of clashes very little seems to be known. They are often 
employed for onomatopoeic purposes, as the passage quoted above 
from Mr. Guest would hint, but we believe they are usually to be 
raet with at the ends and beginnings of words, so that in the very 
positions where by the laws of anastomosis and symptosis we should 
expect to meet assonant and confluent tones, they jar and startle the 
^ with dissonant and non-confluent ones ; as, for example, in the 
following couplet from Mr. Swinboume's ode on the " Proclamation 
of the French Republic"— 

** Thine own life and rr^ation of ihy fate 
Thou hast set thine hand to yinmake and dxscreate." 

Here a discordant but not the less effective vowel clash upon the a 
^und is noticeable. This clash is in each produced by an unpleasant 
though doubtless artistic anticipation of the rhyme sound. Mr. 
browning's poems carry consonantal clash to a disagreeable excess. 
Indeed, we have observed that his verse is only too obviously want- 
ing in anastomosis, as indeed it also shows ignorance or disregard 
of chromatic and chiming principles. From this discursive — and we 

46 The Gentleman s Magazine, 

feel most imperfect — commentary upon Professor Sylvester's " PriB' 
ciple of Synectic or Phonetic Syzegy," we pass on to his metrical 
exemplifications of it. 

These consist of a translation of the "Tyrrhena Regum Progenies* 
and part of the ode on Europa of Horace, several translations iiott^ 
the German, and some original poems headed " Anon.," but " dictate*^ 
by a roving fancy " that we must presume to have been ProfessO^ 
Sylvester's own. 

Apart from the syzegetic skill displayed in his translation of Horace' 
well-known " Invitation to Maecenas," we cannot refrain from noticin 
en passant his interesting " Exhibition of the Dichotomous Plan of th 
Construction of the Ode," which will, we doubt not, be suggestive?' 
to the critics of a similar treatment of other classical poems ; and 
from calling attention to his shrewd and original criticism in fevour 
of the use of " ne " in line six of the ode rather than " ut," from a 
regard to the geographical positions of the three places mentioned 
in the second verse. His note upon this passage also anticipates 
Dr. Hake by a most valuable suggestion on the use of synectic. 

If a doubtful word or passage in a classical poet who writes har- 
monious verse is wanting in rhythmical melody, we may reasonably 
presume it corrupt. More than this, if the corruption has been the 
result of illegibility, we believe, as we are convinced Professor 
Sylvester does, that a critic with a good ear and observant eye would 
be most likely to restore the true reading. 

The translation of the above-mentioned ode is in our opinion, both 
for spirit and closeness to its original, the happiest reproduction in 
English of an ode of Horace to be met with since the time of Milton. 
This is high, but we believe well-merited praise. Our author has 
achieved what would have seemed the well-nigh impcssible task of 
converting sixteen alcaic stanzas, pregnant with fire and freedom, into 
sixteen verses of alternately rhyming octosyllabics, in which not only 
the nervous grace, but even the happy word-painting and musical 
cadence of the master are faithfully reflected. But let our readers 
judge for themselves in our author's rendering of the four most 
well-known stanzas of this well-known ode — 

*• Lord of Himself and blest shall prove 
He who can boast from day to day 
* I've lived : to-morrmv Ut high Jove 
Black cloud or sunshine^ as he may, 

*• * Pour o*cr the Pole I what's come and gone 
To frustrate, doth defy his power ; 
Or aught to unshape or make undone. 
Once ravished by thefiying hour.* 

Sylvester's Laws of Verse, 47 

" Fortune at work with savage glee 

On mocking game, remorseless bent, 
SJdfts her light favour s^ now to ffu. 
To another now, beneficent. 

** I greet her stay, but if anew 

She shakes swift wings, her gifts abjure. 
And wrapped in my own virtue ivoo 
Poverty, portionless but pure y 

Here, besides reproducing the fine effect of the pause in the middle 
of line forty-five of the ode, he has most exqusitely reflected the 
chromatic effect of the word-pictures — 

** Quod fugiens semel hora vexit." 
•* Transmutat incertos honores." 

** Si celeres quatit pennas." 


** Virtutc me involvo." 

When we turn to his rendering of the story of Europa, we confess 
ourselves, on the whole, disappointed. His sentences are here too often 
uneasily turned in the effort to secure concentration of expression — 
witness the construction of the third verse of his translation ; and to 
judge our author by his own laws we think there is a neglect throughout 
these verses of the principle of " anastomosis." Of his translations 
from the German we most admire his rendering of the " Ideals," and 
"light we only be allowed to make a substitution of our own for an- 
other word which we feel sure must have accidentally slipped into 
the context, we should be inclined to quote three of its happiest 
stanzas. But we see our way to a compromise with the aid of 
inverted commas— 

** As when, enamoured of his creature, 
Pygmalion * clsisped ' his statue bride, 
Till through each pallid marble feature 
Sensation poured its flowing tide — 

** So I, in fond delirium, often 

Wooed Nature with a lover's zest. 
Till she, to warm, to breathe, to soften. 
Relented on this poet-breast ; 

" And all its fervid transports meeting, 

She who was dumb an utterance found, 
Gave back my lips' ecstatic greeting. 
And felt my heart's impassioned sound." 

We have not space to quote from our author's other translations 
fr^ni the German, much though we should have liked to have given 

48 T}u Gentleman s Magazine. 

our readers some extracts from the " Cassandra " and " Casi 
Sea," and others. We cannot, however, regard any of 
approaching the " Ideals " in point of finish ; and we oba 
they at times are disappointingly unidiomatic in express 
sidering the admirable English that Professor Sylvester h 
himself master of, both in the pieces hitherto noticed am 
some vigorous original poems, with a spirited quotation fri 
we conclude this notice — 


" Oh ! why those nairoir rules exCol ? 
' These but restrain from ill. 
True virtue lies in strength of soul 
And energy of will ; 

" To B.1I that's great and high aspires, 
Prompts to Che path of fame, 
From heaven draw* down Promethean fires. 
And wraps the soul in &une ; 

" With brow erect, eye undismayed, 
Confronts the midday nm. 
Nor sleeps itiglorious in the shade 
or praises cheaply won ; 

A Ball in Season. 

Tj^|('i-^HE sun has gone down to warm the antipodes : mother 
Vllf-^ earth is drawing her pure while hood around her chilling 
shoulders, ajid we have snatched a tuft of its delicate 
fringe and squeezed it compactly round, that it may 
mdtire while we spend a half hour in trying whether the snowy 
sphere will not suggest to us ideas extending beyond those of cold, 
whiteness, and rotundity, which alone it could call up to the lively 
uoagination of the immortal essayist on the human understanding. 

Strange it may seem that with her high bodily warrnth our mother 
;!<ibe should be compelled to weave for herself a close warm cap out 
"' ihe thin diaphanous cover that surrounds her, just because an 
iiitemal fire is in part withdrawn. The world's heart is a furnace : 
iwat the most fervent that can be imagined has its home at the 
iHitslrial centre, and extends surfacewards so far that beneath the 
' '*'ysltin, as it were, there is a water-boiling temperature. A mere 
Waich, to speak proportionately, reveals to us a tropical degree of 
"Milh. Every hundred feet or less of depth raises the mercury of a 
s'Jiken thermometer one degree higher upon the scale. And yet our 
'orld's skin is so cold that it cannot endure for a few short weeks 
ihe absence of the sun's genial rays without striving after a compen- 
aibn L The esplaoation lies in the bad conducting power of the 
wilij' materials that compose the thin cold cmst That molecular 
motion which is called heat cannot readily be communicated to 
stony and earthy substances, and a very thin stratum of these suffices 
Mtiicly to bar the progress of diffusing warmth. They who dwell 
h' volcanoes know that the lava stream, which is a fiery river one 
^Y, to-raonow cools upon the surface sufficiently to be walked on in 
^eiy, while an inch or two below it retains its red-hot viscosity. 
How a brick wail will confine a fire is known to our advantage ; 
^'■"1 the little inch of plaster on a ceiling may be a formidable 
l^er to the progress of a conflagration, as the prince of firemen 
^ lold us. 

No, the earth with all her subcutaneous heat cannot keep herself 

•Sim through a winter without a close wrapper over her shoulders. 

fifi bodily warmth is not enough for her in summer ; even then she 

iKds the soft atmospheric dress to stave oliT the killing frost that a 

Vol, VI,. N.s. 1870. I 


50 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

single night's withdrawal of the sun would bring were that dress away. 
That illimitable space in which our world and its fellow-spheres are 
swimming has a temperature so low as to be almost inestimable. 
Attempts that have been made to gauge it have resulted in figures 
which differ so widely that neither can be called reliable : but all arc 
inconceivably low ; for who can imagine a temperature of 250 degrees 
below the freezing point ? This intensely cold medium is for ever 
striving to draw off the earth's warmth, and it is but the vaporous 
cloak that checks the withdrawal and saves the world from being 
rendered too cold for man to dwell upon. " Remove," says Professor 
Tyndall, ** for a single summer night, the aqueous vapour from the 
air which overspreads this country, and you would assuredly destroy 
every plant capable of being destroyed by a freezing temperature. 
The warmth of our fields and gardens would pour itself unrequited 
into space, and the sun would rise upon an island held fast in the 
iron grip of frost" A state of things akin to this exists upon oar 
nearest neighbour-world, the moon, and in a highly exaggerated 
degree. For a day that is fourteen times as long as ours, the sun 
pours down his rays upon the lunar soil, which has no atmosphere or 
cloud to shelter it, and heats that soil to a temperature which recent 
measures justify us in estimating at twice that of boiling water; 
and when the sun sets, a night as long ensues, during which the 
accumulated heat, having no kind of blanket to keep it in, flies off 
rapidly, and, perhaps befc^e the night is half spent, the cold sinks 
down till it reaches or approximates that severe degree which has 
been estimated as the temperature of the interplanetary medium. 
And the moon having no surrounding shell of vapour, cannot form 
for itself a snowy cloak to mitigate the outflow of its warmth. 

In the artificiality of city life, we are apt to overlook the beneficial 
influences of some of nature's provisions for a more natural state of 
existence. Snow is regarded by a town-reared mind rather as a 
nuisance than as a benefaction : it is not for the city's use, and die 
citizen feels more of its evils than of its virtues. We must go to 
the husbandman to hear the white meteor's praises sung. Here and 
in neighbouring lands he has made his admiration proverbial 
"Snow year, good year," our farmers say. The Spaniard calls "A 
year of snow a year of plenty." " Under snow, bread," the Italian 
curtly remarks ; and also, " Snow for a week is a mother to the 
earth " — though conscious of the possibility of having too much of 
a good thing, he adds to this that "after a week it becomes a step- 
mother." And it is by no means diflicult to give reasons for the 
good influences implied by these gratefiil proverbs. The wanndi- 

A Ball in Season. 

preserving power of snow is the most important of them. There 
•ar cely ■ greater apparent anomaly in nature than is here presenl 

! coldest of substances being a heat-sustaining medium. Bilt 
I'UionuLly is phantasmic ; and it vanishes when we consider that 
Hunnth-conducting power of a substance has nothing lo do with 
1 proper temperature, but depends upon its structural com| 
The woollen comforter lias no warmth of its own, but 
D fibrous raaicrial offers such a barrier to the waves of heat 
/ trying to eacai>e from our bodies, that its contact conveys 
E idea that its substance is wsrm. Snow approaches 
B duiacter to «rooI : it is soft and open ; and for this reason 
I Hke wool in confining warmdi. TIte " ethereal billows " of h( 
king from the earth meet an obstacle at every separate particle 
r blanket and are beaten back, the ground profiting by 
[ losa. The surface of snow may be cooled by radiation, ot' 
^Icak winds, or the adjacent stratum of air may become bitterly 
1, stiU the body of the snow prevents the frost from striking down 
i the earth, which is virtually warmed by having the cold ki 
from it 

This protective intervention of snow is the secret of its bencfi< 
injaucDce on crops and vegetation. An old idea was that its virtni- 
WM due to the quantity of nitrous salts the frozen particles were 
3iippoae<l lo contain ; but when a chemist of the last century 
an3lys«d both snou- and rain water, and iound thai their constituents 
■mtrc so acaiXy alike that there could be no difference in their 
chemical cflccts on vegetation, this notion fell out of recognition. 
Yet iu warmth conservation is not tlie only good function of snow. 
It breaks up the ground, renders it porous, and allows the air to 
enter and exercise its powerful fertilising influence upon tile earthy 
materials. And the moderate supply of water that it yields gendy 
pen:olates the soil, without that washing away which i^in in 
down pour causes. 

In \Kv of its beneficial action upon the earth, it is not surprisii 
that the believers in myslic cures and simples should imagine that 
tnow possessed medical or healing properties, pf some of these we 
IWTc BUM'i\'als in the supposed efficacy of snow in removing chil- 
s and heating frost-bites, though we doubt whether any medli 
B could now be found to declare that snow variously administi 
e fcvcfs, colics, tooth-aches, sore eyes, and pleurisies, act 
irive firora ihc plague, and otherwiae tend lo prolong 
\ iboe were the creeds of a. physician of two ceniuhc^ 
jf mho mote ft tKftUse 230 v«%^ 





52 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

" De Nivis Usu Medico." And he was no quack. 
of his curiovis work he treats of the very rational use of snow as a 
benumbing agent to be used before surgical operations, adding thaC- 
the method was taught him by Marcus Aiirelius Severinus of Naples- 
Harvey, the English discoverer of the circulation of the blood, founiX^ 
relief from gout in the cold of snow, for he used to go to the roof ot~ 
his house when an attack came on, and plunge his affected foot intc^ 
the icy water that lodged there. 

Madame Earth takes kindly to her snowy cloak only when she feel^s- 
the want of it Seldom does it descend uninvited ; if it does, it^K^ 
good intentions are repelled, and it is melted away. Snow is presen^^ 
aloft in the air often when we Uttle suspect it. Many a white cloucH^ 
that breaks the blue monotony of the summer sky is made up o^E 
snow crystals or icy spiciilje. We know this from the direc^fc 
experience of aeronauts, who have many a rime left the warm earth:^ 
and lower airs of summer days, and at a mile or two high p!ungec^3 
into the thick of a snow-storm or a cloud of riny icicles. The coi^^. 
tinual deposit of snow on mountain tops, too, is a palpable proof o^kJ 
its constant formation at great elevations. And we have inductiv — ^ 
proof of ice crj'stals abounding at sky height from the beautifi-:^ 
phenomena of halos and parhelia. These arcs and circles are formesr-d 
by the refraction of the sun's or the moon's light through tiny prisi»rris 
of ice lying in a stratum at a distance above the earth's surface, ar^^d 
with their axes turned in various directions. The light falls upon ^rr^H 
alike, but it only passes to the spectator's eye through those that ^lj« 
at a definite angular distance from the luminary, just as dist^L_Jit 
objects viewed through a toy prism, to show the fringes of rainb* — '" 
colours, can only be seen when the prism is twisted to a particu^** 
angle. What that angle is depends mainly upon the angles whi- "^ 
the sides of the prism make with each other. The one may 
determined from the other. When, therefore, the angular deviati ■^* 
which a beam of sunlight suffers in a crjstal floating in the aix" 
measured, it is possible to find what are the angles which the fac^^^^ 
of that crystal form with each other. Now, in a halo this angle _1 
deviation is the radius of the luminous ring, for ob\-iously all <---^ 
beams that are equally deviated from the line joining the sun 
rooon and the spectator's eye must lie in a circle; and wH^^ 
that radius is measured, and the angles of the crystal are cC**"-* 
puted from it, these angles are found to be ilwse u-bkh are kntrr^^^^^ 
to belong to crystals of ke. So that without going up in 
balloon, it is ascertainable that snow and ice are formed ao ^^^ 
endure in the higher airs during the warmth of summer. TTrt^ 


A'^aft iH Season. 55 

] proof was, indeed, offered long before that which aeronaui 
hive given us. 

If the cotd crj'stals attempt to descend to the canh out of the 
pnjpcf seiuon, they have to pass through a stratum of wann 
ihey an taelled into rain. They can reach the ground in their in- 
iqrity only when the atmosphere they pass through is lower ihan the 
Titer fieeung temperature ; and ihey can lie where they fall only when 
-It ground is correspondingly cold. Clearly the ground draws down 
«hiic hood only when it reijoires its warmth. This is an example' 
I '.he fitness of natural things. If in these temperate climes the 
' L^h wanted snow in summer, diat snow would come ; it has fallen 
'i'lm needed widiin the torrid zone. The present fringe of the 
i inhcra snow-cap docs not descend much below thirty degrees of 
I iiituile. The line below which snow is not seen runs irregularly 
.niund the eastern hemisphere from near Gibraltar in lat 36°, 
i" i little north of Canton, or lat. 14°; and in the western hemi- 
■t'hitc it aosses the North American continent from laL 39° on the 
'ifific eoast to lai 35 " on the shores of the Atlantic. This, we 
■-y, i» the present border ; in ages past it must have been different, 
j-i'l it may alter in ages to come. The traces of glacial action that 
"■- lo be found in places where ice rivers have for centuries ceased 
■' ^n*, are proofs of a distribution of heat 3i]d cold upon the globe 
■ 't? JilTcrent from that which at present obtains. Not only in the 
"■ 'Shbourhood of existing glaciers, but within the compass of our 
''" islands — in Cumberland, in NortK Wales, in Ireland— have 
*'- evidence tliai the moisture which now falls as rain once fell as 
'"iw. Rock surfaces ground and polished, grooves and mouldings 
!'""^t!d by the stones imijedded in the sinuous ice streams of 
■housands of years ago, come to sight in the most unlikely regions. 
}• Hooker even found that the cedars of sainted Lebanon grow 
n ancient glacier moraines. 

B thtw eagerness to refer effects to causes, philosophers have 
[ several explanations of tlie great climatic change here 
One is that the earth's internal heal has altered in 
itityi another, that the sun has at some time shed less of 
c rays than at present ; another, that our globe— our whole 
, ID fiun — in its course through space has at some lime-' 
ddUDUgh icgiomi more intensely cold than that which 

Bui all these are unsupported assumptions. There is 
I to believe that the changes have been produced by 
S of the dijiancc of the earth from the sun, due to a cham 
jf of the terrestrial orbit ; and as such a vanat^on 



n 1|f 


54 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

known to exist, and is calculable in amount, it really appears that 
here we have a t'era causa. But the acceptation of this theory 
involves immense draughts upon elapsed time ; for it places the 
geologist's last glacial epoch backwards a hundred thousand years' 
from the present day. This is, geologically, a small interval, 
though to those who retain their school-learnt chronology it will be 
incomprehensible. But if ever outrageous nonsense was promulgated 
as fact, it is in that date which is put forth in chronological tables as 
the year of the world's creation. 

The glacier subject is too vast a one here to be dwelt upon. But 
in passing from it, let us not overlook the link that exists between 
our compact snowball and the grand phenomena of glacier forma- 
tion. Snow was the original material of our ball, as it is of the 
Alpine ice streams. But in the ball, as in the stream, there ha3 
been an alteration of condition almost amounting to the formation* 
of a new substance. I'he fleecy nature of the new-fallen flakes 
been destroyed, and we have a hard mass of solid ice. Our ball- 
pressed only with the soft hand, we have not brought to the 
transparent state ; but we could easily produce this by an augmenta.- 
tion of pressure. Squeeze the snowball in hollow moulds, 
in size as the mass is reduced by compaction, and you will produce 
crystal sphere of ice. The recognition of this transformation sug^ 
gested to Professor Tyndall a theory of glaciers. Faraday had told 
him of a discovery, that if two pieces of ice were pressed together, 
they froze into close union at the point of contact Snow was in 
the yard of the Royal Institution shortly afterwards, and T3mdaU 
collected a quantity of it, and cramming it into a cylindrical sted 
mould, he inserted a metal plug and powerfully squeezed this down 
upon the yielding mass till it would yield no longer, and upon 
turning it out he had the pleasure of beholding a cylinder of trans- 
lucent ice. He immediately went to Faraday and expressed the 
conviction that his little outlying experiment would constitute the 
basis of a theory of glacier formation and glacier motion. In 
the fracture and reunion of the ice of which these rivers of frost are 
composed, Tjudall perceives a valid explanation of that apparent 
flouting motion which appears so incompatible in a material almost 
as brittle as glass. 

This self-soldering property of ice is known by the name of 
regehition. Highly curious advantages may be taken of it By 
squeezing pounded ice into hollows of suitable form, the Albemarle 
Street professor has produced first the foot of a wine-glass, next the 
stem, and lastly the bowl ; and then, by neady pressing the parts 


A Bali in Season. 55 

together ai the proper junctions, he has united the whole into & 
pe[f«;i drinking cup of tlie conventional fonn in clear glassy ice. 
: it naw summer time, many a mouth would water at the thought 
draught of claret from such an icy goblet ; but alas for the 
cnntKience of luxurious things ! such a cooling cup would have a 
ibort existence ; the wannth of air and hand and wine would soon 
puiaaend to the potions it could yield. So mouldable is ice under 
pressure, that it or snow could, if desired, be formed into statuettes, 
iises, flowers, or ornaments, which, while ihcir beauty lasted, would 
rital in clearness and delicacy anything that glass-blower or cutter 
cbuld produce in his material. Through this properly of regelation 
the Alpine traveller is enabled to convert a lender snow-bridge 
aosiing a chasm into a firm ice-plank that will bear his weight, merely 
bf treading the snowy surface cautiously till he squeezes the granules 
uito compiactness and conrinuity. Ice that is cast in loose fragments 
iiiro an ice-house would waste far more tlian it does were it not thU 
it regelates into one solid mass, from which lumps, as they are afto^ 
"■Jrds wanted, have to be hewn with a pick-axe. 

We may ascribe the agglomeration of snow crystals into large 
wwlly Sakes to the same cause. In some conditions of atmosphere 
ite beautifiil little six-petalled snow flowers shower down separately 
■nd singly ) but in others we find them uniting to form a bouqueL 
Vo doubt, in the latter case the air is at such a temperature as to 
*1W the crystals that naturally jostle one another in their descent to 
frec» together where they touch, and collect into a httle heap by 
the tune that they reach the ground Large flakes are formed whca 
"k iir is near the temperature of ^t", just at the freezing point ; 
*^ IS snowball makers know, it is then that snow can best be 
*liieeied into a mass. In severer cold the snow grains will not 
liiiid, but behave more Uke powdered salt. And it is during calm, 
liiy, ftosty conditions of atmosphere that the delicately- traced snow 
oysials come down one by one in the finest perfection, and their 
'Otulline beauty is seen to the greatest advantage. Upon the 
(legance and s)-mmetr>' of these tiny blossoms of the sky we need 
■mi dwelt Winter after winter they modestly invite our admiraiion, 
jenily tapping at our windows, and strewing our paths, and alighting 
on our dress, as if to court attention to die beauty that lUlure has 
iirishcd upon the smallest and most insignificant of her handiworks, 
**1 the order with which she conducts apparently the most unim*. 
pwant processes of hei vast laboratory. The sight of a tiny snow, 
•iw, Willi its continuity of design, manifested in the preservation of 
the hcxangular and hexagonal form of every ray and every branching 



56 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

particle, sets us a-wondering deeply at that marvellous architecture of 
nature which we call crystallisation. We can conceive the invaiia- 
bility of shape of the ultimate atoms of any one substance : we can 
understand that the molecules of water are hexagonal ; and compre- 
hending this, it is easy to infer that however these infinitesimally 
minute hexagonal building stones are piled into an edifice, the 
general design of that edifice will be of hexangular character. But 
who can imagine the principle upon which nature, while preserving 
the same order of architecture, yet varies the features with that 
kaleidoscopic diversity which we behold in these snow crystals? 
Every perfect crystal is six-rayed, and upon every ray there are small 
branches which support smaller branches still. In scarcely two 
crystals do we see precisely the same arrangement of icy spiculae; 
yet in any one crystal the whole six petals, with all their subordinate 
intricacies, are to the minutest point and particle identical. Our 
wisest philosophy is baffled to explain such an infinite diversity of 

No eye has yet perceived the building up of a snow crystal, or its 
formation from watery vapour. We may by chance have seen snow 
generated. During intense cold it is not uncommon for the influx 
of a draught of air at low temperature into a warm room to be 
announced by the appearance of a mist of snowy particles. You may 
have read of the beauties and gallants in a ballroom in St Peters- 
burgh being snowed upon because a window was suddenly openedL 
It matters not whether it be in the clouds or in an apartment, 
wherever two volumes of air, one warm and damp, the other cold, 
come into collision, condensation of the aqueous vapour of the 
former will result; and if the degree of cold be sufficient, the 
moisture will be precipitated in the frozen or snowy state. After this 
manner snow has been formed artificially ; but we never heard of an 
observer being able to watch the manner in which a snow-flower 
grows — what it begins with, and how the parts develope themselves. 
We may often, however, catch sight of a formative process somewhat 
analogous in the growth of frosty efflorescences upon our window 
panes; and we may have sometimes beheld the step by step con- 
struction, crystal upon crystal, filament upon filament, leaf upon leaf^ 
of an icy spray, and witnessed the undeviating character of the 
design through all its endless varieties of development These 
fern-like crystallisations are often remarkably synmietrical ; but so 
many accidental elements interfere with their production that they 
never reach the perfection of regularity attained by a snow-flower 
formed in mid-air without impediment or disturbing influence. Yet 

A Ball in Season. 57 

they present such graceful combinalions that designers, coveting 
iheii eiquisite paltems, have tried to press them in their natural 
integritj- into the decorative service. And, by the way, the same 
nay be said of ihc more geometrical snow cryslal. We have before 
us some pieces of a rich dress fabric, showii in the Exhibition of 
i86i, of which these crystals, worked upon a moderately large scale 
ID silver lace, constitute the omamenlation. And we possess a piece 
of fair finger-work in the shape of a greatly-enlarged crystal of 
elaboraie fotm, reproduced in white beads upon a black ground. 
We call to mind, too, that upon an occasion when the Crystal 
Palace was to be illuminated with gas, a director of scientific tastes 
gave the designs for some arrangements of jets in imitation of the 
a>-rayed snow stars ; but the man to whom the manufacture wa* 
owimitted, either in ignorance or presumption, made the stars with 
only five rays, and the ulUe diikt idea was frustrated. 

But if the building of a snow crystal, by Frost the architect, out of 

lie vaporous particles of the higher air is not a sight we can hope to 

behold, we have yet open to us a most interesting observation in the 

ictnal converse of the operation, to wit, the pulling down of mole- 

oiles block by block from a solid mass of ice in just the reverse 

i^er that nature followed in forming a six-rayed snow crystal. 

il»l cold erects, warmth demolishes. When a slab of dear speck- 

1 the path of a beam of heat coming from the sun or 

povecful lamp, so that the warmtli shall exercise its power in the 

ty centre of the icy slab, an instructive process of internal disin- 

pation commences. The heat begins to pull down the structure 

Wecule by molecule ; but with the most precise order. Kx first 

7 spots appear within the solid ice ; then each spot begins tO' 

* its outline into a stellar form. Then rays appear, which are six 

ftninnber, and from the •sides of each ray the thawing starts in- 

;ular directions, and in perfectly symmetrical style, till at 

ih every spot becomes a star with serrated rays, and the ice is 

id with internal flaws, which are in form precisely similar to, and 

■pometrically perfect as snow crystals, the order and formation of 

h has been exactly inverted. The flowery spaces thus formed in 

pbody of the ice are filled with water. In the centre of each one 

a little bubble — not an air bubble, but a drop of emptiness — 

ofect vacuum, which makes its appearance because the water is 

Illufficient to fill the cavity that it occupied as ice. All substances 

1 in passing from the fluid to the solid state. Once it was 

ght that water alone had this property, but it has of late been 

1 that it is possessed by all fusible bocfies. The beautiful ex- 


58 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

periment above described is one exhibited by the high pnest of 
thermotics and frigoriiics whose name we have had several occa- 
sions to mention. 

But our snowball has been under discussion so long that it will 
have returned to its primordial condition. A little pool of water 
marks its place. Is it worth while to analyse the liquid? We 
should find it differing but little from rain-water in constitution ; but 
we might discover within it living germs brought from the sky to 
show us how far and wide the breath of life has been wafted. 
Snow thrown into water the purest obtainable has been known to 
teem the fluid with animalculse which the frosty fleece must have 
gathered on its way from the clouds. And we know that red snow 
and green snow are to be found at times all the snow world over, 
from the polar plain to the temperate mountain top, sometimes lying 
inches deep ; and when the colouring matter is examined, it is found 
to consist of low forms of life — so low, seemingly, as to have caused 
diversity of opinion as to whether the rosy and verdant cells are 
animal or vegetable, moving things or fungL Never mind which, 
sufRce it that cold is no more than heat an obstacle to the develop- 
ment of living germs — that the maintenance of life, which is the soul 
of natiure, is provided for upon the snow-capped mountain as in the 
deep ocean's bed. 

The Ship of the Desert. 

v^N this title the reader will readily recognise the dromedaiyi 
c-honoured claim to it. recenily contested, has been 
V reestablished by an able advocate, and it will be yet a. 
; long time ere steam and iron will entirely supplant him as 
1 vehicle in chiel More to the point has been the question raised 
Hi to the camel's individual qualities. (The terra "came!" is here 
uKd generically. though of course excluding the lamas ; (here being 
litlle to be said of the Bactrian or two-humped camel not equally 
true of the dromedary.) 

"Praise undeserved is satire in disguise," and in this sense no 
linng animal has been more gratuitously satired than ihe camel. 
His merits are incontestable, and may be mainly summarised in thv 
tliretfold qualities of sobriety, swiftness, and enduring strength. Hil 
»«»icea 10 man can scarcely be overrated by his most partial friends; 
liic)' have been ever paramount and priceless. To him the Calmuc 
<*« his ancient and poetic freedom. By his means, (or many cen- 
■""« alone, the Russian merchant trafficked with the wealth of 
China 1 and without his aid, in all probability, the plains of Northern 
AlHca would have remained a virgin desert to the present day. Nor 
« he, when penned and slaughtered, of mean importance to his lord 
«id ULister. The milk, the flesh, the wool and skin of camels are the 
"tire and food of countless families. The spoils in detail have each 
llicir known utility, and we have it on the authority of Speke that the 
'■"lel's hump is not surpassed in goodness by the much-vaunted 
■"ink of tiie black elephant. 

Surely these amply honouring distinctions might suffice to save the 
^»™el from his friends. So unhappily chosen have been the epithets 
l^itDwed on him, that the exaggeration has become grotesque. The 
^b stares on hearing him described as patient, amiable, intelligent, 
Sfntle, and thinks at first that you must mean the horse ; but on 
'owning that you actually allude to ihe camel, he lifts his eyes to 
Wtn. wondering at the strange delusions to which the Prophet 
•^a>dons the departers from the true faith. To call the camel 
^inste as a mule, is to depreciate his obstinacy by a full thii 
«i» patience resembles that of a thwarted hog, and his gentleness 
''liat endearing kind which we usually attribute to the bear. As' 



6o The Gentleman s Magazine. 

regards his intelligence there still remains some difference of opinion. 
He is allowed by all to be superior to the calf, but few accord him 
rank beyond the bullock. Between the chieftain's dromedary and 
the mere sumpter camel there are certainly distinctions to be noted, 
but the prominent characteristics comprise the entire family, and the 
Arab who proclaims the horse his willing friend, reviles the camel as 
a reluctant slave, rendering impatient service, and deterred by fear 
alone from turning on his vigilant oppressor. 

The camel's resentment is nevertheless intelligible. His powers 
are overtaxed, and his sobriety is abused. Man is his tyrant, and 
rules on the principle of the v(b victis I The struggle is from birth to 
death, and it is not always with impunity, as we shall see hereafter, 
that the victory remains to man. 

To be judged of correctly the camel must be' observed at the 
moment of adjusting the packloads. In tones of wrath anticipated 
the driver calls to him to kneel, accompanying the cry with lashed 
pitiless and repeated. The camel would hesitate, but obeys abruptk'5' 
under the influence of some sharp cut, foul indeed, but highf^ 
successful. A stifled roar follows, betokening anger and defiance 
although, once on his knees, it is seldom he resists further than b^0 
passive demonstrations. On the approach of the packsaddle h^^ 
contrives nevertheless to ^Tithe in such a manner as to present hi^^ 
back sideways. This expected hindrance is redressed suddenly by^ 
a smart kick on the ankle bone, and the moment is seized for rapidly 
poising the panniers. Occasionally he attempts to rise, and in this 
case the driver falls heavily across his knees in a sitting posture, 
straining the joints downwards, and subduing him with sheer pain. 
Should he attempt to bite, as is oftenest the case, in an instant he 
finds his lips compressed and his nostrils gagged ; meanwhile a 
neighbour hurriedly completes the loading, and the camel is released 
at the point of incipient suffocation. 

With this explanation of hostilities as they actually exist, it remains 
to be seen whether man or camel was the first aggressor. And here 
it must be conceded to man that his instincts, though cruel, are 
highly selfish, and would naturally prompt him to economise a usefiil 
life, and as the Arab well knows that the camel's days are shortened 
by ill-treatment, it is fair to suppose he finds it impossible to treat 
him well. Such is, alas, the untoward truth. Monstrous in person, 
the camel surpasses in defects and vices the whole family of 
domestic quadrupeds. He is at once more fetid than the goat, 
more stubborn than the mule, more pusillanimous than the sheep. 
In fine, the camel resembles his master in too many essential 

Tlu sup 0/ lite Desert. 


Other than teims 

parliculare to live and work with 
irreconcilcable rivalry. 

Nor are his services unmingied profiL His delight is to slip 6 
ginhing, and scatter his load along the sands ; and though the foo 
y/rints iisually enable the owner to recover his merchandise, the bala 
are often sand-scorched, and the loss of time incalculable. Whoi^ 
mounted, the camel's pace and movements are mostly insupportable. 
To keep his seat the native rider himself is compelled to sit with 
vigilance. To all others the exercise is one of painful need or of 
pure English bravado. When the animal is at full speed or kept s 
in artificial Crot, not always attainable, there is some alle^-iation, I 
otherwise the movement resembles that of a rocking-horse tilted froni^ 
'ip to tip, and balked incessantly with eccentric shocks. The effect 
°n the bc^ner is to induce sea-sickness, with this difference, that 
instead of the long and helpless misery of a steamboat convalescence, 
Vour recovery is here secured at once by a surprising and most 
"Tiseniing remedy. The carael has been watching his opporttmity, 
^^ judging it come, from the languid resistance you begin to oppose 
'" him, suddenly whisks his stomach bottom upwards, spills you 
•loloiily, tramples you into the sand, bites your ribs, flies off the 
"ack to right or left, and leaves you bruised and blistered to be 
'^joined at leisure by the caravan. 

From what precedes the reader may fairly ask how the presence is 
«;counted for in Egypt and elsewhere of innumerable camels, ever 
Pacing with noiseless regularity, and, to all appearances, docile and 
Pacific. It must not be forgotten that in man these camels recognise 
llieir vanquisher, and have leaml by hard experience that they have 
"^ him a relentless and unsparing taskmaster. It is, moreover, chiefly 
at the morning and evening exercise of loading and unloading that 
'"e camel exhibits his vicious temper. Once beaten into harness, 
and spent with unheeded lamentations, he rises sore and sullen, to 
"•'Teh till evening prayer in uninterrupted and disdainful silence. 

The camel's real ij'rant is, nevertheless, the professional camel- 
*^^er, rather than collective man. In spile of his many faults he 
^ his friends and protectors, and it is always at his own peril that 
^^ driver overloads him. It has been urged, in proof of the camel's 
"'lelligence, that wiien overioaded he refuses to rise. This reminds 
"■^^ of the intelligent infant that let go the red-hot flat-iron of its owaa 
^■^Wd. The lact is the camel cannot rise when loaded to excess,! 
*^d this is so well understood that the most unscrupulous driver j 
'^arda it as the test of his maximum capacity. He rises often with 
* 'oad too heavy to be carried far, but an abuse so flagrant is speedily 




r of ^^ 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 


and filly punished by the premature death of the unlucky mnrinimt. 
A law fixes the legal weight for an adult male at seven hundred 
pounds Arab (or 638 ibs. English), and it is related by Brehm in his 
popular description of the animal kingdom, that in the province of 
Siout, in Upper Egypt, a gigantic camel once entered the open doore 
of the divan, where Latief-Pacha, the acting governor, sat dispensing 
Justice from his official chair. 

"What wants this animal?" said the Bey; "he groans and 

.ggers ; he has surely a complaint to nuke against his master. 
Send for him instantly, and let us confront the parties." 

The driver arrives, and, *vith guilty stupefaction, detects at once 
the point at issue. The load is weighed in his presence, and declared 
to amount to one thousand pounds. 

" Do you not know," Inquires the Bey, " that it is illegal to charge 
any camel's baclc with more than seven hundred pounds?. The 
pressure of half this load represented by even fleeting blows would 
be to you an intolerable burden ; think then what the whole must be 
expressed in enduring weiglit on the back of your unhappy servant 
But, by the Prophet's beard and by the all-puissant Allah, who has 
created man and beast to be brethren together, I will teach you to 
feel a brother's pain ! Seize him and give him the five hundred 

The order was executed, and the judge immediately rejoined, 
" Now then, be off, and remember your fate will be worse should 
j-our came! have just cause for accusing you again." 

"The Lord preserve you and bless your justice," replied the 
broken, if not repentant, criminal, as he writhed out of court, do 
doubt to curse his camel and deplore his own misfortunes. 

But unamiable as the camel may be shown to be at all times, it is 
in the spring of the year that he appears to the greatest disadvantage. 
From January to March the adult male is, indeed, a ghastly beast; 
his coat rough, his flanks lean, his eyes starting from their sockets, 
and his whole expression wild and feverish. During this season he 
is reputed cspedaiiy dangerous ; a ring is accordingly passed through 
his nose, and his mouth effectually muzzled. These precautions have 
been dictated by experience, many insunces having occurred of men 
and animals being mutilated and even killed by excited camels. 

IBrelim speaks of one that seized his groom by the elbow, bit through 
the joint, and maimed the limb for life. Another so badly wounded 
a Malay pedlar that he died soon after in the native hospital at 
Cairo. A third killed on die spot a small white terrier belonging to 
an Austrian officer. The dog was a recent importation, i 

cunous, and confiding. The camel seized him by ihe neck and 
lossed him some yards' distance into an empty lank, from which he 
was taken out immediately neck-broken and lifeless. The officer 
narrating the circumstanres takes occasion to remark on the extreme 
cowardice of camels. " The hetijihn" he writes. " that massacred my 
dogwas afterwards frightened out of his wits by a tame rabbit," The 
fact is, the camel takes fright at all unfamiliar objects which present 
themselves suddenly. In the case cited he had, no doubt, becomt 
accustomed to the presence of the dog, but the rabbit, which was a 
large drab and white angora, had just escaped from an adjoining 
granary, and quite unexpectedly skipped across the yard. A liOD 
could scarcely have produced more terror. The camel flew madly 
round the yard, bellowing with terror, and evidently believing the 
rabbit was after him. In the desert camels exhibit the same faint- 
heartedness. The distant roar of the lion, says Bruce, suffices to 
fiisperse an entire caravan. In such case the baggage is hurled to the 
ground, the sand flies in blinding clouds, distress and scuffle 
annihilate self-command, and the day goes down upon the unrepaired 
confusion. The same author adds that the merest noise or the least 
startling apparition would have pecisely the same effect if seen or 
heard by a sufficient number to produce a panic ; and he mentions, 
I amongst other things, the howl of the hyiena, the appearance of a 

loge dog, an ape, a lizard, and even an umbrella. A frigbt 
paralyse the camels is barely enough lo disturb the 

nposure of the mules and asses, who may be their travelling 


I To the nose-ring and muzzle it is sometimes necessary to add the 
llbat-log, The camel uses his foot for kicking with considerable 
dexterity. He is, however, less dangerous behind than in front. 
With the hind leg he describes a semicircle after the fashion of the 
cow. and the kick to be serious must be aimed with nicety. In front 
he rather strikes than kicks, either felling like the hemione or ripping 
downwards like the kangaroo or ostrich. The salient nails are 
fearful weapons, and have sometimes been used on the unwary 
bystander with cruel and even fatal precision. In a combat between 
two rival males the conflict rages to the death ; teeth and nails are 
employed indifferenlly, and it most often happens that the vanquisher 
withdraws disabled from his prostrate and exhausted foe. 

Another inconvenience of the Eastern spring is the intensification 
of the camel's odour. The emanations of the male, at all times 
most offensive, are literally asphyxiating during the season of the rut. 
The Arab himself— perhaps the least sensitive of organised beings— 




Tlte Gentleman s Magazine. 


averts his nostrils with an impatient whiff, gravely inibnning die 
camel that his ancestor was a putrid hog. 

No less repulsive is the once famous sanguineous bubble. No- 
thing can be more truly horrible than to see the animal protrude 
from its mouth, and as often suck in again, what appears to be a 
blood-streaked and dripping bubble, but is in reaiity a red and mem- 
braneous bladder, veinous and inflated when blown out of the mouth, 
and shrinking to a mere film when withdrawn by inspiration. This 
extraordinary organ is proper to the adult male, and is without 
assignable utility as far as science has as yet been able to discover. 

A third phenomenon is of a still more odious character, and has 
cost the camel the friendship and protection of most of his European 
apologists. We allude to his unaccountable habit of collecting his 
liquid secretions with the brush of his tail, and of showering them on 
those around him. To those who have witnessed the obscene pro- 
pensities of tlie tame hippopotamus, so filthy an instinct on the part 
of the camel will appear by no means incredible. The (act has in 
any case its claim to be recorded, if only to contradict the uncandid 
optimist, who asserts that there is nothing in nature inherently un- 
clean. There are indeed things created with designs inscrutable, but 
it is not for the philosopher to reject t!ie truth. 

With such antecedents before them, the admirers of the camel will 
be the more disposed to relinquish an, old and venerated illusion. 
From our infancy, we have been accustomed to admire the marvellous 
adaptation of the camel to the medium of his existence as the 
resource and consolation of the inhabitable deserL We have admired 
the unlustrous and resisting coat, the crackless and elastic sole, the 
unexampled endurance, the saving swiftness, and exhaustless strength. 
And indeed no admiration could be more amply justified, no fitter 
homage could be rendered to the loving forethought of a wise and 
paternal Providence. But, unhappily, with these sublime truths has 
been mixed a dose of tantalising fiction. We have seen our parents 
moved to tears on reading that in the mterior of the camel, in some 
protected comer of the viscera, was a mysterious and sacred vessel, 
containing about two pints of the most pure and limpid water. The 
dying Tartar had only to sacrilice his devoted camel to procure forth- 
witli a copious and life-restoring draught Thousands were so saved 
who must have died of thirst inevitably, and the unconscious camel 
thus found himself admitted upK>n trust into the astonished anny 
of martyrs. 

A more gratuitous invention was never palmed off upon a credulous 
and wonder-loving public. The very modicum of truth contained in 

^^ bcii 

The Ship of ihc Desert. 6 5 

it is of itself destructivt; of the sensu and jjurpon of the fable. A 
peculiarity in the ruminating organs of the camel is that they contain 
two rows of cells, serving as a reservoir for water. These ce s 
being much narrower at the lop tlian at the bottom, compel sub- 
;ntial food to remain across the opening, whilst liquid descends 10 
interior. The coating of these same cells is non-absorbent, and 
£t foUnws that the liquid they contain remains disposable for the ends 
of rumination, instead of passing at once into the stomach. Its use 
IS to moisten the aliments sent back to the mouth for final mastica- 
cion, and it usually finds employment in the first repast that follows. 
1 1 may happen that the juicy nature of the food reniasticaled de- 
iniands less liquid than tlie cells contain, in which case there remains 
at. surplus either for the humectation of future food, or, at the will of 
x^K animal, for the quenching of unexpected thirsL The presence of 
this surplus in accidental cases has doubtless given rise to the fable, 
t>u: it is not the less untruthful or wilfully extravaganL In the first 
pUce, the drought of the desert which has parched the rider, will 
have been equally felt by the poor camel, who will long since have 
absorbed the scanty resource within him. Servant and master will 
l^ave both exhausted their suppHes, and both be equally resourceless. 
■^gaio, the reserve of liquid contained in the camel's stomach be- 
*:oines utterly undrinkable by man within even a few hours of its 
oeiQg swallowed by the animal The process of digestion converts 
't sj>€edily into a slimy pap, nauseous to the tasie and of an oflTensive 
^"^elL A camel's stomach freshly opened emits an effluvium insup- 
P^^rtable 10 all but the native butcher. Imagination could scarcely 
nave selected a receptacle for water less grateful to the thirsty 
^'^veller, nor cruelty have pointed to a spring more certain to be 
*«'u»id dried up. 

r<or is the camel always the survivor in the perils and calamities of 

'"C desert He hears his death- knell in the approaching moan of the 

s>inoon_ Already has he recognised the whirlwind's herald in the 

Icrv-it) and appalling calm. He becomes anxious and disquiet, and 

'"■High worn and tired, flies onward with despairing feet. Meanwhile 

'"^ "fcind has risen, the burning sands pursue the traveller, and i^ooa 

'■Is raving drift attains its paroxysm. The storm has now spent its 

"•>. and the aching traveller towards morning would fain resume 

'"^ journey. But the prostrate camel cannot rise ; his joints are 

i«>se, his limbs are nerveless, With a painful effort he succeeds, 

"'"ertheless, and the charge is readjusted for the doubtful trial. A 

'^ more steps, and it becomes hopeless to proceed. The cjimel's 

I«m augments with every movement, and his weakness gains on 

Vol. VI., N.S. 1870. r 


Tlie GeiUlen 


him. Presently he falls, heeding neither lash nor exhortation, and 
Boon his head, ceasing to beat the sand convulsively, rests on one 
side, to be raised perhaps again, but only once and in the final 
struggle. Nothing now betrays animation beyond the twitching of 
the iimbs, and the traveller, with a pious exclamation addressed to 
Allah, abandons him to his certain fate. At sunrise the vultures are 
busy at his carcase, and before evening have reduced him well nigh 
to a skeleton. The jackal comes at sunset, and at nightfall the 
hysna ; but little is left to satisfy these late-arriving guests. 

Amongst the many peculiarities of the camel is his inability to 
swim. When compelled to cross the Nile in places where large boats 
are not procurable, the native process for ferrying the camel is a 
veritable cruelty. The tail is roughly twisted over the back and tied 
to the neck with a nmning noose, so as to be quickly loosened in the 
event of threatened strangulation. The animal is then conducted 
blindfold to the brink of the river, and pushed into the stream by 
niain force. Should he attempt to bellow, the halter is tightened and 
his voice extinguished. Should he struggle to esca])e, he is soon 
C]uieted by the cord, which draws and cuts the tail with each move- 
ment of the neck. On losing footing, his distress and fright become 
apparent in his imploring eyes, his writhing ears, and steaming 
nostrils. An Arab in a small canoe supports his head, another propels 
him at the tail, and in this style the poor beast is soused and trundled 
on till, breathless and expiring, he lands on the opposing bank. On 
recovering his senses, he usually starts madly off, flourishing and 
kicking, nor can he be persuaded by any demonstration not painfully 
terrestrial that he is actually once more on Urra firma. 

It would be scarcely fair, after relating of the camel so much that 
is unamiable, to omit to notice a redeeming feature which is proper 
to the entire family. This feature is the exemplary maternal tender- 
ness of the naedje or camel mother. The camel calf is a downy 
little creature, lively, comic, and comparatively charming. From the 
day of its birth it trots by the side of its mother, who constantly 
encourages it with a loving murmur. When two nursing camels 
meet, the young make friends on the spot, tumbling and frisking 
together like infant bears. The parents look on in admiration, 
keeping up a kind of loud purring, and calling anxiously to the little 
ones when they stray too far. Elach sister parent respects the other's 
progeny, but there is no community of motherhood. The mother 
allows her master and acquaintances to fondle her offspring, but there 
would be risk in strangers following their example. In case of 
imminent danger, her timidity merges in her love, and she becomes a 

Tiu Ship of i/te Di 

desperate Biul imiimdenl a&sailaot. A nursing camel has beed 
Lnown to pm to tlight a leopard ; anollicr is said to have fallen 
victim to her devotwiness, having lieen ripped by an Italian bi 
olioai she had suspected and provoked to combat. 

1 1 may not be generally known that the camels exhibited 

■ jrojic are all European animals. At San Rossora, near Pisa, is 

-x and sandy plain, where im|toried camels have lived for sev< 

< r.iutics. In this miniature desert they thrive and multiply a 

>. I'lr Dabve solitudes; and it Is from this acdiinatiiied preserve 

-fiig specimens arc supplied to the menageries and zoologii 

-iiiutions. Iliere is also a preserve of camels in the south 

- Jin- Atiempis are now being made to naturalise the camel 

.lu-xii^ and nithin the last ten years a considerable Dumber 

■■fn employ<;d in the traffii: between the Mississippi and the Pai 

' I. can. The govemmeni of Bolivia has recently introduced them 

y the passage of the Cordilleran heighls ; and there has been 

' .iba, since the year 1S41, a continuous and progressive importation 

bull) of the Dactrian and Arabian breeds. 

But it is only in excessive climates that the camel can subi 

<nthout absolute and rapid caducity. From Pekin the Ilactrian cami 

irjicrscs China and journeys with impunity to the snows of Russia. 

'- 1. .S«bcria the inhabitant protects him with coverings manufactured 

:''>[n his own hair ; and thus protected he maintains his strength and 

■tiulneu in nnimpaired longevity. It appears, indeed, that in diese 

i.ireal cliineK where "the earth bums &ore and cold performs the 

iL'rt of fire," a kind of artificial congruence is determined by the 

'.'-'ness of extreme^!. Nor is this strange similarity wanting in a 

wmWing, if not identical, of mortahty. The simoon is repre- 

r.ted by the snow tornado, and the camel's death amongst the 

i iiding sleets of Russia is as mournful and poetical as that of the 

n imedary in the burning sandstorms of Sahara. 

iTic Attempts that have been made to acclimatise the camel 

ii:c temperate parts of Europe have hitherto been failures. 

mdiVHJual has invariably become enfeebled, and the race incurat 

(kseneraie It is unlikely, therefore, that the acclimatising mo' 

ia« of il»e present day will couni amongst its conquests the dorai 

e cainel % but few will be found to regret the circumstance, i 

tients huve been faithfully recorded in the foregoing pages. 

I 1 

■ With a Show in the North, m 


Bfc No. VI. —THE LAST. 3IM 

MT is many years ago since I struck up a. brief epistolar^I^ If 
acquaintance with Mark I.einon, though I met him for tiu^ -*^ 
first time in 1863. He came into the north of England tc^^^^ 
read "Hearts are Tnimps," and was introduced to me b)^^*)' 
Tom D. Taylor, one ol the most genial of west country journalists- ^sss. 
1 was living in the Bailey, at Durham, beneath the shadow of th^^ -*>* 
Cathedral, and overlooking the river Wear. Mark Lemon acceptetE:*^ 
an invitation to stiiy with me here during his visit to Durham, New— ~^i^'*' 
castle, and Sunderland. My house was a small old-fashioned piace_^^-* 
It had an ancient garden, full of old-fashioned flowers and old— -t^' 
fiishioned ivy. At the end of the walled-in walks there was s^s. 
terrace with a summer-house, literally covered with luxurious «-'■ 
creepers. From the terrace we overlooked the pleasant garden ancfc*-*^ 
lawns of Mr. ^Vooler and Colonel Chayter. The terraces sIopetfc>'^^* 
down, tier upon tier, to the ver>' edge of the river. Qoming from*"*"^^ 
London to so quiet a spot, Mark Lemon was charmed with the^* *^ 
picturesque repose of the place. In many letters afterwards he^» ^"^ 
fret|uenlly referred to "that Paradise at the bottom of your garden.""* —' 
We smoked in the old summer-house and talked of London. There ■^»"* 

was with us on one of these days a ripe Shakespearian scholar, over ^*,' 

flowing with literary enthusiasm, who had just completed a romantic ^^^ ' 
play entitled " Passion and Parchment." It was full of poetic fancy, ^^' 
and in admirable blank verse. The gentleman to whom I allude is ^^ 
well known in the north. I mean my old friend, James Gregor Grant, 
author of " Rufus the Red King," and several volumes of poems. Th^J 
son of an actor, Mr. Grant sat and listened to Mark Lemon's talk otM 
plays and players with almost as much rapture as Prospero's daughter T 
experienced in listening to the prince. The editor of Pun^^/i was 
like a messenger from afar coming into this old out-of-the-way city 
with news of the world, 1 see tliem now, these two old men, the 
river rolling by, and the rooks calling to each other. I see tbe_i 
beaming face of the north countryman who had not been to 1 

IVil/i a S/wi 

the North. 

for yeare, looking up at the robust editor leaning upon the back of 

a chair and making smoke-rings with a meerschaum pipe. On this 
same day we walked to Finchalc Abbey, and back again to the 
cathedral, Mark Lemon was almost boyish in his delight with all 
we saw and everything we did. In these days 1 was editing the 
Durham County Advertuer and writing stories. My office was in 
Saddler Street, and again my windows overiooked the Wear, One 
raoming when 1 was very busy Mark I^mon sat down and applied 
himself to some sub-editorial diilies with great zest, saying "I will 
be your sub-editor." He gave me ample proofs of his skill in this 
department ; so that the Durham paper on this occasion hod 
engaged upon it the most discreet and discriminating of Tendon 
editors. Mark Lemon was every inch an editor, a director, an 
administrator, a negotiator, a dipki;naiisi. He had the faculty of 
order and arrangement in editorial business, inspiring confidence 
among contributors and publishers. " 1 was made for Prnuh" he 
said to me one day, "and PuiuH for me; I should never have 
succeeded in any other way." 

He came into the nonh to read, t said ; to read an adaptation of 
that very play the origin of which I have described in a previous 
chapter. He read at Durham, Newcastle, and Sunderland, The 
audiences were large in each town, but the reading at Sunderland 
■was the most successful in every respecL He seemed to be on 
:=loser and warmer terras with the Sundfriand people. The inter- 
' ition of a line in the text put ihe audience into a very excellent 
iiiiur. I had recently told in print the following tradition of 
~~^ nulerland, which just at this lime was being largely quoted by the 
pness. . 

"A bnuqne but wealthy fhipowncr of Sunderland once entered the London office \ 
f>C Mr. Ljiuksy on buiincu. ' Noo, is Ltiidsny in ? ' inquired the .V-irihirn 
jKiamolid in the r- Ufh. 'Sir?' exclaimed (he clerk to whom the liiijuiry wa* 
■iddreued. 'Weel, llien, is MiiUr Lindsay in, tee'st thou?' 'He will be in 
■htntly,' aid ihe clerk. 'Will you wait?' The Sunderland iliipuwiier inii- 
d that he would wail, and was tufaercd into an adjacent rii»in, where • 
m WM buMly engagm] in copying some siaiistici. Our SumlerUml friend 
?Nu:«il the laom tevcml limcL, and |ircsenlly Vfnlkiiig lu the lalile where the 
Dlbcr ocCDpanl of the ruum wis si-aled, he took careful note of ihe writer's 
p. The copier Imiked up inijiiirinKly, when [lie NorlhcniBr liaiil, ' Thuu 
> a bonny hand, thuu dust.' '1 am glad you think w>.' wa^ tlie reply. 1 
'All, thou duu; ihuu macks thy figures wcel; ihuu'rt just ihc chip I want.' J 
cad,' laid the Londuner. 'Yet, indeed,' laid Sunderland. 'I'm a man ■ 
tf Set> wonls. Nou, if thuu'lt come uwer to i:snny aud :^uondetljiid, ihott I 
Me^n, I'll i,""! '!>« » lioondrtd anii twenty putid > year — and tlmi's a plum thou I 
intail. auM wuii ereiy day in thy lile, 1 reckon. Nuu, then?' The Loiiduuci J 

70 The Gentleman $ Magazine. 

thanked the admirer of his penmanship most prratefully, and intimated that be 
would like to consult Mr. Lindsay upon the subject. ' Ah, that*s reet/ said ou 

honest frienil, * that's reel ; all fair and above board wth ; thai*s reel;* and 

in walkc<l Mr. Lindsay, who cordially greeted his Sunderland friend, after which 
the gentleman at the desk gravely rose and informed Mr. Lindsay of the handsome 
offer whi«*h had been made to him to enter the Sunderland shipowner's <^ce. 
'Very well,' said Mr. Lindsay ; ' I should l>e sorry to stand in your way ; lao^. 
is more than I can at present atTord to pay you in the department in which yon aie 

at present placed. You will find my friend a good and kind master ; and, 

under the circumstances, I think the sooner you know each other the better. 
Allow me, therefore, Mr. , to introduce you to the Right Hon. W. E. Glad- 
stone, Her Majesty's Chancellor of the Kxchequer.* .... Mr. Gladstone had 
been engaged in making a note of some shipping returns for his budget. The 
Sunderland shipowner, you may l)e sure, was a little taken aback at £rst; hot 
he soon recovered his self- possession, and enjuyed the joke quite as much is 
Mr. Gladstone did." 

I had this from Mr. Grant, and published it first hand. It has had 
a long run since then, though it has not been so popular as the 
story of the collier pigeon fancier which I picked up some years 
ago in the neighbourhood of Ferry Hill, venturing to quote it in a 
magazine article on " Pitmen's Perils." Well, when Mark Lemon 
in his reading came to describe the dialect of his hero "Joe," 
instead of saying it was a very mixed kind of Yorkshire dialect, he 
said, in the best patois he could command, "It was nee like the 
talk of canny aud Soonderland." This brought down a round of 
applause, and the scene in the kitchen, where Joe is hidden behind 
the roasting screen and thinks he will soon require basting, went 
down with a roar of laughter. 

I thought of the difference between this reading and another at 
which I was present at a fashionable house in Belgravia last year. It 
was a very aristocratic assembly. There was hardly any one present 
among the ladies below a duchess, except Miss Burdett Coutts. 
Several distinguished foreign artists were, however, mingled in the 
small group of distinguished gentlemen who came with the distin- 
guished ladies. The walls were hung with paintings by the best 
modem painters, and there was tea and coffee which nobody 
touched. Mark Lemon had promised to read a scene from " Hearts 
are Trumps," and it appeared to me that, for once in his life at all 
events, he had not correctly gauged the taste of his audience. My 
friend was excessively nervous. He read the narrative of plebeian 
love-making anything but eflcctively. The ladies smiled with be- 
coming propriety. The gentlemen applauded and said, " Brava," 
" Brava," " Excellent," in subdued and painful whispers. Indeed 
little was said or done during the evening above a whisper, except 

Wilh a S/um' in the Norlh. 

when Jules Benedict played in magnificent style his own exquisite 
arrangement of "Where the Bee Sucks," Later in the evening, or 
at an assembly later in the season, Walter Maynard entertained 
the distinguished guests with an account of his experiences as 
an impresano, and succeeded in keeping up a continual simmer of 
amusemenL The same stories told from a platform and illustrated 
with songs and music would prove a most attractive entertainment. 
When we (Mark Lemon and myself) sat over a quiet supper at the 
Hummums in Covent Garden, after the assembly had gone home in 
its carnages or to another parly in the next square, we speculated 
upon what the society of Vanity Fair would think of a history of the 
strange and painful scenes that are being enacted outside the Fair 
and on its very borders. For example, not far &om the mild, 
wealthy gathering at which we had assisted, Jimmy Shaw was having 
a benefit night at his famous crib, where you may behold, in a 
glass case, stuffed (in the manner as he hved), the renowned 
dog Pincher, which had killed more rats than any other dog ever 
known to " the fancy " of any country, d)'ing heroically at last, from 
Uood poisoning, after killing some hundreds of sewer rats in the 
^|resence of an enthusiastic congregation of sportsmen and "gents " 
M position. 

It was Walter Maynard, I believe, who first projected the FalstatT 
entertainment, though the idea was the fruit of Mark Lemon's 
pecuniary losses in some other speculation. A friend was induced to 
join in the scheme, and on terms that were certainly moderate and 
just He paid down five hundred pounds as the nucleus of Mark 
lemon's share for fifty-two performances, with certain conditions as 
IQ share of profits. Out of the same purse afterwards came the 
money for general expenses, which included salaries, dresses, rent, 
advertising, and other incidental things, which speedily doubled the 
five hundred pounds. The entertainment was very profitable at The 
Gallery of Illustration, but at St. George's Hall it was a sad and 
melancholy failure. This resulted in bills of exchange being substi- 
tuted for cash ; incfficieni book-keeping brought about an overdraw 
to Mark Lemon's account ; the overdraw was paid in bills which 
could not be met, and the poor actor's death has left these and 
other matters to weigh down and complete his fticnd's discomfiture. 
n these financial complications (shadows of behind the scenes) 
said friend is now rather vainly struggling to free himself 

le public paid liberally to see Falstalf everywhere, except at Sl 
George's Hall ; but the expenses were very heavy, and the necessity 
Tor Mark Lemon being in London at least two days a week brought 




72 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

difficulties in the way of the management which interfered with cod- 
secutive engagements for the country, and left a company idle during 
two and sometimes three nights out of six. Moreover in these days 
it is necessary, however excellent an entertainment may be, to " puff" 
and ** push " it, and take every possible opportunity of bringing it 
before the public The visit of the Prince and Princess of Wales 
and a distinguished suite to The Gallery of Illustration in the hands 
of a zealous advertising agent, would have made the fortune of the 
entertainment and put money in the purse of the friend who found 
the sinews of war at the outset. Mark Lemon gave a special per- 
formance for the Court The Ciallery was decorated for the occasion, 
refreshments provided, and a special band engaged. But at the last 
moment the manager, who was enjoying the sea breezes of Brighton, 
could not be present, and but for Mr. German Reed there would 
have been no one to receive His Royal Highness. Left to them- 
selves, Mark Lemon and Bardolph had forgotten to have an attendant 
to take charge of the cloak room. In this dilemma the niece of one 
of the apparitors who was engaged in the property room was seized 
upon by Bardolph for the duty. ITie royal party had just entered. 
" Please to come this way," said Bardolph, taking the apparitoJ's 
niece by the arm. ** There now, be very calm and quiet. Go into 
that room, and take off the Princess's shawl." With which startH^ 
command Bardolph quietly pushed the property girl into the rooC^ * 
and she proved to be quite equal to the occasion. At the close ^ 
the performance the Prince expressed a wish to see Mark LemC^^* 
who came round to the front at once, and was of course very g#^ 

ciously and kindly received. The Prince of Wales shook hands wi 
him very cordially, and, on behalf of himself and the Prince^ -^ 
thanked him for the pleasure he had afforded them. The Prince^^ 
laughed heartily at the scene where FalstafF assumes the part of Hal 
father. The Garrick Club of the future ma}- probably count amon^ 
its interesting paintings a picture of Mark Lemon in his dressing-^ 
gown receiving the congratulations of the King (then Prince or^ 
Wales) and Queen upon his performance of Falstaff. The property 
girl pushed into the apartments of the Princess and receiving her 
shawl, might make another interesting sketch. Painters of dramatic 
incidents have treated mnny less worthy subjects than these two 
incidents of the modern representation of Falstaff. 

A writer who knew Mark Lemon, and whose hand I recognise in 
the article, made my first paper in The Gentleman's Magazine the text 
of some interesting reminiscences in The Lotuion Figaro, Respecting 
the origin of Punchy he says Mark Lemon told him that he was not 

JVi'l/i a S/iffw in the Norlh. 


the only Lemon who flavoured tlie original bowl of Punch, for that 

there were two other Lemons associated with him — Leman Rede and 

Laman Blanchard. " Of course," my friend went on to say, " a little 

violence must be done to the pronunciation of ' Limiaii,' in order to 

bring it into harmony with the rest of the pun. ' Why was it calk-d 

Punch I ' I asked him. ' Because the ritle was short and sweet,' he 

I lepiied. ' And Punch is an English inslimtion ; everyone loves 

I Punch, and will be drawn aside to listen to it All our ideas con- 

faceted wilh Punch are happy ones." I once stood nearly hall an 

tour will) Mark Lemon looking at a Punch in Southampton Street 

We stood in a doorway, and enjoyed the show immensely. Cloing to 

r rooms afterwards, he said, " What do you think my cabman had 

iiranged for my especial honour?" One day in the week it was 

Mark Lemon's custom to visit tlie leading contributors to Pitnc/i in 

die way of business relating to copy and drawings. He employed 

^^ch week the same cabman, who had bought a new Hansom for the 

^editor's weekly rounds. " The cabby has built or bought a new 

Hansom for me, and had arranged to have a figure of Punch painted 

«_ipon the panels. He thought it best to speak to me before ordering 

•Jie work to be done, he said. I told him he was quite right in his 

J udgment as to the desirability of consulting me ; that I was much 

;jjleased at his intended mark of attention in the matter of the paint-, but that I would rather the cab were not embellished ; that such 

=»n advertisement was not to my taste. The fellow to this day thinks 

f--3E am a foolishly modest and unassuming man in consetjuence. I 

aipect he would have liked to have dtine up the Hansom in the style 

if a circus car. He might have written upon ii, ' Here you may see 

4c fat man l'" 

This incident reminds me of a little episode of the Scotch tour. 
Ul impresarios of course wear fur coats. My friend of the Falstatf 
Hilertainraents, for whom I did duly in Scotland, generously in- 
^sted upon adding to my "wraps" the impresario coat It was 
^ splendid seal-skin garment, somewhat loo large for me. I wore 
^SJCcasionally a seal-skin travelling cap. One cold day, when Falstafi' 
Irished to take carriage exercise, I wore the skins in. ail their furry 
rnificencc. Not alone doih manners niake the man ; the tailor 
s an important share in this human architecture. I was another 
lan altogether in this new attire. During our ride I remembered 
it is one of my stories 1 had made a cerLiin showman's chief wish 
IDll^st in the possession of a fur coat, in which he hoped to stnit about i 
jBacking a whip for the remainder of his days on the outside of an ^ 
^hibition of namral hi.story, V\'hen we left the carriage to make 

call, the idea occurred to me. Dim remembrances of drcos p»fr 
prietors in painted vans came into my mind as I caught sight of my 
own short figure, very much disguised, in an Edjiibui^h shop-window. 

" I don't like this coat, Mark," I said. 

" Don't you ? Not the impresario seal-skin ? " said FalstaJI^ 
looking down upon me with o-ident amusement. 

" No ; I feel like a sort of agent in advance to a wild beast show 
or a circus," I said, gathering up some superfluous cloth, and 
wrapping the coat closer round my shoulders. " Do I look the 
character ? " 

Falstaff, with an air «rf mystery, glanced up the street and down 
the street, as if to be sure that nobody could ovetl^ear him, and 
then in a loud whisper, and with a hearty laugh, said, " Ves ; by the 
lord, you do 1 " 

This reminds me that when we arrived at Bradford we missed one 
of our rugs, and that in reply to a telegram to Newcastle concerning 
it we were gravely informed that nothing had been left behind there 
but a small can with ■' Harry" painted upon it. This was the pre- 
sent which Bardolph received at Glasgow. We had another loss at 
Bradford. Mark I.emon mislaid a twenty-pound note. Search was 
made everjwliere for the missing treasure, but it could not be found. 
I had burnt some papers, and it was shrewdly suspected that 1 had 
swept the note into the fire. By-and-bye, I found a sheet of note- 
paper with " Truly yours, Mark Lemon," written ujjon it in Falsiaff's 
best manner. " Is this the autograph for the young lady who wrote 
to you this morning ? " I asked. " Yes," was Falstaff 's reply, " Then 
you have put the twenty-pound note into the envelope instead of 
your autograph." " hnpossible I " said Falstaff, I rushed to the 
bar, and was just in time to examine the letters ; and sure enough, 
Bs I had guessed, I found the note, much to Mark Lemon's chagrin, 
for he prided himself on his care and regularity in matters of 
business. What would the young lady have thought of Mark 
Lemon's reply had she received the other more marketable auto- 
graph which was so near being posted to her ? 

To return to my friend's article upon my first paper. He says he 
reminded Mark Lemon that the etymology of the word " Punch " 
would be [terfecily carried out if its contributors were limited to five ; 
for that " Punch " really meant five. 'I'hen ihey diverged into a talk 
on the old mysteries and miracle-plays, with the representation of 
Pontius Pilate and die Jews, and how there was a pojiular idea that 
the lamiliar words, Punch and Judy, were but a corruption of Pontius 
mm yudaU, and that the modem street-show of Punch is the only 

S/toK- hi fhe North. 

troe relic of the mediEeval mlracIe-play to be found in England. 
Then my friend reminded Mark I-emon of the Sanscrit word for 
*' five," which is Puneha. and the Persian, which is Funj ; and how 
we are well acquainted with [he latter word from the well-known 
Punjab or Punjaub, which in fact means Piinj atibe, " the five rivers." 
'• And, I went on to say, that we derived our pleasant beverage of 

, Punch from India^or at any rate from the East — where it was so 

' called because it was composed of five ingredients, of which the 
■Lemon was one. I am aware that Dr. Doran ascribes the origin of 
tlic word to a club of Athenian wits ; but I am unable to agree with 
him in this particular." 

They talked about punch of all kinds and of particular pet drinks, 
but Mark Lemon did not tell him what was his favourite punch. I 

\ '^hink his favourite mixture of this character was a noyeau punch, 
for which a house in fleet Street is celebrated. But they did 

[ <ltscuss what should be the five ingredients that ought to go to a 

I perfect punch. 

" We (hen lalkvd of an acrostic charade ihit I had shown him, on ihc woids 
jmon, Piincli ; ' which charade had, in fact, started c 
J\iuA. Il wasasrollinni- 
I brighten even the darkest scene— 
I very nearly an ostrich had been — 
I with a hood once pas&'d all aty daya— 
I am a fop in a play or all plays — 
To its greatness the city of Bath I did taise. 

I'm a Mark of jndgmenl. of taste, and wit. 

O'er a crowd of pages I rale the toast ; 
I mix with choice spirits, while choicer ones sit 

Around, while t give tliem liill many a toast. 
0( my two words, my first is stjueei'd into my second. 
Although at il« head it is cotnmonly reckoned. 

the five letters were— Lamp, Emu, Marian, Osric, Nash ; the first 
md last leltere in which words will spell the two words Lemon and PuiKh. Now, 
althouj-h double ociostic charades have been made so common, that Ihcy have 
been "done to dmih," yet ai the time of which I am speaking they had ni>t 
nmde any appearance in print. Who invented them, I do not know. In fact, in 
Latin, (hey are ti> be found in old monkish chtonicies ; but 1 am not aware who 
|.tt was who finl clothed them in their present modern dress. Before I spoke . 
'With Mark Lemun concerning (hem, 1 had seen them affurd great amusement i 
itiiale circles, and for six monibs or more had amused myself and others t 
irrilins them, receiving and interchanging nwnuscripts, and (guessing or making " 

I 76 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

the ri'JdIes. I submiiled the above and other specimens to Mark Ltmon, what 
Willi his luual ugncily, saw thai the double acrostic charsdei might be made 
genemlly popular. The result of our lalk was that he asked me to prepare a paper 
n the subject for the /iiuslralrd London Xtas — with which ucwBpaper he had then 
much to do. I did so, and it was pKnted in the lUustraitd London AVov, 
August 30, 1856." 

This conversation closed with a joke of Jerrold's : — 

"On that occasion I spoke to Mark Lemon of his tale, 'The Heiress of 
Bilberry,' which had been publisheil 'va '^t llliutrattd London Ntais, and which 
tiBd been republisheiJ by Bradbury and Evans, with various other miscellanies, 
nndet the tiitc of 'Prose and Verse.' 'Do you know what Douglas Jerrold 
oiled it ? ' said Mark Lemon, in his good-humoured, jovial way. ' He said that, 
I was a Cockney, he supposed I pronounced the title " Prose and Worse." 
That was good, was it not ? ' ' II was chaticteristic of the speaker,' I replied, 

The writer evidentiy interpreted Douglas Jerrold's fun into an in- 
tentional satire upon Mark Lemon's work. He did not know Jerrold 
s well as Mark Lemon knew him, or he would have accepted it in 
the Lemon spirit ; for no man was more sensitive or less inclined to 
hurt the feelings of a friend than Douglas Jerrold. The humour of 
the Cockney phrase suggested itself to the wit, and it bubbled up to 
his lips. By the way, I mention in my previous chapter the intro- 
ductions written to many of the little text-books, known as " Cum- 
berland's Lritish Theatre," signed D G . It has been 

suggested over and over again that these criticisms should be 

collected and added to the works of Douglas Jerrold. Quite as 

often has the question of their authorship been discvisscd with a view 

to settling who really wrote them. Blanchard Jerrold tells me that 

his father always repudiated the authorship of these articles, which 

I were invariably headed " Remarks." Even the author of " The 

I Stoty of a Feather " and " Cakes and Ale " need not have repudiated 

I ihe work on the ground of its want of merit The opening of the 

I introduction to "Honesty the Best Policy" is eminently trenchant 

I «nd pithy; for example : — 

I "'Honesty the best policy.' — Antediluvian adage 1 Honesty! — ragged virtue, 
[ Jcicked out of doors to b^ or starve! He who now-a-days ventures a word in 
I bTour of honesty, sllnll be drummed out of society for a dolt and a dreamer! The 
I march of pragression, in finding out a royal road to riches, has removod Ihii 
[ ancient stumbliag-btuok. In the universal scramble for money, nobody can fiitd 
time, or oJTord lo be honest < Talk of physical malaria, to which cholera V. said 
I lo he first cousiu ; look at moral malaria! Metropolitan rank sewers, quolhi! 
I What icwcr so IVrtlit, what stand infj-poo] so foul as the corruptiun that regalcS the 
•ideiicate nostrils of Capel Court? A stock-jobber sad a railway -director is a 
IfVDral pestilence that walkcih not in d.-irkncss, but that poiwiieib in noomlay. 

WUh a S/iow in the North. 

The noiions gas or ten tliousand dead caicoaes is not more deslniclive lo the body, 
than the reeking rascality of your living one is to the soul ! Yel thi^ plague what 
shill stay ? Nol religion, for the God of the present day is gold. Not shame, for 
the brara catidleslick, like the schoolmaster, is abroad, and not eipected boms 
again ! A Board of Health (when all are alike infected 1} for cholera of the o 
science— Ha ! ha I ha 1'" 

This was written a good many years ago. Railway directors » 
in particularly bad odour when " Honesty the Best Policy " 
produced. One of the most graceful impromptu compliments whidM 
Mark Lemon ever rec(;ived was from a railway director. We wen;.fl 
visiting the Worcester Porcelain Works, and had the good fortune tt^l 
meet the chairman, Mr. A. C. Sherriff, M.P., a director of the Metro- 
politan Railway. Mr. Sherriff having asked me if I thought Mark 
Lemon would accept a memento of his visit, and, encouraged by my 
reply, begged him to accept a set of very handsome flower-vases 
which we had all admired. " Really," said Mark Lemon, with- 
drawing from the kindly offer, "I have no claim in any way upon 
your kindness." "Claim upon me," said Mr. Sherriff, "you have 
a claim upon all mankind." And so he had — all honour to his 
memory ! 

Mr. Benjamin Webster, of the Adelphi, was one of Mark Lemon's 
oldest friends. When the founder of Punch was a young man, 
hoping to win his spurs in dramatic literature, Mr. Webster was 
the first to encourage and assist his aspirations. I believe Mark 
Lemon's first play was produced upon the Adelphi stage. It is 
quite certain that some of his happiest hours were spent in the 
manager's room. As a rule he stayed in London several nights 
during the week. If he varied the monotony of Bedford Street by 
an evening walk, his footsteps were generally directed to the Adelphi 
Theatre. He bad a key to the manager's private door, the only 
key, I fancy, besides the one carried by Mr. Webster himself 
[ow often he exercised this special privilege of admission behind 

lind- the -scenes Mr. Webster will remember now with painful 
Jtaiticularity, since the time of all has come and gone. If 
Mark Lemon had left Bedford Street in an evening withoiii any 
message as to his whereabouts I invariably knew where to find him, 
and. thus meeting now and then at his favourite haunt, we finished 
the evening, after the play, in the manager's society. These were 
rare nights, when the men were talkative. They comjiared notes of 

•t days, and gossipped of actors whose very existence had become 
traditionary ; for Webster in his youth was intimately ac>'fl 
itcd with an old playgoer who, as a boy, had seen Gaxrick. < 


The Gentleman's Magazine. 

More than this, the manager knew an old man who knew 2 man 
who knew Cave, the founder of The Gentleman's Magazine. Mr. 
Webster knew Liston. 

In one week in October last year Binningham was peculiarly 
honoured. Charles Dickens, Mark Lemon, and Benjamin Webster 
appeared before large audiences of the Hardware Village. Charles 
Dickens inaugurated the session of the Midland Institute as the 
president of the year; Mark Lemon gave his "reading in costume" 
at the Assembly Rooms ; and Benjamin Webster pktycd Robert 
Landry at the Theatre Royal. It is a week which I shall long 
remember, I was favoured with a seat on the Town Hall platform, 
and never heard the great novelist speak more effectively. The hatl 
was crowded with a host of Mr. Dickens's admirers, A noble 
instance himself of the triumph of industry and perseverance, Charles 
Dickens had to tell the meeting a no less remarkable story of the 
success of an institution which had long since taken to heart his 
motto of "Courage, persevere." Not a word which the president 
Simke was lost. He had evidently prepared his address with particular 
care. It was like a reading — his reading. You could almost have 
fancied that he was reciting an essay on progress. Every point 
told, every sentence was perfecL He dwelt with an air of wonder 
upon the great things which the institution had accomplished. The 
members of the institute listened with pardonable delight to the 
Btory of their own achievements. They must have experienced 
something of the pleasure of the poet who hears for the first time 
his own worJs set to the nmsic of a master composer. It must 
have been sweet, indeed, to the early promoters of the association 
to hear the story of their triumphs set to the music of Charles 
Dickens's eloi|uent words. At the close of the evening he referred 
to his resumprion of the labours of his earHer years, and promised 
his midland friends at an early day the first izistalment of " Edwin 
Drood." I saw him the next day for the last time. He was looking 
at the pictures in tlie window of the Illustrated Midland Nen's. 
In the evening from the wing of the Birmingham Theatre I saw 
Webster wipe the tears from his eyes after that most touching 
scene between father and cliild which lifts the " Willow Copse " out 
of the common category of ordinary melodramas. The next night 
there was what we used to call during our northern tour an actors' 
supper at the Great Western Hotel, with Mark Lemon and Webster 
among the guests, Time has but marked twelve months since then, 
and the professional brother writes to me thus of the two famous 
amateurs : " I miss poor dear Mark greatly. His loss and that 

'. a Shaw m the North. 

EjChailes Dickens grieved me sadly. I caji scarcely realise ttu 
-' -y arc dead." 

-]<citViDg of Bimiingham, it is interesting lo know diat when ] 
. , ,: I »itr as a boy had resolved upon adoptin]^ the stage a 
n. he went lo Btmiioghain to seek an engagement. 1 
. ii he purchased his first piece of theatrical property— a swoi 
■ i:ch he intended lo use as Rolia. As a youth, it was his ambitioa^ 
. (lUy this part. It i^ a curious fact that throughout his long and 
I :jii.-d career he has never pbyed the part for which he purchased 
-:-'■- Birminghain weapon. I thought it a singular coincidence that a 
: i< iJcni in Mr. Webster's career should have been identical with thej 
i!ii adventure of "Christopher Ketirick." The hero of the 
I 41 away ftom home, and was pushed by adverse circumstances intQ^ 
t:ic position of second fiddle in an orchestra. " 1 rai 
"clwier, "bought a sword lo play RMIa, and became second fiddle 
i^ the orchestra." 

There was with us during this evening at Birmingham, and c 
"liiCT uccasions, the impresario proper of " Falstaff." I haw 
''"^riuoncd him previously under his mm de plutne 
'■'-lynird." The son of the late Mr. Beaie, of Cramer, Beale, & Co., 
''■titer Maynard is better known to a lai^e circle of friends as 
'' dim Bcale. Lord Carlisle paid him the compliment of saying that 
'■ reminded him of Tom Moore, Mr. Beale having writien many-j 
' '^trnjng sungs, which he sings to his own graceful pianoforte accom 
■'■nimciits- WLleri lieale's is a remarkable career. Eilucated 1 
■'-* jiiofcssion of nmsic, he studied for the bar, and wa-s "called.'!) 
- c wu a director of the I.angham Hotel ; he projected the 
■■jugh Company (Umiied) ; assisted in the establishment of S 
JjMub'j Hall and the Farmers' Club ; engaged Thackeray to read 1 
E G«arges ; " played an important part in the management of 
\ luiian Opera ; conducted the pro^'incial tours of Grisi and 
rote a book, somewhat incomplete in construction and _ 
\, but fall of well-told and interesdng anecdotes ; and h 
got moment friendly associations with the leading artiatl 

\ had arranged with Mark Lemon for the 
I of six original songs. The following was to I 




1 oq^^ 


Co., ^^ 
s as 




f st,^H 



" Mj coil is worn ihroulliare and rlun. 

My ahim ue veiy oUl, 

The wiiid anil i^iuiw alike cieep m. 

And bit« iim wiili dicir cuiil. 

The Gentleman s 

I ve nol a penny in my purse, 

Nor friend to fp-ve, not i ; 
And yet my fortunes might be worse ! 

Here are Ihc reasons why. 

" I m'ght have been p'rhaps fool enon^ 
To give my heart away, 
And met with coldness and rebufl; 
As men do eitJi day. 

You'll find so if you My; 
My stale, you lee, might have been wrme. 
And here's good reason why. 

' ' I might have found a faithless friend, 
To change my sweetheart's mind: 
Falsehood like ibis, yau may depend. 
Is worse than wintry wind. 

" Though lo good cheer I'm i 
\'cl t can pass it by. 
And feci my slate might ha\ 

* why." 

i last complete song. I have before m^ 

Wiih a S/ioiv in the North. S i 

These lines must be accepted for what tliey are. 'I'hey sini])ly 
indicate an idea for a ballad. The last verse cannot be transcribed. 
Th« song, however, was intended to close with the retirement of the 
h^r-oes from the strife, contented with their laurels, and detemiined 
'■ r^o more to rove" in search of adventures. 

Alark Lemon's latest songs all turned upon that " consumption of 

th^ purse" which, as Falstalt he always referred to with a quiet 

uracxiion, as if in defiance of the "incurable disease." His last letter 

ar»«:i his last joke were tinged with thoughts about books of accounts 

ar»ci balances, although memories of old friends crowded in at the 

last: and flickered through the darkening mind. The day before he 

«ii^<z] two friends called to see him. One of them was our friend 

Shi^liow, who has an appointment in the Customs. Mark Lemon 

w-'a.^ in his little study at Crawley. The room was entered by 

<3o»Jble doors. Shallow's companion stumbled at the second door, 

3Ji<i got into the room awkwardly. "Ah," said the invalid, "he 

d*:>os not understand double-entry like you fellows in the Customs." 

I leave many of my recollections of Mark Lemon unrecorded. 

5^>^3n-ie of them relate to persons who are living, and are better laid 

^-side for the present. There are others which I regard as the 

I**'operty of whosoever shall edit any notes or papers tliat he may 

'■^ave left behind him. I have only selected for narration such 

<^i«"cumstances as I conceived might fairly be regarded as within the 

legitimate scope of the personal reminiscences of a friend. The 

History of PuneA will, no doubt, be told even if Mark Lemon did not 

^eavc materials for it If I were competent for the work, which I am 

'^ot, ray connection with Whitefriars being of recent date, and quite 

'Outside the magic circle of the well-known Wednesday gatherings. 

the story of Punch is not within the pale of these papers. It may be 

thought that 1 have dealt too much with Punch already. Should 

•^bis be the case let me repudiate at once the smallest modicum of 

fame that may have come to me through my published knowledge of 

^nt:h affairs. 1 have never contributed to my late friend's famous 

I^noditai My regard for Mark Lemon did not lead me to trespass 

**•* Our friendship by offers of "copy." I filled two or three pages 

"' J^uach's Pocket Bimk a few years ago, and that was my first and 

^* contribution to Punch. I mention this circumstance lest 1 

''■^uld be credited by the public with a position to which I am nm 

^^tlcd; or looked upon by those who move behind the scenes 

"■ l^lect Street and the Row as desirous of making capital out of 

•"V associations vrith the Editor of Punch. I say this in spite of 

""^ proverb relative to him who excuses, justified by the adverse 

Vol. VI.. N.S. 1870. c 

lism which personal reminiscences so often excite, and supported 
ny desire to hold in relation to these papers the simple position 

1 these busy days dead men are soon forgotten. Their places 
I filled with painful rapidity. Tlie ranks close up and the marct-» 
n. Memorials by the way, arc more honourable to us than t^=^^ 
who have rested from their labours. They offer guidance t^o 
^ army that comes pressing on behind. These reminiscences ^i^sf 
e who has fallen 

" 111 the haltle-field of life" 

■present but a temporary indication of the disaster. I leave ■^K 
lers the nobler task of building up the more lasting monum^'^H 
,t belongs to the calmer hours of peace. 





NE of the first things — in fact, the very 6rsi thing — 
Alfred did on arriving at Hillsborough, was to show 
his father, Dr. Leighton, Sophie's portrait, in the white 
dress and green sash, and ask him whether the young 
:5y represented in that picture looked as if she was likely to die of 
iisumption ? 

Dr. Leighton replied that she didn't look as if she were hkely to 
~ at all We were all mortal, however, and there was no saying 
»ai illness might not attack her. Still, if the patient was at all like 
e original, he should say most decidedly that that young lady had 
' tendency to consumption or any other organic disease. Who 
Ls liie charming young lady ? 

She was a Miss Arnold, whom .\!fred had met at St. Ouen; cousin 
Captain Arnold, a friend of his in India. Alfred was &lso of 
icion that she was nice-looking, and was very glad to hear that 
=re was no probability of her being seriously ill. 
"" I did not say that there was no chance of her being seriously 
*" exclaimed Dr. Leighton ; " I did not say anything so absurd. 
*»niely told you. in answer to your question, that there was nothing 
fcer features or general expression that indicated a tendency to 
'IsumpiioD, and that the portrait seemed to me the portrait of a 
a-lihy girl." 

** Bui if she were to catch cold ? " asked Alfred. 
" Oh, if she were lo catch a serious cold it might be followed by 
'er, inflammation of the lungs— there is no saying what. It ii, of 
^*tie, not advisable for anyone to catch cold. But, instead of 
'tdug these principal questions, tell me something about your own 
'aJth. What an imprudent young n:ian you are ! What had you 
'^11 quarrelling about ; and if the Frenchman insulted you, whjr 
uld you not punch his head and have done with it ?" 
Alfred told his father as much as he thought iu about ihe drcum- 


stances which had led to the duel, and expressed (with perfect 
sincerity) the regret he fell at having been mixed up in such an affaiz 
at all. His father told him that he must take great care of himself, 
inasmuch as he was still far from well, and enjoined him, in par- 
ticular, to abstain from excitement of all kinds. 

The next morning the Doctor observed that Alfred had passed a 
bad night, and told him that he had heard him walking about a greit 
deal in his room. That he assured him was a mistake. He must 
go to bed early, sleep a good eight hours, and be careful not to let 
anything weigh upon his mind. If anything did weigh upon his 
mind he must throw it off. He absolutely must, or he might fall 
seriously ill, and a relapse was, above all, a thing to be dreaded. 

Alfred, to tranquillise his father, went to bed the next night quite 
early. He placed Sophie's portrait by the side of his bed, and 
wondered every time he looked at it what disastrous influences could 
possibly have reduced her to the state described by the secretary to 
Uie Dragon Life Insurance Office. But he did not walk about, and 
his father readily believed the next morning that he had passed a 
pretty good night 

The second day after his arrival Alfred paid a visit to his uncle, 
Colonel Leighton, and to his father's cousin. Sir Edward Leighton, 
both of whom lived at some distance from Hillsborough. 

Colonel Leighton, among other things, asked him whether he 
remembered " that night at the theatre," and gave him some news 
respecting Malvina, " his old flame," as the Colonel called her. 

Alfred did not like being reminded that he had ever cared for any 
girl little or much before meeting with Sophie. But his uncle thought 
it would interest him to hear how Malvina had somewhere made the 
acquaintance of a Russian Prince and persuaded him to marry her. 
Both her parents were dead, and she had also lost her husband, 
Prince Karabassoff, after being married to him some two or three 
years. The Prince had not been seen at Hillsborough, but the 
Princess had been there displaying her grandeur, "or rather," said 
the Colonel, correcting himself, " her elegance ; for really everything 
about her — carriages, horses, servants' liveries, and especially her 
own dress— was in very good style." 

Sir Kdward had also been much struck by the personal demeanour* 
of the Princess. " She was rather amusing — all the same," he said, 
"She would not call herself 'Princess' while she was at Hillsborough, 
for fear, I suppose, of overpowering us all. She called herselT 
Madame de Karabassoff, and was announced under that name in 
the Hiilsborough Gasdte. Her arrival was quite an event It was 




made the subject of a graphic article in the Gatettr. The writer - 
(nentioned, I remember, that in passing along the High Street she 
looked out at the house in which she had spent " so many happy 
years as s young girl, and that Mr. CJibbs, the present proprietor of 
the establishment, was standing at the door, and took his hat off." 

"That was exceedingly touching. Did you see her yourself?" 
asked Alfred. ^H 

" Oh, yes ; I called on her with your uncle." ^^| 

" Ah, the Colonel never told me that i" '^^l 

"Didn't he? Well, he i«id her a great deal of attention. How- 
ever, I couldn't get your aimt to call, so the Princess didn't come 
(o see us, and I didn't like to go near her again without my wife." 
"Was Malviiia— was the Princess, I mean — annoyed?" 
" Madame dc Karabassoff wa.s exceedingly annoyed. I gave her 
I skAy Leigliton's card — I insisted on doing that — but she had 
rviiiently expected a visit in person. 
\<^x card round to your aunt by a s 
iLixiJly after you. I didn't know you u 
soon, or I would have told her." 

She would know that quite soon enough, if I wanted ti 
-m tliese confounded newspapers," answered Alfred. 

that story of the duel, with your name in fiiU, has been 
ptiLlishcd throughout the country. What was it all about ? or rather 
who was the lady ? But, of course, that is a secret" 

** 1 wanted to ask you one thing — -what does my aunt say about 


The next morning she sent 
By-the-bye, she asked 

coming back from India 


"Your aunt? Well, she has said so much about it that I don't 
Alink she can say any more just at present I should put many 
shillitigs into her missionary box, and often, if I were you." 

"h was a stupid thing of ine, no doubt," said Alfred ; " but there 
was really no avoiding it." 

*' It would have been a braver thing to have rcfiised," observed 
Sir Edward. 

»" I have heard that argument before, and I can't say I ever saw 
•"Uch io ii," answered Alfred. " It would have been at least proof 
» callousness, and it would have been looked upon simply as a 
•"E"! of cowardice. Remember that 1 was abroad, and that every 
•"■glishman abroad is, more or less, the representative of the whole 
" I don't think much of my argument either, and I am proud to 
acknowledge that I didn't invent it," said Sir Edward. " I met with 
" in the Hiihbmough Gazttte, the organ of Stubbs, the linendraper. 



86 The GentUmans Magazine. 

Stubbs warned you, as he himself would say. You had it hot and 

" I should think so. An ancient rival ! Fancy Stubbs sitting in 
Judgment od me and pitcliing into me in that style, and al! fot the 
love of Malvina Gribble, Princess what-do-you-cali-her?" 

" KarabassofT; Madame la Princesse de Karabassoff !" 

"No wonder I.ady Leighton felt aggrieved at Malvina's taking 
Euch a name as that I But I am so sorry to have missed my aunt. 
I need not ask you to give her a good account of me." 

" 1 can't give her a good account of your health. I am sorry to say, 
Vou will have to take great care of yourself. However, you have a 
long leave, and you could get it extended." 

Alfred walked home through the High Street, and went into the 
"White Hart" to see what news Mr. Robson, the proprietor of that 
comfortable hotel, had to give him. Robson, like the rest, would 
speak to him about nothing but the Princess Karabassoff, her wealth, 
her beauty, her diamonds, her carriage- horses, and the liberal manner 
in which she had taken the whole of his first floor for herself and her 
maid. She had brought with her a coachman, who had moustaches 
a mile long, and a footman who, " if you will excuse my saying so, 
was one of the rummest fellows you ever saw in your life." The 
Colonel had come to see her, and Sir Edward, and all of them ; but 
ihe didn't go anywhere herself, and only remained three days. 

" I often tliought of you, sir," added Robson. " It recalled old 
times. But you look bad, sir ! It's a nasty way them foreigners 
have of picking a quarrel with you, and then shooting you. I have 
no doubt b\it what you didn't get fair play. 1 wouldn't have given 
him a chance, sir, if I'd been you. I'd have broken liis head with a 
srick ; that's what I'd have done, sir." 

"Ah, it could not be helped, Robson, I shall get better soon. 
But I do feel rather weak, and I really think I must get you to dnvf ' 
nie home." ^^^ 

" Certainly, sir ; 1 will have the horse out directly." ^^| 

"That's Gibbs and Co.'s," said Robson, as they passed the houM 
where the Gribble family had formerly resided. " Vou shall sec what 
ftirs he gives himself; but he doesn't tome them over me." 

Alfred was thinking of the fate of the well-meaning Gribbles, with 
their pretty, but bad!y-broiight-up, daughter — a family which, in his 
desponding moments, he accused himself of having broken up. But, 
mftcT all, was it his fault that Malvina had chosen to throw her armt 
Tound his neck at the theatre ? And what could that have to do 


•jih ihe death of her parcuits? Still the memory of his yeax't 
(csidente in ibe Cribble Camily was not a ha|jpy memory by any 
ncam. It brought with it feelings very much akin to remorse. 
Pcrtups iThc had been in robust health he would have taken a more. 
-Tt>mt view of the nutier. But he was in a weak and troubli 
i ntJilion, both of mind and body. 



■^T home Alfred found a letter waiting for him from Captain FludyerJ J 
iioni which he learned that Grimsby, the trainer, had met Mr. Arnold 
liiiee or four weeks before in Paris on the Boulevard des Italiens, 
"'here," as Cajitain X'lutlyer justly remarked, "you met everyone 
i''"*een the hours of five and siic" Mr. Arnold, Miss Arnold, and 
Ml Englichman. whom, from the description, Captain Fludyer look ti 
b« Dr. Rnwden, had been staying at the Hiilel dcs Princes, 
"fy had now gone somewhere for the benefit of Miss Amoltf 
**»Itk It appeared that Miss Arnold was very ill, indeed; 
^^nnisby hod not seen her, and did not know where her fettier s 
pjing 10 take her. 

Alfrcd's first impulse was to hurry to Paris. There was. at least, x i 
V'"'Od chance of his being able to find out. by inquiry at the hotel, fof<B 
"^at place Mr. Arnold's luggage had been labelled, Bui, on U»^ 
'^'''cr hand, they lud a month's start, and if they wished to avoid 
'""ig followed, whii:h seemed to be the case — at least as regarded 
■\ifr«j_jhcy would have the luggage directed to Dijon, to Lyons, or 
'" Marseilles, and would then have made a second journey to 
■^witZCTl.ind, Italy, or wherever their ultimate destination might be, 

l^crc was another obstacle in the way of his immediate departure. 
*^^ had been turned out of France, and there might be some 
"'•ficuJty in getting hia passport x-iskd for re-entry. To lose no time^ ■ 
"" telcgntphed to Captain Fludyer, desiring him to start at t 
■ arii. in -mlrr tn in;ike iniiuiries as to where Mr. Arnold had gonal 
: lies Princes. "Twenty pounds sent by post,**! 
' -<l ; aod Alfred posted Captain Fludyer that eih 

'in rereiving the telegram, went straight 1 

uik, where he was not unlavourably koowi 

1. and on tlie strength of it borrowed a buncln 

*^"l iiiL) iTjrrt:*, uiih which sum he started ibe same night (oi Vm 


ar'g ^V 

., and I 


; bul'^^ 



The GenllematCs Afagazine. 

leaving directions that all letters, registered or unregistered, were to 
be sent after him, without delay, to the Hotel des Princes. 

The next morning Captain Fludyer telegraphed to Allred at Hills- 
borough the following words : — " Arnold, daughter, Rowden gone 
through Strasburgh— Switzerland. Daughter very weak. Telegiaph 

" Daughter very weak I" exclaimed Alfred on reading these words. 
" Good God, she is dying I If he had said ' ill,' ' very ill,' it would 
have been more hopeful. Bui ' very weak !' She must be sinking." 

He telegraphed to Captain Flud)-er to wait for him at Paris ; took 
a hasty farewell of his father, who implored him to stay, and foretold 
the worst consequences if he insisted on travelling in his actual 
condition of health ; succeeded in getting his passport vised on 
reporting that he was travelling in order to visit a relative who was 
dangerously ill, and that he had no intention of passing through 
Sl Ouen or of remaining in France at all ; started by the night mail 
for Paris, and early the morning afterwards found himself at the 
Hotel des Princes, where the most obsequious attention was shown 
to him on its becoming known that he was a friend of Captain 

" Monsieur le Capilaine was in his room, No. 22, on the first 
floor. It was rather early to disturb him. Above all. Monsieur le 
Capitaine had supped the night before after leaving the theatre, and 
had not come home until very late. Mais, enfin ! if monsieur stud 
it was absolutely necessary the waiter should call him." 

Alfred said it ivat absolutely necessary, and Captain Fludyer was 

In the meantime, while Captain Fludyer was getting up, Alfred 
put repeated questions lo the conah-gt on the subject of Miss Arnold. 

"Mai foi ! elUtst birri maiade" was al! he could get the man to 
say ; and it was, of course, ridiculous to suppose that the porter of an 
hotel where a young lady happened to have passed a few days three 
or four weeks before could give him any important information as to 
the state of that young lady's health. 

He asked for the servant who had waited upon Miss Arnold, and 
was thereuiwn introduced to the mart who had done the room. 
This genius was willing to say anything if properly paid for the 

I trouble ; and a fee of five francs made him aiiinn that Miss Arnold 
was quite well when he thought he was wanted to say she was quite 
well, and afterwards that she was dangerously ill when he fancied that 
a declaration in a contrary sense was expected from him. He had 
just stated that, in his opinion, "la mademoiselle" could scanrdy 


'. ive \kkA to gel to Switzerland, wheti, it suddi^iily appearing to hiijB 
:iat lie had gone too far. he briskly retracted, and said that he hadH 
'•.■n many young ladies in a much worse state of health than the otisi 
I . |U6tion. who, after taking a liule warm milk with sugar tlis^olvoifl 
it fcgulaily twice a day, the first thing on gelling up in th;« 

: loniing and the last thing on going to bed at night, had in threoj 
. c-\a' time become strong and so stout that it was a pleasure UXM 
hold thmn. "// nt fata jamais disespirer !" was his concluding™ 
iiiark. after which he went out to spKnd a portion of his five firanc^l 

■ ik-hite wine. 'I 
■■ Well. Hudyer. what is to be done?" said Alfred a few minutesil 

i:«-i-wards to the captain of that name. "You have no further clue ?*S 
"' Konc whaie\-<;r. I was very sorry to have to send you thfti 
' '--grain which you received; but, by all accounts, Miss Amoldl 
■ on slic left here was in a very alarming condition." ■ 

"" We must follow them to Switzerland at once," cried Alfred, in ftJ 
te nf great agitation. " But where shall we look for ihem? The <B 
"t, DO doubt, from Sirasburgh to fi&le, but after that we lo9^| 
n>." S 

I'"ludycr, who in his character of captain had notions of strategj^S 

■ -> in bvour of invading the country from two different points. Hs I 
. ''IMJsed thai he himself should take route by way of Dijon, entoff 
""'Uscrland at Geneva, and if the objects of their search were not! 

■re, which, unless they were making a regular tour, was scarcely'l 

' 'liable, proceed to Lausanne, from I-ausanne to Berne, from Heme I 

' Interlaken. and from Interi.ikcn lo Lucerne, ini|uiring for them. I 

' every direction all along the line. At Lucerne, Alfred coming! 

'"n Bale by way of Zurich, would meet him ; and at Lucerne they. 1 

"W he in the very centre of Switzerland, ready to move at it I 

'' "Oern's notice upon any point from which news might reach them. J 

■■"t it was moBl unlikely, he thought, that they would come togetheij 

'■' Lucerne without having previously got on Mr. Arnold's traces. fl 

Alfred approved the plan of campaign ; but, for his own paitvl 

'* *as determined to follow Sophie to Strasburgh, the nearest placdj 

** which there .itemed tn be any possibility of getting direct ddingsfl 

\Sf 'wr. He accoriiingly started for Strasburgh that very eveninft'j 

: Hudycr to lake the Dijon route, h was arranged thatl 

ndycr should telegraph to him at Zurich, where, if he did not ineeU 

*iih Mr. Arnold before, he expected to be in three days. I 

\\ Sinsburgh. Alfred succeeded, after one or two failures, in dist^ 

•overing the hotel, doae to the cathedral, where Mr. Arnold had, ]m 

•■'roidi porbnce, "descended." Ore of (he c!\amlicrn\aid%, n 

_ *t which 
Hiring J 

90 The Geiilleniafis Magazine. 

Cemian, or rather Alsatian girl, ivitii fair liair and blue eyes, i 
looked something like a rough sketch of Sophie, told him liiat the 
English young lady was '^pien malafe." and seeing that Alfred was 
aifecled, said, " Fous a/ez pan caur, Morair." 

Alfred showed her Sophie's ponrait, and asked her whether it wa» 
like the young lady ; to whicli she replied, emphatically. " Non, noo, 
non 1 " This young lady in the picture had " colours " on her cheek, 
and had "ponne mint" generally; but the poor young lady wh* 
passed through Strasburgh was fale, and her cheeks were hollow, and 
she had such a cough that it gave one pain to hear her. 

The fair-haired maiden, with the best intentions in the world, 
could not remember where the Englisli young lady, who was so weak 
and had such a terrible cough, was going ; but she thought it was 
Baden, or perhaps Switzerland. If Switzerland, then she would have 
travelled first of all to BSle. 

This valuable information was not supplemented by any informa- 
tion more valuable on the part of the hotel -keeper, who not only was 
unable to say wliat route the travellers had taken, but complfuned 
bitterly of being interrupted at all on so unpromising a subject A 
lliousand travellers of all nations passed through Strasburgh every, 
day, he protested. How could he possibly take it upon himself to 
Bay what direction the English persons had taken a month ago ? 

Alfred went on to Bile. Here he could find no traces at all of 
Mr, Arnold. The name was not in the books at any of the hotels, 
and the people at the railway station had seen twenty or perhaps & 
hundred ladies more or less ill, who had passed through the place 
during the past month. 

He returned to Strasburgh, and took the train to Baden. The 
season was nearly at its height, and the place swarmed with dis- 
tinguished and disreputable people from every part of the habitable 
and uninhabitable globe, 
a Baden is an enchanting place; neither town nor country nor> 
village (above all, not a village), but a place. Call it town, tben* 
there is no other town enclosed by such a country ; call it a coun^j, 
and thtie ifi no other such country enclosing such a town. Except 
that Toui^^nieif writes his charming novels there, it is nqf a place 
for work ; and it is notoriously a great place (or play. 

Nevertheless, the unsophisticated traveller arriving there for the 
first time would never suspect the existence of the true ,i,wi//« ItxL It 
is a place for lovers of picturesque scenery, lovers of beautiful music, 
lovers of rambles among woods and mountains, and lovers of bril- 
liant society, relieved here and there by an element of grotesquenessf 

Mali' 1)1 a. gi 

but 2is a question of natural titness, it should not be a place for 
gamblers, who find any dark, dingy hole good enough for their absurd 
practices, and are quite careless as to what surrounds them. 

A flower with a worm at the heart, a blooming apple rotten at the 
core, Cleopatra's grapes with the asp hidden among them — such are 
the images by which Baden, Homburgh, and so many of the German 
gambling places may fairly be represented. Little paradises with a 
liell in the middle. 

The verdure of the gardens, the balmy atmosphere, the soft 
evening breeze, the gentle murmuring of the leaves, made Alfred 
tliink for a moment, as he walked along the shady paths and listened 
to the music of the military band, how delightful it would be if 
Sophie were there — Sophie in all her health and beauty, as when she 
first appeared to him. 

He saw several English girls, two German girls, three Polish girls, 
axt<i one French girl, who reminded him more or less of Sophie ; but 
of" Sophie herself not a trace. 

In the salons where he fancied Mr. Arnold would be, if in the 
place at all, he saw a lady who, he was told, was a Russian princess, 
smoking a cigarette and backing the red. She reminded him of 
Malvina ; partly because she had the same cast of features, partly, 
no doubt, on account of the cigarette. 

fie soon left the salons^ and visited all the hotels in and about the 
place — zero turning up on every occasion ! 

Then he went back once more to Strasburgh, and from Strasburgh 
^'^veiled straight through to Zurich. 

At Zurich one or two original innkeepers, a few comic waiters, 
several surly porters, but no news of Mr. Arnold. 

^hat was he to do ? He was growing more and more alarmed. 
^e Was getting feverish. 

He went to the telegraph office. There was a message for him — 
doubtless from Fludyer. 

** Terrible news," it began. " Prepare for worst. Miss Arnold no 
'^^^^Pe. Arnold and Rowden left for England. Will find letter Foste 

"sacred to the memory of." 

^K reading Fludyer's telegram, despatched from Lucerne, Alfred 
^^^ Wounded as though another bullet had struck him, and this time 
^ ^c heart. 

92 TJie Gentlentans Magazine. 

" Shall I fetch you a carriage ? " said one of the men at the 
telegraph office. " Sit down while I go outside for one." 

He offered him a chair, but Alfred was determined not to suocamb. 
He followed the man to the carriage, and told the driver to go as 
fast as possible to the post office, where he found Captain Fludyrfft 
letter awaiting him. 

Its contents amounted to this : Fludyer could hear nothing oT 
Mr. Arnold until he got to Lucerne, where he found that Mr. Arnold^ 
Miss Arnold, and Dr. Rowden had been staying at one of the hotd» 
on the borders of the lake. Then came the terrible part of the 
news. Miss Arnold had arrived there almost in a dying condition. 
After a few days, however, she improved. She drove out eveiy day, 
and even walked a little in the cool of the evening when the sun had 
gone down. Mr. Arnold and the doctor had spoken of taking htf 
on to Italy for the autumn. But towards the end of June she had a 
relaj)se; and three weeks after her first arrival at Lucerne she 
expired. She was buried in the Lucerne cemetery, and the assigned 
cause of death was " acute phthisis." Two days after the funeral, 
Mr. Arnold and Dr. Rowden left Lucerne for England, and might 
easily have arrived in London before the date of that letter. Miss 
Arnold had been attended, not only by Dr. Rowden, but also by a 
Swiss physician, Dr. Rieger, who had signed the certificate of death. 
The letter ended with expressions of sympathy, and a request fot 

Alfred read the letter almost at a glance on receiving it at the post 
office. He then hurried back to the hotel, intending to start fortl^' 
with for Lucerne. As he was going in, the porter told him that ^ 
lady — a ver}' beautiful lady — had been asking how long he was goit^S 
to stay. 

" Impossible !" Alfred replied. 

" I do not mind telling you, sir," said the porter, " seeing you ^^ 
be a gentleman, that she gave me five francs not to say that she b^^ 
asked for you. She has an English face, but is dressed like ^ 
French lady." 

** Some wTetched woman who speculates on male vanity," thougl^ 
Alfred. " What a mistxike she has made for once I " 

Alfred ordered his bill forthwith, and told his coachman to wait ^ 
the door in order to drive him to the railway station. There wa ^ 
some little delay in making out the account, inasmuch as th^ 
traveller had taken nothing, and had not even seen his room. Thi^ 
difficulty, however, was surmounted, and Alfred got off by the nexC 
train, and arrived at Lucerne late the same night 



The next morning, as soon as, il was light, he was in Fludyer's 
om, questioning him eagerly about all he knew, and much besides, 
reference to Sophie's illness and death. But Fludyer could tell 
m nothing more than he had already communicated by letter. 
He had a long conversation with the hotel keeper, for be was now 
the very house where the death had taken place. He went to the 
metery, and fell as if bis heart would break when he read over the 
;wly-made grave the inscription — " Sacred to the memory of Sophia, 
lUghter of Richard Redgrave Arnold, who departed this life June 

^B had belter hand you this letter." said Captain Fludyer, whpn he 
■Altred again. "They gave it me at the hotel. I mentioned 
bM's name, and said that 1 was a friend of his." 
VGood heavens I what have you done f You do not mean to say 
tat you broke the seal ? " 

"Yes, I did, and read the contents. We were at war with Arnold 
—we were puisuing bim^ — 1 did not know what had happened then, 
id I considered that I had a right to take advantage of everything." 
"You had better go with it to the post office, and have it re- 
aclosed to the writer." 
fThe writer gives no address. It is a very strange letter. The 
r cannot spell, and seems a very queer person altogether. It 
o poor Miss Arnold." 

d snatched the letter from his hand, and read it eagerly. The 
ing is a correct copy :— 

"JnlylrJ, 1859. 

" Dear kind Sir, — Your inclosure to hand and many thanks. I 
*s greved to here such bad acct' of the pore child. But the Dr. 
Jd said she could not get over it. Stil you no the feelings of an 
uid I that has bin to her like a seckond mother, pore thing. If 
s rickover it will be a grate mercy, and heaven noes that all 
Mid be done was done which is sum conselation and no expens 
My best iuv to her since to rite woud be in vane and God 
, From her effectunate Ant, 

" Makv Dollamoke." 

It is all this gibberish about ? " cried AUred. " Whose aunt 
I ignorant, vulgar woman ? Sh6 cannot have been related to 
|| Arnold?" 

/■ itfn/ iS'jr," Captain Fludyer pointed out; "thai does not 

Tlie Gentleman s Magazine. 
lok like addressing a relation. It is a letter from an old nurse, I 

I she says distinctly "i^t feelings of an aunt" 

" Well, after all, it may have been some distant connection, you 

ow. Tliere are such mysteries in families," said Captain Fludye*. 

o seemed to be reHecting that he also had relatives with whtwn ■* 

Ls not precisely an honour to be linked. 

I Alfred, not knowing what to do with the letter, put it provisional ^•-f 

3 his pocket. 

J Then he called on Dr. Rieger, who he found had only seen Mi^^^ 

Jrnold three times, twice when she was clearly in a hopeless coC--*"" 

ion, at consultations with Dr. Rowden, and once immediately aft^^^r 

r death. The greatest possible attention had been paid to het: "^i 

t nothing could have saved her. He did not believe thai th -^tif 

kvelling had greatly fatigued her He was unacquainted with th- .^m 

Jrencli lines, but the carnages on the Swiss railways were very cor ic .^ H 

Bodious. The change of climate had certainly done her good, an^ -Mt 

|e air of Lucerne seemed for a time to have given her new lif^s^t 

; considered Dr. Rowden an able man, and had received firoiKr-sn 

n a copy of his great work, " Rowden on the Stomach." 

I In the afternoon Dr. Rieger called on Alfred at the hotel, ait^.mmd 

Mahina. P5 

Dthui water alone), arrived at Lausanne, where they proposed to 
■ the night, in a burning fever. 

t^tain FludycT drove down to the hotel at Ouchy, on the bor-i 
I of the Lake of Geneva, and managed to smuggle Alfred into 

dom on the second floor, without attracting much attention. 
ic *w A hall going on in one of the large rooms on the grouiui 

t, ind the waiters and chambermaids were chiefly occupied la 

diing [he dancing. 



Vhex Alfred was safe in bed Fiudyer sent for a doctor, Sol 

« the lake, on which the moon was shining, and said to himself 

\ if LcightoQ was going to have a long and dangerous illness 

d perhaps better have it at Ouchy than anywhere else in the 

e Doctor, who had been dancing downstairs, was soon in j 
It was to be hoped, he said, after such a long \ 
P ^oney, that the patient would be able to sleep. But he was in a J 
•wy udied state, and it was impossible to say what might happen. 
H* pfetcribed nothing but selticr water {^'without wine, Captain . 
Rwiver!") and promised to look in again at midnight 

The Doctor returned to the ball-room, and danced with a Russian 
PnncESi, A \(iTy beautiful gay woman, who had arrived the same 
'■■ning from Lucerne. He »oon discovered that the Russian 
■"'"-■eB was an Englishwoman by birth, and told her that he had 
'*™«Hcnding a fcilow-cowntrj-man of hers tjpstaijs, " un beaujeune 
''*>* oxtt da ehevrux blondi." which chmeux blonds he was a&aid he ■ 
■ ' lid have to cut off that very night. I 

" Vou miMt keep me a lock," said the Princess, who was iiill of 
'■ '' " y* tuts brunf, et j'adort Us (hefeux blonds." 
\\z Doclcir said he would not encourage such ideas, and engaged 
■ hitic«K!i for the next wall^. He thought he had met one of the 
"tharming prinrcsses he had ever seen in his life; and he had 
"I lirought into contact with a good many of ihem, both pro J 
'<!ODally and as a man of society, at Uuchy and close by at Vevey, J 
^50 at Hamburgh, and at Baden. 
"Did Madame la Princcase like Hadcn ? He need scarcely ask." 
"No, llic questiofi wan quite unnecessary. She did "Ol like Badea I 
idcn. 1 1 WM to her a son of Eden. wiiVi no rcivhoT 

96 TJu Gentleman s Magazine, 

tion in regard to the apples. She often went to Baden, and 
there a few days ago." 

What Doctor Bertall particularly admired in the Princess, aput 
from her personal beauty, was, great distinction of ^tianners, cob- 
bined with an utter absence of aristocratic marque.. Nothing oonki 
be more gracious than her way of asking him to come to her apart- 
ments and take tea as soon as he had seen his patient It was nov 
just twelve, and she reminded him that it was already time for hin 
to make his visit. 

"I take a great interest in the young man," she said, "and you 
must come and tell me all about him." 

The Doctor said to himself that it was in him that the Princes 
really took auyinterest ; but he was quite willing that the patient 
upstairs should ser\'e as a pretext. 

At a (juarter past twelve he went to the Princess's apartments on 
the first floor, where a Cicrman girl, her maid, was preparing tea. 

"That must remind you of your adopted country," obsened 
Doctor Bertall, pointing to the Russian tea-urn, which has been 
adopted in all the large hotels of Switzerland. 

" I know very little about Russia," answered the Princess, "and 
from what I do know I fancy it must be a horrible country. But 
how is your patient?" 

** He is in a very bad way." 

" liut is it dangerous ?" 

"Well, he is a young man, and naturally strong. But he was 
wounded in a duel not many weeks ago, and one illness coming so 
soon after another will tr>' him severely." 

"And did you cut his hair?" 

"There is a piece of it." 


" I thought I knew him. He came from 1 Aiceme to-day, and bis 
name is Leighton," said Malvina, " Poor young man ! So he has 
fought a duel and been hit. But he was well enough a few days 2^' 
I saw him myself at Baden. We came along together nearly the 
whole way ; stopped at the same hotels, anil so on." 

" Yes, but he has had some great trouble quite lately, and it i*'3S 
so easy for him to have a relai)se. He was in bed nearly six week^ 
after his wound, and it is not a fortnight ago that he left his rooit*- 
Since then he has been travelling night and day, going without sleep* 
and doing all sons of imprudent things." 

" The tea, Minna I How slow you are, to-night ! and bring th^ 
papirosses! Will you .smoke, 13octor ?" 

" Comineftt doncT replied the Doctor, which meant either that 


Malvina, 97 

without doubt he would, or that he certainly could not think of such 
a thing. 

You need not stand on any ceremony," said Malvina, "for I 
going to smoke myself. I always do." She lighted one of 
Bostandjoglo's cigarettes, and passed the packet to the Doctor. 
** Now tell me all about your patient Is he very ill indeed ?" 
*' Yes, he is in a high state of fever. He was quite delirious when 
I left him." 

** Poor young man ! And what did he talk about ?" 
** How curious ladies are." 

** How provoking men are, not to gratify their curiosity at once !" 
** Well," said the Doctor, ** what is it makes us all mad ?" 
^ Nothing makes me so mad as to hear men talk nonsense. Did 
he mention her name?" 
" Sophie." 

** Sophie ?" repeated the Princess. " ye ne connais pas cda. That 
is all you know about her?" 

**The poor young lady is dead," said the Doctor; "and he is 
quite inconsolable. He has her portrait by the side of his bed, and 
speaks to it from time to time as if it were a living person, and then 
breaks into a fit of despair again. It is painful to see him. You see 
vhat grief the loss of a woman can cause." 

"At least the young lady did not die on purpose," observed 

" I do not quite understand." 

*' I mean that for wilful, deliberate heart-breaking I would certainly 
^ck men against women." 

'* You mean that men cause more suffering to women than women 
^o to men ?" 

" Of course I do. You complain of the heartlessness of women, 
'^ut wait till you get one of us in your power. Much mercy she will 
deceive !" 

**My patient is not one of those hard-hearted monsters. His 
*'^^iid says that he has a heart like a child." 

**Such men are often the worst They do a great deal of harm by 

^^t knowing their own mincjs. They want some woman of character 

. take them in hand and teach them. I have often thought that 

"^ould be a noble mission for the women of twenty years to avenge 

^^ girls of seventeen." 

**They are quite capable of it I tremble to think of the number 
^^ ^tims you will make if, on attaining the age of vengeance, you 
^^y carry out your idea." 

Vol. VI., N.S. 1870. h 

98 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

" Oh, I have attained it I was thinking of myself, that is tt 

of my own age, when I spoke. Do you know I should like t 
your patient?" 

" It would be imprudenL" 

" Why ?" 

" Woman ! — eternal lI'Ay I Do you really want to see ban. 
Princess? He is quite unconscious." 

"In that case what can it possibly matter?" 

"Will not his friend think it odd?" 

" Send his friend to bed. You are a doctor ; you can send p 
to bed, can you not ?" 

" Then who will sic up with him ?" 

" Minna or myself, or both of us. Or you can send a n 
the hospital, and we will wait with him until she comes." 

Doctor Eertall went upstairs to Alfred's room, and told Capta^^ 
Fludyer that it was no use his fatiguing himself at the very beginnir^J 
of his friend's illness; that he had sent to the hospital for a nurs.^> 
and that he would himself remain witli Alfred until she came. .^-® 
for Captain Fludyer, he was to go instantly to bed, " You can do w ^* 
good," said the Doctor, " and, as a medical man, 1 order you rest" 

Captain Fludyer, thus advised, went to his bedroom, and slcp^*' 

xe ban. 

Malvina, 99 

•* ElU ri est pas mal" she said to the Doctor. ''Eiie est tnhne trh- 
gentUle^^ she added in a half patronising tone. '* What a simple 
toilet ! But she was very young. She looks quite a girl even in this 
portrait^ and photographs always make you look older. Let us see 
bow she did her hair. Pushed back, but without the little ends at 
the side. Nothing can be plainer than the costume. It is quite 
viigtnaL Bat at that age I" 

*'The portrait inspires you with reflections," said Pr. BertalL 
** The circumstances are indeed very painful" 

"I was at that moment thinking only of the dress," replied 
Iblahdna. " I was wondering why she wore green and white, when 
t>lue and white would have suited her so much better. However 
tbey look much the same in the evening. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ And what do you 
do for your patient, Doctor; and how long do you think he will 


" I will tell you the day after to-morrow," said Dr. Bertall. '' You 
at Ouchy some time, I trust ?" 

'^Here or at Geneva I shall pass several weeks, perhaps months, 
if the fine weather lasts." 

"Is not the lake enchanting? You can remain until the end of 
September or the beginning of October without the least chance of 
bad weather. People take flight from Switzerland too soon." 

A tap was heard at the door. 

^ Who can that be?" asked Malvina. 

*'That is, no doubt, the nurse," said the Doctor. "Let me see 
y^^^ to your apartments; I must come back and give her some 
^^^i^ections. But I think he will pass a good night — he is fast asleq^ 



I'm^ Princess Karabassoff paid Alfred no more mysterious visits, 
*^ she made Dr. Bertall promise not to mention to any one that 
"'^ had ever entered his room. For several days in succession the 
^^^^ct)r called twice a day on his patient, and at least once a day saw 
"*^>dna, and told her how Alfred was getting on. 

At last, after about a week, Malvina said one evening to the 
*^«icior that she was getting tired of hearing so much about his 
^^ticnt upstairs. " The young man was ill," she continued ; " he is 
'^^^ much better, and he will soon be quite well. It is a very 

H 3 

loo The GentUntaiis Magazine. 

fortunate thing for him. You have cured him, but you cant bring 
the young lady in the green and while dress to hfe again, and he will 
have to get on the best way he can without her. I dare say it won'l 
be difficult. What has become of his not very distinguished-looking 
friend the Captain, with the dyed moustaches and the red nose? I 
daresay the nose is dyed also." 

"Oh ! he has been sent back to England, to reassure Mr. Leighton't 
friends. He could do no good here. I think that it would be the 
best thing for Mr. Leighton to do also, as soon as he gets a little 
stronger. Did the Captain make your acquaintance ?" 

" No. He sat next me one day at the table d'hote — the only time l 
ever dined there — and made some remarks about the food which di*i 
not strike me as very injurious. He is not at all the sort of man I 
care for." 

This, interpreted by vanity, signified to the Doctor that he wa^ 
the sort of man the Princess did care for. He had formed rather ^ 
good opinion of Captain Fludyer, who had showed himself devoie^3 
to his friend ; but one man does not mind hearing another ma^T^i 
undervalued if the appraiser be a pretty woman. 

Early ne.xt morning, when Minna came into MaJvina's room I^c3 
give her a cup of tea, the Princess told her maid to go to th^* 

r gifts which proceeded from another woman ; but she 
e grcatiy interested in him, and, having once accepted his 
s of (jralitude, scarcely lilted telling him aTterwards that the 
re were given to her by Minna, who no doubt received them 
frotn ber mistress, the Russian Pnncess on the first floor. 

It it quite possible that the gifts of flowers and the Irequent 

presence of such a pretty, harmonious- looking girl as Marie may havi 

dnne Alfred good. A man just entering upon a state of con>| 

nloceocc is very susceptible to influences of all kinds, agreeable] 

in i iiisigrecable. The sight of Marie's large, brown eyes, and the 

- ■ind of hcf fresh, clear voice, had a pleasant, half soothing, half 

''- -wing influence upon him. He paid her the same sort of atten- 

' "II that he ratghl have paid to a young fawn ; and Marie, being not 

young lawn, but a young girl, was more than grateful, and 

I Niiowicdgcd to herself one night, after saying her prayers, that it 

"i3 perhaps all the better for her that the English gentleman did not 

'"▼e ber u she loved hira. One day, the first day that Alfred was 

I •dl enough to leave his room, he told Marie that he wanted to give 

•*« a (it&ent, but that he really did not know what she would like, 

~'''l ended by offering ber twenty francs, and asking her to buy 

neihing for herself. 

M4iie wiiuld not take Alfred's money, and when absolutely forced< 

' >lo w, said she would make a hole in the gold piece, and wear it in 

>ieinbT8ncc of him, Alfred said in that case he most give her 

■'■*;hcf. as she had been spending money day after day in buying 

■ I Bowers, for he was sure they did not come from the garden of 
"' hflteL 

I hen Marie told him that she would have bought him flowers, or 

■ "Id hare walked miles to pick them, if she had been able to do so, 
■'1 Ihfit, as it was. she had often mixed some which she had 

-''Sicrcd herself in the garden with the others that came from the 
'■^rl^cl. But it was a Russian Princess on the first floor, she said, 
'■''"' had sent him the bouquet every morning. A very rich lady 
'■■■'h i very long nnme. " I shall no longer care to arrange ihem for 
■J now," she added. "She may send Minna, or she may bring 

■'111 10 you herself " 

"Yes, continue to arrange them, Marie." said Alfred, 

■ fxi jirl, and have been very kind to rae. But what is this Rus! 
-iy'ii name?" 

" You could not pronounce it," answered Marie, " it's too long 
'- difficult Minna, her maid, can pronounce tt, but she is no 



The-G^lemafiB. Magazine. 

"And the Princess, where is she?" 

"Oh, she is at No. 12. But you must not go to see her. Yoa 
will be thanking her for the bouquets, and 1 ought never to have told 

Alfred was in no way disposed to pay visits. But he thought such 
Ka attention as a daily present of dowers must be acknowledged 
The lady evidently knew how desperately ill he had been, and now 
that he was able to go out, he considered that he ought not to let 
one day pass without thanking her, and notifying to her in person 
that he was convalescent. 

He reassured Marie, telling her that she should get into no tnraUa 
on his account, and, as he went downstairs, stopped at No. la. 

The door was opened by a footman in the costume of a diplomatist 
who informed Alfred, in measured tones, that Madame la PrincessB 
did not receive until five o'clock, and that it was now only a qusiitci> 
past four. Alfred was about to leave his card, upon which the 
diplomatist doing the duty of a footman said that if Monsieur desired 
it, he would take in the card, but repeated that, as a general rule, 
Madame la Princesse was not visible before five. 

Alfred was too sad and serious to derive any amusement from thi» 
absurd comedy. He allowed the domestic plenipotentiary to show 
him into the drawing-room. His excellency then retired. 

Malvina. 103 

lost Sophie. Then he saw that it was Malvina who stood before 

" Oh, Malvina, what a shock you gave me ! " was all he said. 
" Is this the way you meet me after seven years' absence ?" cried 
Malvina, pathetically. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, threw 
herself on to the sofa, and wept in silence. 

"How she is changed!" thought Alfred. "She does not look 
seven years older. But she has become much fairer, and her hair, 
which was dark brown formerly, is light brown now. The dress is 
mere accident But there is something in her face, and even in her 
general bearing — I suppose I am haunted by one recollection, and 
see resemblances where resemblances do not exist — which reminds 
me very much of my poor, darling Sophie." 

Malvina was still weeping in silence on the sofa, and Alfred felt it 
was getting incumbent upon him to go to her, and endeavour to 
tranquillise her. 

" Who," he said to himself, " would have thought, after an interval 
of seven years, that she would have been so much affected at seeing 
me again ! Poor girl, I must have treated her very badly !" 

The worst of it was that he had absolutely nothing to say for 
himself. However, he could not bear to see her weeping in this 
inconsolable manner. So he sat down by her side, called her by her 
iiajiie, and entreated her to be calm. 

** Be calm, Alfred ? Yes, I will be calm ! I will not give way in 
™s weak manner any more," she answered. " It is very wicked to 
^o so. It must have been for the best, or it would not have 
happened, and I will not repine. Nor will I reproach you ; but, oh 1 
^^red, how I suffered after you went away ! " 

** I hope and pray that you may yet be very happy, Malvina. If I 
•^ve caused you pain all I can do now is to throw myself on your 
^ercy, and implore your forgiveness." 

*' I was a heedless, giddy girl at that time, Alfred, and I brought it 
^^ myself I feel that I did. I do not blame you. I only say that 
Suffered. But I am very selfish. Tell me about your health. 
^^ have been dangerously ill." 

** Yes, indeed, and do you know why I came here this afternoon ? 
^ '^as to thank the good Princess who thought of me so constantly, 
^^ sent me such beautiful flowers every morning." 
*' Who told you ?" asked Malvina, with the gentlest possible look 

** You must not blame any one. I had not of course the faintest 
^^^a who it was at first But I found cut by a sort of accident that 

I04 The Gentletnans Magazine. 

the flowers had been sent by a Russian lady— a Rusiiian Princess— 
who lived a[ No. 13, and without even knowing the name, I called 
directly I could leave my room to thank her. Fancy my surprise 
and pleasure at finding that it was yoa" 

" I can fancy your surprise, Alfred," said Malvina, sentimentally. 

" Do you not believe that I am very glad to see you again ? " 

" Yes, Alfred, I do believe it .And now tell me what you wish lo 
do. Will you take my horses, and go out for a drive, and come back 
to me afterwards ? 1 am »o agitated at seeing you ; I shall be caJineT 

" Thank you. 1 have not arrived at that yet" 

" Oh, how imprudent I was to suggest it 1 You fee! very mdc ? 
Lie down on the sofa, and let me order a bmillim for yon. Yf3»* 
may repose in peace here. No one is likely lo come in. In fact, I 
know no one but I>r. Bertail, who attends you, and you can imagirse 
why I have cultivated his acquaintance. I live very quietly, Alfre-«i- 
One soon finds out the vanity of a mere life of pleasure." 

" 1 think I will go into the garden, and sit down somewhere ne^s-' 
the lake." 

" Yes, that will be the best. It is getting cooler now ; in the he-^a.1 
of the day it would have been dangerous for you. Oh, how deligt-fct 
fully calm it is by the side of that lake, and the 

Studies for the Times. 




T is neither here faor there to say that we all knew what 
would come of the so-called policy of peace, inaugurated by 
Quaker platitudes at Christian tea-meetings. The worst 
predictions of the most pig-headed Englishman that ever 
w hot and cold at the martial sound of " Hearts of Oak " on a 
ss band have come to pass. Old fogies who have been swearing 
T their older port any time this forty years, that changing swords 
ledgers would bring England to the dogs, to-day will thump their 
logany and refer to their past assertions. The principles of the 
j^ht and Gladstone school are highly moral. Nay more, they are 
elic They are based in the holiest and best aspirations of a 
ious people. If we had angels to deal with, angels for subjects, 
els for neighbours, angels for allies, angels for foes, an angelic 
cy of liberty and love and mutual trust would be in perfect order, 
there is more of the devil than the angel abroad. Even in Pro- 
ant England it is acknowledged that we are bom in sin and 
3en in iniquity. What, then, shall be said for the rest of the 

^^ all these years we had been simply legislating for our immaculate 
es — shut in from the rude world by the glassy sea, as my friend 
:on would say — then freetrade tea-meetings, Brummagem peti- 
s, and St. Stephen's occupied by a government of vestrymen, 
ht have represented a harmless recreation and a virtuous exercise 
noral sentiment But for a nation which possesses nearly five 
cired million square miles of territory in all parts of the world 
e governed upon the principles of Mr. Bright's carpet warehouse, 
^d down by the sophistries of Lowe, and sweetened by the 
Comics of The Noble Savage, is a position sufficiently humiliating 
>e understood by all the other peoples of the earth. 
Tie world has paid dearly for the political successes of the 
^Chester school, whose pretty moral notions have sapped for the 
i being the Anglo-Saxon strength of some of our most promising 


The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Isiaiesinen. The polity represented by the present Government hs* 
Ikept the whole world in an unhealthy ferment. Even Theodore, the 
Idusky monarch of Abyssinia, saw and practised upon our parsimony, 
e compelled to show Eastern nations that we were not 
Altogether ealen up by greed and luxury. The present war which is 
jdecimating the manhood of France and Germany is the result of 
igland's modern ideas of non-intervention. To go back to the 
imean war itself, Russia continued her aggressions because she iiiA 
X believe we would fight. The Czar's ambassadors advised hi* 
It England, casting aside her old traditions, had entered upoa a | 
w epoch, which had for its motto, "Peace at any price." Lo*^ I 
JRusseJl's encouragement of Denmark's resistance to the demand* *s^ I 
[Prussia and Austria led to the merciless slaughter of that plucky Sitll* 
tragedy thus commenced hati its principal scene ^^ 
badowa ; and Paris besieged is the sequel to Sadowa. England out *^ 
Ithe way, the ambition of the more powerful nations of Europe brealt-s 
put witli demoniac force and hcaL It is the mission of Engkn^d 
) stand between these contending passions, and the present cor^^' 
iiion of Europe is the penalty of our withdrawal from that graua:^ 
Ird/iT among nations which a mysterious Providence has assigned t ^"^ 
1 become too much the fashion to decry ourselves, t^K— ^ 
Regard the old British boast of superiority as an arrogant assumption m 

Studies for the Times. 107 

protection of the mother country? The English language is per* 

meating all lands. It promises to be the language of commerce 
throughout the world Our people are everywhere upon the earth. 

They are to be found on all lines of travel, and outside the recog- 
nised limits of safety. Everywhere they leave the seeds of new life. 
The world is full of their axioms and their Bibles. The British 
bugle awakens the echoes of forest and mountain in lands that 
Bruce and Ayrton never heard of. No right to interfere ! What 
Elation has a greater? Non-intervention has well-nigh sounded the 
death-knell of England's honour and the safety of her sons in many 
10- land beyond the seas. 

But the great awakening has come at last Russia, taking 
tfjdvantage of the fall of our former ally, and relying upon the 
^:::rippled condition of England under the Quaker dictatorship, has 
clirown down the gage of battle. The Premier of England, whose 
Tioblest attributes have been so long dimmed by mere party associa- 
OCQS, must have felt the Russian circular like a blow. They say 
X.>ord Granville's colour came and went at sight of the insolent words 
o^ Gortschakoff. The English pride, which had been so long pent 
**P, came out at last in defiant words, and even Lowe forgot to be 
sophistical. I would not have insured the existence of the Ministry 
for a day if they had not replied to the Russian bear as the lion 
should ; and I feel my feet better, and my gloves come on with a 
^ghter grip, now that the Times has come back again out of the 
paths of usury and selfishness into the broader light of national 
responsibilities and English honour. Let us all be of one accord 
^ this crisis, which thoughtful men have seen impending for years. 
bygones shall be bygones. We will forget, if we can, the dock- 
y'*<is emptied of the skilled workmen ; the iron plates of ships that 
^ouid now be on the seas, sold for old metal ; the trained soldiers 
^*sbanded ; and all the other ills of a weak Government with too 
^^Ee a majority. For peace under a mutual disarmament of nations 
^^^ me a Liberal Government In war there is nothing so becomes 
^^ land as a fierce Tory Ministry. All that England will ask just 
^^w is that, Tory or Liberal, Conservative or Radical, the Govem- 
"^^nt shall be English, heart and soul, in its maintenance of the 
^^tional honour ; in its scorn for broken faith and mean excuses ; 

^glish in its championship of right ; English in its assumption 
Oceanic supremacy; English in its determination to keep and 
^^intain that legacy of greatness — bequeathed from bleeding sire to 
*^ti^ — which is the right and title of our children's children. 

^H a war with Russia our chief action would be upon the sea. 

To8 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

Let us, therefore, glance at the character, condition, and capadtf 
of our iron-clad Heet W'e have upwards of fifty iron-clads. Only 
three of them are under i,ooo tons. The majority represent a. 
tonnage of from 3,000 to 6,000. They are equal, if not superioTv 
in construction and capacity to the iron«clads of Russia and America- 
We profited largely by the experience of the naval incidents of the 
American war, and in spite of much home criticism and pait)r 
gnmibling, our na\'y is in a far higher state of efficiency than Her 
Majesty's Opposition would have us believe. But our ships are 
undermanned. Our nineteen or twenty thousand sailors must be 
immediately augmented. The Roj'al Naval Reserve will supply 
the requirements of the moment. We have the mercantile marine 
to fall back upon. Orders for gunboats should be sent oat 
to ])rivate contractors, to be executed rapidly, under the pro- 
sure of heavy penalties. Messrs. Penn and Son, Humphreys and 
Co., Nai)ier and Son, Mandalay and Co., Ravenshill and Ca, 
James Watt, l^ird, and Dudgeon, and the other eminent buildeffi 
.should each have a gimboat on the stocks, and it would only 
be a (juesiion of weeks before some of them were ready, while 
months would give us a crowd of vessels that would be p^^ 
pared to follow \\\) the operations of our present squadron* 
The (iovernment will find but one sentiment influencing the 
Knglish peoj^le -a hearty determination to do all that is necessary 
in supporting Lord (iranville's firm and dignified reply to the 
insolent declaration of Prince (iortschakolT. All England wiU 
ask is, tliat if war breaks out there shall be no failure in our 
organisation. Russia will find Turkey not unprepared for th«s 
emergency. The Sultim has expended the large sums which he h^^ 
borrowed upon his army and navy. Many of his best troops ar^ 
officered by Knglish men. The Anglo-Saxon is to be found upo«^ 
many of the Turkish ships of war. English gims and English rifled 
have long since found their way to Constantinople. " The Sicl^ 
Man " is much less of an invalid than he was. It will be a curious 
anomaly of civili.sation if the Turk should come out of the struggle 
an earnest and successful social reformer. Europe can no long^"^ 
claim to lead the van of progress. France rushing into war witi* 
"a light heart" and a vxy of joy; Prussia burning villages a^** 
shooting peasants by way of reprisals for acts of madness o^ 
the part of individual Frenchmen ; and Russia, in the midst of tt*^ 
dire calamity which has befallen P^urope, playing the part of * 
bandit; these can hardly be the acts of nations that call the Tu*'*'' 
barbarian, and claim to be the leaders of progress. There is nothiT*^ 

Studies for the Times. 

n tHstoiy more contemptible than Russia's flippant niptui 
\ toleniD cuvenant, England has but one course open to her^ 
I Action, she will know how lo make her opinion^' 
1, even if she had to do the great work single-handed. She 
Ihavti U least two very earnest allies in Turkey and Austria, and 
K 1 may add in Italy. It is thought that Prussia will be against 
\ Indeed, a secret treaty between Prussia and Russia is spoken of 
1 natter of certainty. Be it so. Bismarck will have made a fatal 
ike if he has gone to this length. His ambition will have 
aped itself. We may have a bard and bitter struggle, but there 
■be 50 doubt about the result Even if we had lost our ancient 
Jibs, tlie tourage and self-demal and staying powers of our fore* 
have still one thing which has often proved the talisman, 
1 long and tedious wars. The last so\-ereign, I venture xa-' 
Ivillbe found in the British purse, and the lat.t sovereign 
■ itiipcinant thing in all kinds of difficulties and dangers. 

solatoty thought may be picked out of the direst prospects 
ity. Such an one is that which crosses my mind concerning 
imparalive losses of life in naval and land battles. Much fewer 
ur in naval warlare than in warfare on land. In the 
I of the Nile the carnage was not an eighth of the loss 
* Mfaterloo. There is wisdom and safety as well as humanity ia 
''inland's maintenance of her supremacy on the seas. "Whoso-. 
■ '■'.■' uid Sir Walter Raleigh, " commands the sea, commands the 
■fe ; whosoever commands the trade of the world, commands the 
''tins of the world, and consequently the world itself" It is an 
, old-world thought ; and we encounter it in its best 
I England is concerned, done into verse by Campbell — 


" BriUuiDia aecdt no bulwark, 
No loweii along (he sleep ; 
Her match it o'er the mountain * 
Her hiime is on Ihc deep." 

I magazine discuss the very latest changes and 
***» plications of an important question that is influenced from day 
^ <lay byVestless telegraphic communications. There are palpable 
*'KK»S while 1 ViTite that Russia, not antici|>ating so prompt 
''^^eptancc of her challenge by England, may withdraw from her 
"*^s>gBiH position. Hcrr Von Bismarck will he equally sonirised 

If the Prussian Minister has influenced the Russi 
& unhappy business, the attitude of England may well 

An English army thrown into Fiance might turn 



I lo Tfu Gentleman's MagasUu. 

German withdrawal from before Paris into a second retreat flm 
Moscow. In heaven's name, let us hope the Russian will trike bid 
his rudely-fiung gauntlet, and spare Europe further bloodshed ; bm 
also, in heaven's name, our own cause being just, let us buckle oo 
our armour and fight our way through the dark and dangeran 
crisis into which the selfishness of a sugar-coated philosophy hu 
plunged us. 

There will be an Autumn Session, of course: It will be wordi thi 
expenses even of a county election to hear (Madstone and Disnd 
discuss the situation. The great question of the day resolves ilsd 
into this: ''Is England prepared for war?" I do not piopoiea 
present to anticipate the reply further than I have done. Th 
Government has been grossly, almost culpably, criminal in iti dii 
regard of the constant signs of impending perils. To what eitcB 
this culpability has been atoned for during the last few weekly dk 
how long it will take us to put our forces in efficient battle inaf 
will soon be seen. Meanwhile be it all our duty, in Pariiament lad 
out of Parliament, the duty of every man in every condition of life; 
to help each in his own way to justify that declaration of the woriA 
greatest poet — 

" Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us roe^ 
If England to herself do rest but true." 

^^^ *»K ^ '^^^^ '"V. ^ ^X ^N,^V^ '^ ^^^ ^ ^^ *Xfc/'V^% •• 


pipulse IE it that drives nearly all our most distinguished states- 
B the desk? Ambition lo rank among men of lettera? That 
»lfy which is eating at the heart's core of the foremost men in 
fession and pursuit ? Or the cacod/us scribendi which, like the 
every man and woman of the slightest intellectual originality 
! now once in iheir lives in one form or another? I ask the 
lere, as I suppose most of us have asked ourselves or our 
IS over a cigar after dinner many times ; but it is a question 
ed Ulan answered. Yet Ihe facts which suggest it are loo 
» be overlooked. All our statesmen now an lilerali — like the 
.It is impossible to keep a pen out of their hands; and the 
ifier talking seventy-seven columns of the Times in the course 
»ion, spends the flower of his autumn recess in throwing off a 
quib for our contemporary, the Edinburgh Review. When in 
B for a year or two, the right hon. gentleman wrote his " Juventus 
And you may lind the names of most of his principal colleagues 
^1 friends in Mudie's list. Here, for instance, is Lord Russell 
** Life of Moore," his work on the Constitution, and tnore 
I than even his biographer will care to spell through. Kere^ 
Duke of Arg)ll with his " Reign of Law ; " the Lord Chancellor 
uggeslive work on the "Continuity of Scripture;" Mr. Austin 
» his " Life of Sir Charles Napier;" Sir Roundell Palmer with 
!tion of Hymns and Psalms ;" and, shall I add. Bright with his 
Perhaps Mr. Bright himself would disclaim the title of a 
Ui ; but every speech of his smells of the lamp, and as a matter 
ery one of them, I believe, has been written out and revised 
id over as carefully as one of the Poet Laureate's idylls before it 
red. The Chancellor of the Exchequer is a literary man of the 
jer ; and though, as far as I know, he has never published any- 
Uid his speeches, he was for many years one of the most 
ted newspaper writers in London — and, as a newspaper writer, 
balled at Broolces's. To close the list, I may add that Sir John 
is, like the Premier, an old Edinburgh Reviewer. On the other 
Disraeli has always plumed himself on being emphatically a 
i of the press, a man with no escutcheon but literature 
race all the characteristics of the man of letters in Mr. Disraeli 
IS distinctly as they are traceable in the preface to his novels, 
^furnished us all of late with so many topics of uble talk. And 
e exceptions, most of Mr. Disraeli's pohiical friends 

m three exce] 


od , 

i. I 

nd ■ 

I 12 

The Gentleman s Magazine. 

men of the pen,— Lord Lytlon, to wit ; the Marquis of Salisbury, a writer 
in the Saturday as well as the Quarterly Review; Mr, Walpole, Sic 
Stafford Norlhcole, and Sir John Karslake. Of the rajik and file of the 
Parliamentarj' ranks, I say nothing. You may pick out literary men 
there by the Aoian in both Houses ; and, as a rule, 1 believe it may be 
said that in proportion as men are distinguished in either House they aJ* 
distinguished in literature. 

Bur it has not always been so. These literary politicians are quite * 
new class ; and they may be said, 1 believe, to date their reign from t*^^ 
Reform Bill. Till then literary men in an Administration were the exc^J*" 
lion, not the rule, as they are now. You may count ail the liter^i-*^ 
politicians who came to the front from the first Adntinistration of Pitt *- 
that of Lord Grey on your fingers ; and they for the most part w^^ *" 
Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviewers, — Wilson Croker, Macaulay, Jeffr^^^ 
Macintosh, Brougham. One man of letters, and one only, rose to t'^^- 
Premiership— Canning — and his reputation as a man of letters was L^ 
ruin as a politician. The favourite Minister of George III., Lo- "^* 
Castlereagh, was a man so deficient in literary accompli shmcnis. that "^^ 
could hardly open his mouth in Parharaecil without mixing up his mec:- -^ 
phors in a style that would make the hair of the young lions of the Dar- 
Ttlegraph stand on end in astonishment and horror j and Geoi^ IV. d. — -- 
all he could to keep Canning out of office by sneering at him at his tab^^ 
as a clever literary politician, but no gentleman. 

Table Talk. 


Mr. Disraeli, and what remains ? h is not a conundrum, I beg lo say. 

It IS 2 question in criticism which Sir John Coleridge recently propounded 
iQ the Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh for tlieir consideration in 
'he long winter evenings that are upon us. To men of one idea — to men 
who are poets, or novelists, or lawyers, or politicians, and nothing more^ 
oftourse this is a fatal test. But the rep re sen! alive man of the period is 
3 man of many-sided culture, a man like Sheridan — orator, dramatist, 
minstrel, who runs 

" Through each mode ol the lyre and is luaster ol all, 
Whose mind i: an essence, compouniled with wil, 
From the finest and best of idl other men's powers;" 

and this question of Sir John Coleridge's will form a crucial test for 
them. But even with these choice spirits it must not be carried too fer. 
-Abstract the lawyer and the orator from Sir John Coleridge, for instance, 
ancj you may still lind an ingenious and accomplished man. But we are 
not ail Sir John Coleridgcs ; and, strictly brought tii this test, many of 
I MK xngbt perhaps turn out to be little more than silvered mediocrities. 

^ Times change, and manners loo. A year or two ago it used to be said 
' tha.c Paris was the place where all good Americans went when they died. 
Ne^jv York is now the place where, in Paris, it is said, all the dtm-monde 

go wvhcn ihcy die, Of course it is a slander in both cases. 

The shade of Jacob Perkins, the wonderful engineer of our boyhood, 
'*'*M« the earth in the person of Mr. Bessemer, who is again proposing 
*" Substitute steam for gunpowder as a means of destruction. In a letter 
*o iijp Tiatts the man of steel has proposed to make a steam mitrailleur, 
**'**ich will pour bullets in a deadly stream, and make short work of 
^^•» ihilating any mass of life that comes within its range. The idea may 
^ new to many a young mind ; but there are those living who can 
^•^Ueci seeing, at the old Adelaide Gallery in the Strand, a gun-barrel, 
^'^*^» a high- pressure steam breech, which rattled bullets against a target 
** the bottom of the gallerj- some hundred or so in a minuie. It was a 
**i»ider of the age, considering that the steam was used at a pressure of 
•500 pounds to ihe square inch, whereas at the lime five pounds was 
^Oasidered to be the limit of safe working. The Ordnance Select Com- 
**i'ttee looked carefully into the system, and reported favourably upon the 
*^pabilttics of steam at the high pressure aforesaid to do the explosive 
*chrk of the best gunpowder in discharging one-ounce bullets ; but they 
^d not recommend Perkins* gun ; perhaps because it was so cumber- 
some, and had parts that could be deranged by a verj' slight accident 
Baffled in England, Perkins look his artillery to France : he had a gun 
made to discharge three-inch bullets, and sent it to Versailles on show j 
but he was himself kept al home by illness while experiments were being 
made with it, and, as may be expected, the trials were consequently unsuc- 
Voi_ VI., N.S. 1870. 

1 1 4 TJu Gentleman s Magazine. 

cessful. No doubt Mr. Bessemer knows the weak points of the Ftridns 
machine, and has avoided them all in the .weapon which he is con- 
structing. But one does not like to hear of steam, that has done so mach 
for peace, sullying its purity by contact with war and destruction. And 
for the sake of keeping steam's hands clean, we could ahnost wish thit 
the verdict of those who decide the fate of the Bessemer gun will be 
akin to that which the Duke of Wellington conveyed in a terse utteFUic% 
during an inspection of Perkins's machine. Turning to an eminait 
engineer who had been concerned in making the gun, he remarked : " I 

say, P , if we had been using steam all our lives, what a wondeifid 

improvement we should have thought gunpowder.** 

Photography — the art which itself is nature — ^has achieved a triunqilL 
A hopeful dream of the solar limners has been realised, and at last a 
light-engraved cut has been put upon the bed of a common printin; 
press, inked with a common roller, and worked off like a page of type; 
and yet has yielded a picture with all the sharpness and solid sc^tnos 
that we have become so familiar with in an ordinary photograph. The 
magical behaviour of chemicalised gelatine under the influence of ligbt, 
which lies at the bottom of half a dozen pretty processes of pigment 
photography, has at length, by a happy discovery of Mr. Ernest Edwards, 
enabled a printing surface to be made ready to go under the machine 
platen with no more trouble than has hitherto been required to print a 
common paper impression from a photographic negative. Simplification 
can scarcely go farther. A prepared gelatine film is exposed under any 
common negative, it is washed for half an hour in water, and it is ready 
at once to be worked off with the simple appliances of a village printing 
office. No jot of the photograph's delicacy and vigour is sacrificed ; and 
the beauty that is preserved is everlasting, for the picture is in printer's 
ink instead of a volatile chemical oxide. The process is thoroughly 
and commercially practical : I was not a little surprised on calling 
upon the inventor a few days since to find some two dozen people, with 
eight or ten presses, working at it. A monthly journal, entitled ArU "^^ 
scope of which may be judged, has four or six plates produced by 
it in each number. "Hcliotype" is the name by which this latest 
born of sun-painting methods has been christened. It is scarcely six 
months old. 

There are few technical journals for which I have higher respect 
than the Builder, Fulfilling its professional requirements, it is nevcIth^ 
less always packed with good reading, though from its character one 
might expect it to be as dull as a book of logarithms. But I should 
take it as a personal favour if the good editor would not lower my opinioo 
of British mental healthiness by allowing me for a moment to think that 
any man who can read and write for a sensible 1870 periodical believes 
that ordinary and necessary phenomena of nature are portents of evil to 

TMe Talk. 


and its people. At the end of a description of the got^eous 
t so innoccTJlIy displayed itself at the end of October, an 
1 cotre«iiondcm " of the joumnl remarks that he can easily 
Kthat persons who believe in the material destruction of the earth 
II accept ihia grand demonstration as one of the signs ! Then 
M the prophetic text about " wars and rumours of wars," " signs 
K hcawcfts," and so forth, adding that we have the wars In plenty, 
le nutora are the signs. This is pitiable. Will not Mr, Builder 
ke the paper personal— tell his esteemed correspondent ihM 
s bright as that of October have shown themselves as far into 
Oie jMjt as we have histories to tell us of them ? But Mt. Builder is 
ilwiji at this scaivcrowing. An earthquake is in his teaching a harbinger 
of tofiil conruUions -. a spot on the sun a mute message of annihilation. 
Aniully uptin the occasion of a recent total eclipse he wanted to make 
Wieve (bat ihc simply-explained red light around the moon — which has 
bren wen Id evcrj- well-observed eclipse, and could hace been seen, had 
oIwrTefs existed. In every eclipse since the solar system was completed 
— "ai u be taken as a fulfilment of the prophecy about the moon turning 
imo blood. More absurd still, he once drew ominous inferences for this 
wufid (ram a suspicion by some astronomer that the cloud-belts of remote 
liiwlerhad slightly changed their colour. And all this is dealt within 
■ Irmn eamesmess. Zadkiel in his most rabid imaginations never 
-'idled such absurdities; and Dr. Cumming generally has respect 
r sane men to make the grounds of his predictions mysterious. 
lulgation of faith in portents is at all times censurable ; but 
iRenily (o point to harmless and well-understood phenomena of 
s of the world's destruction, is to betray an ignorance and 
tspondmg presumption that deserve severer eastigation than 1 
H> InllicL 


as writing the last note. Dr. Cumming was pouring from 
a pan of Ibc Seventh Vial concoction of theology and puerility 
~ e had previously mixed up for a printed volume. The language 
n lecture was very much like to that with which the Builder 
maUy deleciates its readers. Indeed one is forced to conclude 
is Is the prophetic soul which inspires the journal on the subjea of 
ion. I have not the least desire to dispute the legitimacy 
I inierprclntion of prophecy with regard to matters of opinion or 
. but I do protest against his dangerous misuse of facts about 
in be no question. For a phenomenon of nature to have 
•aificAHCe in the direction in which he seeks for it, it is absolutely 
f that that phenomenon be abnormal. Can he say that earih- 
iw of abnormal extent, in the face of geological demonstra- 
II the very foundations of the earth were laid by eanhiiuakes and 

I the c 

I b cxtraordi 

know that i 

; but I 

xnuai phase of ijipiiincas which comc» aboui cvw 

1 1 6 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

eleven years or so as regularly as winter and summer ? Can he reason 
ably assert that the shooting stars that we have seen in the Novembos 
of recent years are out of the common, while we have the confinned 
evidence of history, and the testimony of such men as Humboldt and 
Le Verrier, to prove that star-showers far more imposing than we have 
seen of late have occurred over and over again in the past ten centuries? 
As to the active volcano in the moon to which the Doctor points is 
a sign, a little inquiry among respectable astronomers would have 
taught him that not one among their number believes that any enipdon 
took place. The talk about it was all smoke, puffed by a few obsenw 
deceived by their glasses or their eyes and the mere needlc's-eye dimen- 
sions of the object. If Dr. Gumming is so careless and misleading a 
guide on ground that is solid and well explored, what can be the vahie 
of his guidance on the treacherous sea of inference and conjectural 
interpretation ? 

" A City Authority," writing to me on the 1 5th and 20th of Nwem- 
ber, says that the appearance of a Russian loan in the market (before 
Gortschakoff's circular, by the way) quite frightened the Stock Exchange. 
It could only have been in the hands of two houses— either Barings' or 
Rothschilds'. No trace of such an important operation could be dis- 
covered in either of those channels ; and therefore, although nr/w* 
were current from day to day respecting its immediate emission, no credit 
was placed in the statement. Instead of a loan comes .the suggested 
revision of the treaty, and the latter is now much more likely to be carried 
out than the former. The French loan, sharply arranged and quickly 
subscribed, proved a most unquestioned success. The applications were 
almost from every quarter, and the premium rapidly moved up from i to 
i^, and then from the last point to 4 premium. A reaction followed the 
announcement of the retaking of Orleans, and since the revival of the 
Russian topic it has fluctuated between par and a slight discount 
Rumours of a dispute between the original concessionaires of the loan and 
those who manipulated in London are rife ; but as the contract was 
properly made, there is no reason to suppose that it will not be regularly 
recognised. Panic, nothing but panic reigns supreme in the foreign 
department. It is bad enough to see Consols declining, but to find 
Turkish, Eg)ptian, Italian, and Spanish fluctuating from 2 to 3 per cent 
in the course of a day creates fears for what may be consequences. TW 
operators in foreign securities arc like a flock of sheep ; they know no 
rh>'me or reason ; as the " bell wether " leads them, so they run a**** 
huddle together. Russian aflfects Turkish ; Turkish exercises an advC^s* 
influence upon Egyptian ; and Italian and Spanish follow in their tu^n- 
The drop has been something considerable in each of these description^ 
and though there has been a recover)', it may not be destined to 1^^' 
Dutch, Brazilian, Argentine, and the very heavy classes have not been ^ 
seriously disturbed, but still they are quoted lower, and are likely to be ^ 
for the present. Fluctuation must nevertheless be anticipated in cvc^ 

Tabk Talk 


K SO long as the Rusaian question remains unadjustty) : and black 
{douds in Ihe horiion appear at present, ii is though! thty will 
long be dispersed. Settled as the Spanish candidature has been 
tU of the Duke d'Aosia, some short period will have to elapse 
Uy proper test of his capacity and administration can be arrived 
ie first movement on the part of Russia will at once successfully 
R her financial position. Since Lord Granville's dispatch I hear 
it of the reported ^15,000,000 loan, and if it were announced it 
|)e immediately scouted. Any new issue of Russian railway shares, 
Edl the Government guarantee, would not be looked at, and hence 
f not be pohlic for Prince Gortschakoff to rush into hostilities if 
ny assistance is desired gradually to develops the resources of the 
; Should it be otherwise, the anangement question of the Euxine 
h»« to be dearly paid for- 

tFE little sympathy for those who arc trying to make the new post- 
he media for secret correspondence by the use of sympathetic inks 
giptographic writing. Let all who want to be private and con- 
^in their communications pay their whole pennies for enveloped 

tFor the sake, however, of those whose correspondence is extensive, 
K pennies are not plentiful, we suggest that there is no occasion 
' about inaccessible salts of cobalt or copper for sympathetic inks. 
ISipped in lemon juice will produce writing that is invisible till it is 
9 ; then it makes its appearance as if it had been written with 
inwn ink. Still readier, but dirtier, is the method taught by the 
bt of the Art of Love to maidens who wish no eyes but a particular 
tiee [heir amorous messages. This consisted in writing with new 
iod developing the latent words by dusting soot over the paper ; 
It when visibly dry retaining humidity enough to cause line dusty 

lovers' intercommunications, modem courtship finds 

5 that surpass Ovid's ptowers of invention. Two such come to 

s described to me by a party to it, a droll French harbier 

lecdote, who used to operate upon my ckerelure, and nearly 

e bald with his stories ; for while 1 listened be talked, and while 

i he cut. He had kept a shop in a native country town, and 

tAsed frequently to go a young demoiselle closely watched by her 

Her hair was curled in papers, which were letters to her lover. 

ft took these out and laid them aside, replacing them when 

ifry with others, which were letters /row the forbidden youth. This 

ber love-making went on for months ; the end of it does not con- 

^ The second ei:pedient was witnessed in Seville. At dark, a 

l^on stole beneath a lofty window, unscrewed the handle of his 

|}4tick, drew out length after length of its tubular interior, and 

beparts like a fishing-rod ; he put a mouthpiec 

raised one end to the envied lattice. A head appeared ; and at longu 
the spectator's patience lasted he saw lips and ears above and below 
altemately applied to the soul-communing pipe. Johnson's lishing-rod— 
"a worm at one end and a fool at the other!" Which was which f 



" In a fog." An undesirable situation for any one, literally or met*- 
phorically, but decidedly worst in the former signification for a tUp 
nearing shore. Happily, that care which has provided our aea-cout n 
well with lights and beacons is now being exercised to extend a periectri 
system of fog signalling, and ere long we shall find the foghorn and the 
lighthouse wedded in their cautionary work. It will be a beauty-uwl- 
beast sort of union, however ; for the Brobdignagian ttuinpec thai i) 
henceforth to proclaim danger through the mist discourses in no swctt 
tones ; and 1 pity the people who have to dwell within earshot of its 
bellowings. On some rocky shores there are natural horns formed by 
cavernous openings, into which the waves dash and expel the air with* 
dreadful noise ; so dreadful that, as the story goes, a new hand, on takiif 
charge of a lightship near to a coast thus charmed, had his hair tuiMd 
grey by the fright thai the first night's roarings brought on. One wouU 
not like to hear of this affliction being repeated by an instrumetlt «f 
mortal make ; so for the sake of those to whom the foghorn's blast b** 
to become familiar^and they may be many^and in order that its sonwl 
may not be liable to confusion at a distance with the noise of the roaring 
sea— of which there is suspicion of danger^l humbly suggest whether 
the great pipe could not be made to speak melodiously ? \Vhere hona 
have been established in full vigour — as at Dungcness and the Isle " 
Wight — ihey arc blown by engine power ; and it should not be difficult to 
apply a little piece of apparatus to the already moving machine wW™ 
would open note-valves in the tube, and thus vary the depresfl^t 
y of the sound. They might even be made to play a tune t *^_ 

the song— 

:, for did not Rousseau with only three s 

Tome k nature 

A ditty, by the way, that with slight alteration would make a fitting s«*^ 
nade from a sailor to a foghorn. There is no reason why a cautior*^* 

e should be a hideous shriek ; though to Judge from the piercing c«^ 

a-birds on the Welsh coast which w am olf ships in foC^ 

weather, and which are therefore protecled by ihe Govei 

n that nature thinks it ought to be. 



Gentleman's Magazine 

January, 1871. 

New Arrivals. 



•HEN a man has been absent in India, China, 
Australia, or any other of the most remote places, 
and during a period of seventeen years — or, as there 
is a peculiar charm in round numbers, shall we say 
.-wenty years — ^he is pretty sure, on his return, to be astonished and 
-onfiised by many things, and often to be the innocent cause of some 
ajnusement, if not astonishment, to others. 

In consequence of various difficulties and some disasters in getting 
round " the Horn," we had a protracted passage from Australia to 
Rio de Janeiro, and after that we were, as usual, becalmed in the 
tropics. The heat at some periods of the day was dreadful ; not, as 
s commonly imagined ashore, merely in consequence of the intensity 
^^ the sun, but because of the absence of the breeze. However, 
'^ost of us were well seasoned, and endured the suffocating time 
^^^h a tolerably good grace. Of qourse we had all the ameliorating 
^fluences of awnihgs spread over the decks ; in addition to which 
^'He, who thought they would try to read, sported the white calico 
-^^ering for their umbrellas, and others wore the common white 
*-^ico cap-cover for cloth caps, with a little white fall behind. By 
'^Sc means, and the help of bottled ale, a tolerably indifferent 
'^^et, a reasonable champagne, and excellent lime-juice light punch, 
^ lived not so miserably through the day. Occasionally a faint 
^^ze blessed us during the night, and at last we got clear of the 


Vol. VI., N.S. 1871. k 

120 The Gentleman i Magazine. 

The rest of the passage home was very good ; so fine indeed, ifut 
it might be compared to " )'achtiiig." and in due couree we "sigbltd 
the Liiard-" It was about four o'clock, p.m., and tiie finit "si^l" i 
we had of our well-loved native shore was a thick fog-bank. WTul 
\'aried emotions must have filled the breasts of many who Stood | 
ii[>on the deck at this moment, especially of those passengers wbo 
had been absent for a number of jears ! Some were to meet fathers, 
mothers, friends, in declining years ; some to find " death in tllc 
house," or a reference to the moss -overgrown tombstone ; sonie to 
meet loving sons and daughters ; some to meet fond and failhTul 
wives, and others to hear of unfaiihful wives wiio had vanished, Oi 
worse ; some to find friends they left ridi, now in jioverty, or poor 
friends who had become wealth)', and " very much changed ; " some 
to find they had been most cruelly maligned in their ahhence, while 
others discover they have been applauded, and nobody sent llid" 
word of it ; some, as they gazed on that misty shore, being prcMJ 
well aware of what they would find ; others deceiving themselvtS 
thoroughly as to their reception by the "changed ones," and 1^* 
greater number full of apprehensions, or at least doubts, not knowi**6 
what to expect, what to fear, nor perhaps even what lo hope. ^ 
here at last is the " Lizard ; " and, at any rate, a most unmistaks'b'' 
liriiish fog-bank. Yes, there was absolutely nothing visit*'* 

New A rrivals. 121 

from street to street, presented an utterly dumb and dull appearance. 
Still we were all in that state of feeling which made everything cheer- 
ful, on the strength of which three of my companions proceeded to 
" knock up " a grog-shop, coffee-shop, or public house of some kind, 
and another went to look for the telegraph office, while I remained 
looking in at a little shop-window, two of the shutters being down, 
and some illustrated newspapers displayed on a sloping board. The 
weather having l)een ver)' fine ever since we left the tropics, I had 
not thought of removing the white cover from my cap, especially as 
the little fall protected my ears from the wind when reading on deck. 
Presently a man sauntered up, and stindiug beside me, murmured, in 
a low voice of grave earnestness, " I say, governor — are you afraid of 
the sun scorching your neck ? " I did not look at him ; and after 
a few seconds of deafness, slowly walked away. 

Being rejoined by my companions, who were in a happy mood, 
and could laugh at anything, they all laughed loudly at the above 
stupid attem]>t at wit. " Why, what an ass the fellow must be ! " 
said they ; '* he must have seen the same thing a thousand times at 
Gravtjjcnd, not to speak of the Illustrated lAmdon Naus^ No doubt 
he had ; but that was not the question. Shortly after this, having 
purchased several little bags of smoking shrimps, "fresh from the 
sea, and just boiled," one of the party who had been absent fifteen 

years (the editor of the Ceylon , on leave of absence for his 

l^ver), accompanied me to the " Gardens," close to one of the piers. 
Here wc admired and snitted at a variety of the most common, good- 
for-nothing flowers and shrubs, all very uncommon to us ; and more 
P^icularly the green grass — conceniing which we became both 
^^timental and poetical, winding up with a touch of physiologico- 
psychology. We were standing on green mounds, or sloping lawns, 
some tAi'enty feet apart " Now tell me — and I do not appeal to 
fancy^hut tell me, do you, or do you not, feel the earth heave 
gently beneath your feet ? " After a pause, he said that he certainly 
did, \\\. stood silent a little while ; the sensation was beyond doubt, 
whatever the other part of the fact may have been. It should be 
observed that we had been at sea during three entire months without 
once touching land, as we did not go asliore at Rio. 

^^ving returned on board our good ship to breakfast, and found 
that our shrimps, for which dear old Gravesend was so ** famous," 
vere stale things freshly boiled for new comers, our next point of 
great interest was to get our luggage cleared through the Customs. 
^ ^e had been instructed long since that Great Britain now enjoyed 
^c blessing and the profits of firee trade, we were somewYial ^ei 

K 2 

1 2 2 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

plcxcd at seeing three of Her Majesty's custom-house officers pull 
alongside the ship, and step upon the jxjop deck with an air not easy 
to describe. It was menacing, yet shy; forbidding, yet forbidden; 
staring round, yc-t avoiding your eye ; with a hard-grained politeness 
that was very pre] possessing, but in an opposite sense to that in 
which the term is usually employed. No doubt the position has 
become anomalous. Free-trade searching all your boxes and private 
drawers ! 

The deck was soon covered with passengers* boxes, &c. (we were 
now in the Docks), and the search commenced. Sometimes they 
were only looking for tobacco, most other things being "free;" 
sometimes thoy were only looking for silver plate ; then again it 
was tobacco ; also, wines, &c. Certainly the list of articles on the 
printed tnritV wliich the captain had shown us marked " free," was 
numeric;!! ly of the most liberal kind ; still there was this vexatious 
search, every siiv^lc box, bale, drav/cr, packet, or parcel being liable 
to be opened, and in many cases boxes and drawers were searched 
from top to bottom. There was a superior officer, who stood by the 
ca|>stan on the pooj) deck, as if taking notes in a note-book, while 
two "familiars " of the Office did the nimmaging. Approaching the 
worshipful one with the goKl-embroidered crown, I at once informed 
him that, after examining the tarifl", it ap{)eared that my luggage 
comprised only two diitinble articles- to wit, a jar of Chinese pr^ 
serves {ium-qifofs) and a <*ase of colonial ^'ine. There they were; ^ 
for my other boxes, \'c., here were the keys. The boxes were 
opened and examined ; politely, it must be admitted, but still 
thoroughly in some cases, es])ecially my chest of drawers, on account 
of a possible concealment of silver plate, or tobacco, "for instance, 
and also a chest of bo(»ks, the search here being made for Americ:!'' 
pirates, for wlii^ h all duties were strictly enforced. "And a vcO' 
proper duty," s:ii<l 1 to the chief <)nicer. " Vcs, indeed," said 1^*^- 
*' These [)irale(l editions are, no doubt, injurious to the literature O' 
both countries." Perceivin;^ him to be a sensible man. I at oncC 
|>n)posed to \)\'.y the <\\\iy on my case of wine and Chinese jar, aPO 
take them away with the rest of my lu;iira;.',e. The Chinese preserves, 
he said, might i)a^s free, as private provision, but the wine must &^ 
throucih tlie rcLiular channel. This somukd verv like time i»^^^ 
tr^>ul>k% thoui;h il^.e mere dtUy was only one shilling per gallon, 
therefore requesud he would be so l;<.)0<1 as shorten the process, ^^ 
allowing me to pay double, so that 1 mi-ht take it away with O^^ 
rest of my things. He shook his head ; he could not take money * 
the wine must go first to the bonded warehouse, &c. 'I'he declarati^^ 

New Arrivals, 123 

be could not take money seemed made with something like a 
ving air, as one should say, " You ought not to speak so loud." 
is conversation had been listened to by both the familiars, and 
minutes afterwards, when I was standing alone in the covered 
vay above the ladder down to the saloon, one of them 
)ached me with a mysterious, knowing, friendly-furtive air, and 
ling his hat, said he and his mate (the other familiar) would like 
ink my health ; and he pointed, winking his eye, to my case of 

" Oh, certainly ; directly it is got ashore." The opportunity 
d in this quarter was not to be neglected. " No need for that," 
he, taking a cautious look to see where the chief officer was ; 
re*s a house over the way " (pointing to a public house ashore), 
1 my mate and I will see to your case. It will be all right" 
e was no mistaking this. At once I slipped something into his 

Somehow, the moment it was there it seemed to vanish like 
njurer's trick; he had never had it, and he walked quickly 
rds the superior officer at the capstan. But he passed on, and 
round the mizen mast He never appeared coming round the 
• side of the mast, and he never came back, and when I went 
le was nowhere to be seen. Returning, rather perplexed, to the 
: I had left, I saw his "mate" coming towards me with a 
.ing smile, glancing at the wine case, and gently rubbing his 
s together. I could stand no more of this, and again requested 
hief officer to allow me to pay double the duties, and any con- 
nt dues or expenses, so that all my luggage might get clear at 

No ; this could not be done. As an act of concession, how- 
I might send the case by a special messenger, accompanied by 
iicer, to the bonded warehouse, and there pay the duties, wharf- 
lues, &c., and so get it passed. 

would weary the reader, besides being too vexatious for the 
r to dwell upon, to describe the hours of delay, the expenses, 
rouble of all this ; and the result being that the time for closing 
)ock gates being at hand, the rest of my luggage was hastily got 
a spring cart, and I had to drive off without my wine. All this 
ulty, too, about colonial wine, which has always been considered 
ngland as a sort of red ink, and pale yellow vinegar, with a 
liarly odd bouquet So it generally is, because nearly the whole 
e really fine wines of Adelaide and New South Wales, and also 
•est of the Victorian, are speedily bought up by those who know 
value in the colonies, and the worst, as well as the second-rate, 
forwarded to the London market Londoners can be little 
ired to hear this, the best of the whole world's produce being in 

2 4 Tlic Gciitkiiian's Magazine. 

|.i]I other instances sent to them. And if the very- oldest and best ot 
■i Aiistrjiian innes iviTe really sent tti London, nobody would give 
Bfrnin 5X In Sj,, antl scmielinifs ror. \n.\ botlle for thtm, prices whicVi 
Vf ofifii lieen paid in ViL-iori.i. This is one sufficient reason why 
will liL- lonj; IiL'rnru then: is an export trade for wines in Australia- 
iNow, my rase contained -siamo choice samples, for presents, of th^rse 
.vines ; liul the Cusium House oliieers could not know this, aux*^ 
Lisiial TL-d ink and vinegar would, of course, have been iTeat^<l 
;ill the snme fumwliiies and ;iro vocations. Let me just a«J^*i 
.si!i|! throujih the I'oek gateti, there is an ofticer siatioii*i*i 
of overhauling every article that passes, e*^^" 
jckinj;, i;c. ^^'hen my cart arrived there, a_r»o 
luinded to him, he looked up at me withm * 
lid he ihould have no objection to drink x^^y 
-f hiiiked up and smiled, he at the same tiK^JC*^ 
ss ilie u])iier [lortion of my Iviggage, suggest;i *^* 
w iuMvd of my wine? The action made x"»^y 
11} iinvious provi.ications. He no doubt si*'* 
■A' e, iir sonu'ihing worse, and, after an inwi*:*"" 
■iliidrL'w hiH uriii, .tnd .way we drove. 

1 pr 
■who has a final 

iiy permit to la 



lenlth : 


.lid one 

nrin ri,- 

if his p 


-load be 

•11, nftev 

I driji-et 

1 look 1 


1 deck. 

Neiv A rrivals. 1 2 5 

pretty Jewess of fifteen, attired in pale blue, with silver oraaments 
in her black hair — all ceased their delights, and headed by the latter 
young maiden, rushed in a throng to the edge of the pavement to 
clap their palms, and point and laugh ! 

" Is all this meant for my cap ? " said I, turning to my grave- 
looking driver, who was bearing himself like a British brick and a 
Sftartan. " They ought to know better," said he, driving on a little 
faster; "they must have seen Indian and other hot-country pas- 
sengers coming from the Docks before this." As we approached 
better quarters the rudeness soon diminished, but not the steady 
looks and sudden glances. And now began a wonder on my 
part; for some of the head-dresses worn by young ladies — re- 
spectable, too, the driver assured me — were of the most outrageous 
description — almost frantic sometimes — but nobody stared at them, 
I have no patience to describe any more of the absurd wonderments 
displayed at so innocent a thing as a bit of white calico, and will 
therefore just say that we passed through the City, and up the New 
Road, and turned off towards Hampstead. We met an omnibus 
coming down the hill ; when the driver, who seemed habitually a 
grave, stolid man, suddenly bent fonvard and sideways as we passed, 
and said to me, without moving a muscle, " Are you the Pope of 
Rome?" This was intended for wit, I suppose. Of course I ought 
to have taken out my knife, and cut away the paltry cause of all this 
dull fooler)' ; but an obstinate sort of refusal to credit such nonsense 
as a reality — in fact a won'tfulness — prevented me. So I reached my 
^'cstination, "the observed of all observers," till the very last box and 
package had been carried indoors — and exit white calico ! 

^ext day, having occasion to go to town, I exchanged my much- 
insulted friend of the tropics for the regular stiff hat of the period, 
^^om this moment all the staring and what-not ceased. The paths 
^^ liie in populous places were smoothed ; and now comes my turn. 

IVoceeding down the street, I met two fashionable young gentle- 
^^"^1 who each wore a little round-crowned, wooden-looking hat, 
I'^ecisely of the kind that the oyster-men of the lowest class often 
"''^•J to wear when I was last in England. Soon afterwards a grave 
'■•'J somewhat grey-haired gentleman in a carriage passed by, wearing 
"^^ the same class of oyster-man's hat of other days. But nobody 

^rcd at these hats. Turning down B Street, I met an elderly 

'^^tleman with two beards ! They were about ten or twelve inches 
^"^ft at each side of his face, and of the colour of Scotch snuff. He 
'^'e a dark rappee coat and waistcoat, Prince's mixture trousers, 
•^^ a China silk overcoat of Uxndyiooi colour. On the top o£ Vv\s 

1 26 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

head there was stuck, precariousiy, a little low-ciDwiicd gossamer 
nankeen hat ; (he crown so very low that it suggested gum-arabic, or 
other artificial means of making it remain on his head. EvidentI)' 
the wearer was a pentleman, and of position in society, but nobody 
looked at him I Turning into P M , I saw a yo«ng gentle- 

n with a young lady, the latter appearing to carry something on 
her head. Atw3 this proved to be literally true. It was a iieau-f^ 
(I forget how to spdl this obsolete word, but perhaps it vjill be found 

the Icelandic dictionary), filled with all the brightest flowers of the 

.son, in miniature. The young gentleman at her side wore ■ lioy 
black hat of the shape of a boy's paper boat, inverted, and at ooc 
side there were three little feathers of the Spanish cock. Tlie 
passere-by never once turned to notice this surprising pair ! Variotu 
laughable heads of gentlemen now appeared, wearing Utile loW" 
crowned stiff hats above immense, black, bushy or flowing beaidsi 
and several had two beards, brown, sandy or red, hanging from thc^ 
ars to a foot in length over their shoulders, like epaulettes. 

It would be wTong not to say a word or two more about the he**^' 
dresses of ladies. Let the writer premise that he has seen tl»* 
head-dresses of many celebrated squaws of the Hurona, the Chippy 
ways, the Mohawks, the Tuscaroras, and other Nortli American trit*^**. 

New Arrivals. 1 2 7 

-the stufTcd-bird department Yet nobody takes any notice of 
hem! Nevertheless, the varieties are surprising. Here you may 
ibserve dark-broiwi hair phited round the back of the head, with a 
wrse-tail of light-brown hair, supposed to belong to the upper plaits, 
ftrcaming or scattering itself down the lee side of the symmetrical 
)r otherw'ise-formed shoulders and waist of the top-heavy craft. 
There you may behold a lady on horseback, smilingly enduring a 
gentleman's stiff black hat, fastened somehow upon her forehead, 
ad sloping over her eyebrows, with a large brown, yellow, or tawny 
lump of something like a morbid swelling — in fact a tumour — sticking 
out behind. The absentee of seventeen years will look in vain for a 
bomiet There is no such thing in London. Do the doctors recom- 
nacnd all this bareness for an English winter ? (Ahem!) Often you 
may see young girls with their hair all flowing or flying down behind, 
uid sometimes with beautiful effect ; on other occasions you may see it 
^tened back by a band round the foreheads of fashionable children, 
in a way that gives the effect of a face on a cocoa-nut, when the 
fough, hair-like covering is only partially removed. Strolling down 

P M , a young gentleman and lady passed the writer, whom 

tie really can never forget as long as he lives. The gentleman sported 
iwhiti>h, dough-coloured hat, the shape of a meat-pudding basin, 
^th a narrow rim, and a red and green band round it, as if to keep 
he contents close within. He wore a small blacking-bnish under his 
*ose and over his mouth. The bdy's hair was arranged in an 
"*huni plait round the head, above which was a fuzzy friz of yellow 
•^1 tenninating in a wild, hay-like flaxen nest of great size — a nest 
^ a full-grown solan goose — and on the top of all was a soldier- 
Wl's black cocked hat, set a-slope, so that one end seemed to try 
'^d touch the bridge of her fair nose ! Both parties, no doubt — and 
^' who knows ? — of the first fashion, and dressed in this style ! But, 
^cept the i^Titer, not a soul really seemed to notice them 1 Now, 
^ nobody say these dc.sLrii)tions are at all over-coloured or over- 
■^vm; for the individuals are extant — the unobserved wonders of 
^ time. There they are at the present hour ; everybody can see 
^m, if people will but open their eyes to all that is j)assing round, 
*tead of concentrating their vision upon a mere calico cap-cover. 

^Vjll the reader allow me to make a trifling extract from my Note- 

• Tmesday, 8 15 a.iii.— Out early for a turn, before breakfast. Saw a young lady 
'^shUm, with three immense French foils of crust-coloured hair upon the l»ack 
^ head, come out of the door of a prinUc house. She looked aboul ioT Wi 

128 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

carriai;c, ns it seemed. Suddenly she went down upon her knees ! As I passed 
she was clcnninj; the door-steps. * Servantgalism ' come lo this ! 

** llWncsdity, I 20 p.m. — On the look-out for an omnibus to RichmonL 
Numerous omnibuses passe<l, but it impossible to distinguish their destinatioo, 
as they were ct>vorcd all over with placards and large letters, relating to daily tad 
weekly newspapers, mu'stanl, sewing machines, cocoa, coals. Old Tom, Tnssaad, 
M(^ses, ozokcrit, starch, pills, balsams, an<l lK)ttled porter. 

**T/itirst/.n\ 4 45 p.m.--Ovcrt«Kik a very anticjuated little gentlewoman, toddling 
along, very much hunched out K'hind, with excessively high-heeled shoes ud* 
little pointed bat, like an old witch in a fairy-tale. On passing the little ^^w? 
slie turned (nil lo be quite a young lady ! W.xs informed that this grotesque 
deformity was intended to represent the beauty of the antique or Grecian grace!" 

Meantime, my case of colonial wine still remains in the Docks. 
A^'ain and again have 1 written for it, and been down there, wastii^ 
my time, besitles paying an agent to see to it, and all in vain; and 
finally threatening *' to write to the Times, ^^ Even diis threat has not 
produced the proper eftect. 

Having a bill of exchange from one of the great banks of Mel- 

bourne upon the I>ank of A in London, the holder presented 

himself, as it had now become due. It was at once stamj)ed as 
'* accepted," and i)aynble at the bank of Messrs. A., B., C, & Ca 
Entering llie latter bank, and finding at length among the regiment 
of clerks the proper clerk in this case, the order was handed to hini 
''Cldlil (ir notes, Mr. Newcome?" '* Thank vou, no. I don't want 
tile monev." ** Will you like to have it in bills at one, two. or 
three monlhs' date?" "No, I thank you; 1 do not want the 
money." lie paused, and looked hard at me. '* 1 wish to have a 
cheque-book, and open an aceonnt." His countenance fell. *'Ah, 
you ha«l better speak with the gentleman at the further end of the 
first counter." Arrived at this extremity, a cross counter appeareti, 
with glass-fn.)nted desks at each end, and an Ojjening in front 
rutting down my onler tin the open space, a gentleman einer^'ed 
from behind one of the glass-fronted desks, took uj) the order, 
examined ii, and said, with a most jileasant expression, *• How* ^*'^" 
you liave it, Mr. Newcome?" ''Sir," said 1, "1 do not want the 
money — I do not wish to have it. What I wish is to open ^^ 
a< count with your bank, and to have your che< pie-book." His 
couiiti-nance changed. He put back the pen behind his right ear, 
and said, ** Have vou anv note with vou ?" ** Xo," I said ; ''none 
I didn't know that Australian notes would be received in London; 
but I have some Australian sovereigns. What have 1 to pay' 
*' Mr. Newcome," said he, " vou misunderstand me. 1 mean a note 
of introduction." This was astonishing. ** Introduction ? ^^hyi 

New A rrivals, 1 2 9 

e's the money — my accepted bill ! " " True ; and you can have 

money." " But I say that I do not want to have it. I want 
r bank to have it — take care of it for me — and give me a cheque- 
k." He eyed me gravely. " Ah, that we can*t do ; but wait a 
ute." He left me standing with my anomalous order in my hand 
ood to obtain money, but not good to be received ! — and moved 
3uxls a large side room, the front of which was entirely armour- 
ed with glass. Inside these were five desks, with five green- 
led lamps (broad day outside), and at each desk sat a grave, 
ost severe-looking personage in spectacles. After some con- 
Qce, I was admitted to the presence of the five inquisitors. One 
them rose with austere courtesy, and approached me. " Mr. 
vcome, it appears that you have not conformed to our regulations, 
:o bringing a note of introduction." " No, sir ; but I have 
Jght the money." ** We really cannot receive it." " Not receive 
Jid yet be ready to pay it ? Are you aware, sir " (here I dropped 

voice instinctively, not liking to compromise the munificent 
k), " are you aware that directly I presented this order, 1 was 
red my money — gold or notes? And the second gentleman, a 
erior officer, at once asked me how I would have it ? Those were 
words. But when I replied that I did not want any money, from 
: moment my troubles began ! " This seemed too much for the 
ir'ity of the five inquisitors, and they all laid down their arms and 
led. One of them, indeed, played with his pen in almost a 
^se state of mind. "We have no doubt," pursued my interro- 
^r, with a smile, " that everything will be right, and perhaps you 
lid oblige us with a reference. You see, this is a strict regulation. 
ire might be reasons why we should not receive." He paused, 
^ a courteous air. " I comprehend, sir. The last gold-ship from 
>tralia may have been robbed." At this they all ver>' nearly 
?;hed out " Yes, of course I can give you plenty of references, 

within a stone's throw. There's Messrs. S and E , the 

nent publishers." The inquisitor shook his head. " They have 
1 been dead these ten years." "True, true; I heard of it, but 

forgotten. But there's Messrs. C and Co., the ship-brokers 

L. Street." " One of them has been dead these five years, 

the other has retired into the north of Scotland." " Indeed ? 

1, there's Mr. E W , the publisher, who has known me 

ie twenty years." " Ah, poor E W , he only died the 

^r day." " E W dead, too ! and only the other day ! 

^, that's as bad in this question as any longer jjeriod." These 
^en and to me very sad announcements, and of anything but an 

1 30 The Gentleman's Magadne. 

encouraging tenor, were beginning to confuse me, when I mdiiojlf 
recollected an old schoolftllow, connected with one of ihe phDoflil 
publishing firms at the West End, and a\. once scrJbbleii a fewlioo 
to him, Fcqucsting him to send a line to the bank of Mexirs. A^ E, 
C, & Co., just to attest the fact that I was " I," aiid how loi^ In 
had known me, and so forth ; adding, that my difficulty wag in Wfr 
sequence of being unable to get money accepted in London, wL 
that I had always imagined the difficulty was the other way. Hand- 
ing this note to be forwarded, I rtiurncd to the half-giassed count 
where I had deposited my order, and requested a receipt Thit «l 
politely declined. "A few lines of acknowledgment then?" "W* 
never do this." "Not even a memorandum?" "We never gnt 
one." In utter astonishment, I left the wonderful place colled » 
London bank. 

Pausing abruptly at the first lamp-post, I went through a menBl 
struggle as to whether I should not instantly go back and request iht . 
return of my order ; and should certainly have done this, but for ike 
conviction that it would instantly have been handed to me, and tiiffl 
how wise I should have looked. Besides, one has great confident 
in a first-class London bank. Next morning, a friend, learned u 
banks, informed me that a proper introduction was invarishly 

New A rrivals. 1 3 1 

.ys exclaim, " Dead ? You don't say so ? " and repeat the name 
he beloved one with all its endearing memories, as though so 
ly good associations could never have passed away so abruptly — 
abruptly to our feelings on first being told. 
Lgain I sent stormy messages to the agent employed to get 
case of colonial wine out of Her Majesty's Customs, and then 
itc to a merchant friend in Manchester, telling him my troubles, 
I that I intended to make them public What a mistake it was to 
p" the under-officers before they had got my case safe out of the 
is! A rich gentleman from Melbourne, who had once been a 
nister of the Government, understood business much better, as a 
aid informed me. He had a great quantity of boxes, and cases, 
i general luggage. Taking, therefore, his card in his left hand, he 
jced a sovereign under his thumb upon the card, so that the coin 
lid well be seen shining,— and, walking up to the officer in charge, 

said, " My name is ^." He soon afterwards took all his 

gage away, not a single package having been searched. And then 
put back the sovereign into his own pocket ! Clever and smart 
him, no doubt, and morally worse than the other ; but those who 
I practised in swindles upon a large scale, can easily accommodate 
»e small matters to their consciences. He exi)ec:ts to be knighted. 
There is no duty upon "curiosities," and having brought a num- 
r of choice things of that class as presents, I sent a note to an 
I friend — Colonel Fielding, of the Fusiliers — informing him of my 
ival ; expressing the pleasure I anticipated in again seeing him ; 
^gratulating him upon his eldest son's recent promotion in the 
iian army ; complimenting him upon his proposed new method of 
fing rifles ; and, amidst other friendly gossip, retjuesting his accept- 
^ of some wallaby skins in their winter fur (my own hunting 
ile resident on the Blue Mountains of Victoria) ; a fine specimen 
the platipus (ornithorynchus paradoxus), caught while napping on 
■ banks of the Coliban river ; and some potted sea-elephant's 
gue and trunk from the coast of Terra del Fuego. As we had 
^ys been intimate friends during many years, let the reader judge 
^y astonishment at receiving the following : — 

Sir, — The cause of that outrageous attack upon me and my new 
•l>oring system, in the South American Stickatnouglit bi-weekly, 
efficiently well known. Apart from this, your dcscriion of your 
'd-spirited nei)hew is an act I most entirely di.sai>|)rove. With 
'"d to your proposed presents, pray sell thcni fur the benefit of 
nephew, with my compliments. Touching the Black Forest 

132 The Gentleman s Magazine. J 

and the Bullorook, do not in future consider me at all in theljl 

of Other days. — I am, Sir, yours, &c. |i 

"David FiEWiy^ 

"To Francis Newcotne, Esq." 

Good heavens ! What was the meaning of all this ? I i 
nothing in the world of any attack in the South American S 
nought ; and as to a nephew, 1 had long since ceased to havti 
such relation, in the sense implied Tru^ 1 once had a 
the young gentleman of the proud spirit Iiad entirely, of his o 
and will, cast off all relations (vith me, at least sixteen yean | 
partly because of certain incompatibilities of teniperanJcnt, i 
said ; partly because, during a period of those colonial vicissitu 
which everybody was subject, I had simply been unable to c 
his allowance ; and partly from something admissibly derived 
morbid imagination. Moreover, directly my return was annoUH 
the young gentleman at once declared our estrangement as I 
Again, what on earth was tlie drift of the touching allusion (a 
Black Forest and the Bullarook ; and how did it touch me, of 
that i certainly had hunted the wallaby and native bear in if 
remote and savage regions? But what had all or any of thisfl 

New A rrivals. 133 

House ni}Tmidons ; and it appeared, when all the incidental and 
extraneous expenses were taken into the account, that the simple 
duty of IS. per gallon had caused me to pay at the rate of sometliing 
like 5s. 6d. per gallon, besides the delay of a fortnight Having 
been in\'ited to pay a visit at Manchester, I wrote to my friend there 
to postpone the pleasure till I had made public, by means of the 
jffess, this abominable treatment in a country so boastful of its Free 
Trade, and where one hardly dare breathe a remonstrance (but wait 
a little !) as to some temporary " protections " for struggling colonial 
industries. Previously also to my trip to Manchester there were 
several re-unions with old friends to take place ; and certain contre- 
/r/ff/j' attending my first dinner-party may be characteristic of what 
often happens to ** new arrivals " who have been long absent 

Dr. Allspice knew me in a moment We had not met for t^'enty 
years; but after the first effect has passed off, it is surprising how 
little change people sometimes find in each other. This was very 

much the case on first visiting my old friend Dr. L S ; 

but here the wonderment was six heavenly daughters, all dropped 
from tlie clouds since I last saw him ! Similar presents had also 
descended upon Dr. Allspice, as suddenly appeared when we were 
driven home to luncheon, and he presented me to all his own "new 
arrivals," including pictures, books, engravings, busts, and statuettes, 
apparently in every room from hall to ui)pcr story. Well, I was to 
dine H-ith him, and an early day was fixed. He would invite cer- 
tain persons to meet me who had become eminent during my long 
absence, and the day was looked fonvard to by me with many very 
pleasant anticipations. 

The hou-ie was at St John's Wood ; a wonderfully different place 
from the wood I formerly knew. I am absolutely ashamed to 
describe the troubles that befel me on that dark, rainy night At 
^t I found the house I Rushing up stairs to the room I was to 
sleep in, candles were lit at the toilet table, and then I saw the full 
**tent of my discomfiture. The extreme jjerspiration into which I 
'^ been thrown by hasty changes of vehicles and hurried walking, 
*^d not only made me unpresentable, but the stain of the black silk 
hning of an infernal new hat had given a mortified hue to my fore- 
"^d, made lines down my face, and trickles and splotches over my 
^ift-front I rang the bell. A sen-ant ai)peared. " Some hot water, 
Sir?" " Xo — yes ! Pray ask Dr. Allspice if he can come to me for 
a moment" My fiiend presently appeared. "What has happened, 
^^f- Xen-comc? Shall I get you some brandy-and-water?" "No, 
***ik you ; it is not brandy that I require, but a shirt. I/ioV. al 

"134 ^"^ Gentleman s Magazine. 

me!" My tale was quickly told — all put to rights — and A W 
delightful evening ensued; the unmerited reward of my unsoph 
ticaied proceedings. 

It is easy to laugh at noi'ices and new anivals. Place an at 
seaman in the ranks of a regiment on parade, and what would he (]■ 
Or place a grenadier on the fore-top-gallant yard in a stiff gale 
wind, and what would ke do, if he did not fall into the sea ? Ai 
how can one, resident for years in the back woods of America or t 
Australian bush, find his way by instinct in a wood of a very diflcrc 
kind, to -wit, "St John's," where there are silent houses for mil 
instead of trees ; where there are no shops, or other open bouses 1 
miles ; and where you may walk about for miles on a dismal cvenii 
without meeting half-a-dozen people, and not a soul to give y 
inielligible direction? By the kind foresight of Dr. Allspice 1 n 
driven next morning to my other friend's house in the Avenue Ro 
(Ixjwer) ; but when about two hours afterwards 1 issued forth, ag: 
came my long walk through interminable lines of houses, till fina 
directed how to find park -gates some half-a-mile off. Th 
again the park — Regent's Park — els a boy had been well known 
me, but will anybody say ihat such previous knowledge could 
any guide at present ? On the contrary, it was misleading ; for wl: 

New A rrivals. 1 3 5 

something, though more important than all the rest, must only be 
mentioned briefly, because it is neither wise nor kindly for any new- 
comer to present himself with a painful expression. But as it must 
be the fate of all Indian, Chinese, African, Australian, or other 
absentees of long standing, let them prepare themselves, not only for 
. sad ** changes of countenance " by death, but for that equally, and 
in some instances more lastingly painful change which they will here 
and there find in characters, manners, and habits of those whom 
they Had formerly known and loved as very different sorts of persons. 
The individuals themselves will often be quite unconscious of such 
changes, and those who have constantly been in their society may 
also very naturally be unaware of the fact; but they have been 
gravely touched, within as well as without, by the unseen hand 
of Time, and "Oh, the difference to me!" and to the constant 
thousands of new arrivals after long absence from their native land ! 

Author of '* Orion,** &c., &c. 

Vol. VI., N.S. 1871. 

The Spectre. 

l_,pvaHEY saw a Spectre in the setting sun, 
I'lw Those eyes of a great nation, westward turned 
Beheld it vast and splendrous, as with ligh^. 
As with while light it buraed. 

"Lo ! here," they cried, "is Glory, bora of God, 
Imspiring noble aims and shining dtcds ; i 

What should we do but listen to its voice, ' 

And follow as it leads ? 

" Ignoble are the arts and toils of Peace, 

Her hoarded fruits and harvests ripely stored .' 

The sickle raeet the masters of the world 
Is the man-reaping sword ! " 

Forth in their might they poured, lo meet a foe 
\\'orthy their prowess, worthy their defeat i 

With clouds of hovering hosts the land was black— 
They met as oceans meet 



F all Cornelius's pupils who have risen to celebrity 
Kaulbach, in the foremost rank, holds the foremost 
jy^U place. He was pre-eminently " the beloved disciple " 
^^ of the great apostle of modern German art, and he 
ved to justify, by the noble fruits of his life, the expectations 

his great master cherished for him whilst as yet his genius 
►nly in the bud. 

helm Kaulbach was born in the year 1805 at Arolsen, in the 
North-German principality of Waldeck. His father, a working 
mith, had himself an intense appreciation of and delight in art ; 
moved by these feelings, he ardently desired from the earliest 
of his little son's life that the boy should become an artist. 
rVilhelm's desire was to become a farmer, and he would willingly 
learned to till the ground, and earn his bread by the sweat of 
row rather than by the cunning of his hand. 
1822, however, when he was seventeen years of age, Wilhelm 
bach w\as sent to Diisseldorff. Peter Cornelius had at that 
been elected president of the Academy, and it was at his feet 
young Kaulbach had the privilege of sitting during the first 

of his art-novitiate. His extraordinary gifts, however, soon 
ted general attention, and, not only his fellow-students, but his 
ed master prophesied with conviction that " the world would 
of him." It is said that Kaulbach, even in these early days, 
ised an almost magical influence over his friends and fellow- 
its by the " irresistible charm " of his amiability. In the year 
Kaulbach followed his master to Munich, whither the latter had 
called at the instance of the "Alte Ludwig" (then not so old), in 
that he might aid that genial monarch in carrying out the ideas 
were to render his little capital so favourite a resort for lovers 
. Here, with others selected by Cornelius to carry out his 
is, Kaulbach painted the frescoes in the arcades of the Hof- 
i, the dome of the great concert-room in the Odeon, and an 
site series of frescoes representing the myth of Amor and 
,e in the palace of Duke Max, the father of four lovely 

L 2 


The Gcntlen. 

daughters, of whom Che Empress F.Iizabcth and the ex-Queen nf 
Naples are best known lo the world. 

These paintings made it clear that beauty of form and an cJujutnie 
gift of drawing were the dUtinciive marks of Kaulbach's gCTin 
Hitherto he had only appeared as a disdplc (a disciple beloved wi 
honoured, it is true),biit bound and trammelled in a certain degree M 
the fetters which must necessarily be his !» lon^ as he was meidl 
the exponent of another man's mind, Mc carried out with Spiifi 
and love the orders of his master, but be longed to soar upon hi» 
own pinions to the realms whither Fancy or lirt^in&tion mi^t lead 
him. The creative clement in his nature, the energy of his gcntltK, 
the imperious necessity which all the artist in him felt of giving 
expression to the genial originality that was also in !iim, combined •■ 
make him ardently long for a more independent field of aetioa a«»* 
forthwith to seek it 

His "Madhouse" made him famous; his Nunnmschtadd^ J"»i 
"Fall of Jerusalem," his illustrations of the Gospel, his "Rcyn»^ 
the Fox," sliowed the versatility of his genius and the grasp of t»i 
mind. The eminent skill ho displayed as an animal pointer in iM 
iilusiralions of Reinkke Fuchs is such as might well aroasc cBWy ir« • 
Landseer or a Bonheur, and is all the more remarkable in a man w^" 
had risen to fame as an historical a nd claaaie&l painter of the ftOld^g^ 



i| lie and his suite paid Kaulbach a visit. He Kud he had nothing 

iriTa (hem, unless Ihey would like some beer. The Prince, 

mi; Uf be polite, and above all things not (o appear proud, said 

u.u very fond of beer. Kaulbiich called a boy who was cleaning 

:ji: juleltc* in (he <:Ponier uf tlie atelier, and said, 'His Royal 

jrmcn would like some beer ; run ([uickly to the next beer-shop, 

) miod )-ou bring enough.' Then the Prince admired the arUst's 

11% and said many obliging things to him ; and when the beer 

1. brought dicy all ilraiik il very cheerfully together, pledging ej 

;'iiiDttit; most amiable way (though the Prince's adjutants were j 

nil diai;u>aed a( all this afliibility), Kaulbach civil and smiling like I 

lai— lull — he inade the Prince (lay for the porter I Now, what \ 

■ mil think of that?" 

> >«ycine Imighed except the stout lady who had related the 

i-"loic, but she remained serious and indignant "An artist!' 

Mid ; " no, 1 call that a common soul !" — " But you cannot be 

: .TT wiih him for liking beer; you all do tliat here, don't you? 

I'lught bcci was an insliluiion in Bavaria," I said. — "And the 

iLt?" she replied indignantly; "is a Royal Highness to 

■ilied with impunity?" 

■WpU, he could afford il, you know; and besides, he helped to 

.•nt it"— "As to that, it was his amiability. But if you are 

lil ," and she turned away. 

■' I ihiiik," whis])er<;d Baron P , " that I tan manage it for 

ufyou have really set yuut heart so much on seeing him. He 
'~^ uimes to my fatlier'K house, and sits hours with him talking 
' llie details of his hitiorical pictures, asking my father's opinion 
;, and explaining his designs and intentions. We will send 
l&lhet's card, and arc sure to be admilled." 
\vQt admitted. But Kaulbach was not alone, in spite of all 
1 said upon the subject A very eminent Prussian 
n Mnu with him— a man whose name was even then famous. 
II merely bcpwcd lo us, and continued his conversation with 

n off tu Vienna in a quarter of an hour," said the latter, | 
BtaiDfinitcly obliged to you for sparing mc so mutli of your j 
Then they shook hands together, and the ma 
> Idi Bs alone with the man of art He immediately c 

1 wd simply, " And now that 1 am at liberty, what J 

- expUined the object of the visit 1 had 
idy Ac ii|>pearanc« of the man. He rcmmd<:t^ nn ^ 

1 40 The Gentleman $ Magazine. 

not a little — ^at any rate in dress— of the astrologer in Pilot/i 
magnificent picture of " The Death of Wallenstein." On his head he 
wore a small black velvet skull-cap, from beneath which his sdll 
brown hair escaped in long silky waves, and flowed over his shoulden 
d la Rafael Sanzi. A long black velvet robe or gown fell fixm his 
shoulders to his feet ; it was bordered with fur, and in his hand he 
held a mahl-stick and a crayon. The slightly-aquiline features were 
animated by a clear delicate colour which glowed in the smoothly- 
shaven cheeks, and, in spite of the furrows about his eyes and 
mouth, gave him a semi-youthful appearance. The eyes were daA 
brown, and, tliough not large, were mar\'ellously piercing and keen 
and bright. His tout aisanbic was picturesque and magister-likc, 
and in his manner, as he turned to speak to me, I could discein 
none of that uncouth surliness of which he had been accused. 

** 1 am sorry," he said, " that I have nothing much worth the 
trouble of a visit to show you here. This picture of the Hunnff^" 
schlacht is too large to be seen well in such close quarters. But ho'*^ 
do you like this portrait of the Princess of Hohenlohe ? Portraits 
are rarely interesting to tliose who do not know the originals; b^*- 
perhaps you are acquainted with the Princess ? " 

It was a full-length picture of a tall, dark-haired woman, with * 
face that had a tragic touch al.)out it. An antique diadem, set vitl» 
gems, crowned her heavy black hair ; a long white veil flowed x^ 
trans[)arent clouds about her shoulders. She was seated in a chrxi^ 
of classic sha|x*, and her round white arms, adorned with massi'Vc? 
gold bracelets, set with gems like those in her tiara, were laid upon 
the arms of the chair, which were tenninated by panthers* heads and 
claws. Her pale sea-green draperies flowed about her in majestic 
waves, and tliere was dignity as well as sadness in the hali- 
melancholy smile that hovered about her lips, and in some degree 
counterbalanced the wistful moumfulness of the large dark eyes m<i 
pale cheeks. 

" It is scarcely like a portrait ; it looks— it looks " 

" Well, what ? " 

" Almost too tragic for a mere portrait." 

" Do you know her? " he asked, turning his sharp penetrating ^^^^ 
suddenly upon us. 

" No — and perhaps such a remark is misplaced 


" By no means. When people's lives are tragic then the 
element comes out in their faces: and countenances which h^ . 
been nothing in their placid youth become terrible and characten^ 
as years roll on. Sorrow is a marvellous painter ! He does '^'^ 

K a III I) a ell. 1 4 1 

flatter, but for all that he has the power of making something out of 
nothing. In that sense he is a true poet" 

" But," said he, suddenly interrupting himself and changing his 
tone, " do you know my paintings in the Treppmhaus at Berlin ? 
No ? Well, let me see if I can find photographs of some of them ; 
perhaps they may please you." 

He went into a comer where there were a number of portfolios, 

and after a few minutes' search came back to us with a large 

photograph in his hand. He set it up on a spare easel. " You will 

perhaps like this," he said, " as well as any other. I have observed 

that English people as a rule are strong upon the Reformation ; it is 

a subject upon which they love to discourse, and yet our Reformation 

was better than yours — (where is your Luther? Where your 

Melancthon ?), except, perhaps, as to results, and after all the 

result is the test But if you care to listen I will explain it to you \ I 

mean I will explain my design, and try to make clear that which at a 

first glance may well appear confused, so many figures being here 

crowded into so small a space. This fault does not hinder the effect 

of the original. I had space, ample space there," said the maestro, 

waving his hand largely fi-om right to left ; " large ideas and large 

subjects require a large canvas." And he looked at us shrewdly and 

smiled. " Now, first of all, you must endeavour to realise," he said, 

his fe.ce again serious and his manner earnest and composed \ " it is 

^sential that you should realise one fact : namely, that history, with 

all its catastrophes, with all its marvellous inscrutable events, with all 

Jts intellectual struggles and crises ; with all its developments and 

absorptions, governed by laws eternal and unchangeable, is but the 

^tory of the development of the human mind as it progresses 

^ough darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge ; from the 

slavery of precedent to the noble liberty of pure and perfect 

"itellectual freedom. This last epoch, the epoch of the Reformation, 

comes home to us ; it touches us more nearly, and in a more personal 

°^^^ner, than any of the other great epochs of the world can do. We 

"Ve and move and have our being in a time which still feels the 

pulse and heart-throb of that time. We come firom the primeval 

^kiiess of the early ages through the ever-lightening centuries to 

this result of what has gone before; and for this reason I have 

^'^dea.voured to show, not only the theological aspect of the Re- 

ornaation in the well-known figures of her well-known representatives, 

^^ also to express the animated intellectual life which her birth- 

^^oes called into existence. The dark spirit of the middle ages is 

^^Hc^uered — enlightenment has prevailed — the fetters have been 

142 The Genllmmns Magasine. 

stRick off Here ihen you see a mighty building, the dome of wlitdl 
rises in lofty proportions, whilst the aisles and chancel termumU is I 
steps, whnse ascent is lost in the disianl perspective. Hew the fl 
centre figure of Martin Luther, holding iilofi in \xvi, hand the Cot]id I 
which he so dearly loved, and for which he so boldly fbufhl, if 1 
surrounded by ZwingHos, Calvin, and other Reformers, Here jm) 
SCI- Dr, Bugenhagen {a nanie probably unknown to you) acbninistcring 
the Holy Sacrament to Frederick the Wise, John the Firm, AHrtfl of 
Brandenburg, and others. Here is the warlike Cusiavus Adolphus of 
Sweden, and there you will recognise Coligny. tlie head of ihe 
Huguenot parly, and a little further on Maurice of Saxony. But here 
again are figures which will specially interest you. I need not imrr»«? 
them, for you have certainly already recognised the fdmiliar Ggure of 
your Virgin Queen, accompanied, as you sec, by. Essex and Barlrigt* 
and the bold Drake ; Archbisho[> Craniner and that rough Scot, lt»« 
uncompromising Knox, are also with her, fw Scotland must hxrt i*S 
representative toa And here is the "Silent Willifim " of Onrnjc, a^ 
representative of the Netherlands ; a figure gloomy and dull in ilselC 
but having also its place in history. And here, at the far end of tf»e 
choir, on the highest steps, we see the mariyrs and forerunners of tKc 
Reformation : Wycliffe, Johann Wessel, Petrus Waldnw, Arnold erf 
Brescia, Abelard, Savonarola, and Tauler; and above the»C B 

A '(^7 //''</./'. 1.13 

retreated a step or two and looked at liis work ; then smiled again, 

and, with an air of enjoyment, added two or three telling touches to 

the centre figure. As one looked at it one smelt the new-mown hay 

and the breath of the cows, and felt the warm sunset rays striking 

athwart the land, and saw golden motes dancing in the sunbeams, 

and felt as though one were reading a page of the "Vicar of 

Wakefield" after a chapter of universal history. We remained, 

however, where he had left us, and in a few minutes more he returned 

to his explanation. "But there was also a new birth for Art and 

Science," he said, pointing to the figure of the laurel-crowned 

Petrarch, drawing from a sarcophagus the writings of the ancients, 

on whose theses Erasmus and Reuchlin founded the school of 

Humanists, and opened the way for those who should come after. 

"Here is your noble Shakespeare, the poet of the world, and Cervantes, 

and Ulrich von Hutten. And here, in the foreground, you see our 

worthy Niimberger, *Hans Sachs, the cobbler-bard.* In the side 

aisle, painting his Evangelists, stands Albrecht Durer, and by his 

side on the same scaffolding you will see a face which you may 

peAaps recognise — it is that of a humble youth grinding the great 

roaster's colours for him." As he said this Kaulbach looked at us 

^d smiled. ITie face was his own. "And here, close to the 

scaffolding, you see the famous iron-worker, Peter Vischer, whose 

masterpieces, if you know Niimberg, you will certainly also know ; 

^d here is the greatest of all the modems (that is, to my mind), 

Johann Guttenberg, the inventor of printing. You will recognise 

^^^ to him the great Italian painters — Michael Angelo, Leonardo 

^ Vinci, and Raphael. But Art must not lead us to be ungratefully 

'orgetful of Science. Here is the grey-beard Columbus, his hand 

testing on the globes ; here are Bacon and Paracelsus and Harvey, 

'^^"ose names are all familiar to you ; and here you see Copernicus 

showing his solar system, and Galileo and Giordano Bnmo, martyrs 

^f Science ; and Tycho Brahe and Keppler, lost in contemplation of 

^^ harmony of the spheres." 

Here he paused, and after looking steadily at the picture for a 

^^^ent in silence, as though to test it and see if aught might be 

/^Uricj wanting, he again left us to our silent contemi)lation. It was 

^possible to say much. He had said all there was to say, and 

P^ise or words of commendation would liave sounded alike feeble 

. ^^ presumptuous. We felt that to linger longer would be unbecom- 

S* a.nd yet there was a fascination about the place, about the 

.^^re before us, about the suggestive thoughts he had put into our 

''^ds, that made us unwilling to brer.k the spell. 


77/1? Genllemmis Magazine. 



He worked quietly away in his comer, and allowed us fuU bwdoa 
to look about to our heart's content. An exquisite iHustratiwi of 
Goethe's "Dora" was standing ready framed to be carried away to 
the picture gallery ; it has since been made familiar to the wodd in 
the charming " Goethe Illustrations," of which we all know the 
photographs. But the original was inexpressibly more beautiful, 
both as to colour and warmth and life, than any copy or pholDgiapb 
could be. 

We stood before it, lost in pleasure. The distant view of tbt 
Creek galley, the messenger-boy climbing the hilly strand, iftd 
calling to the loiterer to come ; the pigeons pecking amongst ihe 
stones of the broken fountain and about tlie floor of the summer- 
house ; and Alexis, with his classic head-dress, clasping the exquisite 
Dora to his heart — raising her in his strong embrace, so thai she is 
forced to stand on the very tips of her delicate sandalled feet, whilst, 
in her complete surrender at the first call of all-imperious Love, sht 
has dropped the comer of her apron, and the fruits which she bas 
culled for him are rolling to the ground ; the shadow of the flutlerii»fi 
vine-leaves on the wall, the glowing sunshine without, the complete 
absorption of the lovers within ; the strength and manly grace *^ 
Alexis, the loveliness and sweet feminine beauty of Dora ; but abo'*^' 
all the marvellous impression of glowing nature, ardent love, ar** 
yet most chaste self-oblivion in the exquisite female figure, in whic^' 
complete surrender, and yet all the tenderness of maiden modcs-^ 
were marvellously combined. 

" Do you like it ?" asked Kaulbach, coming to the spot where ^■^ 
stood. Did we like it ? 

Suddenly the artist stooped, and bent his head so close to that ^c: 
my neighboiu', looking at her so fixedly, that I felt the reflected glc^"^ 
of the colour that rushed into her cheeks and spread up to the ve:^ 
roots of her hair. She was a young countrywoman of my own, and- 
felt for her as I saw the painful blush spread and deepen. St;^^ 
Kaulbach held his head close to her?, stooping slightly, his pierd«^ 
eyes looking at her with a scrutinising, but quite unfathomable ga^^* 
Then, slowly dropping them an inch or two lower, he said, as thmi^S 
in reference to her brooch, " That is very pretty I Is it not 
Murillo ? " 

" Yes, a copy I believe of some famous Madonna and Child in *** 
Florentine Gallery," she answered, much reUeved. 

" Ah, very pretty ! but I did not mean the Murillo," he said .*^* 
voce, as she moved away. "That is just the face I have \»^^ 
looking for; I cannot finish my great picture without it. It is *^ 

Kaulbach. 145 

lat the face is beautiful, or even handsome, or pretty, but it is the 

.ce I want" This was said in a low voice to Baron P , 

" Ask my cousin, and I am sure she will sit to you," he replied, 
and will feel deeply honoured ; it is not every day that a Kaulbach 
nds a face to his fiancy." 

The artist smiled and bowed. " No," he said ; " the lady has just 
old me that she will be beyond the Alps to-morrow ; it is useless 
X) make the request" 

Then we took our leave, and with many thanks quitted the 
presence of the great artist. 

"To think," said Pamela some months afterwards, when we 

recognised, or thought we recognised, in the figure of Eleonora 

d'Este the majestic presence of the Princess of Hohenlohe, " to 

think that I, too, might have had my portrait painted by Kaulbach." 

" But not linked in memory with Torquato Tasso ! " 

"Who cares for Tasso?" 

"Well, it is too late to think of it now. You should not have gone 
over the Alps, my dear." 

But Pamela could only shake her head in speechless regret. "Oh 
the pity of it, the pity of it" 

A Davs Deer-Stalking on the 

Black Moss. 

^^Tp?5y ET those who will, tell of the delights of salmon-fishing; 

?,vp^\ how there is an eApecUincy in evcr>' cast, a novel!)' in 
U]^'^ i^ e\cn' fomi that your fly takes as it lightly falls on the 
tlcLiSj^^ water, followed — alas ! but too seldom — by the welcome 
pull, the whir of the reel, as the fi^h lakes out yards and yards of 
line; how the monsters stnigj^^les grow fainter and fainter, till he is 
at last landed l>y the careful ** John," who, gaft' in hand, has stood 
watching the exciting contest without moving a muscle of his 
countenance, an<l whose sole remark, as he takes a huge spoonful of 
snufl', is, "A twanty-eight punder, and as bright as a new saxpence. 
Others, too, write of the (]uick forty minutes over the grass countr)'— 
write, as onh- our most [>opular authors can, words that make yoitf 
pulses leap and \(jur blood thrill, as it t/ot^ only thrill to that 
grandest of all music — the opening burst of a pack of foxhounds. 

Let me in iiumbler strain narrate the plain unvarnished tale of * 
(lay's deer-si;i Iking in the highlanils of Inverness- -a spot round which 
some of my h.ipi)iest memories linger — of the kind and cheer)' host, 
unsuri>as>cd l)y ncnc in jest and song when, the day's toil ended, "<*'^ 
puller round t!i-.; bla/iiiL: p-.-al, pipe in mouth, to compare notes on 
thv day's ir:in^^. and talk of those still to come. How often have 1 
stiinibk-d, «livn(liL(l witli min, into that hosjiiiable lodge, cold a"" 
wearied wi'Ji the long trudge liome after a hard day on the hill, tol^*^ 
met with the anxiini^ (ji'cry oi '* IJlud ?" and cheerv' greetings hardl> 
to be j)osiiK>ncd iill su«h time as a hot bath and dry clothes ha« 
mule one feel less miserable as to one's habiliments; but not ev^" 
the desire to l)e dry and warm once more [>revented me from ling^^* 
ing among my Iriends one night in Sei)tember to tell the follo^'^^^ 
tale, whieli, as the stalking season has just ended, may not ^ 
unaccei^table to some of T/u- Gentleman's readers. 

It was on a bitter day in this unusually fine autumn, when ^ 
long-(lelay(?d rain had at length come, that I started with Donald ^*\ 
stalker, and Jemmy the ghillie, for a day on the celebrated Bli*^' 
.Moss. A brisk walk of five miles uj) the glen (where we saw t^'O 
three lots of deer on the ground of our afternoon beat) brought us 
the spot from whence the Mo.vs is generally spied, when, sitting da'*'* 
and taking out my glass, I desired my companions to go still farti' 


A Days Dtxr-Slalk'nig on tJic Black Moss. 147 

np the hill, where they could coiniiiand the whole of the ground., of 
which 1 had but a partial view. 

After a spy of about twenty minutes, I discovered a group of deer, 
and amongst them a fine stag, but at too great a distance to dis- 
tinguish his points. After contemplating them for some ten minutes 
more, and taking my bearings, my stalker returned, but with so 
doleful a countenance, that it was plain that what I had observed 
had been overlooked by him. " What news, Donald ? " 1 inquired. 
** Well, there's just not a beast on the ground," he replied. " Gently, 
my friend. I have one." " Indeed ; and where is he ? " And when 
I pointed in the direction, he added, " But Tm thinking that will be 
the beasts we put out of the glen this morning." " Not if you call 
yon hill part of the Black Moss," I replied. But I saw that notwith- 
standing our many stalks together, he did not place that confidence 
in my discrimination that I could have wished. Nevertheless, he 
took a long and sweeping survey, and again overlooked them. 
" Take my glass, and look one hundred yards to the right of that 
sheep." Watching his face, I saw it suddenly change and brighten. 
*' V'ou have him, Qonald ? " I exclaimed. " I have indeed ; and 
a bonnie beast he is I " After a short consultation we commenced 
our stalk, and taking a considerable circuit, and having approached 
the deer within a few hundred yards, w^e ventured to take another 
look, and found that they had all risen. Another long crawl 
brought us within a hundred yards of them, and as we thought they 
wercr disposed to shift their ground, we detennined to take the first 
chance ; but the stag did not seem disposed to give me a fair shot. 
At length I fired, and to my great disgust saw him and liis hinds 
gallop off. My heart sank into my boots, and Donald's dismay was 
^tten on his flice. 

I vill not weary my readers w^ith our long and tedious walk till we 

fotmd our next lot of deer, which consisted of eight stags feeding l)y 

tlieiTiselves on our afternoon beat Twice in one day was 1 destined 

to ste more clearly than those more accustomed to the hill ; for while 

crawling down a wet bum in the attempt to approach them, I seized 

Donald by the leg, and pointed to our morning stag quietly reposing 

^ the raidst of his hinds. Here commenced our dilTiculties ; the 

eight stags on the opposite hill commanding our position, the others 

* little lower down immediately in front of us, so that we could but 

^it — ^and wait we did for three mortal hours in as cold and wet a 

^t as could well have been selected ; but having, as we thought, 

Covered that our stag was a Royal, we determined to equal the 

Patience of Job himself. When some of the hinds bc^an lo (vicv\ 


148 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

towards us our prospects brightened, to be as soon extinguished, 
when they composedly laid down within ten yards of us. Many a 
stalk have I liad spoiled by a sheep, that true "curse of Scotland" 
in the sportsman's eyes ; miiny a one, too, by an old cock grouse, that 

** Ill-oiiicnc«l bird, who from a mossy hag 
lilatant did crow, 
Scaring from us the noble-headed stag 
Feeding below ;'* 

but never did I find myself in such a position as this. In about half 
an hour more our stag rose, but instead of feeding towards us, he 
moved slowly away to (»ur right, with a hind and oilf, till at length 
disapiJtaring into a hollow, I proposed that we should make a rush, 
so as to be witiiin shot when he again emerged. It was a desperate 
expedient, but such was the astonishment of our most unwelcome 
neighbours when we suddenly si)rang to our feet, that they stood 
staring till we reached the spot for which we had made. We then 
had the satisfaction of seeing first the hind and calf, and then the 
stag, slowly emerge, and giving me this time a more favourable 
(•liance, the crack of the rille was followed by the well-known ^^thud" 
wlurh told us our i)alieMce had been at length rewarded. Cold and 
wet Were all forgotten when, after galloping a short distance, the stag 
rolled over, and nishing in to despatch him, we found, not a Royal, 
but an Kmperor, with fourteen good points. 

It was now growing late, our stag liasing kei)t us well employed 
for bi\ and a kalf hours ; I therefore suggested that we should leave 
Jenuny to do the honours of our departed hero, and that we should 
look for the deer we had jnit out of the glen in the morning. Alter 
a walk of a mile or nu)re, we found them feeding below us, but the 
light was by this time s(.) dim that we could not distinguish the 
stags from the hinds. t)ur only hojjo was to make a circuit and g^'' 
below them, whi( h we ac;(iHni)lisiied. I [>icked out as well as the 
light [)ermitted the best stag, and as he stood for a moment on the 
sky-line pulled the trigger, and he fell dead on the spot. While 
running in without sto]'])ing to load, Donald auight sight of another, 
which fell to my remaining barrel (the one was of eight, the other 
nine points), making as satislactory an ending to as good a d^)'^ 
stalking as ever fel' lo my lot to enjoy. 

The head of the Kmperor, beautifully stuffed, in company with 
many of his subjects, adeems the walls of my shooting-lodge, several 
hundred miles to I lie soutli of the hiils where he reigned so k'^^o' 
Never shall I forget the moment when I stood within a hundred 
yards of the embodiment of J.andseer*s most glorious picture—^ 
living " Monarch of the Glen I" 


TO Pray. 

S.1NC the session of 1S70 the number of public 
ethioiis presented to the Hoiiso of Commons ■ 
9,891, which (taking the working days in tin 
I i3o) gives an average of 165 petitions per da]] 
is not a very exceptional session is showTi by the H 
the number, though not quite so large, yet e 

ik of the members who serve on the Public '. 
te to examine this enormous number of prayers a 
ly as they come in, and to report upon them twii 
louse, picking out from so huge a quantity of c 
irhcat which they can 6nd ; such grains being, 1 
tiano's reasons. For which of their sins Mr. 1 
t associates have been sentenced to such penal serv 
but tmless their offences can be proved to have b< 
1 enortnily, we are inclined to think them somewlu 

*ho is accustomed to see in his daily paper the long 
» presented and ordered to lie on the table has pro- 
lubled himself to ask how long they lie there, or what 
imes of tlient It is, however, on these and on si 
mibiT dark (jiiestions [hat we undertake now to throw t| 

hst is a petition, and what is not? The House ha^ 9 
B on this subject as on so many others. A complain 
unonstrance. a protest, can only be received and I 
1 petition on condition that it suggests and prays fi 
: Tcincdy. Thus the journals of the House tell us- 

U. — A Mcintwr uBeicJ 
I «nB ihit, ihai wlicnevEi 
Hith 1 pravcT, ihey were 
hhU • pnyn, tbe rule 
Hog CMet, 


prtseultal lo t 
i ; hul M-licn l*" 
He nJ'iKl. ' 

rr, me ruic was lu reril!>E till 
upg ufaa, requiring thnt the prayer of every putiiiom 
!iiib«r pToentine It;' bata nhich il is obviiju« Hut a 

150 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

Hence the reader understands that an averment that thi 
really does pray is indispensable ; but why he should al 
always does, go the length of saying that he " will ever pn 
apparent. There is no " standing order " which require 
keep on to that unreasonable extent, or, indeed, interfere 
giving up whenever he is tired. 

For the convenience of intending petitioners, we note 1 
more of the principal regulations of the House in regard to 

1. Petitions must be in the English language, or accom 
a translation which the Member presenting it states to be 

Per contra^ however, though Parliament ^nll not und 
understind any language but English, the petitioner may 
language as badly as he likes. The only penalty he pa 
freaks of spoiling, or grammar, or occasional incoherenc 
his petition, if printed at all, will be printed as it stands, 
liarities being indicated by asterisks and a foot-note, — " Sic 

2. Petitions must neither be printed nor lithographed 
printed i)etitions to the number of 486 praying for a reform 
ment were rejected on that account (that they were printed 
and the practice has since been rigorously adhered to. 

3. They must not be interlined or erased. Members ; 
the compositions of their constituents as they find them, 
not attempt to polish them. Thus : 

'•,///;7/-./ 12, I S3 1. — Notice heinij taken that there were certain e 
petition, and ilic Member who pre>entcd it being calleii upon l)y Mr. 
account for the sain<', stated that he had made those erasures, con 
lanj^uaj^e of the petition too stron-;. it was 'ordered thai the said 
withdrawn.' " 

4. The resolutions of the House respecting signatures are 
and some of them not a little curious. Thus entries occur frt 
tlie journals of petitions being rejected for the reason that 
petition has not any name si^^ned thereto." Now this seei 
able enou-ii ; yet i>n>l)al)l\ all such petitions were sent up 
hundreds of sii^nainres. The rock on which the petitioner 
that they failed lo l;ike care that at least one signature v 
upon tlie skin or sheet on which the petition itself wa 
which omission is unpardonable. 

The House puts itself, in fact, in this matter in rather 
position. It sa)s authoritatively- - 

» < 

**Sii;natures to petition* purporlini; to he afljxed 't)y authority, 
or in any similar manner, or sii^natuns wrilien on slips of paper an 
/<.liiio?iSy arc not rakoned amongst the signatures.'' 

SOME Prayers and Promises 
TO Pray. 

INURING the session of 1S70 the number of public 
ffi. petitions presented to the House of Cojiiraoris wan 
Bn 15,891, which (taking the working days in the session 
K at izo) gives an average of 165 petitions per day. 
this is not a. very exceptional session is shown by the fact 
86g the number, though not quite so large, yet exceeded 

le task of the members who serve on the Public Peti- 
untttee 10 examine this enormous number of prayers and 
{D pray as they come in, and to report upon them twice a 
Jie House, picking out from so huge a quantity of chaff 
I of wheat which they can find ; such grains being, we fear, 
: Gratiano's reasons. For which of their sins Mr. Charles 
id his associates have been sentenced to such penal service 
aot ; but unless their offences can be proved to have been 
lUstial enormity, we are inclined to think them somewhat 
lilt with. 

ider who is accustomed to see in his daily paper the long 
Itions presented and ordered to lie on the table has pro- 
a troubled himself to ask how long they lie there, or what 
becomes of them. It is, however, on these and on some 
similar dark questions that we undertake now to throw a 

-what is a petition, and what is not? The House has its 
. laws on this subject as on so many others. A complaint 
protest, can only be received and be 
i as a petition on condition that it suggests and prays for a 
scific remedy. Thus the journals of the House tell \is— 

1843.— \ Member offtred a remonstrance. Mr. .Speaker said, 

torn wm this, Ihal whenever remoaslrances were pteiiciueil lo the 

led with a prayer, ihey were received as petiliuoa ; but when Ihcy 

Irilhoat a prayer, (he rule was to refuse them.' He adiicd, 'That 

Standing Order, requiring that the pmyer of every pelilion should be 

t Member prcsEntiog i 

;' from which it is obvious 

152 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

arc rcgariled by the Legislature with that respectful admiration which 
the artist anticipates. 

Some put their trust in parchment, believing, doubtless, that no 
material cf less louglmess would stand the wear and tear to whidi 
their j petitions must be subject in ])assing from member to nicral)er 
and bcipLT (^irofullv penised from liav to dav. But this too is vanitv. 

Xo j.^eiiiioiiLT need be afraid to exercise whatever economy he 
thinks !ii. tilhcrin stationery or pcnnianhhi]). The House docs not 
rcganl chciipness or slovenliness as disrespectful. 

l'\.tr 'j:.ii!ii].lc, amongst pcliLi(>»ns presented this year we have ex- 
amined on*.- liiiU was han<led in l)y Mr. Whalley, on March 17, and 
is c\ riincil iiy his resj)eciable autOL;ra|>h. It is signed by a Wcsleyjn 
mini.-^tcr on '.K'half of a, meeting held at New K ngl and- -wherever ihat 
m.'y be. lis prayer is that education may be free and unsetlarian; 
aii'i ihi'^ j)rciyer finds utterance in a very illegible handwriting on the 
back of a very fliinsy printed hand-bill announcing a lecture in the 
Wcsleyan C!hai)eK New I'lngland, by Mr. Vs. Goodwin, of Peter- 
l)(»ruugh, called "An Kvening with the Puritans." Whether there 
was a (lesign cf serving Mr. tjoodwin by bringing him thus indirccilv 
befure the iioiice of Parliament, we cannot say; but there would 
appear to be nothing to prevent any one from petiLioning in leau 
])encil on the back of a ]ylay-biil, or on his disused paper collar- 
And dv)ubliess Mr. Whalley would present such documents if th<? 
forms of the House were otherwise complied with. 

Having thus indicated to the reader on what conditions he n^*^)' 
])etition, we can do him no greater kindness than in adding the time- 
honoured advice of Mr. Punch, namely, that he abstain. 

Many poo])le do not abstain, however. It may i)e worth whi.'-*. 
therefore, t(.» nu.'ution briefly what bec(.)mes of petitions after the) 
leave the ijelitioners' hands. 

l-'irst.- -the presenting Member signs his name on tlie back (or ^^ 
suj)posed to sign it), as a sort of guarantee of good faith. In point 0' 
fact, his name is as often as not written on it by somebody else. 

Then at the proper time he '* presents it at the table " of tn^ 
House, and is authorised then and there to make a statement of t"^ 
[)arties from whom the petition comes, the number of signatures 
attached to it, and the material allegations contained in it, and ^^ 
read the ])rayer of the petition itself. Inasmuch, however, if M*^"'' 
bers availe<l themselves of this right no other business could possW 
be transacted, the ceremony of presentation has by common co^' 
sent resolved itself into this : The Member walks up with his i>etitio^ 
or bundle of petitions to the table, but instead of putting his burt^^ 

On Some Prayers and Promises to Pray. 153 

he shoves it into a big bag that is conveniently placed for its re- 
on, and then walks back to his seat without a word. It is only in 
>tionaI cases that any greater formality is used than this. When 
)ag is full it is removed by an official of the House, and an 
y bag put in its place. After which (it will be satisfactory to 
etitioner to know that) provision has been made by Parliament 
all petitions shall be folded into a uniform shape, suitably 
rsed, tied up in bundles of one hundred, deposited in the 
lal Office of the House, and subsequently scheduled. What 

could any body wish ? 

r. Forster and his friends have reason to wish that nothing more 
:ounted necessary. But before the scheduling stage is reached, 
!!ommittee have to hold their inquests ; and it is on the result of 

labours, as embodied in some thirty reports per session, with 
)us appendices, summaries, classifications, indexes, &c., that our 
e is mainly based. 

le petitions presented on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, 
examined by the Committee on Thursday, and the report on 
I is published on the Saturday following. Petitions presented on 
rsday and Friday are examined by the Committee on the Mon- 

and the report on them is published on the Wednesday 

le Committee print, in appendices, all petitions which are worth 
ing, and a great number which are not. An abstract is given 
ich as are not jmnted in extmso^ and marks are placed in the 
rts against all such as are similar to any that have been printed, 
ich report the number of petitions and signatures on each sub- 
is brought forvN'ard, and the current petitions and signatures are 
d to them, and the totals given. P'inally, this patriotic and 
ted Committee declare that ** all petitions are carefully read, and 
3ared with others that have gone before," — ^which we will hope 
t strictly true.* 

e dare not ask what would be the effect upon our own mind of 
ng 876 petitions praying us to nominate a select committee to 
re into monastic and conventual establishments, and 985 peti- 

praying us quite as earnestly not to do so; of reading 182 

iTe may as well note here what ultimately l)ecomes of the documents. They 
ept from session to session, to the dissolution of each Parliament, then 
»yed ; so that if a Parliament is moderately long-lived it may accumulate among 
iasures upwards of a hundred thousand petitions. And this refers to the 
5 of Commons alone. The House of Lords has its own private treasure 
of which we know nothing. 

154 ^^^ Gentleman s Magazine, 

petitions in favour of marrying deceased wives' sisters, and 67 against ', 
of varying these with reading prayers to remove Colney tuinpike gate, 
to take into our serious consideration the law of hypothec, to protect 
land birds anil sea birds, to inquire into the system of telegraphy 
invented by Mr. Charles (iriffin, to repeal the Contagious Diseases 
Acts, to extend the Contagious Diseases Acts, to right the wrongs of 
the Xawab of Jangecra and Jaffrabad. But if we had read all these 
we should not have done a hundredth part of that which is appointed 
as the task of the Public Petitions Committee in every session. 

It is only natural to ask in regard to such exhaustive labours, Qui 
bono ? To what does it all teml ? Do all these petitions teach us 
anything we did not know before; or do they darken knowledge? 
What influence have they or ought they to have on the course of 
legislature ? 

For example, the Education Bill of the past session has been 
the means of drawing u])on the House of Commons no fewer than 
7,347 petitions signed (or professing to be signed) by about 800,000 
people, j)raying for all manner of contradictory things. Had Parha- 
ment one ray ot" light from tliese as to the real feeling of England o^ 
tlie great Kcliuation question which it would not have equally h^^ 
>vithout a petition at all? There is no scheme and no shade ^* 
opinion on this (juestion whose advocates have not been able ^^ 
])roduce petitions by hundreds and si^^iatures by thousands; hu^' 
dreds of petitions praying for alteration of the bill in the way ^^ 
extending (k'noniinati()nali>ni ; hundreds praying for alteration in tl"*^ 
contrary directicui : hundreds praying that denominationalism m^^y 
be left as it is. \\liat can tlie Committee do but reckon up tl^^ 
signatures, o.unt the jictilions, make lists of them, and arrange thtf ^^^ 
as they do in neat tabular statements? And of what use are the lists 
and the tabular statements when made? What can or ought Patli^' 
ment to do in such a case but go its own way, regardless ofalltl"*^ 
petitioners alike? 

Take again the sul^ject of the Contagious Diseases Acts. It is 3- 
very nasty sul)jeet, whii^h is being worked in a verj' nasty way by ^ 
certain organisation ; and it lias contributed to Parliament diuing the 
j)resent session Si 7 i)etitions fi»r the repeal of the existing acts, p^^' 
porting to be signed by 590,338 jieople. On the other side th^**^ 
are only three petitions again>t repeal, signed by 1S7 people. D^es 
even the most earnest oi.)])onent of the Acts pretend that puV*^*^ 
feeling on the subject is in anything like the bamc proportion, *^^ 
and against repeal, as are the petitions ? 

We examined in the Journal Office of the House of CommoQSy ^^ 

On So),ic rj'.'VLis .r".\'/ /';';^7//.N(V> /(> /^'■./^ 


the friendly furlherance of the officers of the House, one petition on 
each side of this question. From the 817 praying for repeal we took 
one from the town of Birmingham, presented by Mr. Geo. Dixon, 
to which were appended 2,584 names — we would have said 2,584 
signatures if we could, but on looking through it it was very evident 
that a large proportion of them were not signatures, but only pre- 
tended to be. They came in groups of four, or five, or six ; such 
groups evidently representing the several members of a family or 
household, and being palpably all in one handwriting. Had the rule 
of the House been enforced, this petition would have been rejected. 
The question which we sliould like to ask about it is. How many 
of the names appended to it are those of young children ? How 
many are those of people who really know anything at all about the 
Contagious Diseases Acts beyond what was told them by the society*s 
agent who waited on them for their signatures ? 

Against repeal there have been, as we said, only three petitions 
presented during the session, and that one of the three which we 
exirinined was headed, "The Humble Petition of the Undersigned 
Fallen Women within the Borough of Portsmouth," and bore the 
signatures of 177 of the sinning sisterhood. It spoke to their having 
unfortunately stood within the provisions of the Acts, and been sub- 
ject to the treatment therein provided ; in respect of which they 
oflfered not complaints but thanks, as for a compulsion which they 
ha-d found a blessing ; for which reason they say — 

Your petitioners humbly pray your honourable House that the Acts may not 
'^ J^cpealed, but that increased facilities may be afforded for extending the benefits 
^^ '"^fuj;es for women of an unfortunate class." 

Everything about this petition indicated its genuineness. More- 
^^*€?T, every Kmily, and Mary, and Julia amongst the petitioners did 
3-t 3,ny j^te understand the subject she was petitioning about. And 
^'^ confess that, however monstrous it may seem, we thought every 
^^^Oature of these poor, forlorn, outcast sinners was of more value 
^^^^^n ninety-nine or even a whole hundred signatures of just persons 
^'^o knew no sin, and consequently knew nothing of what they were 
^^^>'ing for. 

1"hen there is the ** Permissive Prohibitory I.i(iuor Bill," about 

'^ich many well-meaning people are, and have been for some time 

^^^^t, greatly exercised. I^st year they sent up to Parliament 3,867 

^^^tions in favour of the bill. This session they have sent up a 

^^ther contribution of 1,512, and boast that they have altogether 

^^llected upwards of a million signatures; while a^^^amsl \.Vv^ \y^ 

■ l/i The GcnlkmaiL s Magazine. 

; ;iTi !i;i>f licfii prK^entcd only 38 pfiitions in all, signed by a paltry 
15,000 |)i.'U|)k'. "Wc say nuihing aliout the wisdom or unwisdom of 
;hi! mL'a-.[iri.' ihcy [irnposD ; biiL wlii'n tlicy ask us, and ask the legis- 
l.uuri.-, til atiii-'pt iheir million signai.iiri;ti {unvouched, unwitnessed, in 
any wity) as iirooftliat ihu country is on their side, we say that it is 
nKTuly proof of tlieir oivn industry, of the energy of their touts, of the 
-.irctiLitli (if ihL'ir pccuniLiry resources", A million have signed. That 
Lcrtaiiily is very creditahle to the organisation which has induced 
iheiii to do so. The rtmaiiiiiig twt-nly-five millions, or whatever the 
n.i;iil>L-r luiiy now be, it wciuld appear have not signed. It is not 
:l jnk'il tluit Mrs. Parlington mcipix-d u|i some portion of the Atlantic 
< tceJii. I'nl she on her side must admit that the main body of the 

Ai^iin, There is the bill for Murrijye mlh a Deceased Wife's Sister. 
'I'iie I'.'iiiiiin,'^ t^iniinittee might be pardoned a prayer on their own 
jrcdimt the si>ters of deceased wives might be promptly immo- 
I.Ued, a» :i short w;iy of rt-iiiiiviny the ijuses of the existing difficulty. 
l.Lvsi year liie i,i|i|ioneillS of tlic liill sent in 310 petitions, humbly 
showing ihat its .su|i|iorters were incestuous, lawless, and godless. 
'I'be sii|']iiiMers >4 ilie hill Indged 20K jietitions (only two short of the 
olher hide), ImniM) showing tiiat the op]ioncms of the measure were 

On Some Prayers and Promises to Pray, 157 

treasures, and pleasant to put a safe-guard in the way of those whose 
consciences are less tender than their own. But in what way does 
the " Association for Promoting the General Welfare of the Blind " 
find itself aggrieved by the proposal ? It would not surely put their 
clients at any greater disadvantage. In what manner do the 
"Aged Pilgrim Friends' Society" find themselves threatened? What 
obstacle is it that the " Society for Promoting Christianity among the 
Jews " thinks would be put in its way by opening the museum on 
Sundays? All these and others, to the number of 826 petitions, are 
in the list, and the number of signatures appended is 150,973. The 
number of petitions on the other side is 128, with 62,459 signatures. 
And it is noticeable that while the congregation of every country 
chapel seems to have taken the alarm, and constituted itself forth- 
with one of the keepers of the conscience of London, praying that 
London may not be allowed to go to perdition vid Bloomsbury, the 
petitions in favour of Sunday opening proceed, with scarcely any 
exceptions, from London itself, firom the people who have a real and 
personal interest in the question, who set some value on the privilege 
for which they ask, and who think they may be trusted out of leading- 
strings. There are thirty-eight petitions from those who, despairing 
perhaps of attaining Sunday opening, ask only that the museum be 
open on three evenings in the week. 

We notice also one other petition which seems to hit the right nail 
on the head, and go to the root of this matter very shrewdly. It 
is a petition praying that Parliament will be pleased "to reject all 
country petitions against opening on Sundays." If this not un- 
reasonable prayer were favourably heard, the numbers pro and con 
would be very different from those now shown in the summary. 

These are but a few of the subjects which stand out most con- 
spicuously in the Committee's reports. To indicate with any sort of 
fulness the wonderful variety of things which people pray for would 
require a volume instead of a magazine article. We, however, note 
here, without comment, the number of the petitions which have been 
presented during the past session on some other subjects of general 
interest : — 

In Favour. Against. 

Women's Disabilities Bill. (To confer the elective 

franchise on women) ... ... ... 441 ... — 

Monastic and Conventual Establishments. (Nomina- 
tion ot Select Committee) ... ... ... 985 ... 876 

Post Office. (For alteration as to Sunday lalxmr) ... 732 ... — 

Intoxicating Liquors. (To prohibit their sale on 

Sunday) ... ... ... ... ... 1,152 ... 26 

Vaccination Acts. (For repeal) ... ... ... 189 

Married Women's Property Bill. (To amend the laws^ 2\b ... '>>\ 


The Gentleman's Magasine. 

Of course every session has its special subject wr subjects. TW 
year ii has been, as we have noticed. Education. Ljuit year it was 
ihe Irish Church, The bill which became law last year was the 
excuse for sending to Parliament 138 petitions in its favour. The 
petitions which were presented in opposilinn to tho measure, and 
prophesied all manner of evi! if it were passed, reached the enor- 
mous number of 2,973. Does anybody think tliat the same people 
would DOW get up and sign an equal number of petitions to rtpeal 
the Irish Church Bill? 

One pleasant item we note as indicating that people do sometimes 
pray aright. Last session there were 73 petitions in favour of tlw 
" Sea Birds Preservation Bill," and only 2 against it This year the 
movement is begun in favour of " Land Birds ; " but as yet counts 
only one petition, — namely, from the town of Hull. This, however, 
is a subject of which we shall prolialily hear more. Hull has the 
honour of being pioneer, but will not long stand alone. 

When we first looked at this subject, ffe were not without liope of 
being able, by investigating the record of past petitioning, to educe, 
as obsen-ers have educed a law of storms, some sort of law of 
petitions— ihe two subjects being indeed not alu^eiher dissimilar. 
Those questions, for example, which give rise to only a few 
petiiiuna, mudiTattly worded, and not alw.iys riuiiieiously signed, 

On Same Prayers and Promises to Pray. 159 

people who sign these petitions, and under what circumstances do 
they sign ? 

The writer of this paper cannot remember that he has ever signed 
more than one petition to Parliament. His excuse for signing that 
one is that he was very young, and had not the least idea what it 
was about, having indeed been caught at the door of a place of 
worship, and instructed so to sign along with other small boys, and 
old women of both sexes. But some people must surely sign a 
great number, and on a great diversity of subjects. Is it really that 
they feel their woes to be intolerable ; or do they receive any modest 
pecuniary compensation ? 

Some very curious evidence came out before a Select Committee 
in 1865, illustrative of the way in which signatures are collected, 
and the way in which the collectors are sometimes paid. 

There was an Indian prince at that time who had a grievance 
against the British Government — as indeed there always is an Indian 
prince in that predicament. This one was called " Azeem Jah, 
Nawab of the Camatic." He claimed ^116,000 per annum, and 
the Government had only allowed him ;^ 15,000 per annum. 
Whether he was treated too ill or too well we know not The 
remarkable circumstance which we here notice is, that though the 
people of this country are usually but slenderly informed about 
Indian princes and their histories, there burst forth at once from all 
parts of Britain indications of the most intimate acquaintance with 
the wrongs of this particular Nawab, and most earnest prayers that 
they should be righted. So prayed all the great towns — Birmingham, 
Manchester, Leeds, Hull, Halifax, Nottingham, Edinburgh, and a 
dozen others. So prayed a great number of little towns — Romford, 
in Essex ; Woodbridge, in Suffolk ; Great Munden, in Hertfordshire ; 
Wrexham, in Denbigh; and many more. So prayed the City of 
London in three petitions, the City of Westminster in four, and all 
the metropolitan boroughs and parishes separately, to the number of 
upwards of a score. It seemed highly creditable to the national 
sense of right and justice. 

A Sadducee of the Journal Office, however, not believing in this 
sudden access of virtue, looked curiously at some of the petitions, 
and was much struck with the strong family likeness they had to 
each other. A select committee was appointed to examine them, 
and this unbeliever gave evidence thus : — 

** I opened the petitions and examined them, and I suspected from the appear- 
ance of the signatures that they were fictitious or forged. I saw the names of 
civil engineers, architects, clergymen, and other people rtbvdiu^ vu vVit tLfc\^N:iavxt- 


gn d thera 


hey kn w 

po h 

mm ttce 

d h m 




h m 


who had 

othera ha 

m and echmcal 

Lap tal 

rs smal 

On Some Prayers afid Promises to Pray, 1 6 1 

his contrition (for being found out) at the bar of the House of 
Commons. Also that Mr. Strutt had paid Mr. George M. Mitchell 
for his assistance at the rate of one penny per signature, which 
accounted quite philosophically for Mr. MitchelVs industry. Mr. 
Strutt himself, however, was not paid by Mr. Modelliar at any fixed 
rate per signature, but only at a fixed rate per petition. This came 
out in cross-examination of Mr. P. Marshall, one of Mitchell's 
assistants, by Mitchell himself, thus : — 

Mitchell: "Now will you tell the Committee what petitions were divided 
into two — some were divided into two and some into three ? " 

Marshall : " The Pimlico petition, the Westminster petition, the City 
petition, and the Hackney petition, I know were, and I think some more, but I 
will not be certain. I know these were divided, some into two, and some into 
three. Mr. Strutt said that he was paid four guineas for getting up each petition, 
and if the names on each petition even exceeded a thousand that he should not 
get anything more out of them, and he wanted them divided so that he might 
make more money. ** 

Mitchell : ** Mr. Strutt stated that to you ? " 

Marshall: ** He stated that to me on more than one occasion." 

" They were divided ?" 

** They were divided at his request." 

"So that if a petition had i,ooo names to it he received twelve guineas instead 
of four guineas ? " 

** Yes, provided it was divided into three, or if divided into two, he would have 
eight guineas." 

And thus we arrive at a very sufficient explanation of the large 
number of petitions on behalf of Azeem Jah which emanated from 
the metropolis. Mr. Strutt estimated the total number which had 
been got up in the kingdom at 1 20, of which he thought from fifty 
to sixty had been got up through his own agency. 

The end of the business was, that Messrs. Mitchell and assistants 
were committed to the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms for breach of 
privilege of the House, and afterwards discharged, as Sir William 
Fraser complained, with a few complimentary remarks. Mr. Strutt- 
escaped the Serjeant-at-Arms on this occasion, but neither does it 
appear that he got any complimentary remarks. 

On the whole it is to be supposed that Azeem Jah took little by 
his petitions. 

Intending petitioners may, however, find much encouragement in 
reading these reports, as they will see with how much ease they may 
get their petitions presented. This evidence, for example, is 
interesting : — 

** Mr. John Marshall called in and examined. 

The Cciliuuan'^ Jh^Qizhie. 

LHH^UM ; '■ Whal is your portion in the HuuKd ■)( CoilliiKUli f "— " 1U> 

iT in tbe Journal Office." 

Milchdl sen! you untie pcrtitions?" — "Vts." 

\lovr many did lie tend ? " — " A mut came Aavn lo ilie Joaraai O&io- oilh > 

lie of petitions in his hand — " 

A consigoment of petitions?" — " Yes." 

About how many? "" — " About H doxen/^ 

iJid he say who be come from ? " — " He said hi- cnioe from MitrJirll, auA bt 

■he witness takes the bearer of the pelitioiis to the SiiiJcrintcniiciil 
he Members' Waiting-room. This offii:ial is himself nnwninwl 
ire the Committee, and hands in the Tollowing Dote, addfcssed<tt 
self by Mitchell, with the consignment of petitions : — 

" <34< Fcndturch-tlreui, E.C.. 
"Ijlh Manh, if 
Drab Sir,— 

"Wili you be pkascd lo let the KCOmpmyinE pcHllMII \ 
1 lo the Members for presimiaiion to-nigln i il is ot their roqimt liey 4 
ifl i iind be pleased lo get rid ai ihem all. if p(»)ibl^ to-day, a» the $tm^ 
lose stands for to-morrow. You will much uliUgc, 

'■Voiirs, Sc, 
Mr. Cove." "Giro, M. MrrcHKU. 

.nd in due course the petitions are " got rid of," as rcnuoited, 
'he honourable G. W. Leslie, M.P., speaks to still \ex* furtnoliiy 
ig necessary when petitions are presented tlirough hijn. His 
lence runs thus ; — 
lAiRKAN -. Did you present any petition! tn the HOaia relMtag w tha b 

women, and children from both. That signatures should in every 
case be accompanied by the address, and profession, or description 
of the person signing. That some security should be had for the 
petitioner having read the petition, or had it read to him. That we 
should know which petitions are got up by paid agents and which 
are not. That Members presenting petitions should take some steps 
to ascertain their genuineness, and should, except for very cogent 
reasons, decline to present any petitions from other constituencies 
than their own. 

A few simple changes like these would surely tend to mitigate 
some of the crying evils of the present system, and render it more 
difficult to obtain by clamour that which sound statesmanship refuses. 

As for the " right of petition " itself, we i)resume to lay no rash 
hand on it It is notoriously one of our chief palladia, and what 
would happen to the country if it were taken away we have not the 
least idea. But as regards the 19,891 petitions of the present 
session, we may ask, without offence, might not England have been 
saved by means of a somewhat smaller number? Is not the right 
used somewhat lavishly ? Is there not some indication of its 
becoming a public nuisance ? 

Robert Hudson. 

HoNiTON Lace. 

^F.W jjcoplc need remindinL; for ivliat HitaJWti i^ faraatt^ 
as they are whirled through tt« diiliglitful valley, wliich «o 
sirongly impresses the traveller vfho hwc ftrtt makai it 
qiiainianee with the varied scciMSy of Devon. Wisiwte 
(who died in 1674), after a sotnewhai Giadfitl derivation of it» name 
from " Honey Towd," quaintly tells us that '* here is made ahundoiCB 
of boiK- lace, a pretty toy now greatly in re»iuest, ami t)i(Tefcffe.l 
town may say with merry Martial — 

lie ego sum nuUi nuganim Uuile "* 

" ' In praise for loyi siith *a Ihi* 

Hooilon 10 none iccond i».' " 


There was a brisk trade for this lace in Charles the first's 
town was noted also for woollen manufactures. In the coadling Haji 
Honilon was more flourishing than at present ) steam has miieh injured 
it as well as its staple conamodity, by ibe introduction of 

Honiton Lace. 165 

though even more has been given for it. Eighteen shillings a yard, 
scarce two inches in width, was paid for this ground. The ordinary 
way of paying for veils of this fabric was (as jewellers now weigh 
sovereigns against gold chains) by spreading shillings over them, and 
giving as many as covered the lace. The last specimen of this 
" real " ground made in Devon was the marriage veil of the late Mrs. 
Manvood Tucker, about forty-five years ago. It was with the greatest 
difficulty that workers were procured to make it, and the ground of 
it alone, which resembled a series of small circular loops alternating 
with straight threads, cost thirty guineas. At present the sprigs are 
generally sewn, as they are completed by the workwomen, on blue 
paper, and then united by anotlier hand, either on the pillow by 
*' cut works " or ** purling," or else joined with the needle by various 
stitches. The patterns of these sprigs are in the first place pricked 
with needles on a kind of shining brown millboard known as " parch- 
ment paper," by women, who often devote themselves exclusively 
to this branch of the business. Among the commonest sights of a 
fine summer evening in East Devon are the lacemakers, each seated 
at her door, with their lace-pillows (which resemble thick circular 
pads) on their laps, and the small children around them on their litde 
stools, all busily occupied in making these sprigs, wliether " turkey- 
tails," "blackberries," or "stars." Similarly in winter the steady 
" click, click, click," of their pins proceeds from every cottage, just 
as in a Nottinghamshire village is heard the incessant jar and rattle 
of the stockingers* frames. Virgil's words will complete the picture — 

" Intcrea longum cantu solata lalwrem 
Arguto conjux percurrit pcctine tolas." 

Let us first see how Honiton obtained the manufacture for which it 
is so famed. As with silk-weaving and blanket-making, so Honiton 
lacemaking was introduced into England by the Flemish refugees from 
Alva's tyranny in the sixteenth century. The delicate fabric whose 
secret they brought with them was called in England at first passa- 
mayne^ or bane iace, because, says Fuller, sheep's trotters were used in 
making it instead of wooden bobbins, which had not at that time 
been invented. The Devon lacemakers, on the contrary-, say from 
tradition, that when these refugees taught lacemaking in their county, 
pins, which were so indispensable to their craft, were too dear for 
general use, so their place was supplied by the bones of fish cut into 
proper lengths. Even in those days the lacemakers were mostly the 
wives of fishermen living along the coast, and they naturally betook 
themselves to what lay closest at hand, in preference lo v\svc\^ ^^vcv^.^ 

1 66 The Genileman s Magazine. ^^^k 

which, by a statute of 35 Henry VIII., were not to be sold ativm 
than six shillings and eightpence per thousand, and 80 mtj^ b« 
thought to have been within the reach of their purses. Al the preaat 
day pina made from chicken bones are employed in Spain, uid fB 
Portugal also bone pins are used. The curious bone [rins ard 
skewers frequently disinterred from pre-histoiic barrows (as in Mr. 
Laing's recent researches In Caithness) can hardly prove, wc Par, 
that our brachycephalic ancestors decked their damsels in lace, woepi 
to advocates of De Maistre's theory of a buried civilisation. How- 
ever this may be, Shakespeare, who forgot no feature of English He, 
(unless it be smoking, to which habit his plays contain no alluuou), 
speaks of 

The primitive bone pins of their forefathers were in use in Devti«» 
until a recent period, and, curiously reversing the process of ihd^ 
introduction, were only renounced in favour of bonwiiod on« («* 
account of their costliness. Bone lace (|iiickly became fashionabU. 
Among the New Year's gifts presented to Queen Elizabeth in one 
year of her reign, we find " a petticoat of cloth of gold, stayned blade 
and white, with a bone-lace of gold and siiant:les. like the wavven of 

Honiton Lace. 167 

schools are far more considerable than those in Devon. Four or hy^ 
are often found in the same village, which contain from twenty to thirty 
children each. They are now inspected by Government. Katherine 
of Arragon, when in retirement at Ampthill, took much interest in 
lacemaking, and taught many of the women there the art of producing 
it Her memory is still gratefully cherished by the Bedfordshire lace- 
makers. On "Cattem Day" (St Katherine's, 25th Nov.) they hold 
merry-makings and eat cakes called " Cattern cakes " in her honour, 
alleging from tradition that the queen, when the trade was dull, pro- 
vided a wholesome stimulus by burning all her lace, and ordering 
her ladies to do the same. In Bucks, Olney — Cowper's Olney — ^is a 
special seat of the manufacture ; since 1851 it has been noted for its 
black lace. The trade has now passed away from Wilts and Dorset, 
save that at Charmouth, a coast village near the Devon frontier, a 
few workers remain. We have already stated that Lyme Regis, 
'which in the last century rivalled in its point laces Honiton and 
Blandford, has now quite lost the art. It could produce no workers 
to fabricate the marriage lace of the present Queen. 

Passing more particularly to Honiton lace par excellence^ it is curious 
to find that, although the manufacture came from Holland, the name 
of one of the earliest English lacemakers which has been discovered 
(about 1561) is a Mrs. Minifie, which is a pure Devon name. In the 
Honiton registers, however, towards the end of the sixteenth century 
there appear various patronymics of undoubted Flemish origin, many 
of which still flourish in the place. Some of these are Burd, Genest, 
Raymunds, Brock, Couch, (jerr.rd, Spiller, Murch, Stockcr, Maynard, 
Trump, and Groot. We can testify to their occurrence also at Colyton 
and Ottery St. Mary, which are both of them great seats of the manu- 
facture at present The trade remains for several generations in 
some families ; thus an old laceraaker was discovered at Honiton, 
whose "turn," or wheel for winding cotton, had the date 1678 rudely 
carved on its foot. It is worlh mentioning in connection with 
winding cotton that Devon was formerly famous for its spinning. 
" As fine as Kerton (Crediton) spinning," is a proverb in the county ; 
it is upon record that 140 threads of woollen yarn spun in that town 
were drawn through the eye of a tailor's needle whicli was long 
exhibited there. Several of the early lacemakers, as was customary 
in so many other trades in those charitable days, left money to be 
annually distributed amongst the poor, 'i'lie inscription over the 
body of James Rodge in Honiton Churchyard will illustrate this — 

"Here lieth ye Body of James Rod^c, of Honiton, in ye County of 
Devonshire, Bone lace seller, who hath given unto ihc poot ol VVoii\\.o\\ Vv^W 
Vol. VL, 'N.S. 1S71. -^ 

The Gentlemafis Magazine. 

1 68 

tlif bcnyfilc of jf [00 fot vver, who liitwscii yt »T July, A.D. 1617, » 
50. Remeinbc the Poore." 

The lace of this James Rofige and hi* contemponuics oou 
large flowing guipure patterns. 

Although Honiton Uce was very celebrated in old days, it is ctliioiu 
that the only examples which Mrs. Palliser could find in Devon 
af lace-adomed figures, either in painting or sculpture, were the 
monuments of Bishop Stafford {1398) and Lady Doddridge in Exeter 
Cathedral, and of Lady Pole in Colyton Church. TTiis latter villn^ 
has always been renowned for its iace ; Churchill's dniBO^ins, during 
the suppression of Monmouth's rebellion, are said to ha« stolen 
fmm one shop there lace to the amount of ^£325 \^t. grf. Like aU 
trudes, Honiton lacemaking is subject to depresMort It received its 
first check about the beginning of the American War. 1738, when 
the cnpritea of taste iu George the Third's reign diverted Lulies' 
attention to foreign lace. To remedy thta the Societj- of the Anii- 
GaUicans was founded, which distributed prises for bone and point 
lace of native manufacture, and proved moat bendiciiil to the lace 
trade. But the invention of machinery for lacrcmaking was ihc 
greatest blow administered 10 the genuine hand-made fabric. Mr. 
Heathcoat in 1809, after his machinery al LougUboroiigh had bwn 
destroyed by the Luddites, established a foacuy nt TivotWi ^ \ 

Honiton Lace. 169 

'maker's life." A romance frequently lives in each pin ; this one being 
stamped with a lover's name who presented it perhaps long years ago, 
this one bearing a grandmother's maiden name, another showing by 
its stamps that it has descended from two or three generations, and 
so on. In the sedentary, uneventful life of a lacemaker it is touching 
to note these cherished evidences of romance and sentiment 

The picturesque village of Beer, near the chalk headland of the 
same name, so famous of old for smugglers, is now celebrated for its 
exquisite Honiton lace. Here the Queen's wedding dress was made, 
at a cost of ;£'i,ooo ; it is composed of Honiton sprigs connected on 
the pillow by a variety of open-work stitches. The Princess Royal, 
Princess Alice, and Princess of Wales also wore wedding dresses 
of Honiton point made at Beer and the neighbourhood. Capital 
workmanship in this lace was shewn at the International Exhibition 
of 1862, but the patterns were conventional and clumsy, arabesques, 
medallions, and poor imitations of nature. Hence may be traced in 
great measure its decline in public estimation, though its costliness 
must always militate against its general use. In consequence of this 
deficiency prizes were offered in connection with the Bath and West 
of England Society for natural work in Honiton lace, which produced 
such admirable specimens that the Queen ordered them to be sent to 
Windsor Castle for her inspection. Little encouragement is given to 
the Devon lacemaking trade by the resident gentry, not, we think, 
because " the air is soft and balmy, and the inhabitants an apathetic 
generation, alone to be roused by famine or some other calamity from 
the natural somnolence of their existence," as Mrs. Palliser states. 
There is doubtless truth to a certain extent in this, but more probable 
causes seem to be the costliness of the article, and a dislike in the 
higher classes to encourage the habits of pauperism, neglect, and im- 
providence engendered but too often by its fabrication, which induce 
the women to leave dieir natural sphere as housewives and adopt the 
lace-pillow in preference. A new branch of industry has lately been 
developed in Devon — viz., the restoring of old lace. Many of the 
exquisite mantles and flounces to be seen in the London shop- 
windows are made up in Devonshire of old tattered fragments of lace 
'' needled " and appliqucd to one another on the lace-pillow. 

Trolly lace, which, as we have said, is made of coarse British thread, 
unlike true Honiton, used to be manufactured by men in Devonshire, 
especially at the little villages of Woodbury and Sal combe, but lace- 
making is now almost exclusively a feminine trade. At the former 
village a colony of workers fabricate imitation Maltese or Cireek lace. 
From very tender years children are taught to make Homlow \3lC^ m 

The GenUcnian' s Ma::uzi?n\ 

n a dame's A 

i lermed lace-schools. The little things collect in a 

, and under her tuition, frequently seconded by a cm^ nv 

|it the mysteries of the art. They are apprenticed to die tndc 

It eight, nine, and ten years of age (but in Budcs and Beds 

kiooly at six years, often at four and five), earning nothing in iheir 

ind sixpence per week in the second. Afterwards they 

laid so much per sprig, the price varying with the demand, ralue 

, &c., but being generally ij^d, ad., or 3d. per sprig. "I 

; four turkeys' tails a-day, and get i J-^d. for each," a giri rf 

ttely told us with pardonable pride. A cliild of five years old 

s penny in four hours by making six "flies." One laasia 

fe trade is said to employ as many as 3,000 of these workchildren. 

Kver adult hand will easily earn a shilling a-day at her lace-pillow 

lod times ; in many parts of Devon, however, the work is paid 

a the truck system. The average earnings of a quick hand may 

lit down at three shillings or tliree shillings and sixpence a-weejt. 

Balcnciennes the workers used to toil in underground ccllits from 

the morning till eight at night, and scarcely earn tenpcnce 

The abuses connected with the lace schools were lately 

Ised by the Children's Employment Commission. It was foond 

;he hours of work in them were generally excessive, and tHe 

iphere extremely bad, owing to the crowded State of the snuU 

? in which the children work. Discipline is rigidly cnfcsced, 

|in some schools, in order that the lace may be kepi clean, Ae 

sit wiiho'.H shoes on brick or slone floors. These caaiM, 

Honiton Lace. 


shown by Mr. Hayward of Oxford Street, and Mrs. Hayman of 
Sidmouth, well-known dealers in the lace, but it was remarked tliat to 
those accustomed to the ]ovely /oin/ tfA/eif an ot Fts^ncc and Belgium 
this style of Honiion lace appeared more like a fancy article than a 
work of art. If any one desires to see specimens of the best modern 
Honiton lace, we recommend him, after paying a visit to the fine 
cathedral at Exeter, to inspect the magnificent show of this lace which 
always adorns the windows of a shop in the Cathedral Yard. This 
establishment sent a noble piece of lace to the Paris Exhibition, and 
has still more recently introduced a novel variety of it, named Vandyke 

Having thus indicated the chief magasins for this exquisite English 
our admiration for it is so great tiiat we shall risk the imputation 
iterested motives, in conclusion, by advising all male readers, if 
tiiey would earn the certain approbation of tlie gentle sex, to give a 
Honiton veil or mantle when they next choose a wedding present 
If we might venture on so tender a subject as advice respecting 
feminine attire, we would fain whisper one word of counsel to ladies. 
Although a great poet says that a fair form when unadorned is adorned 
the most, still the fairest figure need not despise the graceful addition 
of Honiton lace. It is not, however, necessary for a lady, even H-ilh 
the greatest admiration for this delicate fabric, to set an example (like 
Pope's Narcissa) of the ruling passion strong in death, and be laid to 
rest, as an instance actually occurred a (ew years ago, wrapped in a 
winding-sheet of Honiton lace. 

"Odiousi in woollen I 'twould a saint provohe," 
Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke, 
"No, let ■ charming chinli and Bruiseli lace 
Wrap my cold limbs and shajie my lifeless lace : 
One would not, sure, l>c rrightful when o 
And, Betly, give this check 3 little red I " 


All you that in the condcmnM hole do lie 
Prepare you, for to-morrow you must die. 
Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near. 
That you before the Almij^hty must appear. 
Examine well yourselves, in time repent. 
That you may not to eternal flames be sent ; 
And when St. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls, 
The Lord alx)ve have mercy on your souls ! 
Past twelve o'clock I 

NeiogaU Bdlmatfs Ckani, 


'T i.s not so very long ago that the judges of Great Britain 
hung men for crimes wliich are now punishable by compa**' 
tively short terms of imprisonment Happily that time ^^ 
passed, but it did not depart without transmitting to us i^ 
the shape of a Newgate Calendar (a good generic term for the 
chronicles of crime) a huge folio of disgusting and barbarous anec- 
dotes. Of all the centuries that England has lived through, thi* 
centur}' (or rather that portion of it which forms our epoch) con- 
tributes the fewest stories to this monstrous folio. May the tim^ 
come when the abolition of the punislunent of death >vill suffer tb^ 
remaining ])ages of this folio to rot unwritten. The Newgate Calen- 
dar is instructive as exhibiting the slow but sure development of ^ 
sagacious humanity in the legal breast. From the pillory to private 
executions is a gigantic stride, and civilisation may be said to hav^^ 
made a decided gain when we find women who have murdered thei*" 
husbands transported or decorously hanged, instead of being hal*' 
strangled and burnt.* What must always strike us as somethitig 
more than curious is the extremely long time it took to make thos<? 
who had the care of the peoi)le comprehend how demoralising v^^ 
the efiect of the spectacles enforced by the law on the minds of tn^ 
public. Hanging, instead of deterring, aggravated crime by inspini^S 
felons with an earnest ambition to excite the admiration of tn^ 
public, which was easily achieved by the assumption of a demeanO^ 
called " dying game." That, on the whole, hanging was an obj^' 

* Tliis punlshnicnt was inflicted on women convicted of murdering their »*^ 
bands (which crime was denominated petit-treason) until the thirtieth year of ^^ 
reign of George III. • 

atiU ' 

tionable proceeding, the most enthusiastic niffian might have allowedjj 
but familiarity robbed it of its horrors, whilst in nine cases out of leB I 
the malefector went to the gallows encouraged by the knowledge 
that the sympathies of the spectators were entirely with him. 

So recently as i3i8 an exeoition took place at Edinburgh, which 
we venture to say did more towards embrutalising the mob than the 
detailed accounts of fifty murdere could have done. A man uameij' 
Robert Johnston was foiuid guilty of the robbery of a chandler, iai 
Edinburgh, and sentenced to death. A platform was erected in the 
usual manner, n-ith a drop, In the Lawn-market ; and an immense 
crowd having assembled, the condemned man was brought from die 
lock-up. The customary devotions took place, and the signal was 
^Hven. A minute, at least, elapsed, however, before the drop could 
Le forced down, and then it was found that the man's toes still 
touched the surface, leaving him ha If- suspended and struggling 
furiously. The crowd yelled ; two or three jiersons rushed to 
scaffold with axes and endeavoured, but to no purpose, to cut doi 
a part of it beneath the feet of the criminal. The shouts from 
jnob increased ; suddenly some one near the scaffold, who had bees 
struck by a policeman in trying to press forward, shouted, "Murder 
The mob, believing the cry to come from the convict, hurled a shower 
«f stones at the magistrates and police, and forced them to retire, 
TTien they shouted, " Cut him down ! he is alive ! " Whereupon a 
man mounted the scaffold, cut the rope, and the convict fell down 
in a reclining posture, having hung only five minutes. The mob 
now gained the scaffold, and taking the ropes from the arras and 
neck of the prisoner, carried him, still alive, towards High-street. A 
good many stayed behind to tear the coffin into pieces and demolish 
the scaffold ; this, however, they could not accomplish. The police 
were badly treated j the executioner severely injured. Meanwhile 
the constables rc-forraed themselves, and after a stiff struggle suc- 
ceeded in getting the prisoner away from the crowd. The wretched 
man, half alive, stripped of part of his clothes, and with his shin 
lumeil up so that the whole of his naked back was exliibitcd, lay 
extended in the middle of the street, in front of the police-office. 
Thence he was dragged trailing along the groimd for about twenty 
paces into the office, where he lay upwards of half-an-hour whilst he 
wa.1 brought to by a surgeon. Though speedily restored lo con- 
sciousness, the unforlnnale man never uttered a word. By this time 
a military force had reached the spot, and the soldiers were drawn 
up in the street, surrounding the police-station and place of exttvi- 
Johnston was Oien carried again to the scaSoVd. ti[\& t^^u^^MC^ 


The GeitllemaHs Afagasine. 


were thrown about him in such a manner that he seemed fi 
and whiic a number of men stood around him, holding him up on 
the table, and fastening the rope arounJ his neck, his cloihcis slipped 
entirely off, " in a way," • says the report, " shocking 10 decencf,* 
Much time was taken in adjusting liis dress, during which he wm 
left vibrating, partly supported by the rope around his neck and partly 
by his feet upon the table. At last the tabic was removed from 
beneath him, when, to the indescribable horror of the spectators, he 
was seen snspcnded with his face uncovered, and one of his haniK, 
broken loose from the cords, convulsively twisting in the noose. Loud 
eries and screams now burst from every quarter. A chair wa» bnju^l, 
and the executioner having mounted ii, disengaged by force the h»nd 
of the dying man from the rope. He then descended, leaving tJiP 
&CC still unco\ered. A napkin at last was thrown over the fclon'» 
head, and after many severe struggles he died. 

In Boswell's Life oF Johnson the doctor is made to pmieit a^inU 
the innovation by which "men were to be hanged in a new vckj!' 
It was suggested thai the abolition of the procession was an imi)rovtf- 
ment. "No, sir," said Johnson, "it is net an improvement; thej 
object that the old method drew logctlicr a number of spccuton. 
Sir, executions are intended to draw spectators. If llicy do aot 
draw spectators, they don't answer their purpose. The old n 

Tyburniana. 175 

the spectators who viewed it only from the most literal stand-point. 
Of the coolness, the sang-froid of the condemned wretches, many 
instances are given. Some are within living memory ; such was the 
behaviour of Ings, one of the Cato-street conspirators (1820), who 
at the last moment desired that his wife might have what clothes he 
left behind, because he was resolved that Jack Ketch should have no 
coat of his. Then turning to Mc. Davis, one of the turnkeys, " Well, 
sir," said he, " I am going to find out this great secret." Upon 
viewing the coffins, he laughed, and said, " I will turn my back on 
death. Those coffins are for us, I suppose." More remarkable was 
the conduct of Thistlewood, his companion, who was to be hanged 
with him. " We can die without making a noise," he said. Another 
instance may be given of Richard Haywood, a man who was hanged 
for having stolen two pillows and two bolsters. He was to be 
hanged in company with one Tennant, a man who had lived as 
footman, and who was under sentence of death for having stolen 
bank-notes and cash from his master, of the value of over j£^5,ooo. 
When the time for quitting the court-yard arrived, Haywood called 
to a friend who was present to deliver him a bundle he had in his 
hand, out of which he took an old jacket and a pair of old shoes, 
and put them on. "Thus," said he, "will I defeat the prophecies of 
my enemies : they have often said I would die in my coat and 
shojs, and I will die in neither." Being told it was time to be con- 
ducted to the scaffold, he cheerfully attended the summons, having 
first eaten some bread and cheese and drunk a quantity of coffee. 
Before he went out, he called out in a loud voice to the prisoners 
who were looking through the upper windows at him, " Farewell, 
my lads, I am just going off. God bless you." " We are sorry for 
you," replied the prisoners. " I want none of your pity," rejoined 
Haywood. " Keep your snivelling till it be your own turn." Imme- 
diately on his arrival on the scaffold he uttered a loud laugh, and 
gave the mob three cheers, introducing each with " Hip ! ho ! " 
While the cord was preparing, he continued hallooing to the mob, 
" How are you ? well, here goes ! " It was found necessary before 
the usual time to put the cap over his eyes, besides a silk handker- 
chief, by way of bandage, that his attention might be entirely 
abstracted from the spectators. Before the platform dropped he 
gave another halloo ! and kicked off his shoes among the spectators. 
Another story runs thus : — An Irishman had been convicted of a 
robbery at the Old Bailey sessions, for which he was brought up, 
with others, to receive judgment of death. The prisoner, on being 
called on by the officer of the court in the usual way to d^c\ax^ 

1 76 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

nrfiat he had to say why sentence of death should not be pissed 
upon him, advanced to the front of the dock, with a vacant staif, 
and inquired, 

" What was the question ? " 

" You have been convicted of robbery ; what have you to say why 
sentence of death should not be passed upon you according to law?" 

"Faith," answered the prisoner, "I have nothing much to saj, 
except that 1 do not think I am safe in your hands." The court 
laughed ; sentence was passed, and the prisoner was about to retiit, 
when the officer of the court called him back and demanded lo 
know his age. 

" Is it my age ye mean?" 

" What is your age ? " 

" 1 believe I am pretty well as ould as ever I'll be," 

Again the whole court was " convulsed with laughter," but thff 
wretched man, whose mirth-moving powers were quite involuntary, 
was doomed even at the scaffold to " set the people in a roar." In 
the press-room his irons were removed, and his arms confined widi 
cords. This being done, he seated himself, and in spite of the calls 
of Jack Ketch and of the sheriffs to accompany them in the pro- 
cession to the scaifold, he remained sullenly on the bench where he 
had taken up his posirion. "Come," at last urged the hangman, 
"the thne is arrived." But the Irishman would not move. "Tbs 
officers are waiting for you." said the sheriff; " can anything be done 
for you before you quit this world?" No answer was retumcd. 
Jack Ketch grew surly. " If you won't go, 1 must carrj- you," he said. 
"Then you may," said the prisoner, "for I'll not walk." "Why 
not?" inquired a sheriff. "I'll not be instrumental to my own 
death," answered the prisoner. "Wha,t do you mean?" asked the 
ordinary. " What do I mane ? " retorted the hapless man ; " I mane 
that I'll not walk to my own deslruclion ; " and in this determination 
he persisted, and was carried to the scaifold, where he was turned off, 
refusing to do anything which might be construed into " his being a 
party to his own death." Amongst others who have met death with 
e.ftraordinaiy fortitude, Lord Lovat's name will always occupy a 
foremost position. This nobleman was eighty years of age when he 
suffered. On mounting the scaffold, assisted by two warders, hia 
great age and large, unwieldy person rendering such aid necessary, 
he looked around, and seeing so great a concourse of people, 
exclaimed, " (Jod save us, why should there be such a bustle about 
taking off an old grey head, that cannot get up three steps without 
three bodies to support it? Cheer up thy heart, manl" he con- 

/ r/A7/'/7/ 

.//.-. I , ^ 

tinued, turning to one of his friends who stood near him mucli 
dejected. " I am not afraid ; why should you be ? " As soon as he 
came upon the scaffold, he called for the executioner and presented 
him with ten guineas in a purse, and then, desiring to see the axe, 
he felt the edge, remarking, " He believed it would do." Soon after 
he rose from the chair that was placed for him, and looked at the 
inscription on his coffin, then repeated — 

" Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori ; '' 

and afterwards — 

** Nam genus et proavos, et quae non fecimus ipsi, 
Vix ea nostra voco — " 

Calling his solicitor and agent in Scotland, Mr. W. Fraser, and pre- 
senting his gold-headed cane, he said, " I deliver you this cane in 
token of my sense of your faithful services, and of my committing 
to you all the power I have upon earth," and then embraced him. 
I-Ie also called for Mr. James Fraser, and said, " My dear James, I 
am going to heaven, but you must continue to crawl a little longer 
on this evil world." And taking leave of both he delivered his hat, 
'wig, and clothes to Mr. William Fraser, desiring him to see that the 
executioner did not touch them. He ordered his cap to be put on, 
a.nd unloosing his neckcloth and the collar of his shirt, kneeled 
down at the block, and pulled the cloth that was to receive his head 
crlose to him. But being placed too near the block, the executioner 
desired him to remove a little further back, which, with the warder's 
assistance, was immediately done. His neck being properly placed, 
He told the executioner that he would say a short prayer, and then 
give the signal by dropping his handkerchief. In this posture he 
remained about half a minute, and then throwing his handkerchief 
on the floor, the executioner, at one blow, cut off his head, which 
was received in a cloth, placed in the coffin with his body, and 
carried in a hearse back to the Tower, where it was interred. 

Of the order of intrepidity we are now discussing, a felon named 
Charles Samuel Bartlett gave a good illustration. He was sentenced 
to die for murder. On the night before his execution he inquired if 
there was a phrenologist in the town, and on being answered yes, he 
expressed a wish that his head might be delivered to him, and that 
his trunk for the good of society might be sent to the Infirmary. 
This man suffered with extraordinary impassiveness. 

In 1 76 1, one McNaughton was executed for murder. The convict 
went to the scaffold dressed in a white flannel waistcoat, trimmed 
with black buttons and holes, a diaper nightcap Utdm\.\v^\>\o.O«L 



Tke Gentleman s Magazine. 

riband, white stockings, mourning buckles, and a crape tied on hb 
arm. He desired the executioner to be speedy; and the [ello« 
pointing to tlie ladder, he mounted with great spirit The moment 
he was tied up, he jumped so furiously as to snaji the rope, and fell 
to the ground. Wlicn they raised him on his legs again he soon 
recovered his senses ; and the executioner borrowing another rope, 
he fixed it round McNaughton's neck. The murderer mounted the 
ladder a second time, and tying the rope himself to the gallows, 
jumped with the same force, and appeared dead in a minute. 

An e>iiraordinary story is told by Stedmaii of a scene witnessed by 
him at Surinam, which, though having no reference to our topic, 
deserves repetition. The truth may be questioned ; yet this much 
may be said of it, that it is gravely quoted as a fact by writers who 
exhibit in their works a sagacity not likely to be easily deceived. A 
free negro was tortured for the murder of the overseer of the estate 
of Altona in the Para Creek. The man having stolen a sheep to 
entertain a favourite young woman, the overseer, who burned wilh 
jealousy, determined to see him hanged. To prevent this the negro 
shot him dead among the sugar canes. For these offences he was 
sentenced to be broken alive upon the rack, without the benefit of 
the eoup de grace or mercy stroke. Informed of this dreadful sentence, 
he composedly laid himself down upon his back on a strong cross, 
on which, with his arms and legs extended, he was fastened by ropes. 
The executioner, also a black man, having now with a haCdiet 
chopped off his left hand, next took up a heavy iron bar, with whidi 
by repeated blows he broke his bones to shivers, till the marrow, 
blood, and splinters flew about the field. I!ut the prisoner never 
uttered a groan or sigh. "The ropes being next unlashed, I 
im^ned him dead, and fell happy ; till the magistrates stirring to 
depart, he writhed himself from the cross, when he fell on the grass, 
and damned them all as a set of barbarous rascals. At the same 
time removing his right hand by the help of his teeth, he rested his 
head on part of the limber, and asked the by-standcrs for a pipe of 
tobacco, which was infamously answered by kicking and spitting on 
him, till I, with some American seamen, thought proper to prevent 
it. He then begged his head might be chopped off. but to no pur- 
pose. At last, seeing no end to his misery, he declared * tliat though 
he had deserved death, he had not expected to die so many deaths ; 
however,' said he, ' you Christians have missed your aim at last, and 
1 now care not were I to remain thus one month longer.' After 
which he sang two extempore songs with a clear voice, the subjects 
of which were to bid adieu to bis living (Hends, and to acquaint his 

deceased relations that in a very little time he should be wit.!i liiem, 

to enjoy their company for ever in a better place. This done he 

calmly entered into conversation with some gentlemen concerning his 

trial, relating every particular with uncommon tranquillity. *But/ 

said he, abruptly, * by the sun it must be eight o'clock, and by any 

longer discourse I should be sorry to be the cause of your losing 

your breakfast.' Then casting his eyes on a Jew whose name was 

Deveries, * Apropos, sir,' said he, * won't you please to pay me ten 

shillings you owe me?' *For what to do?' *To buy meat and 

drink, to be sure; don't you perceive I'm to be kept alive?' Which 

speech, on seeing the Jew stare like a fool, the mangled wretch 

accompanied with a loud and hearty laugh. Next, observing the 

soldier that stood sentinel over him biting occasionally a piece of dry 

bread, he asked how it came to pass that he, a white man, should 

have no meat to eat along with it * Because I am not so rich,' 

answered the soldier. ' Then I will make you a present, sir,' said he. 

• First pick my hand that was chopped off clean to the bone ; next 

begin to devour my body, till you are glutted, when you will have 

both bread and meat as best becomes you ;' which piece of humour 

'was followed by a second laugh. And thus he continued until I left 

bim, which was about three hours after the execution." On returning 

some time afterwards the Avriter discovered that after the poor wretch 

bad lived thus more than six hours he was knocked on the head by 

the commiserating sentinel, and that, having been raised upon a 

gallows, the vultures were busy picking out the eyes of the mangled 

corpse, in the skull of which were clearly discernible the marks of the 

soldier's musket. 

Though anecdotes of persons who have recovered after having 
been "turned off" are not numerous, yet several instances are 
quoted, of which a few are worthy, by their singularity, of preservation. 
In 1728 a woman, who had been deprived of her husband, that had 
been forced by a press-gang to sea, formed an illicit connection with 
another man, by whom she had a child. It was for the murder of 
this child that she was sentenced to be hanged. The evidence 
against her was that she had been remarked to have been cnceinfe^ 
but on being accused of this by her neighbours she steadily denied it 
Soon after the body of a newly-born infant was found near her 
residence^ and she was taken into custody. After her condemnation 
she behaved in a very penitent manner, but persisted in her protesta- 
tions of innocence. Jack Ketch having performed his office (she 
was executed at Edinburgh), the body hung the usual time, and was 
then cut down and delivered to the friends of the deceased. R^ 

The Genlleman's Magazine. 

tliem it was placed in a coffin and sent in a cart to bt (iiiricil in her 
native place; but, the weather being sultiy, the persons who iui! 
charge of it stopped to drink at a village called Peppcnaill, aboii! 
two miles from Edinburgh. While tliey were refreiBliiug tliemselvo 
one of them observed the lid of the coffin lo move, and UHcovermc 
it, to the amazement of the spectators the woman sat uprighL A 
fellow who was present had the sagacity to bleed her, and next day 
she was sufficiently recovered to be able to walk to her home M 
Musselburgh. By the Scottish law slie was not only exempted froni 
any further proceedings, but was released from her vows lo het 
husband. But the man having returned from sea, he was publidf 
remarried to hl.s wife three or four days after sJie had been banged 
This happened in November, 1728 ; the woman was living in tbe 
year 1753. 

At an earlier date than this, i.t., in 1705, a man named John Smilh 
was convicted of burglary, and sentenced to be hanged. On 4e 
a4th December he was carried to Tyburn, and turned off jn the 
usual manner. But after he had hung about a tjuartcr of an hour Ihi? 
crowd shouted, "A reprieve 1" upon which the malefactor was cat 
down and carried to a neighbouring house ; where he was bled, and 
restored to consciousness. Having perfectly recovered his senses, he 
\\;is asked ulial were his reelings :it the lime of execution, to which 

Tyburniana. 1 8 1 

up and give three hearty cheers by way of assuring his friends of his 
safety. One of his comrades, shocked perhaps at this indecent con- 
duct in his defunct friend, and afraid of the scheme of rescue being 
discovered and thwarted, hit him a thump on the head with a " twig," 
which effectually silenced his self-congratulations. On their arrival 
home they found that the friendly caution administered to the 
poor wretch was more effectual than the hangman's rope. The man 
being killed by the blow, it was afterwards inquired whether the 
person who had struck him ought not to have been charged with 
murder ; but a justice decided that no one could be effectually 
charged with the murder of a man who was already dead in law. 

Irrespective of the fact that private hanging veils the hideous 
exhibitions that were wont to gratify the brutal, morbid taste of the 
public, it possesses the virtue of obviating, on the part of the popu- 
lace, that eager vengeance with which they were wont to be animated 
towards the doers of atrocious crimes. Such was this " lust of hate," 
hat, in order to pacify it, the oddest measures have been resorted to. 
Phe murder of the Marrs and the Williamsons supplies an illustra- 
ion. Three persons were implicated in this frightful tragedy, one of 
irhom, a man named Williams, was arrested ; the others escaped. 
Dn the morning on which the prisoner was to be carried before the 
nagistrates, upon the gaoler going to call him from his cell he was 
ound, heavdly ironed as he was, suspended by a handkerchief from a 
>eam in the apartment in which he was confined. He was instantly 
rut down, but upon his body being examined it was found that he 
vas quite dead and cold, and that he had evidently been hanging 
everal hours. This act confirmed the suspicion of his guilt. An 
nquest was held upon his body, and a verdict of fdo de se was 
'etumcd by the jury. But it now became a question how the public 
ndigiiation could be satisfied. The rule in such cases was that the 
ieceased should be buried in the nearest cross roads ; but it was 
ietermined that a public exhibition of the body should be made 
through the neighbourhood which had been the scene of the man's 
crrimes. In conformity with this decision, on the 31st of December, 
i8ii, the body of the deceased was privately removed from the 
prison at eleven o'clock at night, and conveyed to St. George's 
workhouse near the London Docks. On the following morning, at 
half-past ten o'clock, a procession was formed in the following 
manner : — 

Several hundred constables with their staves, clearing the way. 

The newly-formed patrols, with drawn cutlasses. 

Another body of constables. 

The Gentleman s Mamzine. 


\ S1iaJiv£ll, on hoiscbock. 

111; liiKh-ccnstaUt of llip tmirity .if lil liliUcscji on hofsebaek. 
Thu |juti)f U Williams, 

1 full lcii!;iii on .in iiH.linoil plmUiffii, erected on ihe cirt, about Cinr 
llii' IlimiI, ,uI'I iinlilLI'illj »l<!|iiilj: l^ju-nnli ihe horst, giving a full lic* 
, "111 \\ M 1. ill. '.-Ill Iji WiiL' rir)HV..ri and a white-and-ljlui; striped 
T !.■■:■ 11 i Li, a- wiifii f;>i>ml in ilm cell. On the lefi side of lit 
•' '11 ■ 'I, .1 1 -T ill ■ rl^'il lIiL- rii>|i"v; elibfi wilh which (he rmriot 

I. I'vi,- , .,, ,-,■.! I.. vUiv, TIlp cuunlcnnncc of WilliaiDs to 

llir f.iin-iin.', Jiiil llii: wliiilt hill an appearance loo 'horrible tw 

ly iirL'oTiit.ilJt. Iirijuj^lit up Lhc rear. 

1 slowly ii[i Rnuliffe Highway, accompanied I 
rse of pt'rsnii.s eager to get a sight of ll** 1 
'hen the cnrt ciiTiie opposite to the late !►<-'■ 
nridi' fur neiir a quarter of an hour. T^*' 
ili)i\-n Old (Ir.ive! Lane, along Wappin ^' 
,1 inin New ( 'iv.n tl Lane, When the proce^'* 
Ir. U'llliiiiKnii's house a second halt toc:^^ 
L'd n|> the hill, and again entered Ralcij^^' 
I iTiiived 111 C.Kinon Street, and advanced C^^^-^ 


i feet dee 


Tyburniana, 183 

"This day" (June 9, 1731), says an old London publication, 

" about noon, Japhet Crook, alias St. Peter Stranger, was brought to 

the pillory at Charing Cross, according to his sentence of forgery. 

He stood an hour thereon ; after which a chair was set on the 

pillory, and he being put therein, the hangman, with a sort of 

pnining-knife, cut off both his ears, and immediately a servant 

clapped a styptic thereon. Then the executioner, with a pair of 

scissors, cut his left nostril twice before it was quite through, and 

afterwards cut tlirough the right nostril at once. He bore all this 

with great patience ; but when, in pursuance of his sentence, his 

right nostril was seared with a red-hot iron, he was in such violent 

pain that his left nostril was left alone, and he went from the pillory 

bleeding. He was conveyed from thence to the King's Bench 

Prison, there to remain for life." 

The motto to this paper consists of the verses which the bellman 
of St. Sepulchre used to sing when he passed under Newgate, to the 
accompaniment of his bell. We cannot more fitly conclude this 
article than with Stow's commentary on the lines that commence it, 
iDy which we see that they ought to be recited by the clergyman 
instead of the bellman. 

•* Robert Doxe, citizen and Merchant Taylor of London, gave to the parish 
church of St. Sepulchre the somme of £$0. That after the several sessions of 
.London, when the prisoners remain in the gaole, as condemned men to death, 
expecting execution on the morrow following ; the clarke of the church should 
crome in the night-time, and likewise early in the morning, to the window of the 
prison where they lye, and there ringing certain toles with a hand-bell, appointed 
for the purpose, he doth afterwards (in more Christian manner) put them in mind 
of their present condition and ensuing execution, desiring them to be prepared 
therefor as they ought to be. When they are in the carte, and brought before 
the wall of the church, there he standeth ready with the same bell, and after 
c:ertain toles rehearseth an appointed praicr, desiring all the people there to pray 
for them. The beadle also of Merchant Taylors* Hall hath an honest stipend 
allowed to see that this is duly done." 

W. Clark Russell. 

Vol. VI., N.S. 1871. 

Studies for the Times. 



jTTTNGS in general are out of joint Greed has turned 
^-a'.*^^ the world topsy-turvy. Not to be rich is to be hated 

(^Tj ^ Money-getting has taken the place of all the virtBtt 
^J-^^ro You may ride well, be a dead shot, make a telling specchi 
but if you are financially out-at-elbows you must knock under to the 
veriest ignoramus who can boast a heavy balance at his bank«rf' 
Blood will cany you to a certain point. It will give you society ii» 
the rich merchant's daughter ; but until it is backed ^nth the vA 
merchant's nK^ncy it will not give you the weight and importance » 
Dives the clothier or Dives the tallow-chandler. Here and theK 
blood and the family name will secure you a seat in Parliament f* 
an obscure borough ; or, as in my case, where the party and w* 
lordship are behind you, for a county division. But you mu^ 
vote " right," you know, and do a con^siderable amount of ih* 
county dnidgcr>'. I am in perpetual hot water because I do not vote 
"right" upon all occasions, because I do not always support hi5 
lordship at quarter sessions. My neighbour, old Twysler, who wcD^ 
in for the borough unopi)osed, does very eccentric things in the 
House, but he makes forty thousand a-year out of timber and (gtC- 
closing advantageous mortgages. He does what he pleases, if upaO 
vital questions he supports his party. Greed, sir, greed. We are a** 
bought and sold. Honour is outbid by sordid hucksters. Talent is 
gauged with shekels. Chivalry is laughed out of court by fashionable 
cynicism. Love is 

Rut what have I to do with love ? A county member, in bro*^ 
cords, a blue spotted neckerchief, and leather gloves, talk of lovC- 
If my constituents imagined that I ever dreamt of such nonsewsCi 1 
should have a crowd of noodles to gaze at me the next time I ** 
upon the Muddletown bench to give Hodge a month for poaching 
hares. Yes, sir, things are out joint When an English Ministry >* 
divided upon its duty with regard to an insult from a foreign pow«r» 
or from twenty foreign powers combined, one section with ^ 

Premier at its head inflacnced by commercial considerations, it is 
only too clear that the individual lust of gold has eaten its way into 
the national veins. Earl Granville, Earl de Grey, the Marquis of 
Hartington, Mr. Forster, Mr Childers, stood hard and fast by the true 
line. Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Bright, Mr. Ayrton, Mr. Ix)we, actively 
represented the philosophy of Stuart Mill, Mr. Freeman and Carlyle. 
This so-called philosophy is "don't fight whatever happens." If 
Russia wants Constantinople let Russia have it. The Germans are 
wiser, stronger and better men than the French. Therefore let the 
Germans turn a war of defence into one of aggression. Let every- 
body do what they like so that they do not attack England. Until his 
old northern foe shook the knout at us, Lord Russell had of late years 
caught the do-nothing-whatever-happens taint. But Gortschakoffs 
circular was too much for him. The Earl could not stand that. He 
at once relieved his mind by a letter, full of the old fire. " Then 
come on " was the purport of the epistle. At a public meeting in the 
north some years ago, the door-keeper refused the Earl admission 
l>ecause he had no ticket, and when his Lordship said- he was the 
chairman, the porter would have handed him over to the police but 
for the timely recognition of a local dignity. He is not a big 
man, and he insists upon wearing shabby hats ; but he can write a 
l)ig letter, and his name is Russell. Do you know why his promised 
pamphlet did not come out to time ? It contained a trenchant criti- 
cism on the paper in the Edinburgh Review, assuming that the article 
was written by Gladstone. With a certain grim humour Lord Russell 
sent an early proof of his work to the Premier, who seeing the drift 
of the joke at once disavowed the Edinburgh contribution. His 
lordship will no doubt revise his pamphlet, and let the world have it in 
another shape. It comes within the meaning, I suppose, of judicious 
advertising to favour a rumour, such as that which was circulated 
concerning the article in question, by an immediate second edition. 
Was it because the paper was badly written, and in bad taste, that 
the Daily News and other organs attributed the article to Mr. 
Gladstone's pen ? The Premier is not an essayist His early efforts 
in the Eton Miscellany, and his later studies in Good Words have 
made this a fact beyond all question. Nevertheless, I dare say Mr. 
Gladstone has had many invitations to write more war opinions on 
the strength of his Edinburgh paper. They say magazine editors 
deluged Stuart Mill with offers for a paper on Russia after his letter 
in the Times, The Fortnightly secured his pen, and he will write for 
Mr. Morley a paper, admirable in style, and excellent in quality. 
But it will be the philosophy of the desk and the lamp. In qucstious 

1 86 Tlu Gefitlemans Mazazine, 


of intemalional policy we want the philosophy of the Court ami the 
camp, the philosophy of statecraft, the philosophy of experience, 
and the knowledge of men and peoples, of kings and princes; the 
knowledge that Ix)rd Palmerston had. We want no finedniB 
sophisms, no scientific rcckonings-up of moral sentiments, upon 
(jucsiions of national engagements and solemn compacts. 

When England did battle with Russia, Prussia was neutral, 
" henevolently " neutral, so far as "the Giant of the North** was 
concerned. The Emjjcrors of Russia and the Prussian kings haw 
l>ccn relatives for the last hundred years. Their subjects have been 
\\X. enmity, and the Czars have now and then snubbed the kings, but 
ihoy have stuck to each other. When Herr Von Bismarck made 
war upon Denmark and aftenvards upon Austria he knew Russia 
would be true to him in case of need. Tn the war between France 
and', Austria's neutrality was sctured by an understanding 
with Rus>i.i ; the C/ar, in return, exacted a [iromise in support of a 
revision of the Treaty of Paris, (lortschakoff showed his cards too 
soon, flourishing his ace l.)efore the odd trick was really secure. 
I>ihmarck stepped in and calmed the disturbance that had ansenin 
consecjuence of the Russian Minister's hasty declaration. The end 
is a Conference. So far luigland has saved her honour. When the 
aml)assadors are sitting round the board of green cloth, England ^tH 
do well to remember her history, that her days may be long in the 
land. It is on record that a clever clubman, given to abstract 
thought and a careless habit of manner, once took a friend's adnce 
and called at the otfice of an opera agent to obtain "two stalls for 
the Conference " then sitting at St. James's. I know more than one 
reporter in the country who would apjjly ft^r admission and think 
their respective organs insulted if they were not admitted. The 
other day 1 found one of these gentlemen sitting down, notebook m 
hand, at a (piiet wedding breakfast which 1 gave on the marriage oi 
my eldest daughter, and he declined to leave when I asked him to 
do so. "I am sent here to rei)ort the speeches, and I shall dou. 
he said. Nothing would induce him to leave, and at the close of the 
entertainment he rose to make a speech. 

What is the programme for next session? Shall we really get '^^ 
practical legislation ? 'Hie electoral franchise is settled ; Ireland has 
got all she can get (not all she wants) at present ; the educational 
([uestion is at an end ; the laws of bankniptcy are reformed ; we ^ 
all ready to accept the ballot. What is the next movement? Undef 
which thimble is the pea? Mr. Disraeli outbid his opponents fo' 
the sake of office; Mr. Gladstone goes any length in the saxn^ 

. S7 // , // t'.N J or /.. : ? ■ 7\ni t 's 

1 1 „ 

direction. The hangers-on of parties must be kept in good IiumoLir. 
\{ you are in office, you must keep in office ; no matter how you do 
it, keep in you must It is a good thing for the present Ministry 
that the continental and other troubles have come upon them during 
the vacation. A sudden rush to the cry of " Sl George for merry 
England !" would have carried the ministerial benches any evening 
during the last month. What shall we do next session ? Re-organise 
the army, help the volunteers, strengthen the navy, and reverse the 
Granville colonial policy? These are matters that admit of no 
delay. If Mr. Gladstone insists upon washing his hands of these 
things, he will be at home in the consideration of the great social 
problems of the age which it would be his greatest happiness to 
solve. Herein I do him sirnple justice. Let him bend his giant 
intellect to the task of restoring the balance between rich and poor. 
This is in his line. In nothing is the social system so much 
out of joint as in the growing difference, the widening gulf be- 
tween the rich and poor. Capital is gradually being monopolised. 
While the poor are increasing, money is going into fewer purses. 
This is a gigantic evil. The extremely destitute on one hand, 
the extremely rich on the other, weaken the intermediate class, 
which should be strong and healthy in its reflection of the two 
outside influences. The independence and prosperity of the middle 
olass are essential to the progress and security of the nation. 
-At the last general election the middle class turned out to be as 
venal as the poorest, and there are other indications of a decline 
in character of this connecting link between the upper and lower 
ranks of life. The small farmer, the small manufacturer, the 
small tradesman, are gradually disappearing; they are swallowed 
up by the great capitalists, who gather into one heap the money 
that was previously flowing into many channels. Our prisons and 
our workhouses are full to overflowing as a natural consequence. 
The skilled labour of the nation is emigrating to other lands. 
legislation is influenced by the principles of millionaires and 
drawing-room philosophers. I have sufficient faith in the latent 
power of the nation and in its recuperative strength to see a grand 
xesuirection from any stunning reverse ; but when misfortune 
threatens it is the duty of statesmen to look difficulties fairly 
in the face. My friend Mr. Chorlcy, with whom I disagree on 
some points, is most explicit upon this question of social divisions. 
** The wise and benevolent in all ages have with reason deplored 
this tendency of advancing society towards the extremes of riches 
and poverty, which in times past has invariably been followed 


The Gettlleinans MagaatU. 

by the decline and fail of nation', wlurt- ihc middle d 
an it weri;, crushed out of existence." MTico ricbo 
accumulate in the hands of the few. iind povenygnjw-s jpaoe,nii9 
is at our heels. Coupk with itil.-. miylhing like a disrcj.'anl <l 
national responsibilities, a falling away from oUl trmJillun* d 
national fame and glory, of well-tamed (uprcniacy En tJi< fieM 
and on the sea; in short, let tlie nation once shrink back Wlhin 
her own circumscribed landmarks, e.-iniiog the title to a contcmptiblt 
insignificance, and we may indt-cd lie said 10 lutve injujjunUd 
the epoch of the New Zealander. Let Ih« Ministry look to lliil. 
There is a fine opening for both pbiloapfAcr unJ slaluman. Mr. 
Gladstone and his Incnds may safely Marificc tlic cry iff eoinainj 
next 9e§sion. The country will stand any mnonnt of taxation diotb 
reiiuired to put the army and navy into a Btalc of effidcaty, Mr. 
Lowe must be made to do hia diit)'. In the meantime Ki tXs. Glui- 
stone call together the wise men of his party, ami considKr toff tfte 
growing evils of excessive poverty and excctuvc wealth are tn Ik 

New Zealand. 


IHE rapidly increasing settlement and steady development 

of the great natural resources of New Zealand inspire 

jig^ confidence in the realisation, -at no distant date, of the 

great future predicted of these islands. Within an area 

not exceeding that of Great llritain, nature is on the noblest scale. 

The mountains are tall as the Alps of Europe ; the forests stately and 

luxuriant as in the tropics; the land is as well watered as England; 

the sun bright as in Australia, The western seaboard of both islands 

lacks harbours, but the entire eastern coast is broken into safe and 

capacious havens, which would hold the fleets of the world. There 

are the minerals most prized — gold, iron, coal; and almost every 

product of the temperate zones can be raised, because of the longitu- 

<linal position of the islands, which, stretching through many degrees 

of latitude, includes every phase of temperate climate. The extreme 

south has the winter of Norway ; the extreme north the summer of 

Naples — but in each case interrupted and softened by the constant 

sea winds. For ever active are the winds in New Zealand ; it is of 

all regions the terra ventosa. -^olus might well have his halls on 

Mount Cook. Bright and invigorating as is the atmosphere, the 

climate is not, in an epicurean point of view, perfection. Fierce gales 

sweep the land; the air is seldom at any season in complete repose, 

and the number of rainy days might be objected to by anybody 

except the Briton, born under dripping skies.* All this has its signal 

advantages. Man cannot in New Zealand degenerate into the 

indolent lotus-eater. Even the most sheltered and beautiful districts 

are no Armidias Garden, like the archipelagos of the South Seas, with 

their eternal spring, and where the fruits of the eardi can be gathered 

almost without labour. It is this which renders the native tribes so 

different from their kindred in Polynesia. The Maori has a masculine 

strength of character, an energy and hardihood, which the Kanaka 

does not possess. It is asserted — and the statement, besides the 

* Not the least attractive feature of the country is, that, among its fauna, it docs 
not number a single noxious animal or reptile. 

I go The Gentleman s Magazine. 

traditions of the Mnorics, is verified by many facts — that these bcautitol 
islands li:ne iiol been occupied by man until modem times. 

The natives are the same people as the Pol}'nesians, and theysoD 
remember that the Hawaii or Sandwich Islands were their ancestral 
home. Notwithstanding the great distance between, it is not 
singular that New Zealand should have been peopled from Pol)iiesii 
Fn the South Seas in late years, and to the knowledge of European 
travellers, fishing canoes, with men and women on board, have been 
vlriven by winds and currents from their own shores to other islands 
1,200 miles off. And it is supposed that the first native islanders had 
canoes of better sea-going quality than the present Maories. From 
many circumstances, it is thought that the race degenerated after 
arriving in New Zealand. Even at the time of Captain Cook's visit 
they had double canoes 70 and 80 feet long, of much superior con- 
struction to those in use when our colonists landed in 1840. The 
furious tribal wai-s, which the Maories themselves say were of modem 
date, and which were diminishing the population even before the CB 
of white settlement, would sufficiently account for a barbaric decline. 

The Maories are evidently a more mixed race than the inhabitants 
of Tahiti or Hawaii. They appear to have intermingled wth the 
Papuan, the indications being strikingly manifest in some tribes, 
though not seen in i)thers. And this has led to the conjecture, 
though unsupi)orted by local tradition, that the first inhabitants of 
New Zealand were Papuan, and that the Maories partly exterminated 
and partly amalgamated with them. 

It is known that in Australasia and the South Seas there are three 
distinct races the Malayan, Australian, and Papuan. The first-named 
and superior race prevails in Polynesia, in Hawaii, Tahiti, Nukahw* 
or the Marrjuesas, Samoa or the Navigators*, Tonga or the Friendly 
Islands, and it of course includes the Maories. The second is con- 
fined to the continent <jf Australia, and the third is represented m 
New (lulnea, New Caledonia, the New Hebrides, and also in the 
Vijis, but in a more <:ivi!ised conditiim. 

The superiority nf the Malayan type is shown in the Fijis, where 
the small bands of invaders from Tonga easily predominate over the 
Fijian, tlu>ugh the liviHsition of the latter is tjuite as advanced. 

Yet notwithstanding the inferiority of the Papuan, it is a distin- 
guishing fact that anmr.g the 2.^ trilies of New Zealand, the one 
generally suj>pose(l to retain tlie most Pajuian blood — which exhibits 
mf)re than any other the Papuan features, the depressed nose, and 
crisped hair- is one of the three pre-eminent, and ever held in specif 
repute by the Maori, for an adventurous spirit and warlike qualit»<^' 

In these respects the Ngatiawa is classed with the VVaikato and 
Ngapuhi, though it never was so powerful, being divided into several 
branches living at opposite sides of the country. 

The sea has been no barrier to the aggressive spirit of those 
Ngatiawa. They crossed the dividing straits into the South, or, as it 
is generally termed, the Middle Island, breaking up the few tribes in 
that quarter. They afterwards hired a European ship, and took 
possession of the Chatham Islands, easily mastering the feebler 
Morons, as the Chatham aborigines are called. 

The different branches of this fierce and restless tribe have given 
the colonists much trouble. Under the chiefs Rauparaha and 
lUmgihaete they caused the old war in Wellington province, and under 
AViremu Kingi they commenced the Taranaki one in i860. The 
XJriweras, who in the recent hostilities supported Te Kooti, and 
sunong whose mountains he took refuge, are also a subdivision of the 

Wiremu Kingi, like Rewi, Heke, and others belonging to former 

crontests, was a man of a different rank from the mere bandit leaders 

CDf the present insurrection. He was described before the Taranaki 

"Mrar as "a man of great craft and subtlety, who has always led a 

p)urely native life, and has a theatrical air,' as that of a great chief." 

But when he commenced the war he conducted it in an honourable 

f^hion, as was testified by the English officers. When some of his 

fbllowers revived the practice of killing the wounded, he at once 

stopped them ; his proceedings were neither predatory nor blood- 

"thirsty. He is now in the interior, living with the native king. 

Besides their warlike character, the Ngatiawas have among the 

xiatives a hereditary repute for truthfulness, which is also claimed 

Ijy the tribal motto — " one-worded Raura." The old Maories 

liad a superstitious disHke of the Australian black, and it is 

related that once when a number of the former visited an English 

vessel and saw a New South Wales native sitting on deck, they 

j umped over the ship's side with an exclamation of terror, leaving the 

** Mangomango " grinning with delight at the consternation he 

inspired. But of all the tribes the most renowned were the Waikatos 

— strong by their prowess, their numbers, and their commanding 

geographical position on the shoulders of the islands. The war of 

1864-5 dispersed them. Tarapipipi, more generally known as William 

Thompson, sprang from this tribe. With Tarapipipi, it is believed, 

expired the best opportunity which ever existed for really civilising 

the Maori, saving them from extinction, and rendering them peaceful 

and useful subjects of the English Crown. 

1 9 2 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

T\\c N;,ai'Ulu, the other mo.-»t ivinarkablc tribe, live on the penin- 
j«:il:i north oi" Aiu.:khind. 'J'licy j^rudiicLd the cck-brated chiefs Heke 
and rion^i, l!jo laiier :i tL'rriblc dcstruycr of his own nation. The 
Xgapulii arc the besl armed tribe in liie inland, and if it had been 
tliDU^lit dv.:-irj:il-.' lo enlarge ihs.' n:itive cujuin^viu in colonial pay, 
its nmnbers eould liave be^n duiibied by auxiliaries from thai 

It was before the era of uwx colonisation, but when there were 
already scaiu-Ld wiilJe liien in llie inlands, ihal tlie Chief Hongi 
noi'rish-.:]. He re.^irlcd near the IV. y uf Ulands, the place then most 
visiii.l by .l'jinv)ean s!ii[is. He Ld a siirring and cannibal existence, 
in tile "Mac Mi manner oflhuSL- d:i\i> : bin he nevertheless looked wilh 
a favomable e; e upon the luis.^itina'.ijs, \^hu were beginning to direct 
their aitj.uiv):i t) Xevv /e..Ia;id. He eni-oara^ed and protecte-l 
lh.i.-i, jt il.e time li\;i!^^ his n\\v\ ways too well to announw 
liisr.seif a.s a Chri.«>tian. Tiu-re was va!i<! reason to believe that a 
li lie tin^e \^:a^ unly nei'.essary to cuiiveit him; and this impression 
was sir'.nL.i.hviK-d when lie expressed a desire to visit England, and 
?ee \vi;h his own eyes the wonders of civilisation of which he had 


he;ii-.l. Accordingly, one of the missiomries accompanied Honp 
ant I anutiier chief on this tour of improvement, and in 1820 they 
arriw'.l in London. As mi-hi be exi)ected, they created a great 
se;:.-.iti.Ji. 'I'lie chiefs are generally uf good j/nysique ; t he V have 
s..r,u^ii,!j..s fme feaiures. ant! ahnosL abvays a dignified and com- 
m.:iu!i:i;; carnage, fostered by their warlike ha!)its and their anceatisl 
I)rid*^- for every «)ne of them has a long traditional genealogy- 
Hon^i was of smaller stature than is usual in a mn^iifint^ but he had 
a kingly bearing. 'Hie phrenologists were plexsed with his broad 
and int^.'ilecUial brow, and briglvi and piercing eyes. Professor Lee, 
of (.'anibi-idge, wlu) was at that time preparing a Maori vocabulaiy 
and iraminar, obtained much assistance in the work Irom his con- 
ver.-aiions with this iiiielligent barbarian. He was quite a lion m 
social (ircles. Plis Majesty the King accordeil him an audience, aO"* 
i»:eseiiijd hi.n with a suit of ancient armour. The philanthropic and 
religioiK wi;r!d augured the happiest results from the liberality of his 
seniimenis and the inUaest which he exhibited, not only in the 
m.-rvJ.s of science, but in inquiring into historical events. The 
laclivS w^re delighted with the grand manners of the stern wamor» 
who on occasion could be so urbane and \ivacious ; for the Maon 
is of a sociable lemi)erament, and lias not die taciturnity of ^^ 
American aboriginal, whom he resembles in so many other respects- 
'I'hus, in the opinion of all who met him, Hongi was beyond questJo" 

New Zealand. 193 

the noble savage typified by Rousseau. He was evidently destined 
to be the regenerator of his race. Alas for the vanity of human 
wishes ! On his way back, Hongi paused at Sydney and purchased 
three hundred muskets, with a plentiful store of ammunition. From 
all he saw and heard in England, he brought home but one idea — 
Bonaparte. The career of the wonderful " man of destiny " mono- 
polised his soul. He, too, would be a Bonaparte ; and he proceeded 
to enact the part in a fashion of his own, which might have filled 
even the life- wasting man of Moscow with consternation. Ferocious 
as tribal wars had been before, nothing was ever known in New 
Zealand like what now ensued. The other tribes, not possessing 
firearms, were powerless against Hongi and his Ngapuhi. He fell 
upon them on all sides. He not only overthrew, but exterminated ; 
he not only exterminated, but I am sorry to say he also — ate them ! 
If the clergy who received this stately and courteous gentleman in 
Exeter Hall, or the ladies who beheld with admiration this nobleman 
of nature in the drawing-rooms of the West End, could only have 
seen him on the morning after that terrible expedition to the Thames 
country — could have seen his canoes freighted with human flesh, and 
the war dance of his dusky ghouls around the fires which were to 
cook the grim repast ! At last somebody had the luck to put a 
bullet through the lungs of this polished and horrible savage. It did 
not kill him outright. He lived for fifteen months after, and we are 
told that it was his humour to playfully entertain his visitors by 
making the wind whistle through the hole which the ball had made 
in his back. He testified much surprise at the disappointment he 
liad caused the missionaries. He refused to understand why they 
should be astonished or disgusted at his proceedings; and on his 
deathbed he ordered his son to continue to protect them, " because 
they could do much good, and could not do harm." 

Hongi was a type of his generation, but still an exaggerated type, 

and there was better material for the civiliser to work upon. The 

reports of the condition of the Sandwich Islands do not say much 

for the honesty of the Christianising process there. But very different 

"was the case in New Zealand. The remarkable change among the 

natives here was effected solely by the zeal and labour of the 

missionaries. It has been shown what the Maorics were in the days 

of Hongi. The next generation were another people. The bloody 

tribal wars ceased; cannibalism was extinct — was only remembered 

with shame as the savage practice of a past time, and was never 

alluded to. All the natives professed Christianity ; all the adults 

could read, and most of them write. They industriously cultivated 

1 94 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

the ground, they Inukd, tlic-y built mills, and owned sloops and 
schooners. The Ngatiporou, near the East Cape, who were employed 
against Te Kooti in the colonial service, at that time had twenty 
such vessels, witli which tliey traded to Auckland. This great chasge 
was entirely due to the quality of the men engaged in the missionaiy 
enter[)rise. lUshop Sehvyn embodied their best characteristics. A 
cultivated gentleman, he had the personal qualities to command the 
respect of the savage while undertaking to teach him. He could 
swim rivers, traverse the tangled forests, go without food, and stand 
hardshi]) with the wildest son of the island. He was high-soukd 
and natural, and they believed in him. He could cast his mind into 
theirs, and talk to ihem in a manly way. In a word, he gave then 
Christianity in a masculine and attractive shape, and did not make it 

There was jicace and Maori progress in New 2^aland between 
1847 and 1S60. Even in the wars which some of the tribes waged 
against the Pakeha just before and after that time, the extraordinaiy 
change in the native character was manifest. There is not a moie 
soldierly race on the globe than the Maori ; and when the accom- 
panying ferocity and bnitality of early days was banished, a stndnrf 
genuine chivalry took its place. The Ngapuhi were in arms against 
the settlers in 1845- -6 ; and under lleke, a most capable and skilfol 
warrior, they caused them se\eral reverses. But I have heard old 
soldiers who served in that war say in admiration, " Tlic Maori is » 
noble enemy ! " Always valiant in the field, they never tarnished 
their valour by the barbarities of the old time, or of this last out- 
break. On one oc(\ision, when a party was sent forward to clear 
away the jungle in front of the enemy's pah, to enable our artillery to 
breach it, the Maori defenders actually forbore to fire upon the 
labourers, because they were unanned men. General Pratt and 
Colonel Alexander have spoken of their adversaries in the Taranaki 
conflict, in i860, as gallant and honourable men; and General 
Cameron him.self in the same high terms of those he 
encoimtercd in the W'aikato campaigns. The soldiers who fought 
against those natives have cvct since been their staunchest friends; 
and there can be no lii^hc.- compliment to the inherent good qualiue^ 
of any jjcople than this. 

The character of Iltjngi has been glanced at as a superlative 
specimen of the native savagery. Let us return to Tarapipipii ^ 
representing in the opj^oslte extreme tlie later development and 
promise of the race. Known among the white men as William 
Tliompson, he was chief of the Ngatihaua branch of the Waikatoi 

New Zealand. 195 

4ucated by the missionaries, and a man of great natural capacity, 
e fully comprehended the position of his people and the resources 
f the European. The object of his life was to civilise and consoli- 
late the tribes, and prevent the extinction which seemed their doom ; 
ind this he saw to be impossible unless peace with the white man 
:ould be preserved. The old power of the chiefs had greatly waned 
unong the tribes. There was no settled authority for administering 
justice or arranging individual disputes, and no means of deciding 
[juanrels between the different tribes, and hindering a recurrence of 
the old wars. The land sales were a constant source of unpleasant- 
less with the whites. Fraudulent natives would sometimes sell land 
t^hich was tribal property ; and the colonial officials would similarly 
^■nore these tribal rights. To remedy all this Tarapipipi invited the 
olonial Government to undertake the administration of his own race 
"Well as theirs. His complaint was, " You profess to govern us, 
td you do not govern us." The neglect with which these overtures 
?re treated constitutes the grand mistake in the history of our 
ations with the Maori. It has occasioned all the calamities which 
vo since afflicted the colonists, and which have probably ruined the 
tives. The English Government has ever meant well to the 
*-ori. But, unfortunately, performance did not follow upon the 
-Is of good intention, and judgment in the management of New 
a-land affairs does not stand out from the strange ignorance and 
"elessness which have been the characteristics of the Imperial 

tTnable to obtain Pakeha government, Tarapipipi instituted a 
tive confederacy, and set up a native king ; but, as he expressly 
•^^d, in no hostility to the Queen or the colonists. He started a 
^ori newspaper, which he named the Hokioi. Most of the tribes, 
^ept those north of Auckland, adhered to his arrangements ; but it 
-^ded a common government to hinder the land quarrel of the two 
•ces. With that difficulty Tarapipipi could not cope, and the dis- 
^te over the unlucky Waitara block led to the Taranaki insurrection. 
Tie trouble was quelled, but it broke out again in the larger Waikato 
^ing. The " king-maker " was all through a peace-maker, foreseeing 
he consequences of the war. When his counsels were disregarded 
>y his people he kept aloof from them, until the British troops 
'ntered the Waikato territory; he then cast in liis lot with his 
:indred, and turned out with his hapu. After hard fighting the great 
V^aikato tribes were broken up, and most of their country con- 
seated. Tarapipipi saw the failure of all his plans, the frustration 
f his hopes, the impending ruin of his people. He V\aA \.\\ii^ Vo 

The Gentleman's Magazine. 


rcconcilo the interests of the two iiopulaiionx, but the ondii 
advance of the white man and tlic impetuous rcscnlmcni oT t 
Maori were circumBtances loo strong Tor Ws policy. 

Tarapipipi was a good, and deserves to be regarded »s a gicU 
man. His views were broad and noble, his spirit uu^nitnimoa^ \m 
conduct upright and straightforward from first to la-st. 

The Maori is now a fading race, aiid itt who live at a il 
afford to regard him with a seadmentul interest. Like the tedin 
of Ameriej, he will one day become a subject lor the niiTclaiad 
thepoeL It is no false sentiment to regret tlie di&appuantnce sf • 
race which has unquestionably the raw maleriiil of grealuciis, liul £a 
whose development circumstancea jre less Ibriunate Uiati lliey iti 
for our own ancestors, who were also once in a simiUr twtuK 

I'. A-t 


S at many a pretentious castle, the owner and visitors 
prefer entering by some modest little postern, so in 
France, magnificent country as it is, the traveller is 
introduced through such humble little doorways as 
Dieppe, Boulogne, Calais, and similar places. These ports arc after 
the one pattern, scratched and dredged into something that will 
give water for a few hours to ships of modest tonnage, which then 
leaves them prostrate on her muddy bosom. A frail paling runs out 
timorously into the sea, and forms a sort of avenue. In Dieppe and 
some of the others. Englishmen have little interest, but to Calais — a 
poor little wind-blown, wave-buffeted outpost, we are drawn by a 
hundred associations that are stirring and interesting, dramatic, 
picturesque, and historical. No voyager of true sympathy and reading, 
as he steps from the boat, and tramps across tlie drawbridge, walks 
over the solemn square, and rests his hour or so at an inn, but must 
find himself looking curiously round, and see everything through 
a cloud of the most romantic colour. It seems charged with the 
strangest associations. We think of Sterne, Hogarth, Brummell, Lady 
Hamilton, Foote; of the Burgesses with the ropes round their necks, 
figuring in so many historical pictures ; of the writing on Mary's heart ; 
of the tide of nobles who have stopped there and had their first look 
at France, and of that hapless English colony, always recruited by those 
who have fled from debt, and who marshal their ranks to see the 
packet — on which they dare not set foot — come in. Everyone, in 
short, will feel the truth of Mr. Ruskin's picture, which calls up a 
feature of the Old Town. " I cannot find words," he says, " to express 
the intense pleasure I have always felt in first finding myself, after 
some prolonged stay in England, at the foot of the tower of Calais 
Church. The large neglect, the noble mightiness of it, the record of 
its years, written so visibly yet without sign of weakness or decay, its 
stem vastness and gloom, eaten away by Channel winds, and over- 
grown with bitter sea grass — I cannot tell half the strange pleasure 
and thoughts that come about me at the sight of that old tower." 
Other eyes had looked, we may be sure, at the " large neglect," with 
an irksomeness that was intolerable — eyes of the expatriated hemmed 
in there, as in a jail ; burrowing, swarming, in those \vl\.\e ^Uo-^V^ >i}w;iX 

iqS Tlie Gentkntans Magazine, 

rivlialc from the scjuare, where many an agonizing shift was contrived 
tliaL should extort a day's more credit from the French shopkeepa. 
The presence of Sterne is what we feel most, his Hotel, Desscin's, 
liis monk, his delightful dcsobligeante^ — a chariot on shafts— lying in 
the court. The wliole of that short sojourn is a bit of true French 
comedy, charmingly done. We need read but the first half-<lo«fl 
pages of the "Sentimental Journey," and lo ! again rises about us the 
gates and courts and old houses of Calais. Leslie coming after, his 
helped to sj>read tlie same fascinating associations. 

*' Mons. Dessein" and his heirs should have done more for Sterat 
than hang up a mezzotint, or label a room "Sterne*s Room." Thit 
delicate etching brought the innkeeper thousands of pounds, and 
made him immortal. Uut he became griping and avaricious, and, like 
other hosts, began to give bad vsine and generally bad treatment, on Ae 
strength of his reputation. This inn no longer exists, though it was an 
established device to allow an enthusiastic traveller the favour of 
sleeping in Sterne's Room. The Barber and **tlie Monk" enjoyed a 
perpetual vitality, for the guest was naturally delighted at such proof 
of accuracy in the humourist's description, and gave accordingly. 

The old place is stamped all over with seals and tokens of ils 
ancient vicissitudes. Uj) to a few years ago the municipality ws 
sunk in a more than conservative lethargy, would do nothing and 
change nothing. There is even now to be seen the figure of a al 
carved on a stone kt into one of the houses, and the tradition luns 
that this animal was the price paid for tlie ground on which thehoase 
stands, during the dreadful famine when the town was besieged bf 
the iMiglish ; when, fresh from Cressy, King Kdward came to besiege 
the place in the 14th century. That beleaguerment and its hoiwo 
lasted some eleven months. Then came the dramatiq episode. But 
the Burgesses of the historical pictures are (juite too remote to 
awaken any symj;atliy, and they may be dismissed with their scarcely 
deserved reprieve. So with the P'ield of the Cloth of Gold, which 
the resurrection men, who provide " subjects" for anatomical burlesqiKi 
have lately snatched. 

It seems strange to think, that for the two hundred years that 
followed, the English should have held this corner of French soil—* 
dreadful irritating sore in the French mortal body. It is litde kno*B 
how thoroughly ICnglish the place was : the streets having English ^ 
well as French names, as ** Rigging Street." It had its mayor and 
its two members during the English occupation. It was a favourite 
spot for royal and noble junkettings ; kings and princes "running 
over," as they would to tlic Isles of Wight or Man. The fl^ 

Cd/ais. ' ) 

Wolsey was there twice. Grand functions were held there for '* making 
of knights." But a lugubrious association attaches to the place ; as it 
was the Calais headsman who was often fetched over specially to 
do the work, on account of his superior skill. The French frontier 
was alwa}"^ coolly spoken of as being at Ardres — about ten miles 
away. There it was assumed that French soil began. 

It was no wonder that the situation became " too stretched " to 
endure; and that at last, in 1558 — only thirty-eight years after the 
m^ificent pageant of the Field of the Cloth of Gold — a desperate 
effort was made by the French to recover the place. It succeeded, 
under the direction of the famous La Balafre, and the English were 
no longer in France. Even in Henry VIIIth*s day the Venetian 
ambassador, Michele, wrote to his court about the boldness of the 
English sailors, who went in and out of the place in all weathers, 
never heeding the state of the harbour, they managed their boats 
with such skill and daring. 

Once lost, there was no chance of its being recovered again. 
TTie genius of Vauban was directed to the strengthening of it with 
that wonderful style of fortification >vhich has covered France and 
the Low Countries with a crowd of monuments to his memory. 
*^ese mammoth works are prodigies of skill and swift construction ; 
^^<i, even now, defy the ordinary power of gunpowder to destroy 
"^^m. Now are to be seen the bastions of the old fortress ; the ruined 
^oclc, with its enormous iron gates ; and the whole apparatus of fosses 
and bridges. To this day it is like a prison; and the traveller, 
^ho wishes for a stroll, can only leave it by a single gate. The 
^^rds "Calais Gate" at once recal Hogarth's picture — that clear, 
brilliant piece of painting, which now hangs in the home of a noble 
^'^ly in the north of Ireland. Of its Canaletti-like brightness the 
^'^gravings give no idea. That gate is as old as the English ; 
^nd in the picture we see the English arms sculptured, though 
^^ have long since been erased. The old church of Notre-Dame 
^^^^ built by the English. On its pillars, some years ago, were dis- 
covered some votive paintings set up by the English Woodhouses ; 
^t the French had them whitewashed out at once. The great 
Square tower can be seen far out at sea, rising starkly from tlie 
^^^ds, a stone anchorite. So with the old tower de Guet. The effect 
^^ these lorn memorials, as the packet glides on slowly, is always 
^^ : they seem to give solemn and silent greeting. 

The story of Hogarth's adventure has been told very often. How 
this true Englishman, sitting down and sketching the gate which bore 
^e English arms, was at once taken into custody by the soldiers, and 
Vol. VL, N.S. 1871. p 

200 The GentlemavLs Mas^dzine. 


fortb'.viih shi]>pc(l back to Dover. This, accordinj^ to the usual pre» 
dent, was thought a scandnlous outrage upon a British subject ;H 
in the annnls of fortifira*ions, sketching has always been heldtobei 
dangerous amusement. An Englishman sketching Calais, little ow 
a hundred years after it had been recovered, was still more suspirioaj. 
In that fair scene, with its ridiculous figures of lean and hungry-eyed 
French soldiers, the artist had his revenge, for it was to be seen \i\ 
thousands, then engraved, and bought by hundreds — and llo 
indirectly helped to foster that amused contempt which, up to th 
days of Gilray and Rowlandson, was considered only public spirit 
On the sirloin of beef was a label, directed "Madame Grand- 
sire," the landlady of the "Silver T, ion," — ^a rival hostelr\'— wi4 1 
singulnrly le:)n cook, whom the s'Hcun nearly crushed. ThenatirS 
were pretty well accustomed to Englishmen and their extravaganctSj 
but they must hnve been highly amused by the eccentric Pais* 
Harvest, who could not find the way to this house, and could nrt 
speak a word of French. He stopped the first native he met, and 
thnistinj out bis arms and feet, after the picture of a lion rampant 
and putting a silver crown between his teeth, made the FrencbnflB 
understand. Nothing, however, could compete with Dessein's-iB 
handsome co'.irtynrds, gardens, luxuriant geraniums three or foiff 
feet high ; its theatre and good wine, whose "bush" was the repute 
tion of the " Sentimental Toumev." 

.\nother figure is seen wandering about Calais — a true adventnieS 
the defeated Chudleigh, and deposed Duchess of Kingston, who 
stayed long at ])essein*s, and was said to have left him a large 
sum in her will. .An incident of her desperate battle with Foott 
brings the town before us with a flash; one of his sjuri ted dramas, 
with the poet and innkeeper the scurrilous duchess herself and 
I'^ather O'Donovan, the Tri^^b Capuchin. Goldsmith wTote to his 
friends describing the persecutions and extortions on landing: ando 
a deli'rhlful letter records the landincj of the baariracfe : — "tw*oIittte 
trunks, which were all we carried with us. . . We were surprised 
to see fourteen or fifteen fellows all ninning down to the shiptolaf 
their bands upon them ; four got under each tnmk. the rest surroundfd 
and held the hasps, and in this manner our baTfrarre was conducted 

with a kind of fimeral solemnitv, till it was safelv lodijed at the Custom 

" • •< ^ .•■11 

House. We were well enough pleased with the people's civility, W* 

they came to be paid, wlien every creature that had but the hapP* 

ness of touching our trunks with bis finger, expected sixpence 

Footc must have heard Goldsmith relate this adventure, and it is some 

homage to tbe author of one of the most spirited comedies in the 


guage, She SliKtpi lii Cotii/iur, that I'oolc sliould iiave ihougiit il 
nh while to incorporate the mere scraps of a letter in a drama.* 
But wc approach ibc lattr days, wilhiii the present century, when 
became the Refuge, the Sanctuary, as it were, for English debtors 
d i-auriens. Cabis and Boulogne, two " tidal " anthills, have engen- 
red those strange beings, tlie soi-diiartl "captain " and colonel, the 
]uu;d gentleman and his family, who choose Calais "for educational 
rpuses " ', the poor shifty beings in threadbare but diligently restored 
ats, perennial attors who flourish about m the prison yard. What 
race, what long generations I How strange they must have looked to 
e natives and shopkeepers ; what stages of doubtful progress before 
edit could be assured, even before that shaky security of the im- 
cuniary, dependence on fitful remittances from England, could be 
Uttned to. These little streets which radiate fixim Uie Place, what 
>rics they could tell of wrangling and piteous landlords, despairing 
btors, scizur<:s in execution, and even " liens " upon Ijodies lying 
iburicd ; wives and children detained in pawn for the debts of the 
iried husband. We think of that grand theatrical scene every day, 
^en the captains and colonels mustered to see die I'^iglish packet — 
small sloop then uf fifty or sixty tons — come in. What looking out 
r familiar faces, or what shrinking away, as die wealthy traveller, old 
ubmatc, comes ashore, his swinging travelling coach taken to pieces 
id put together, he just halting to dine at Dessein's, and posting on 

night — by Abbeville and Amiens, to Paris. To ilic reduced and 
lien gentleman, the walls of Calais must have indeed seemed a jail 

Many, however, would 3y thither for breathing time, as it were, 
om the pursuit of English bailiETs — even men of true condition, 
lie traditions of such were fondly cherislied. I' or Englishmen that 
r Brummell, who lived there for thirteen years, has more interest than 
ir Frenchmen. It was not in his exile at Calais that tlie poor Beau 
iffercd the privations that are related of him, for there he lived in 
ixury, living literally on alms from his friends in England, but alms 
lat reached to some five or six hundred a year. His rooms at 
.cleux's, thi; old Deasein's, before its removal, were in fact haunted 
y shoals of fine people, where he kid down marble pavement and 
ecorated the old rooms to his heart's content His esfiiii made him a 
ivourite,and itmust be said of his more forttinate friends who i 

• "Enter porten with small parcels." M. CoHlinj k inW tlinl these a 
' porters from de Cuilom House vid you bi^gnge F " " Riggftge," repeals Cod- 
ing, in auuucmoit, "any oneof tliem miehl tuve curied it aIL" 


202 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

surviving, they always thought of Brummell, as they passed throogh 
Calais. Often the chaise was halted at Leleux*s, and the inmtionto 
dinner given from the carriage window. It is indeed vastly to At 
credit of the much-abused world that he met such generous treatment 
from the dandies. An old friend, who lived at Dover, would ofto 
fix a day for a dinner at Dessein's, and come over in the packet 
speciiilly. Callous an<l haltered as that old heart must have been, it 
surely flutterLd in the Squemher of 1821, when the sham "first gend^ 
man of Europe" came over and passed through Calais. The little 
po;ial colony was in a stir, and there was great speculation at the. 
cliil)S as to h(jw the poor broken Beau would behave. It is said 
that he did behave with dignity. It is said he tried to avoid 
meeting the king in his j)assage from the ship to the hotel; and 
friends of his describe how he got blocked up in the crowd ashe«i 
walking home to his hcnise, and was thus forced to see the **fint 
gentleman," who was heard to exdaun, ** Good God, there is Bnim- 
mell !" Wiat a meeting I the poor exile and former boon com- 
panion, and "your fat friend," now a great king I 

It is hard to accept that story of dignity ; and it would be beyond 
human nature to resist such an opportunity for reconciliation. The ! 
Rcau must have hoped to caL».h the royal eye. Wien his majesty 
was feasting at Dessein's some old friends were not remiss, and 
mentioned the poor old r»eau. A bottle of choice liqueur was sent 
from the latter. And there w;is a more artful reminder — something 
about the Beau's famous old snuff mixture, which found its way to the 
king's table. At any allusion, however, the mean prince was silent; 
he either felt a secret reproach, or, like many Aveak men, shrank from 
the "fuss "and unjjleasantness of such a meeting; and though the 
poor Ueau left his name, the shabby "first gentleman " quitted the 
town without seeing him. Richly did he deser\-e the attacks of th^ 
caricatures and the stinging scpiibs of Tom Moore. 

In tlie rotten society of the i)lace Dnimmell was of course a leading 
figure. The traditions associated \\\\\\ his name gave a tone to the 
place, and to those who had the hai)piness of knowing him. The 
Beau was said to conduct himself with his old matchless insolence—' 
esi>ecially in regard to the sham colonels and captains, whom ^^ 
delighted in putting down. "Know him!" he would say, *' to ^* 
sure. Why he was head butler at Bel voir." The Beau had ^^ 
much courage, and was once called to account for some sU^ 
description. "You said I was a butler," said a half-pay capt^* 
without a nose, who came to call him to account. " If you do J'^ 
retract in five minutes " " In five seconds, my dear sir," s^ 

Calais. 203 

c other, apologizing handsomely. But as the captain was going 
e Beau added, " It couldnU be ; for now I think of it, I should have 
membered being served by a butler without a nose." The injured 
irty had best have left the matter alone \ formally his honour was 
.Ived — ^but the retractor had the best of it. In his turn the Beau 
as hit pretty hard when walking with Lord Sefton. A questionable 
an bowed eagerly to the Beau. "Who is that friend of yours?" 
id the Beau, lamely enough. Lord Sefton said he knew no one in 
alais but Brunmiell himself. A few minutes later the same man 
issed again, and said, " Don't forget, Brum — roast goose at four !" 
his he richly deserved. At last he obtained his consulship at Caen, 
ttd got away from Calais. 

There is one more figure, whose ghost flutters about Calais, 
lat of Lady Hamilton, who lies buried in a timber yard, dying after 

miserable illness. She was attended by an officer as priest, and 
lere was a question of giving her a pauper funeral But a generous 
nglish merchant interposed, and had her decently interred, " fifty 
^ntlemen of Calais " attending. What a cortige — a band of adven- 
irers waking the adventuress ! One of the dreadful incidents of 
lat refugee life was near taking place when the French creditors 
ished to detain the poor daughter Horatia as a sort of pledge; 
lit the same humane gentleman got her away. The place has its 
agedies also. Angry Englishmen have crossed over to avenge their 
ifierences on the sands — a favourite spot There the wretched Mr. 
Look was shot dead. In short, the little town, in one ignoble sense 
elonging to the English still, and does not want a true dramatic 
nterest, even in these days of tidal trains and buffets. 

Percy Fitzgerald. 

Within and Without. 




||j.'1?AS any one ever seen the "Skeleton Equipage?" DH 
IJ^ any one know the owner and his trusty companion? Or 
W.^ has the quaint j^icture witli its accessories been conjured 
<S['?!K?tSkiii up by the weird fancy of an overtaxed and excitabfe 
imagination ? I can honestly avouch that I have seen it, and tint 
I knew the owner and his faithful Don Tomaso ; but I also confws 
that occasionally when I reflect upon the events associated with thdr 
acquaintance, a species of sharp chill seizes me, and much that 
occurred assumes the aspect of a grim shadowy dream. 

Full well I remember when I first encountered that strange 
eccentric conveyance, v»'ith its still stringer and more ecccntnc 
occupant, and his long, lean, fant;istic, but faded coachman. It was 
a sight not to be readily forgotton, and tho'igh subse ^uently in vbJ 
discursive rambles I agiin and again canvj across them, the strong 
impression then made will never be eflaixd from my memory. 

I was returning one bright summer morning, between five and 
six, after the discharge of certain joarnili>iic duties anJ a visit to 
Covent Garden to b'.iy floWvTS for my"!y, do/.i.ig b/ily inaqJii'* 
four-wheeler, when I was aroused l)y a j filing noise in my reafi 
and an exchange of sharp, p.^evish V(>i;*r^. I lo-'^ked around, ati" 
saw nothing. The sky wis high an 1 i^jar; everything a;)p-if^ 
serene; the Strand and Fl.x't Str.'ct wjre (L'^litUie of vj!uclc*j» 
except the red carts of various large ne.vspapjr contractors whicn 
ilarted to and fro with remarkable celerity ; poli«:emen were s^aliJ'/ 
walking up and down, tho scene hc'\n^ competed by the bright cans 
and the w!iite drape!*y of the cvAy breakfast e.Swablishmcnw 
at St. Clement Danes and Farringdon Within. 

I was dozing again, with a huge b:in:^h of flowers by my siac-^ 
roses, lilies, and every description that heart could wish, and such 
only can be procured at Covent Garden in tlie regular season-^^hcn 

JVilhin ajid ll'ilhou/. 205 

jolt, jolt, resounded a heavy thudding noise, as from the wheels of a 
carriage with broken springs. 

At the same time a voice that seemed scarcely human shrieked 
out — 

" Don Tomaso, Don Tomaso, for the love of the Virgin, make 
more speed ; the leagues we have to travel will never be covered if 
we creep at this vara pace. 

" Hi, hi ! Houp la ! " echoed a second voice. 

And by this time steadily drew up nearly abreast of my four- 
wheeler a strange description of conveyance, a kind of lengthy, 
dark, unfinished Cdrotie^ not thoroughly painted, and rendered wind 
and weather ti^ht by brown paper and black leather. Attached to 
the vehicle was a sorry-looking worn-out bay horse, not harnessed 
in the regular fashion, but with collar, girth, and traces made of 
leather, rope, and string. The animal appeared to work easily, for 
the style of trappings gave him room, but as he moved forward, he 
liad to give the carriage a jerk to bring it quickly after him. 

Seated on the box was a long, lean, weather-beaten looking man — 
the Don Tomaso of the story-— equipped from head to foot in sombre 
rusty black, with a curiously battered three-cornered cap, evidently 
the head-gear of some old military campaigner. His hands were 
gloved, but his fingers made their way through, and in the right he 
held his reins of thin rope, and in the left he carried a strong, short, 
thick whip with a long lash. 

" Hi, Jii ! " he again cried with a snarl, whirling his wliip, for his 
countenance was particularly sardonic. " Get ye forward, fiery steed 
of the Ukraine ! No frijoles for breakfast if ye are not at home 

Now the attention of my cab-driver was aroused. We had ap- 
proached the Hill of Ludgate, and the glorious sun was siiining on 
the majestic dome of St. Paul's, glinting the cross with very fire, and 
making the surrounding scenery, for the dull City, charming. He 
knocked at the window and said, " Holloa, governor, look here I " 
pointing to the eccentric cavalcade, as it made way. " What is it ? " 
he cried. 

I replied I did not know. " Surely," I said, " it must be the freak 
of some maniac." 

" Holloa ! " continued my cabby, addressing the strange, lean 
coachmm. "Holloa, young CJuIera Morbus I'' (for the vehicle 
really looked like a caravan of death that could be elongated at 
pleasure). " Where do you come from, and where are you bound 
to?" It is a remarkable idiosyncrasy of the London cab-drivers, 

2o6 Tlie Genllemans Magazine, 

disiingiiished from others of the same great race, that they endeawor 
invarial)ly to reverse the order of things, in persistently calling oU 
young, and I'ia versa. 

The old lean coachman designated young Cholera Morbus deigped 
to raise his head, and >*'ith a deep, guttural voice replied, "Jnsl 
arrived from Nova Zembla, en route to Mexico, for cliange of dimatt." 

*' Werry encouraging," replied my cabman, and immediatdy re- 
sumed his course. He evidently felt that he had been caught, and 
desired to drop the conversation, finding his opponent so polished i 
satirist. I roared and intimated to my friend my wish nottoqiA 
company with this curious vehicle, but to follow closely the route 
which it took. My cabman rather objected, because of the snaih 
pace at which it proceeded ; but by dint of persuasion and At 
promise of an extra fare he at length consented, and on we jogged 
silently together. 

Pre\iously to this the windows of the carotte had been dosed. 
They were now suddenly opened, and the same eccentric voice tbl 
had at first been heard was again raised — ** Don Tomaso, Don 
Tomaso, we shall never reach the IlacicmLi in time j the mail najf 
be in and the despatches delivered. What if the body ( el aierpo)i 
the lode should be rich ! Pray, Don Tomaso, make speed." 

I now clearly saw the strange occupant of this strange conveyance. 
He was in appearance a master worthy of so quaint and grotesque 
an attendant. Lounging in the carriage, his queer Venetian visagCi 
from which depended shaggy whiskers and beard, was remarkable for 
its anxious and desponding appearance. He was attired in shabby 
velvet coat, with very full-made trousers, and his shoes were lon& 
and j)ointed at the toes. His headgear was astounding, consisting 
of a broad-brimmed whitey-brown beaver hat of ancient date, heavily 
wreathed with folds of crape, so that he could be no ordinary 

Every now and then he pushed forward his head, looking wstfiifly 
around, heaved a deep sigh, and suddenly withdrew," placing his body 
in a recmnbent position, not on, but between the seats of tn^ 

As we neared St. Paul's, the bright light of the morning broke in 
full force ui)on the occupant of the Skeleton Eijuipage and his ex- 
traordinary charioteer. The four-wheel cab in which I was riding 
now passed close to the conveyance, and 1 at once, without hesit*' 
tion, raised my hat. The old gentleman inside took no notice of ^H 
act of politeness, but looked vacantly at me, and buried his body 
between the seats of his carotte. Not so the servant \ he was moT^ 

Within and Without. 207 

ociably inclined, and when I nodded to him and passed the time of 
lay he returned it with a knowing glance of his eye, at the same 
ime pointing to my cab-driver, as much as to say, " He has met his 
natch for once in a waV." 

The familiarity of the phantom Jehu reassured me. At least, I 
hought, I shall be able to scrape acquaintance with him some day, 
ind learn the history of this very singular proceeding. 

Before we had fairly got round St Paul's, our vehicles changing 
)Iaces occasionally — 

" Don Tomaso, Don Tomaso," shouted our newly-made acquaint- 
ince, "the short cut for home. We must be in time for the 
lespatches, they will be delivered early ; riches may be in store yet — 
ih, ah ! " And after delivering himself thus, the gentleman with 
he immense whitey-brown broad-brim heavily draped with crape 
luddled himself up again in the middle of his vehicle in a doubtful 
tate of repose. 

"5/, Senor r* carelessly replied Don Tomaso, but he nevertheless 
whirled the thong of his whip with its long lash high in the air, and 
hen bringing it quickly across the ears of the broken-down nag, 
aised his usual fiendish cry of " Hi, hi ! Houp la ! " and tugged 
earfully at the reins. 

The " fiery steed " responded to the call ; like his master, and 
ormentor — for Don Tomaso seemed to understand the animal — the 
K)or creature desired a short cut home, being neariy exhausted with 
lis work, and requiring provender, though it was not likely to be of 
he best. 

Darting forward, the horse, shaking his head, acquired, as it were, 
resh vigour, and, making a desperate effort, brought the vehicle, 
n\h its singular owner and driver, round the comer of St Paul's 
Churchyard, and in a sort of double-quick time made way down 
Udersgate Street. The animal knew he was on the road home, 
nd as the passage was fi*ee, his progress was satisfactory. 

My driver kept near the strange equipage, and, communicating 
dth me through the window, expressed his surprise at the change 
tt route, and the revivified energies of the great charger. 

Every now and then the celebrated cry of " Hi, hi ! Houp la ! " 
ras heard, followed by the resounding smack of the whip. 

The vehicle, with its rumbling noise, went forward. El Capitano 
s it subsequently turned out the inside occupant was called, lazily 
iratched from his position the shops in the street as they were 
>eginning to be opened for business, and then relapsed into his 
ormer languor. 

2o8 The Gentlematis Masrazine. 


Wc bad now i)asscd through Barbican, down Chiswdl Street, 
across Finsbiiry Sfjiiarc, along Shorcditch — there was no Noitii 
London Railway or Cirand Town Hall then — into the Kingsland 
Road, and on went the stood with his drear)' burden ; the "Hi, M! 
Houp la ! " being still distinguishable. 

Siiddonly, :ind as if by magic, a corner was turned, and 11 
Capitano, Don Tomaso, the curious equipage, and the panting steed, 
for he was literally panting when we lost sight of him, mostoi' 
accountably disappeared from view. 

Whithor they had gone no one could say. My cabby was most 
thorouLrhlv asionlshi'd. I riibbod mv ovcs to see clear, but cook! 
divine nothing, and yet it was not a dream. 

Bting fairly ]>u/.zlod at the curious tL-rmination of the adventure, I 
ordor.'d my friend X Y 204 to make straight away across Kingsland 
and Djl^it)!! to my residence, where, having paid the extra fare, I 
bade him good morning. 

" A queer go that,*' remarked cabby. 

" Yes," T n[']ied ; " but we shall all three meet again. I shall not 
let the iuvestigiition dro]) till I liave penetrated the mystcr)'." 

"1 v.I-li yer luck, guv'nor I" And he shook his head, as if 1* 
doubled my *=^anity. 

Tor weeks iind v/evks 1 could not get the Skeleton Equip.igcOQ^ 
of my mind. Tt apNe.-'.red to hnunt me day ancl night. There ^'S* 
the ill-favoured hvc of Kl Capitano, the lor.g, lean figure of D<* 
Tonnso an.d the v-.jrit.ible (.oiMtvance, with its sc^rrv, forlorn beaSt 
tupT'ini:«l to its i.lvv^ilv hnvl IvMiiewards. Occasionallyi 
during a kisure momc'it, T found myself .sketching the spectacle on 
my blotting-pad, in imitation of Retche*s outlines ; and the figures 
came out in strange and. slia;^.)V.y relief 

About two month'' a ft crv.'ards T was slrollinir in the nei;j:hhourhooO 
of Kir.^^sliii (1- >(nu\\hiTe lit ween the Cresj-ent and the Qi'.eenS 
Read, r;il.*on- wlun my atl<.n;ion was attracted by a man dressed 
in groom's iitiire, who was stan^ling at the door of a tavern smoking 
a short clay pipe. He was [Kirtieularly tr.Il and thin, and I imagined 
I knew his ra.;e. T approached nearer, with the view of scrutinising 
his pl'-y..:r:^;v' my, and lo aiul bLhold it was my V'sX friend, D'^'* 
'n.'U; '.hO. lie was not slow in recoirni^in;i me. N'ow I could ma** 
a furvcv ofV.i-; visai^e I (liMovcred tl^.at, althruL;h it was of a sardonic 
cast, the liu-. s ab-jut the n:outh, with the sh.arp grey eyes, were sug- 
gestive of a propensity to humour. 

Summing me from hv ad to fool, he drew his pipe from his moutn* 
and, after :illo\\ifig a huge cloud of smoke to escape, he bowed pobtdy- 

Within and Without. 209 


Good day, Don Tomaso," I said. " It is curious that we should 
have again met" 

" Yes," he replied, leaning against the door. " We diddled you 
nicely the last time. Got a little ahead of you near Pearson Street, 
doubled the corner, and were of course lost to sight. How, is a 
secret You don't know the slums there." 

"Where?" I replied. 

" Never mind," he answered. " You may some day." 

" But the governor?" I inquired. "Where is he? I should like to 
make his acquaintance." 

"Would you?" he answered, in a bantering manner. "Perhaps 
you would. But he don't want any acquaintances. All he wants is 
to cut the lode, and then they'll .come to riches." 

He was an enigma to me, but discerning that he was inclined to 
be communicative, I entered the hostelrie and requested him to 
follow. There and then on the spot I gave him refreshment, and as 
the Yankees have it, " interviewed " him. 

Don Tomaso was not too loquacious, he was inclined to be ironical 
and cautious. After a little fencing I was enabled to extract from 
him some information in connection with his master and himself 

" Lor* bless you, sir ! " he continued, " El Capitano, though he may 
be a little weak in intellect is as harmless as yourself He was 
originally wealthy, but he is now reduced through his propensity to 
indulge in mining speculation. I have travelled abroad and have 
picked up something of French, Spanish, and German, and he likes 
my * jargon,' as he calls it, and if I can import a new word now and 
then he is as delighted as a child with a frcbh toy." 

" Extraordinary ! " I remarked. 

" Yes," he replied, " you would consider it extraordinary if you 
knew all. He is now deeply involved in a Mexican mining adven- 
ture, and therefore I stick to my Spanish. He is exceedingly well 
educated, and had it not been for reverses in domestic life and losses 
in the City, he would, doubtless, have been a bright ornament in 
society. El Capitano picked me up hereabouts, and, finding I knew 
something of languages, was pleased, and dubbed me at once Don 
Tomaso. Why should I object ; he pays me 24s. per week with the 
punctuality of clock-work ? There is no reason for my grumbling, as 
he is invariably good and kind. What if he will brew strong rum 
punch, and call it pulque^ smoke Mexican cigarettes, read the latest 
despatches, and chalk out upon the table of his old summer-house the 
levels and the adits of the several mines ? I am satisfied." 

" What a life ! " I rejoined. 

The Cc?iflcn!aii's Ala^acnic. 

. very pleasant Lft," said Don Tomaso. " It is only in ihc 

; and suniroer time tliat we take exercise in the Skeleton 

lage. My real and tionest name is Tom Brain, and thcnfon 

roDiaso is no great exaggeration. Few know mc by the Ulict 

'^itt, but El Capitano considers it agreeable ; so 1 adopt it In 

inter we are very fidd-raice in our habiti; wc seldom stir out; 

es to the Royal Exchange occasionally to lot)k ajler the price* of 

i ; I fetch the despatches once a montli ; and when things loot 

ful he says it is the 'calls ' that kill him, and that richci «il1 

be reached." 

ut, Don Tomaso," I said, " where is the Haiimda, the P^ft^ 

garettes, and the despatches?" 

h," he replied, with a sly smile, "would you not lik< to 


ideed," I said, " I should. Anything in reason I would psy 10 

js that scene ; so interesting and full of quaint life as it must be' 

jther dreary," said Don Tomaso, " till you are used to '*- 

' you promise to keep the secret 1 may initiate you." 

;eep the secret ! " I replied, " ah ! that I will, and you shall 1** 


reward do I require," said Don Tomaso, "only lliai y^*"** 
ever divulge till riches have been obtained, or El Capilano I»^*^ 

1 away," 
ledged my word. 

lere," he continued, " come next Saturday, anil you shall witn*^^^ 

Within and Without. 2 1 1 

nediately afterwards entered El Capitano, who with his long 
hands raised his hat, laid it aside, poured out two tumblers of 
' {aliasy rum punch), lighted his cigarette, and puffed away. Don 
so followed suit, and the reading of the despatches then com- 
xL It was done in a low, sepulchral tone by El Capitano, 
ipanied occasionally with a remark from Don Tomaso, who 
usly watched the features of his master, and replenished his 
er with pulqui. Then followed the development of the mines 
ilk upon the table, the state of the levels and adits, and the 
J of the lode. " There, there," ejaculated El Capitano, " if we 
reach that point," marking a particular spot, " we must cut the 
in depth, and come to bonauzas. But I fear, from the tenour 

last despatch, not yet — not yet." And he uttered a deep sigh, 
lought the scene was near its close, and therefore left my retreat 
lade my way homewards, somewhat depressed with the apparent 
f El Capitano. 

r the last three years I have missed the Skeleton Equipage, El 
ano, and Don Tomaso from their old haunts. Whenever I saw 

there was the same old form in master and man, and con- 
ntly I conclude the lode was never cut, and bonauzas never 
ed. Don Tomaso, I should think, lias emigrated — he talked of 
more than one occasion — and El Capitano has in reality, I fear, 
to that " bourne whence no traveller returns." 




;^^K^^IIE hotel at which Alfred was staying is a sort of Star and 

^iil^C^ Carter, with gardens leading down to the Lake of Genen. 
ij^ The sharp, white difTs of the opposite shore stand oul 
L^^ biiL^htly from the blue water, and close the scene in front 
The sloi>ing gardens are admirably laid out, and are as mudi in- 
debted for their beauty to nature as to art. Thus, among the tree^ 
a magnifieeMt old chestnut, and an ancient, solemn, orientally 
aristocratic cedar of Txbanon are 

In the evening the bright terraces and shady walks are enlivened 
by the presence of women of all nations, some of whom are as mud 
indebted for their beauty to art as to nature. But it is a place where, j 
for the most part, sim[)li(ity is cultivated, and where simplicity alone 
is in harmony with the L;eneral s(X'nc. 

On the left, that light, wooden structure is a bathing-house, open- 
ing directly, and for the convenience of divers -vertically on to the 
lake. The walk leads straight down to a pier, where 
steamers for all i^lacvS of interest on the lake, from Chillon at one 
end to (icneva at the other, call several times a day ; and hanging 
about the i)ier on all sidi;s are swarms of light, gaudily painted 
pleasure boats. At the back of the hotel -unless it be the front; 
but how could an hotel, or anything else, turn its back permanently 
to the Lake of Geneva?- is a vineyard; and the whole of the 
beautiful pic hire, in which white, azure-blue, dark green, are the 
predominant hues, is enclosed in a frame-work of mountains, whose 
tints vary at all hours of the day, until at sunset they bum andglo* 
with every possible combination of light and colour. 

Go to Ouchy, get up at six in the morning, walk through the 
perfumed gardens down to the shores of the beautiful lake, cod- 
template its peaceful, placid bosom, before giving yourself up to its 
embrace ; rise from it invi^^urated and refreshed, and return to d* 

Malvina. 213 

hotel to breakfast with the charming English and American girls 
who will no doubt be anxiously waiting for you. 

If gardens, like playhouses in Italy, and like churches everywhere, 
had their patron saints, or their appointed emblems, I should say 
that the garden at Ouchy ought to be named the "Garden of the 
Blessed Spoon," in token of the mysterious rites regularly performed 
there (weather permitting) every evening throughout the season. On 
moonlight nights the faithful — and above all the unfaithful — go out in 
boats, and sail to and fro on the lake, which is still haunted by the 
spirit of Julie d'Estanges. But the sacred groves of the sloping 
gardens are the chief resort of worshippers ; and devotees may often 
be met with walking by the shores of the lake, mingling their soft 
utterances with the gentle ripple of the waves. 

However, there is a time for ever}'t]ung. It was now the hour of 
the tiibk tfhdtCj and Malvina and Alfred were able to walk by the 
side of the lake, and sit down, and tilk beneath the shady groves, 
without the slightest fear of being disturbed. Not that their con- 
versation could possibly be of the kind to which I have said tliat 
this romantic garden seems to be especially devoted. But it was 
naturally of an intimate character, and neither of the speakers would 
.have cared to be broken in upon by the doctor, or the manager of 
the hotel, or any one else who might have thought he had a right to 
address them. 

" I have had great losses since I saw you," said Malvina, when she 
had quietly settled down on one of the seats by the side of the lake. 
" My poor mother was very fond of you, and you know what respect 
and affection my dear father entertained for you." 

" They were very kind indeed to me," said Alfred, who could not 
help asking himself how he had requited their kindness. 

" It must have been a great trial to you to lose both your parents 
within so short a time — parents who were so devoted to you?" he 

" Yes, indeed ! The fact is — it is no use concealing it — mamma 
was very much distressed on leaving Hillsborough. She never quite 
recovered the shock. It had also a great effect on i)apa*s spirits. 
He did not survive mamma more than a year." 

It struck Alfred that it might have been the recent death of his 
wife which had affected Mr. Gribble so profoundly, and not his 
dereliction of Malvina four years previously. But it was evident to 
him all the same that his conduct had caused great grief to the 
Gribble family, and cast a gloom over their existence. 

2 1 4 The Gentlematts Magazine. 

Tlic truth was that Mr. Gribble had fallen a victim to indigestion, 
while Mrs. Gribblc had died a year before from the effects ofi 
carriage accitlciiL They wore very worthy people, and had never 
enjoyed themselves so much as during the first few years which 
followed Mr. Cribble's retirement from business. Mr. Gribble hai 
realised a fortune of eighty thousand pounds, and Malvina showed 
him how to spend the interest of that sum in the principal capitals of 
Europe, and all along the line of Continental watering-places, by sei 
and by land, from O^tcnd to Biarritz, and from Spa to IschL 

If any uiie was responsible for the death of her mother, it was 
Malvina herself, who had a passion for driving wild horses, and foi 
the must [nirt drove them well. Once, however, as she was trotting i 
chosen pair at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, in the neighbour- 
hood of Vienna, the steeds took fright, broke into a gallop, and upset 
the equipage. Then it was, and not three years before at Hills- 
borough, tliat Mrs. Gribble received the shock from which she nc«r 

As for Gribblc himself, after a long course of honourable dissi|* 
tion (made dishes never agreed with him), he retired to Vichy, and 
drank the waters until at last he was given up. 

Wliile the pnpa ^^:ls taking his fourteen tumblers a day at Ae 
Source des Cek'Jtir.^, Malvina (to use the words of a not ill-natured 
English matron who watched her) "flirted as no respectable girl in 
half-mourning ever flirted before." 

Just as she could manage the wildest horses, so Malvina couM 
flirt with the most dangerous men, and still take care of hersett 
During lier four years* jjractical studies in the chief pleasure-haunts of 
France, Uelgiuni, and Germany, she had been brought into contact 
with the ofiicers of all nations, to say nothing of dii)lomatists, men of 
fiishion having no other vocation, distinguished loungers, persons of 
talent, and an occasional bright exception to the forced dulnessof 
ia haute finance. She had wounded most of those gentlemen, not 
one who had ever met her face to face had escaped without a graiC» 
and some had been hit almost mortally. 

But although, to do her justice, Malvina was willing to give any 
man who seemed at all wortli it his fair chance, the unifonn still 
possessed for her the same sort of fascination which the position oi 
actress seems to exercise u[>on so many men. Her photograpl* 
book contained specimens of the troops of every country in EuropCi 
from the dragoon and guardsman of her native land, to ""*^ 
whiskered, handsome, and fierce hussar " of the East-Centre distncts 
of the Continent. 

Alalvina. 2 i 5 

Some of her military admirers had had themselves photographed 

for her on horseback ; and she would point out in which regiment of 

the English Life Guards the trousers were secured beneath the feet 

by chains, and in which by strays ; how the Prussian helmet differed 

from the Russian ; which regiment of the Chevaliers-Gards was the 

Empress's regiment and which the Czar's ; the contrast presented by 

the seat of a Hungarian hussar to that of a French guide^ and the 

special points to be noted in the uniform of a cent garde^ which she 

could indicate as minutely and accurately as if she were describing 

one of her own elaborate toilettes. 

However, at Ouchy, by the side of Lake Lausanne, her toilette 
vas not elaborate at all. There she was got up as a school girl, m 
ingenue; and she congratulated herself on possessing, at least, the 
costume of her part, which was not only that of a type, but also, and 
above all, that of a particular individual 

" Papa died at Vichy," said Malvina, sentimentally, in the style of 
Gretchen recounting the death of her little sister. Undoubtedly 
she regretted her father ; only, in speaking of her loss, she en- 
deavoured to render herself as interesting as possible. 

** And you were then left quite alone ?" suggested Alfred, in a tone 
of compassion. 

**No, Alfred; not alone. That was what poor papa feared so 
nauch. The Prince had proposed to me twice, and papa begged me, 
implored me, to accept him. The marriage took place when papa 
liaci already been given up. It was very sad !" 

I did not know that you had met with so much unhappiness 1" 
Ah, Alfred, if you knew all ! The loss of my parents was thfc 
^^^ginning of my misfortunes !" 

She paused to give Alfred an opportunity of encouraging her to 
proceed with her confessions. As Alfred did not profit by the 
opportunity, she proceeded all the same. 

**I ought not to say it, Alfred — above all to you — but it could 
^ot be a marriage in which my heart was concerned, and I told 
^G Prince so plainly. You know well — too well — that I was 
^ever able to conceal my sentiments?" 
Alfred remained silent. 

** 1 hope," continued Malvina, " I know the duty of a wife, and 
"^t I shall not forget now the respect due to the memory of a 
"^band ; but the Prince did not behave as I had a right to expect 
* * I do not think I am over sensitive ; but after what took 
P*^ce, I could not remain with him * * * My married life was 
^^^ short, but it was too long for my happiness ! However, I 
Vol. VI., N.S. 1S71. ^ 


3 1-6 Tke Gentleman s Magazine. 

am terribly egotistical, and I roust be wearying ywi with lbc« 
details 1" 

"Malvina!" protested Alfred. Then, deeming this ample • 
clamation scarcely enough to meet -the raqun«nicntH of the case, be 
added, really not knowing what to say : 

" Was your husband in the army ?" 

" Army, Alfred ? " answered Malvina, Vr/^ tjptumfd rjrc?. T^(^ 
mth a smile of reproof, she said, " Voti nrc thinking of young Ab^, 
irtio went into the hussars. But I can't bear military men M*. 
They are so vain, so frivolous I " 

"Many of them are, and yet their proftesJon is scriomcnai(^ 
and, Bcriousty considered, ennobling." 

" I respect an old general, covered with BcaTS, who lias bled ftff Ul 
country," said Malvina, very earnestly ; "tut a foolinh, spiiidttiS'l 
subaltern, who has never bled for nny one, and ivhf'sr diief tlinil)^ 
isliow lo make his poor old father bleed— nothing to mc is so odiout 
Von smile, Alfred ; but I have changed 8 great deal since Aw 
Hillsborough days, and I hope for the better." 

Alfred did not know what to say. If he said la plain Isngtnp 
What he really thought — that Malvina hsd indeed changed fnt tiK 
belter — he would seem to be condemning, to a certiin cxtOTl, St 
Malvina of his early affection. If he did not rcsixiDd bv. 

Malvina. 217 

ren hinted at marrying her. But had he not acted a falsehood ? 
[ad he not deceived her by his conduct ? At all events, was it not 
stain from the beginning that the dangerous game in which he had 
Qgaged Malvina was one in which she could scarcely fail to be 
ijured, while he might issue from it comparatively whole ? 

He also reflected that good sometimes came from evil, even to the 
vil-doer ; and congratulated himself on having learnt to take a more 
crious view of life and its obligations than he had been capable of 
ntertaining seven years before, when he was a youth at Hillsborough 
nd Malvina was such a charming, provoking little girL 

Alfred's reflections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of 
'oices. The tabl£ d*hdte had come to an end, and the diners were 
nvading the garden, over which they soon spread in every 

Malvina, in the meanwhile, seemed to have fallen into a reverie. 
Alfred spoke to her, but she made no answer, and her eyes still 
remained fixed. She looked intensely sad. 

"Malvina," he repeated, placing his hand gently on hers to 
awaken her attention. " Malvina, my dear little girl ! " 

She turned her eyes tenderly towards him, clasped his hand con- 
mlsively for one moment, and then withdrawing her own, said to 
lino, quite pathetically, — 

•* Alfred, do not— pray ^ do not speak to me in that way. These 
'Olds recal other days." 

She got up and walked towards the hotel, Alfred accompanying 
er. After a few steps, Alfred was so tired that he had to stop. 
ut Malvina supported him. On reaching the terrace he sat down 
•r a few minutes ; and little by little he reached Malvina's apart- 

Here, abandoning pure sentiment for a time, Malvina insisted on 
is taking a bouillon and some wme. After that he was strong 
dough to find his way upstairs alone. He went to bed, and 
^'earned of a white dress which contained the lost Sophie, and a 
^een sash which encircled the waist of Malvina. 

Then it was Sophie who wore the green sash, and Malvina the 
^hite dress. 

Then he was at a theatre, and Sophie threw her arms round his 
leck, and said she loved him. Then the theatre became a convent, 
nd Sophie still threw her arms round his neck, but said that she 
letested him. Then the convent became a garden, and he was 
elling Sophie how much he loved her. Then some one shot him 
xid he died, but he still saw Sophie. She was sitting down by tl^e 

Q 2 

2l8 The GEKllemans Afagasing. 

side of a lake, weeping ; and when In- tried tu console lier, jhe gK 
up and walked across the water, and disappeared. 

He did not wake the next morning until ten o'clork. Marit; fcf 
the third time, had brought hira a triip of tc« which Min 
brought to her, whicli the Princess cnlnistcd lo Minna. 

The Princess had sent to him at eight, At oinc, and nowicnt Vt 
him again at ten. 

"You have been frightening us." m& Marie. "Such gcs 
when I brought you some tea at eifiht o'cloek ! And in iIm: n 
of the night you uttered cries. The gentleman in the ont nm 
heard you." 

Alfred answered by repealing to himself some lines whffib— «■ 
something like them — he had met with in the Song ISookofi 
German poel ; — 

" Last niglit I fobbcil ai t slept, 
And Ihe pillow or my boi] 
Is wet with the icati t wcpl ; 
For 1. liieuni Ilml yau were dead I " 


Malvina. 219 

n so much of Sophie that he found himself insensibly scrutinising 
r teeth, to see whether one of ihe lower teeth was not a little 

" How he does stare ! " thought Malvina. " Fortunately, 1 am 
oof against the severest examination." 

" If you want to get well quickly, Alfred," she said, " you will eat 
Uttle now. The ferra is the most delightful fish ever created, and 
ben it was put into the Lake of Geneva, it must have been intended 
lat visitors to Ouchy should at least taste it to see what it is like, 
hat is all that is necessary. The rest follows as a matter of course." 
** I know the ferra by reputation," said Alfred. " 1 have read 
bout it in the * Nouvelle Hdoise.' When Julie and St Preux went 
iut on the lake, and the boatmen caught ferras^ Julie made them 
hiow them back into the water." 

" She must have been very fond of them ; and I have no doubt 
hey are happier in that large natural aquarium, with its clear blue 
ransparent water, than they could be anywhere else. But if she 
ad liked them as much as I do, she would have had them fried, 
•esides, SL Preux was not an invalid, or Julie would have insisted on 
is eating something. Come, Alfred, the first mouthful is everything." 
Alfred, having tasted one of the ferras, ate two. Then Malvina 
ve him some wood strawberries. 

** I suppose you will not take any honey ? " she said. " It has the 
oac fault as sugar ; it is too sweet. But the Swiss insist on placing 
on your breakfast table whether you like it or not, and it would be 
^ity to hurt the waiters* feelings by telling them to take it away. 
^^ strawberry question is quite different Indeed there is no straw- 
fi^ question at all. Everyone likes strawberries. At least I have 
^^i known, and would refuse to know, anyone who didn't" 
^* Above all, wood strawberries." 

'* Yes, they are quite incomparable. I have often thought that 
^ happiness consists in having a clear conscience and a constant 
^ply of wood strawberries." 

'* They are so much better tlian garden strawberries — infinitely 
t-ter than the over-cultivated ones," said Alfred, who was depressed, 
^ could not rise above platitudes. 

** Yes ; and there is a parable in that," observed Malvina. " What 
-y gain in size, form, and colour, they lose in fragrance. I adore 
w wood strawberry, not only as a fruit, but as a symbol. I sing 
^3Qns to nature all the time 1 am eating them. Please, take some 
Ore. Do, Alfred, or I shall think you do not sympathise with me." 
The diplomatic footman now made his appearance, and said that 

220 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

a boatmnn had come to ask at what time Madame la PrinooR 
would like to go on the lake. 

" Why should we not go at once, Alfred ? Shall I pour yoa OOI 
some more tea ? No ? Then let us go while it is fine. The son B 
shining, but there is a delightful breeze. I should be afraid to |i 
alone, and it will do you so much good." 

Alfred felt that he was already booked. But he was not guiltjd 
the affectation of saying to himself that he was about to accompnf 
Malvina against his will, or for her sake alone. Shewasagpod, 
innocent, simple-minded girl, whom it was a pleasure, and a 
elevating pleasure, to be with. Malvina should never again sofc 
pain through hhn ! In the meanwhile he wxis going out with hcroi 
the lake. 

Malvina sent out and bought him a white linen hat, that he iDq^ 
not feel the heat of the sim too much. 

" Fancy, Alfred, you, an experienced Indian, not taking sudi » 
simi>le precaution as that I " she said, " especially when you hi« 
let them cut all your hair off ! " She put on a little look of dissafr 
faction, as though the sacrifice of his hair had been a personal injny 
to her. " But you are very thoughtless, Alfred," she added 

There is something " not wholly disagreeable," as I-d Rodfr 
foucaulcl would say, in hearing your Christian name pronounced 
again and again, and always in a tender voice, by a very chanrnng 
woman. Of course. Malvina conlJ not call Alfred " Mr. Leightoft 
"You can*t sny *your Highness,*" observed Mdlle. Souris, sj)eaking 
of the Rocfcnt of Orleans, '*to a man whom vou have seen fifty times 
at your feet." For similar reasons Malvina could not say " Mr." © 
Alfred, nor Alfred ** Princess " to Malvina. 

Still, there are different ways of pronouncing a name ; and Malvii* 
always addressed Alfred in a tone of tender sympathy, never in one 
of mere familiarity. 

Alfred, on his part, pitie<l Malvina most sincerely. He wished to 
make amends to her for his heartless conduct in former days, and he 
admired her more and more for (lualities which he had not dis- 
covered in her formerly. 

Malvina knew all this —knew it much better than Alfred did 
himself; and, with such promising tendencies on both sides, the two 
could sf:ar( ely fail to grow more intimate everj' hour, or rather thB 
intimacy assumed every hour a softer character. 

The boatmen had stopped rowing, and put up a sail, and theywcre 
going, smoothly and swiftly, in the direction of Vevcy. At Vcvey 

Malvina. 221 

hey landed, and Malvina and Alfred walked for a quarter of an hour 
Jong a narrow path by the side of the lake. The wind had risen, 
md the miniature waves dashed with infantine impetuosity against 
he shore, sprinkling Malvina from head to foot with their harmless 

*' My lace is quite wet," she said '^ My face is wet, but not with 
eais. It sounds like the beginning of a poem.'' 

'' Let me dry them for you," said Alfred, taking out a handkerchie£ 
*' At least I would if they were tears/' 

'^ Yes, Alfred, I know you would !" she answered, putting her head 
3ack, and holding her face towards him. 

The path was narrow and there was no one near, and Alfred was 
Clot obliged, as far as Malvina was concerned, to confine himself to 
nriping away tears that were not tears. But he did nothing else. 

When they got back to the boat, the boatmen were nowhere to be 
found. Alfred proposed that they should go into the hotel; and 
once in the hotel they were obliged to take refreshments. 

"There are always a quantity of Russians at this place," said 
Alfred. " Do you know any of them ? " 

"No," said Malvina; "I don't like them. It has been said that 
'^ you scratch a Russian, you will find a Tartar. I never scratched 
I Russian ; I never thought it worth while to do so much in order to 
discover so little. But a Russian once scratched me. However, let 
s talk of something else." 

Xf what Malvina said had been literally true, the terms of the 
'OArerb attributed to Napoleon, but which really belongs to the 
EXtice de Ligne, would probably have been found applicable in her 
^e, as in that of so many other persons whom it is not advisable 

iiritate. Nevertheless Alfred had, in a figurative sense, scratched 
^ very deeply, and what did he find her but a perfect angel ? 
One of the boatmen now presented himself^ complaining, in a tone 

injured innocence, that he had been looking for Madame and 
Monsieur everywhere, and could find them nowhere. 

*^You have been drinking in a tavern, my good man," said 
t^vina, in the tone of one giving alms. " Shall we go, Alfred ? We 
^ail not get home till late in the afternoon, as it is." 

They returned to the boat 

•'You are not tired? I hope we did not go too far?" Alfred 

"Tired? Oh, no!" she replied, with a deprecatory smile, as 
"Ciuch as to say, " How could I be tired, being with you ? " 

Malvina showed Alfred the ferras swimming in the clear trans- 

2ia The Gmilemans Magasim. 

parent water, and leaning over t!ie side of the boat tried to C3Wb 
one in her hand, well knowing the impossibility of such a ftaL 
Alfred was pleased to see that Malvina was on« more phrfuDj 
inclined, but recommended her, all the same, not to upset llic XtcgX. 

" I should not care, for my part," she said. " It would bc Wj 
much the same to me. There wotiM bc no one to ask what bad 
become of me even. That would be one consolation." 

" And I ? " asked Alfred. 

" Well, if you survived, you would know what hsd become of ik 
Vou would have seen me disappear. 'Mysterioiu disappe^irance of » 
lady in the Lake of Geneva.'" She laughed for a momeni, andvas 

Alfred made no reply. He was not going to tclt Malvina that be 
was ready to die for her, when Sophie was dead and he was sSIl 

"What a lovely sunset," said Malvina. "It is too bcaulffidl 
Viola was never merry when she heard sweet music. I cannot hdp 
feeling a touch of melancholy when I see such a sunset as tht^. ItJ 
beauty transcends imagination. It is a beauty which can bc fell, and 
which indeed makes itself felt." 

Malvina certainly seemed to feel It, and she let the sofl Kglit of 
her eyes fall upon Alfred like the rays o f fllfe aettin g i 

Malvina. 223 

^nb^il evening overpowers me so, I feel inclined to cry I You are 
K angry wth me, Alfred ?" 

**My dear Malvina! Take my arm," he continued; "you are 
iigttcd. You see I am already stronger than you are." 
** How glad I should be, Alfred, to think so. But do not let us 
gD through the middle of the garden. It is crowded, and people 
ne so iU-natured, Let us take this side walk." 
By a shady, circuitous path, they at last reached the hotel. 
"Where are you going?" said Malvina when, at the door of her 
ipartments, Alfred manifested some intention of wishing her good- 
night "You are coming in to dine with me? It would be a 
dreadful thing to leave me now after being out with me all day." 

Without examining the logic of Malvina's remonstrance, Alfred 
consented to remain. 

** You make too much ceremony, Alfred," said Malvina, when he 
Ittd come in and was sitting down by her side on the sofa, " Vous 
fcites trop de c^r^monie. Monsieur Alfred." 

In due time they dined. They had more ferras from the lake, 
more strawberries from the woods, and the origin of the ice, in large 
oystalline blocks, was unmistakeable. 

" My beloved lake in a solid form ! " said Malvina, as she put a 
large Geneva diamond, of the purest water, into Alfred's glass. 

The champagne was not Swiss. It was correctly dated from the 
<lepartment of the Mame. 

Malvina, for the rest of the evening, and until midnight, was 
neither sentimental nor merely cheerful, but positively lively. Her 
™k, light-hearted gaiety pleased Alfred, who was sincerely glad to 
'W that she was not always so melancholy as he had found her the 
P'^ous day. 

Do not go ! " she said, when at twelve o'clock he proposed to 
we. " I am seldom, very seldom, so happy as I have been this 
^'^ing, and it is not late for such a night as this. The hotel is 
MUtting up, but there are still plenty of people in the garden, 
"^des, what does it matter to us what other people do ? " 
She was getting expansive. 

However, it was really late. There were still a few lighted cigars 
^ning like glow-worms in the gardens, and from time to time 
"^ tread of one or more feet could be heard on the gravel path. 
°*** the hotel was shut up, the gas had been put out in the 
^**ndors, and at half-past twelve Alfred got up and shook Malvina 
^fte hand. 
"Good-night," said Malvina, looking wistfully into his eyes, as if 

224 ^'^^ Gentleman* s Magazine. 

to ask him if ///<// was the sort of parting salute that ought to take 
place between them. " Good-night, Alfred. I shall see you in the 
morning. Que Dieu te biinissc ! " 



"He seems to have turned into a lump of clay," said Malvinato 
herself as soon as Alfred had gone. " Such a clod I never met with 
before ! r)ne would have thought that if all sentiment, all idea* 
of gallantn', left him, he would still have been obliged, as * 
gentlem;in and from the mere force of habit, to respond to some rf 
the things I said to him. India has destroyed him. It has bum* 
out every vestige of manliness in him. What would Captain Schlicfc 
or Major von der Brinken, or Gibson of the Royals, or Count 
Molodictzky, cr M. de Castella, or any of them, have done if I had 
shown them a thousandth part of the attention which I have heaped 
upon til is man ? They would liave gone mad. Minna ! The 
cigarette* !" 

Minna brought a fresh packet oi /mpirosSy and Malvina began to 
smoke furiously. 

**lIo\vcVLr," she went on reflecting, *'I do not think he will get 
away from me this time ! If he were absolutely without a heart it 
would of ct^urse be difticult ; but in that case he could not have 
cared so much about this little green and white school-girl. Fancy 
my dressing for him, talking for him, posing for him in every wayt 
and his only just consenting not to take fright! A\Tien 1 <A? catch 
him I will not treat him as his Julie d'Ksianges treated the poor little 
ferras. I will not let him go. Oh, no I'* 

'* What are you doing there, Minna, standing before me like * 

** Docs J.'r-niiiiii^c Fran Frinzcsstn wish mc to comb her hair?" 

"Without doubt." 

" Docs dic-gnadigc Fran Frinzessin wish for some tea before goi^8 
to bed ?" 

"Of (or.rse I do. Do not ask me these idiotic questions, MinC*^ 
And do not yawn in my presence ; it is very unbecoming." 

"It is nearly one o'clock," pleaded the poor girl 

"And do not make observations; you know I do notpennit *^ 
Give me my slii)per3 ! " 

Malvina. ^ 225 

Minna brought Malvina a pair of pink satin slippers, trinuned 
ad lined with white fiir. 

** My peignoir and the second volume of * Madame Bovary.' *' 

The obedient Minna brought the garment and the book. 

** What is that?" Malvina asked herself as she opened the volume ; 
od she remembered that she had been using the lock of Alfred's 
air given to her by Dr. Bertall as a book-marker. " I forgot to let 
im see it," she reflected. " But he must not see it in ' Madame 
Kovary.' It would shock him, poor young man ! In what book 
ould I leave it by accident? *Paul and Virginia?* — full of tender- 
ess and warmth ; with a great reputation, entirely undeserved, for 
inocency. But it is, perhaps, a little too childish. I am no longer 
young girl, and he is an old man of eighty. * Werther ?' Beautiful 
od affecting; but the situation is not the same. *La Nouvelle 
Incise?* I never read it. But Alfred was talking about it, and it 
ill be a sort of homage to his taste to get it" 

** Minna !" she called out. " Give me a pen and ink and a piece 
f paper ♦ * * There ! go to the library at Lausanne the first 
ling in the morning and bring me that book." 

" Now take this sash, and put it down carefully ; I shall have to 
'ear it again. Unfasten my dress. Have you prepared a white 
rcss for to-morrow?" 

** I have not put it out, but it was sent home this afternoon, and it 
; quite ready. It is beautifully got up." 

" I don*t believe he will notice it," said Malvina to herself. 
There are men who can't tell cambric from barege, or pique from 
iuslin, and I believe he is one of them. To-morrow he will have 
jen me in three simple white morning dresses, each different from 
le other — different in material, different in make, different in trim- 
ling, and he will not have remarked either. If any one were to ask 
im at this moment how I was dressed to-day his foolish, incapable 
nswer would be, * She was dressed in white.' " 

Malvina had her hair combed, and read her novel, and smoked 
ler cigarette, and sipped her tea, until nearly two o'clock. Minna 
lad already been dismissed, and at two o'clock Malvina herself went 
o bed. 



Early the next morning Alfred received a visit from Dr. Bertall. 
" This is a visit of friendship," said the Doctor. " It would be an 

226 The Gentleman's Magasine. 

tDsult to ask you how you are. I hear that the Princess bas 
charge of you. I must tell her not to inlcrfcre with my patients, or I 
shall soon have no practice left," 

" Oh, I am very much better," said Alfred, " thanks to your cue 
and attention." 

" So, then, you were out in the garden the evening before last, and 
yesterday you went on the lake. A steamer, outward baimd lor 
Chillon, passed you near Vevey. You did not seem distressed, and 
it was evident that all were well on board. I speak as a medical 
man. I was on the steamer myself, and saw you." 

" Yes, I am getting on very well indeed." 

The doctor looked at him and smiled intemally. "So aie the 
heart-broken made whole!" he said to himself. "It was not the 
name of the Princess Karabassoff, young man, that you were caQiqg 
out a monih ago in your delirium \" 

The doctor had studied humanity in its weakest moment^ aad- 
thouglit he knew human nature, 

Alfred, in the meanwhile, remained perfectly faithful to the 
memory of Sophie. Malvina had made no direct personal imprs- 
sion upon him ; she had only wakened recollections in his hcait 
What charmed him in her appearance was the sort of resemblance 
that she bore to Sophie. Xtalvina liad said to herself with perfect 

Malvina. 227 

• When he had not dined with Malvina, Malvina had dined with 
him. One day they had driven out to Chillon, and dined at the 
Hotel Byron. Another day they went by the steamer to Geneva, 
and dined at the Hotel dcs Bergues. From Geneva Alfred took 
Malvina to see Voltaire's house (much she cared for Voltaire !) and 
showed her one of his large collections of canes, one of the numerous 
pens with which his numerous works were written, and the church 
with Deo erexit Voltaire inscribed on the portico. The church 
rather puzzled her, for she had always heard that Voltaire was an 

At last they had visited all that is holy ground in the neigh- 
bourhood of the lake, sacred to the memory of ** Voltaire and 
Rousseau, Gibbon and De Stael," and of the poet who wrote 
that line. In making these excursions, they of course never hurried 
themselves. Fancy going on a pilgrimage at express speed, with no 
stoppages by the wayside ! 

One day they crossed over to Evian, where Malvina was interested, 
but at the same time rather shocked, at seeing the game of roulette 
in full activity. 

Often they went nowhere in particular, but wandered about the 
garden and along the shores of the lake, indulging in a simple inter- 
change of ideas. In this seemingly reciprocal process Malvina got 
the best of it That is to say, she exercised an influence which she 
did not receive. Alfred gave utterance to what he really thought 
and felt, but Malvina only listened to him in order to be able to 
reply ; and her own ideas were all selected and prepared to suit the 

Five weeks had now passed since the day when Alfred paid his 
insit of ceremony to the Princess Karabassoff, to find that the said 
Princess was his old friend, and something more than his friend, 
Malvina Gribble transformed. The servants at the hotel had got 
into the habit of laying Malvina's table regularly for two, and no 
longer waited for orders on the subject Minna took Alfred up a 
cup of tea regularly every morning at seven o'clock (with improved 
health he had taken to earlier hours); and Marie, when she exercised 
her assumed right of receiving it at the door and taking it in to him, 
used to look at him with astonished eyes, and sometimes, when he 
was not observing her, shake her head doubtfully at him. 

" Vous nc fumez pjts vous, Monsieur V she said to him one day. 

" I, Marie ? I have not smoked since I have been ill ; but I used 
to smoke. Have you cigars for me ?" 

228 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

" No," said Marie. " I was only thinking. So many gentloMB 
smoke, and some ladies. If I were a lady I don't think I shoild 

"I am sure you would not, Marie. And you would not brings 
my tea in the morning; so, on the whole, I am glad that you ue not 
what you rail a lady." 

" As for bringing you your tea, there are plenty of ladies ii» 
wouldn't mind doing that." * * * She wished to add, only she ws 
afraid, that was nothing compared to breakfasting and dining litk 
him, making excursions with him, and remaining with himallihfi 
until ver)' late at night; and what she wanted most particulariy to 
tell him was, that after he had gone to bed the Princess was in die 
habit of smoking cigarettes. She had further a ver)'' great desire to 
inform him of the fact that the Princess had recently Iwnd 
Minna's ears, and, in short that she had one set of manners fcf 
Alfred, and another, of ver)- inferior quality, for her own printo 
domestic circle. 

The poor girl wisherl to prevent Alfred's falling into bad hanh 
and would, pcrhai»s, not have been sorry to prevent his gettiig 
married at all. 

"I have a great mind to tell ynn snm'j*hing," said Marie, as she 
arranged the flowers in the vase- Afalvina still sent them punctually 
to Alfred every morning -" only T am afraid it will annoy y<*- 
Were you ever at Ilomburgh .^" 

" Never." 

** Ah I Then you don't know what sort of a place it is. It Jsi 
place where a grent deal of gambling goes on." 

"Oh, 1 know that!" 

"One of the girls here used to see the Princess at Hombwg^ 
The Princess lived in the hotel, where she was chambermaid, bcfoR 
she came here. She s.iys the Princess was not so calm, so melan- 
choly as she is now. Thnt was some years ago." 

"Yes, Marie," snid Alfred, bent on his own destruction; "shch»' 
had much grief since then." 

" Does grief make her smoke ?" asked Marie. 

"She never does smoke," replied Alfred. 

"She did at Flomburgh." 

" That was before her great misfortunes. She lost her mother, wr 
father, and her husband- -all in little more than a year." 

" They must have died after she was at Homburgh," said Ma^^ 
" for she was very lively indeed then." 

" Poor Malvina I" reflected Alfred ; " how she has changed 1" 

McUvina. 229 


I could tell him something more," said Marie to herself; " but 
he doesn't want to hear it, and perhaps he wouldn't believe me. 
I ivish I had been Minna the other day, and she had tried to box my 
ears ! I should have known what to say to her. yc lui aurais dit 
bien vite son motr 

The other servants at the hotel, accustomed to see strange 
^ings without staring, did not trouble themselves as to the 
relations existing between the English gentleman and the Russian 
Princess. That these relations were intimate was obvious. What 
the intimacy was based upon, what the exact nature of the intimacy 
might be, were very different questions, which in no way concerned 

They always spoke to Alfred, however, as though Malvina be- 
longed to him, and he to Malvina. If they saw him walking about 
alone, they would tell him that the Princess had gone out, or that she 
had come in, or that she was in the garden, as the case might be. 
Once or twice he found himself addressed to his face as " Monsieur 
le Prince," and the servants always spoke of him as ** Le petit 
Prince " among themselves. 

It had struck him when it was already too late that he had made a 
great mistake in dining day after day in Malvina's rooms. Even for 
the most ordinary matter-of-fact reasons it was awkward. Thus, 
"When, about a week after his recovery, he asked for his bill, he found, 
naturally, that his breakfasts and dinners had been charged to her. 
He could not explain to the director of the hotel that when he dined 
"with the Princess he liked what he ate and drank to bo put down to 
liis own separate account 3 nor could he, without compromising her, 
take upon himself the payment of breakfasts and dinners served in 
tier apartments. 

He begged Malvina to let him pay all the restaurant charges, but 
she, of course, would not hear of it, and cried out once more against 
liis ceremoniousness. She even felt hurt. Was there any other lady 
of his acquaintance whose hospitality he would accept, and after- 
^^rards propose to pay for it ? 

Alfred said he had never known a lady before who had asked him 
'to breakfast and dine with her every day for a week ; and Malvina 
^aid that she hoped he never would know one again, for he didn't 
deserve it In the meanwhile, as dinner was being broughl in, he 
Tnight as well sit down. 

The next morning Malvina sent him up the usual cup of tea ; and 
■^hen Minna came to his room an hour or so afterwards to say that 
the Princess was waiting breakfast, and wished to knov^ v^Vv^iXWi \x& 

230 Tlie Gentleman s Magazine. 

would be ready to go out for a drive iminediately afterwards, lAu 
was he to do ? 

Marie, finding that all she said was in vain, look Alfred's ajR 
and, casting a look of pity at hiin, disappeared. 

Then it was that as a sort of acknowledgment of her hospiuiJQf, 
and to relieve himself from the po^itiua of a pensioner, he took ha 
on a number of little Hteraiy and poetical excursions, which genual^ 
lasted until the evening, and often until l4le at night. 

One day when he was dining with her at tlie hold, Malvina, seeing 
that he was uneasy about something, and guessing the <:ause^ said U 
him, " Look here, Alfred ; take yout dinner in peace. Wc will lolve 
the expenses in future if you like. You have been spending a gKll 
deal of money in taking me about and femiliarising mc widi all the 
literary associations of the Lake of Geneva, and you would havelcit 
very much aggrieved if J had insisted on paying half the travdliBg. 
expenses. Never mind ! In future I will have the restauraDt liill 
made out separately, and we will share it. Such old fritnds as W 
are, Alfred, I don't think you need have made such a fuss !" 

Malvina had now at least attached him, wilU his own consent, to 
her table — ail mensam. The rest was only a (jiiesiion of Utne, pitK 
vided she only did not allow too long a time to elapse bdne 
extcndina the contract, ar.d makiim it bindine for ever. 

. Malvina. 231 

remained, and that Ouchy would suit him as well as any other place. 
The doctor thought it would suit him much better. In any case 
Alfred remained. 

The season was now at an end. Residents in the hotel were 
astonished to find that the waiters in the coffee-room came when 
they were called, and that the chambermaids answered the bell 
before it had been rung more than twice. The grapes in the 
vineyard had been gathered ; the trees in the garden were fast losing 
their leaves, and the . magnificent chestnut, less fortunate than its 
neighbour, the evergreen cedar, had become nearly bald. A very 
few residents, a certain number of belated tourists, and one or two of 
those eccentric travellers who are to be met with in season and out 
of season wherever you may go, were still at the hotel. But the 
garden had lost its characteristic physiognomy, and even when the 
moon shone, its walks, no longer shady, were peopled no more at 

The residents had, no doubt, exhausted the attractions'of the 
place, and the casual visitors were hungry sight-seers, who took 
a town once a day, swallowed a ruiu before breakfast, and 
devoured a couple of cathedrals and a picture-gallery between 
lunch and dinner — men who were overloading their mental stomachs 
with an indigestible mass of sights and sensations, who would be 
afi[licted for the rest of dieir lives with a sort of tourists' nightmare, 
and who already began to fancy that the Righi was a river, and that 
they had gone up Lucerne on horseback. 

Those victims of " places of interest," restless travelling inspectors 
who see everything and perceive nothing, would, if they were capable 
of tranquil enjoyment, consider that in giving themselves up to it, for 
however short a period, they were losing time. However, they 
^ave very litde trouble to Alfred and Malvina, who never defied the 
^aze of the public at the table d'hdie^ and, in fact, seemed to live 
altogether one for the other, to the exclusion of all society but 
their own. 

Alfired had asked himself more than once how he was to take leave 

of Mp-lvina, and Malvina had already said to herself that now he 

'was not likely to take leave of her at all. She had found him 

lielpless and suffering as a wounded bird. She had tended him, 

oherished him, made him perfectly accustomed to her presence, to the 

sound of her voice. He came to her regularly twice a day to be fed. 

She had taught him, metaphorically, to eat out of her hand ; and now 

"was it likely that he would fly away ? 

Vol. VI., N.S- 1870. ^ 

232 The Gentleman s Magasine. 

When, one of the last days in Septumhcr, Alfred lold Malvina titttb 
wanted to go to Lucerne, she did not ask hitn whether [ic wu rantn^ 
back to Ouchy, and she made a point of not putting any mquiiy U 
him as to the object of his journey. She knew that no Imng posoo 
attracted him to Lucerne, and she was not jealous of the memoiyof 
the " green-andwKite school-girl." She felt, moreover, thai if )}k 
made the least difficulty about his going he would go all the same, 
and think all the more of his Sophie while he was away. 

"Let him have it out," she said to herself; and even if he had 
not told lier that he should be back in a few days she would hin 
known perfectly well that he would be sure to return to her. On iht 
whole, she rather liked the idea of his going to Lucerne, It lookfiJ 
as though he had some intention of making up accounts miIi 
the past. 

" Before you make your excursion to Lucenie," she said to him 01 
evening, " I should like to go to Claxens again. I have been readiqg 
the ' Nouvclle H^oise ' since we were there before, and I shottH 
take a much greater interest in the place now." 

"Reading the ' Nouveile H^oisel' Didn't you find it rai 

Malvina. 233 

a couple of shirts. The diplomatist had been at work, instructed, of 
course, by Malvina, 

" How kind of you, Malvina ! " Alfred said when he went down to 
dinner. Malvina replied, through one of her speaking smiles, " What 
else could you possibly expect from me ?" 

On one of the side-tables lay Malvina's " Nouvelle Hdloise." 

"Alfred !" she exclaimed, when she saw him take it up. 

But she was too late — ^just in time, that is to say. He had opened 
the book in the place where the leaves were kept apart by the lock of 
hair. He had seen it, and, looking at it by the light of Malvina's 
emotion, could not fail to recognise it. 

" Oh, Alfred !" she exclaimed, sinking on to the sofa and covering 
her face with her hands, " I thought you were dying then ! I 
obtained it secretly. You must not be angry ! " 

" Malvina, my dear Malvina," he said, going to her and taking her 
by the hand, " how can you say such a thing ! It is cruel of you ! 
I shall never forget the affection you showed me when I was so 
much, so very much in need of it ; and I feel grateful to you beyond 
expression. I have a great deal to say to you, Malvina, but I will 
not say it now. You are a good girl, and I never can repay the 
kindness you have showered upon me." 

The dinner was eaten in sadness, and almost in silence ; at least 
Alfred was sad, and Malvina took her note from him. 

Later in the evening Malvina succeeded, little by little, and quite 
imperceptibly, in raising the pitch, so that the conversation at least 
ceased to be gloomy. 

" I shall not see you in the morning," said Alfred, as he wished 
her good night \ " the train starts at eight." 

" On the contrary," answered Malvina, " I mean to drive you to 
the station. You know for one thing that I am always up at seven." 



At Lucerne Alfred went to the cemetery-, and gazed once more at 
the monument erected in memory of Sophie. The grave was already 
covered with grass. Alfred covered it with flowers. 

One day he strolled along the banks of the river ; another day he 
wandered by the shores of the lake. Had it not been for the 
pestering of the guides, he would probably have ascended the Righi. 

234 The Gentleman s Magtmtu. 

But wherever he went he alwaj's rtlumed more than oi»« ia tbr 
day to the grave where his illuaons l.iy tniried. 

At last he said to himstilf that hapiiincM was not the UDiymirthe 
principal object in life — a reflection whkh gcncraliy OCOifs tu U 
when happiness is evidently unatin inable. Hf had diiu'ca to per- 
form, and he reflected on what Sophie hciself had said to him whai, 
in her father's garden at St, Oucn. he liad conft-ssed lo her nil liiM 
w.Ts most important in the history of Insetfly wlation* with Malvui. 

" In short, you mtuk love to her, and, when yen had gmiiud Ac 
•iffrefidns, abandoned ker, and went away to fndiaj" and again— 

" y»u vi"hi to hai'e married her I " 

He had no i A to marry Malvina, and he could never 1<J¥C hei n 
lie had loved Soph e. But she was a good girl, she was devoted » 
him. she h d sufTe ed terribly through his heartlessness, or al btn 
his incon denteness and he had now an opportunity of (Slicing 
honoiiral Ic m n Is o her. Even during the last few wtcks be hid 
been behaving to her almost like a husband, and she had beh^Ted Cs 
him with what he fancied must be rather more than the offcctioa ti 
an ordinary wife. 

He was determined, however, not to deceive her in an/ one | 
respect. He would be feeble no longer, either for good orfbrbal j 
He would say to her th.nt he nfll-rvd her his protection, his consOM 

Malvina. 235 

decline, who had left his liver in India, and had never had a heart 

The aged youth had been gone four days, and Malvina was at 
Ouchy, anxiously expecting him back, when, on the fifth day, about 
five in the afternoon, Alfred presented himself 

" How do you do, Malvina ? 1 am so glad to see you. Can you 
give me some dinner?" was all he said. 

It was not sentimental ; it did not touch the heart. But it looked 
like business, it smacked of the household ; and Malvina was 

" What a time you have been away ! I have missed you so much," 
she said. ' " I will order dinner directly." 

" You have not ordered it ?" 

" How could I ? Something told me you would return to-day, but 
I did not know at what time." 

" Malvina," said Alfred, hurriedly, and as though he had some- 
thing weighing on his mind which he wanted to get rid of as soon as 

possible, " I told you before I went to to Lucerne that I had 

something to say to you — something important." 

Malvina was silent, but she looked moved, as though she antici- 
pated what was coming. 

" 1 cannot tell you how much I have been touched by your 
kindness — kindness which I, of all men, so little deserved." 

" Alfred !" she exclaimed in a tender accent of appeal. 

" Yes, Malvina, it is true ! and I feel that 1 have no right to ask 
what I am now going to beg of you." 

Malvina felt triumphant I'he hour of victory was at hand. She 
trembled with emotion. 

" I will make no vain protestations. You know what I have suffered, 
and you have shown your sympathy for me in my distress in the most 
delicate manner. I will only ask you to have confidence in me. 
Will you entrust your happiness to me ? Will you let me devote the 
rest of my life to you ?" 

Malvina was in such an ecstacy of delight that she could no 
longer restrain her tears. 

'* Do not weep, Malvina ! Only say you will be mine !" continued 

Malvina, holding her handkerchief to her eyes with one hand, 
clasped Alfred's hand with the other in token of assent. 

"My dear Malvina!" exclaimed Alfred. He kissed her on the 
forehead, and it was understood on both sides that the marriage was 
a settled afiair. 

236 The Gentleman s Afagaziiu. 



If Alfred ftlt relieved when he had made ihu offer of reurnig^ 
what did Maliina feel when she had received and accepted it I 

Alfred had lefl the room almost immcdialcly aflcrwards, and 
Malvina, finding herself alone, fi^lt inclioed to offer up a thanb- 
giving in the form of a dance. But there was no music; st^aRo 
the faintest indication of a pas .mil, she lighted a cigarette and tod 
a good smoke. The door was locked, the windows were vpen, iS& , 
she had plenty of pastilles. 

" If he were likely to kiss me," she said to herselt " it would be 
different. But he won't, nor I him. To think of liis making hi* 
offer in that style ! As if he were confeiring a litvour ! I doo'l flunk 
I should have relented in anycnse; but he deserves it no* more 
than ever. 'I will make no vain protestations!' Protestationi, 
indeed I Much value I should attach to his proleslalions ! I 
love him as a young girl, and would have done anything for him, 
But because I threw myself at him, he rejected me ; now llal k 

Malvina. 237 

dress which she had just taken off. " You may have it, and the 
other white dresses also/' 

Minna was profuse in her thanks. 

" And you can lake this rag," she added, pointing to the green 
silk sash. " There is another one like it in one of the drawers ; you 
can have that, too. Don't let me see cither of them lying about." 

Wlien Malvina was dressed and ready to receive Alfred at dinner, 
she looked more like the Malvina whom he had seen ^for a moment 
(without recognising her) at Baden-Baden, tlian like Sophie or the 
portrait of Sopliie. 

Alfred, on his side, looked grave and pale ; and Malvina said to 
herself that he seemed to grow older every five minutes. 

" Nodiing has happened, dear ? " she asked. " No bad news, is 
there ? " 

" No," said Alfred "There were several letters waiting for me. 
One from my father at Hillsborough, another from a man you don't 
know — Captain Thornton, out in India — and a third from Captain 

** The gentleman with the red nose ?" suggested Malvina. 

" Yes, he has a red nose ; but he was very kind to me when 
I was ill." 

"Z'«« n^cmpcche pas Vautre^^ she said. 

" I propose that we go from here as soon as you like to Paris," 
continued Alfred. "The banns must be published three Sundays 
running, which will occupy a fortnight It is now Tuesday. We can 
easily be in Paris before Saturday, so that we can get married as 
quickly there as we could here. Or shall we go to England first, 
and be married down at Hillsborough ? " 

" No," said Malvina. " I think Paris would be the best. I should 
say nothing about it until it is over, if I were you. Why make a 
fuss ? Why make a solemn ceremony, which concerns two persons 
only — and concerns them more than all things else in the world — an 
occasion for a gathering of friends, a banquet, toasts, commonplace 
speeches, and all the rest of the nonsense that goes to make up the 
barbarous entertainment called a wedding breakfast ? In my opinion, 
a wedding cannot be too private." 

" As long as it is not kept secret," added Alfred. 

" Secret ? No. We will send out cards the same day. So it is 
settled that we are to be married at Paris, and that we start — when?" 

"Well, to-morrow, I think. It is no good tiring ourselves. Let 
us go on to Dijon to-morrow, and from Dijon to Paris on Thursday." 

"Very well I shall surrender Pierre to you. He will be of 

238 The Gentlemafis Magazine. 

more use to you than he has been to me, though he attends to Ae 
door beautifully, and he is so gentlemanly. What do you do ior 
servants ? " 

" I do without them. When I am at an hotel, I give my dod« 
to the waiter to bnish." 

"Put them outside on a chair? I have heard of that Coaa! 
Moiodietzky did that at some oudandish place in Austria, when fab 
own ser\'ant was ill. Some one confiscated them, and he fiwnd 
himself a hundred miles from Vienna without a thing to put 00. 
l^ierre will save you a great deal of money." 

" Talking of money," said Alfred, "you know that I am far fion 

" No, but I am ; that is the same thing. I have at least d^ 
thousand j»ounds. T haven*t it with me, but it is all in my namt I 
will show you the documents when I get to Paris." 

" How shall you like living in India ? " 

" India ! I shouldn't like to live in India at all. WTiy do you talk 
about such a thing ? " 

" Because my appointment is in India." 

" T^ut you ran give it up. The Government iiill not insist onjW 
retaining it." 

" I do not wish to live an idle life." 

" No, Alfrcil," i>leaded Malvina, " you must not talk of going to 
India. 'I'he very niinie distresses me. Besides, think what a career 
is open to you in ]Mi:il:ind ! Cio into Parliament as an educated 
Radical, or an enlightened Tor}', or an intellectual Conservative, or 
something {>^ that kind. You might make India your great subject 
You know plenty of Indian names, do you not ?" 

" Yes," answered Alfred, with a smile, " I know plenty of Indian 
names, but I cannot improvise a set of political opinions. I ha^"* 
not i»aid much attention to politics, and I never had the most distant 
idea of going into Parliament. I am afraid it is not so easy to g^t 
returned as you think." 

** Why. Alfred, )'ou used to say it was the easiest thing in the 
world I I)(»n't you remember the pump, the set of lectures, tne 
mechanics' institute, the public meetings, the drinking fountain- 
You used to have the machinery cjuite complete when we were 4* 
Hillsborough. If you could have got ]>a])a elected, how simp^^* ^ 
matter it would be for you yourself, with your superior education 
and knowledLce of the world." 

" Well, we must think about it, Malvina." 

" Oh, you must really go into Parliament, for my sake as mucb ^ 

Malvina. 239 

your own ! And to begin with, I shall give you no rest until you 
have thrown up that horrible Indian appointment. How much does 
it bring you in ? '* 

Eight hundred a year ? " 

Eight hundred a year ! Give it up at once ! Which is best, to 
have four thousand eight hundred a year in India, or four thousand 
a year in England ? Write to the Governor-General, or whoever it 
is, to-night, and tell him that you regret to cause a gap in his system 
of administration, but that you must resign." 

" I will think about if 

" No, Alfred, really we can have no India ; the thing is too 
absurd. But I have been talking to you all dinner-time, and you 
have eaten nothing." 

"It is you who have eaten nothing, Malvina. I have eaten 
immensely. Now I must write some letters ; I have at least three to 
send off." 

" Without counting the Indian one ? " 

" Without counting the Indian one." 

" I will tell you what I must do, Alfred, if you are so perverse. I 
must buy the place of you. What is it worth in ready money ? " 

" Malvina, don*t talk nonsense." 

" Then promise to give it up. All I want is to be quite sure that 
you will not go to India, that you will not think of going there. 
Oh, how I do hate the name of that country ! .... If I only 
suspected that you were ashamed to owe anything to wr, I don't 
know what I should do. Come, Alfred, you must give up India. 
What is it about Carthage? Deienda Carthago! India must be 
abandoned. Do you abandon it ? " 

" I do," said Alfred, still with some reluctance. 

"Word of honour?" 

"Yes, word of honour." 

" Parole ifhonneur la plus sacrie 1 " 

" I have not two words of honour." 

" It is well said. Excuse me I " 

She made him a semi-burlesque curtsey. 

"We had better order the bill," said Alfred. *' When was the last 
paid ? " 

" About a month ago. But that is my affair." 

" Now I must ask you to excuse me. Yesterday it might have 
been your affair ; to-day I have certainly a right to make it 

" Well, Alfred, these little disputes would be childish if tlicy v.'<it^ 

240 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

pcr-sislcd in. WTiat is mine is yours to the last farthing. Thatyoo 

That might have been true in regard to the interest of Mal\'iM'$ 
money, but could not be true as far as the principal was concened 
Pour old Ciiijblc was too much of a man of business to allow his 
dauglitcr to get married to a foreigner of whom he knew next to 
nolliing, and tliat little not to his advantage, without having evay 
farthing of iK-r money settled siricily upon her. His great consdar 
tion, when he was on his death-bed at Vichy, had been that whatewi 
liai)pcnod to Malvina, or to the Prince her husband, no one could 
touch her eighty thousand pounds. 

It had l)een cunningly invested in three per cents., three andaM 
per cents., Indian railways, bank shares, houses and building law! 
about Hillsborough, and brought in altogether a clear and safe five 
per cent. 

Against these magnificent resources Alfred had next to nothing to 
put. It was, of course, absurd for him to suppose that Malvina 
would go out with him to India for the sake of his eight hundred 
a year, or rather for the sake of his ideas on the subject of personal 
independence. He saw, on reflection, that he must accept ws 
position as the i)enniless husband of a rich woman, or give it ^P 
altogether, and for that it was too late ; of that he could not even 

The hotel bill for the month came to nearly seventy pounds, ft)^ 
which Alfred offered a cheque on his bankers. 

However, his cheque had never been seen before at the hotel 1^^ 
had only circular notes for about twenty pounds, and he had ^^ 
ready money at all. 

The cashier did not refuse the checiue, but he uttered platitude 
about it ; said it was for a large amount, that he did not know wh^^ 
to change it or what to do with it, and ended by asking whetlr>* 
Madame la Princesse, whose signature was known at the bankers' ^ 
the town, would mind jiutting her name on the back. 

Malvina backed her betrothed's cheque with alacrity, but she ' 
the same time seized the occasion to tell Alfred that it was v(r^ 
absurd that they should have two accounts. 

" I will write to my bankers," she said, " and tell them to hono** 
your signature equally with mine. I must have I don't knowh^ 
much standing in my name. I have not spent half my income 
the last two years." 

There was further a bill of thirty pounds for the carriage 



for which Alfred felt that it would be ridiculous now to offer 
que. Malvina gave one of her own, and then handed the 
-book to Alfred, begging him to keep it, and to take upon 
\ in future, the trouble of making out and signing cheques as 
;re wanted. 

promised to write to her bankers, and did so that very night, 
ing them to honour the signature of Alfred Leigh ton to the 
of whatever sum might be standing to her credit. She 
Alfred the contents of the letter before sending it to the 
id Alfred, not to be outdone in generosity, wrote his letter of 
tion, and enclosed it to his agents, with a request that they 
brward it 

at the same time asked them to let him know how his 
t stood. The answer was to be forwarded to the Hotel du 

{Tq be continued. ) 

s ^ >• . ^ ■•_^ •* 


"Here we arc again !" It is impossible not to welcome Qiristinas; 
and yet, after a few years, how the feeling is apt to creep over most of « 
that Christmas, as the season of stereotyped geniality, is a Ut of i 
humbug I You enjoy it thoroughly, as a rule, up to twenty ; but frcB 
twenty to twenty-five the suspicion comes creeping over you year by y« 
with increasing conviction, first that most of its customs are a littk/«»i 
that you have seen enough of pantomimes, that mince pics are a nustak^ 
balls a weariness of the flesh, Christmas stories a pest, and the instituWB 
itself, socially, a bit of a bore. Here and there I know there are men, lib 
the late Mark Lemon, whose spirits cfTcrvesce and sparkle afresh at tte 
first glimpbc of the holly .ind the mistletoe and the blue fire. But these 
men, after all, are the exception ; and most of us after forty, 1 suspect, si^ 
on Christmas Eve for a quiet comer of the world, where we can sit down 
to a quiet dinner of herbs, or to a mutton chop and a glass of claret, wish 
all our friends the compliments of the season by proxy, and reappear witk 
the New Year with a sweet temper, a clear conscience, a vigorous diges- 
tion, and with a mind as guiltless of charades as Dr. Pusey's or a Pata* 
gonian's. These men are cynics, of course, as most of us are after forty; 
but tlie Gintlemati^ with his 120 years clustering around his head, wsbes, 
like his accuniplibhcd contemporary under St. Dunstan's Tower, to assert 
his superiority to the foibles of his younger rivals in the press, and to 
exemplify his attachment to the yule lug by taking off his hat to all his 
subscribers, and wishing them, one and all, the compliments of the season 
— and, shall I add, none of its horrors ? 

'* May good digestion wait on appetite. 
And health on both ! " 

1 OUGHT, I know, according to ancient and laudable custom, to folio* 
up this expression of courtesy and good wishes by plunging at a dash into 
tlie tlioughts that associate themselves with the season, festive, metaphy- 
sical, and philosophical. Hut I have a disagreeable impression that most 
people are apt to skip these sort of reflections, as they do those reviews o« 
ilie year by which tlie Tittus has added one more horror to the season- 
Net if I were to venture once more to throw out the superfluous suggestion 
that those who wish to enjoy their own Christmas should give a second 
thought to the poor around them, to whom this season of the hann(»u^ 
and the domestic atTections and all that is nothinij more than a natnCt ^ 

Table Talk. 243 

iiink I should accompany it with the supplementary hint not to com- 
pound wijh your conscience, as too many of us do now, by subscribing an 
extra guinea to a blanket or coal club or a benevolent association of some 
sort or other, and then forget all about it ; but to select two or three poor 
families at your own door — it is very seldom necessary to go far to find 
them — sending your own girls round with a basket of trifles and a good 
word, and thus knowing for yourself to whose pleasure and happiness it is 
that you have contributed. It is easier, I know, to do this in a village 
than it is in a town. But even in towns it is not impossible ; and as the 
x>pulation of towns increases, and the poor are thrust more and more out 
>f* sight, they are apt more and more to be left either to their own poverty 
r to the professional almoner ; and of all our social parasites this middle 
SLTk is, to my thinking, the worst. He has robbed charity of all its 
ndcmess, by divorcing it from all its personal associations. The rich 
>k upon him as a sleek personification of all the social vices which will 
fc^c? one of these days to be extirpated by Act of Parliament. What the 
>«~ think of him I cannot say, and do not wish to say what I think. But 
professional almoners themselves will not, I believe, dispute the 
xtion that the only gratitude the poor feel for alms distributed by 
is that equivocal species which, according to Rochefoucault, arises 
a sense of favours to come. 

iiATE this system of administering alms by proxy : and yet there is a 
5c habit even than this, and that is the habit of distributing doles in 
streets — like a small-change caliph. The first is a counterfeit of 
ty. This is a vice, and ought to be treated as a vice. It arises, I 
i.<^>re, in the generality of cases, not from anything like a peculiarly keen 
>^C!ciation of the sufferings of the poor, but from a sort of relaxation of 
sjTnpathies. The men and women who throw about their coppers 
1 threepenny bits in the streets to every sturdy beggar whom they 
<^t: in their path, are not a whit more charitable than the witty arch- 
^op who thanked God at seventy that he could still lay his hand on 
• Ineart and say with a clear conscience that he had never given away a 
^^■^enny bit in the street ; but they are simply people who have not the 
*^~v-e to say " No I'' What is to be done with them ? Fine them upon the 
^'t cffence double the amount of their dole ? Put buttons on their pockets, 
<^Tie of the wittiest of our Poor Law inspectors suggests ? Establish an 
yluim for them upon the plan of that which Dr. Dalrymple is proposing 
t:ipplers? Or found a chair of political economy at the Royal Insti- 
^On or Gresham Hall, appoint Professor Fawcett or Professor Rogers 
^<iliver a series of lectures on the Theory of Population, empower the 
^^istrates to sentence every one found giving alms in the streets to 
'^rjd a course of these lectures, and afterwards present themselves to 
^* Goschen at Gwyder House, to pass an examination in Malthus and 
^ principles of the Poor Law Amendment Act? It will not do to go 
we are at present, that's clear. I wish the rest was. 

244 ^^ Gentleman s Magazine. 

I HAVE been puizling my wits lately about the Perniissivt Bill} srif *' 
think I have hit upon a compromise will be satisfactDry nid sffK- 
abli; to all. I( is this. Ld us have a poll all round — water or wluAtf J 
— everj- New Year's Day. If the whiskey-drinkers lose tlicy mUH Mfe 
the best of their lot, and drink water for the rest of the year ; but if the 
water-drinkers lose, they must pay the penalty by drinking whidwytt 
brandy-and- water till the next election. At present the Alliance peoifc 
are a little too one-sided. They argue the question too much on tbe 
"heads'l win, tails you lose" principle. This compromise of mine ifiil 
make the game fair. 

Huw ought Prince GortschakofTs name to be spelt— with the a or uitti' 
out it, with one f or two? To tbe Prince, pcraonilly, ihe qucBtiod i» 
probably a mailer of very little consequence ; but as two or tlUfiC of Bit 
contemporaries have taken upon themselves to call him tlic bvbanu 
minister of a barbarous power, and to honour him ivilh oilier Dwnpli- 
mentary epithets of thai tJcscription, perhaps ii may be as wtll, bcfotrw 
jjet deeper into the mire of this vituperative doqucncc, to settle sm«ij 
ourselves at all events how his name is to be spelt ; for it is hardly ftirlo 
abuse him and misspell his name too. Ycc this is whnt wc have ben 
doing of late. The Times allots him all tlie letters of oui alphalM;! ihu 
ca.i be impressed into his name to make it an ample equivalent ofliiJ 
own Slavonic title— Prince Gortschakoff j and the PtiJl Mall and 4c 
iJlolic. lli[>iigh coniriving ^-ery ingeniously to disagree upon cvtry oliif 

Table Talk, 245 

out of this quarrel, we must, before we shake hands, ask M. Turgenief 
when he nAieets Sir John Bowring or Mr. W. R. Ralston at dinner, as we 
hope he will in the course of his visit, to put us right as to the spelling 
and pronunciation of the names of those distinguished countrymen of his 
which we contrive to get through at present in an unsatisfactory sort of 
way by the aid of a cough and a sneeze, — 

" Strongenoff, and Strokonoff, and Mcknoflf, 
TschitsshakofT, and Roguenoff, and Chokenoff, 
And othere of twelve consonants apiece, 
Ending in ischskin, ousckin, iffskchy, ouski." 

In the meantime, if we cannot be right, at least let us contrive to be 
wrong with precision. 

Apropos — of newspapers, of course — how the Times has been eclipsed 
in its correspondence all through this war ! In the Crimea, in India, in 
Italy, in America, in the Ten Days' War, Dr. Russell and the rest of the 
i^resentatives of the Times overstepped all their rivals ; but in this war 
they have been foiled at their own weapons, and the Times has been put 
into the shade by its contemporaries all round. It began well by pub- 
lishing M. Benedetti's Secret Treaty. But concurrently with the publica- 
tion of this State paper from the archives of Berlin, the Daily Telegraph 
gave us its interesting notes of an interview with Napoleon by one of its 
specials at the Tuileries. Mr. Holt White anticipated Dr. Russell with 
liis account of the Battle of Sedan in the Pall Mall, although in this case 
the fault was not that of the Times' special, for had the notes which he 
wrote on the field been delivered in Printing House Square, as they ought 
to have been, the Times must have been first and the rest nowhere. In 
announcing the capitulation of Mctz, the Daily A-eius anticipated its con- 
temjjoraries all round. But even the Daily N'ews must share the honours 
which it has won by this part of its correspondence with the Ma7tchester 
Guardian. Nothing can be more striking and life-like than the Guar- 
diar^s account of the inner life of Metz during the seventy days' siege. 
The latest achievement that calls for a note is the publication of Prince 
GortschakofFs reply to Lord Granville's despatch ; and the credit of that 
again must be set down to the Daily News. Our own Government put 
the reply under lock and key, and refused to publish it till their own 
answer was in the hands of Prince Gortschakoff. The Daily News 
telegraphed for it to St. Petersburgh, and at a stroke outwitted at once 
the Times and the Government. It is not often that a paper is able to 
distinguish itself so brilliantly. It is still rarer to find the Times in eclipse, 
as it has been all through this war. 

What a heap of money must be spent if we want to bribe Nature to 
reveal her secrets ! Just think of the hard cash and valuable time which 
is being expended as these sheets are printing just to see the sun "put 
out** by the moon for two minutes and a quarter. The Amcrlcarv 

246 The Gcntlanans Magazine. 

CfOVLininciU NOlcd ^r»,ooo in cash, and detached from their offices fj; 
;il)out tlnvc iih)nthi» some eij;hi or ten of her highest astronomico! prfr 
fossors, nuTtly lo c«ine to Lliiroi)e and see the eclipse that has jus 
occurred. The vahie of the time here devoted cannot be set down at las 
than/ 2,000. Our own Government gavej^2,ooo, lent a troop ship fori 
month lu carry observers to the vantage grounds of obsenation, and 
t)iher\visc j;a\e m:itcrial assistance, which altogether we assess ven' lowly 
at/ 1,000. About forty English astronomers, of all ranks, from t\rM 10 
pn»fos>ionals, from beginners to old stagers, have given their time, each 
man a uioiuh at le-a-si, and spent money in preparing instrumcms, ad 
packin;^^ and iraasiicMiing them. At the very lowest estimate, the tiw 
given and monc) disbursed by this company must be worth /i,ooo. .And 
two of Diir learnid M)cieiies clubbed togeiher/500 to increase the (lOvern- 
ment grant. The time that great men have spent who take noportin 
the observations we do not attempt to value. Witliout that, anda 
muliiiiide of minor sacrifices, we have / 12,500 exchanged — for wliat. 
I'or tlie o^>poruniiiy of seeing the sim's disc covered by the moon's, and 
of stuilyiii-, fur unly iwo minutes, the nature of the light of a j^lowiog, 
liazy atmosphere that envelopes the solar globe, to asceitain if poisibk 
wluiilu.i iliis -.jscou.'.-Uiuking shell is burning-hot matter or onlyamlst 
lit ujj by the sun. This is the simple fact that was put in question. The 
price looks high ; but to reach Nature's riches we must pay forthclffiy 
the value of the whole contents of the coffer. In that brief t\\x» minuics 
may lie learnt le^.-nns cnnccrning the nature and source of the sun's liglrt 
and heal lii.ii ceniariLs of tluaiglu and labour have failed to teach. And 
what is/*i2,(.x)0 in comparison with the glory of teaching posterity why 
the sun shines ? 

If there be a c;ir|)er who would grumble at such a pavTiient for a secret, 
lei liim Iv lold ih.ii ilie i'ru^-^ian ( iovernment lately gave j^ 5, 5 55 sterling 
to a lUrlin «"«i«ik for .1 secret he hold of making pease-pudding saus^ 
that will noi tarn snur. Sevenix-live thousand of these delicacies, whioJ 
are ^tn ii;.'t]{l with ba<"on and tlavoured with onions, are being ni3« 
daily for the rru-^si m army. Each sausage weighs a pound, andisa 
day's rai ion for one man. The lucky cook's name is Griinberg— butK 
cannot be very ;j.ri.en ; with his heap of money he might now chan^jehis 
name to Ciuldenber'. 



February, 1871. 

Bygone Celebrities. 




|HER£ ife certain events and seasons when the over- 
anxiety of the mind to write worthily concerning them 
almost puts what is understood by literar>' folks as "good 
writing" out of the question* At such times men cannot 
t:e as they think, or wish to think ; they can only record, with 
re or less coherence, what they feel and remember. And this 
ord — these memories — are often liable to be somewhat confused 
the mist which is occasioned by inward tears — the mourning 
rt, the bewildered brain — the thoughts that "puzzle the will" and 
se us to be dubious of our course, as of the realities of life. We 
1 of certain men's deaths as so many "words" which do not 
'^scnt any such actual fact; and when we seek to meet, and 
sure, and cope with the truth, it makes us vaguely speculate upon 
Uncertainties of all the moving lives around us, as though they 

- so many representations of "the dance of death" in which 
^virselves would shortly have to join. And the latter thought 

'Well glance through the brain — and return to renew the look 
^stiny with a more fixed regard — ^when it breaks upon the mind 
^e of the very few survivors of such a group as that of the 

- brilliant "Guild of Literature and Art." 

^is Guild, which commenced with the highest ptos^^eXs oV 
^€?L, VI., N.s. 1871, s 

248 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

success, was founded (though the idea had been originated ywi 
before by the writer of the present paper), by Lord Lytton and 
Charles Dickens. The former, at that time, Sir E. L. Bulwer LjllflB, 
proposed to give land upon one of his estates in a locality suitible 
for the erection of a college, and to write a comedy, to be acted lidi 
a view to raising a preliminar}' fund in aid of the object in questkn; 
and, in the first instances the performers were to be celebotd 
authors and artists. All this was undertaken by Mr. Charies Dickey 
and the following — shall we say melancholy list It would be painW 
to put the record in a gloomy light. Neither would this be wise or 
necessiiry. Let us suj)pose the figures to gleam forth upon theridiif- 
painted windows of some beautiful old cathedral, with the oipn 
softly and deeply breathing consecrating strains, as if from a disUrt 
cloud, while the spectator beholds the bright images of those who 
will never more appear upon this earthly scene. 

The artists who were engaged on Lord L>lton's comedy of "Not 
so Bad as We Seem," or **Many Sides to a Character," were Danid 
Maclise, R.A., Clarkson Stanfield, R.A., John l^ech, Augustus Egft 
R.A., Mr. Topham, Mr. Frank Stone, and Mr, Tenniel. The authoff 
were Charles Dickens, Mark Lemon, Dudley Costello, Robert BeH 
Douglas Jerrold (all gone I) and Mr. John Forster, Mr. Charles 
Knight, and the writer of the present brief chronicle. Mr. WDkic 
Collins and two or three others were engaged in subsequent perform- 
ances ; but the above list comprises, I think, all those who appeared 
in the first instance, when the play was represented at Devonshire 
House. The stage architect and machinist was Sir Joseph Paxtc»; 
and to his name among the **past and gone" we have to add that of 
our most kind and munificent patron, the late Duke of Devonshire- 
It will hence appear that the only survivors of those who inaugurated 
the Guild, are Lord Lytton, and the three authors pre\'iously indicatfd- 

The Duke gave us the use of his large Picture Gallery, to be fitte» 
up with seats for the audience; and his Library adjoining for the 
erection of the Theatre. The latter room being larger than required 
for the stage and its scenery, the back portion of it was screened 0* 
for a "green room." Sir Joseph Paxton was most assiduous aA^ 
careful in the erection of the theatre and seats. There was a specif 
box for the Queen. None of the valuable paintings in the pictuT 
gallery (arranged for the auditorium) were removed, but all of thefl 
were faced with planks, and covered with crimson velvet draperies 
In the erection of the theatre, not a nail was allowed to be hammered 
into the floor or walls, the lateral supports being by the pressure fioDC 
end to end, of padded beams; and the uprights, or stanchions, wei* 

Bygone Celebrities. 

fitted witJi iron feet, finnly fixed to the floor by copper screws, Tha | 
lamps and their oil were well considered, so that the smoke should J 
not be otTensive or injnrious, — in fact, I think the oil was slighdy ' 
scented; and there was a profusion of wax candles. Sir Joseph 
Paxton also arranged the ventilation in the most skilfiil manner; and 
with some assistance from a theatrical machinist, he put up aJI the 
scenes, curtains, and flies. Mr. Dickens was unanimously dubbed | 
general manager, and Mr. Mark Lemon stage manager. We had a 
professional gentleman for prompter, as none of the amateurs could I 
be entrusted with so technical, tactical, ticklish, and momentous ftj 
series of duties. 

Never in the world of theatres was a better manager than Charlci 1 
Dickens. Without, of course, (|iiestioning the superiority of Goethe I 
(in the Weimar theatre) as a manager in all matters of high-claas I 
drnmatic literature, one cannot think he could have been so excellent I 
Jn all general requirements, stage effects, and practical details of! 
acting, and of theatrical business. Equally assiduous and unwearying I 
as Dickens, surely very few men ever were, or could possibly bei Ha^ 
appeared almost ubiquitous and sleepless. We had many (I reallyf 
think, thirteen) rehearsals, six or seven of them after everybody knew | 
his pari, letter perfect 

Nothing could surpass the princely mimificence of the Duke of 
I>evonshire throughout this occasion, unless, indeed, it were his 
extreme kindness, and delicate consideration for the feelings of all 
die authors and artists engaged in the matter. The gates of Devon- 
shire House were open to our hackneys and cabriolets with all- the 
ceremony of porters and footmen, precisely as though our vehicles 
had been the usual classes of courtly equipage. A proftisc and ' 
elegant cold collation, comprising every delicacy in, and out o^ I 
season, and the choicest wines, was always served for the "company,"* \ 
behind whose chairs the Duke's own footmen in full livery ("uniform" 
would seem to be a more literal term, as they all wore double silver- 
bullion epaulettes); and at most of those twelve or thirteen luxurious 
luncheons, or liejci'iners ^ la JourchetU, his Grace sat doivn witl 
apologising for the state of his health, which limited him to a veij 1 
spare indulgence. Some of the scenes would not have been o 
place in "Lothair," had its author witnessed them. 

The principal scenes were painted by Clarkson Stanfield; but some I 
of them, I think, were the work of Maclise; indeed, it appeared that I 
Mr. Egg, as well as Topham and Tenniel, gave frequent assistance,, f 
as they were all continually on tiie stage during the touching-up and I 
arrangement of the scenery. 



250 The Gcnllanaiis Alagasine. 

Mr. Plancht- was consulted about the costumes; and it wuigned 
that the wigs and "make-up" of faces should be as good and chanc- 
teristic as possible. One military "character" not considering hitaitir 
sufficiently tall for the part, had a pair of thigh boots made witb cttk 
heels four inches high. ' 

Several amusing incidents occurred in the course of the rdieatttk. 
The tirst (one can only speak of what one knows) was during die 
preparation of the scenic arrangements, some alleration in which was 
required. Sir Joseph Paxlon gave his directions, and went awayfot 
3 lime. The hour for rehearsal had nor yet come, and wc were 
conning our pans in ihe green-room. Meanwhile, a tall, eWerijr 
gentleman, very plainly dressed In a suit of what looked like radio 
rusty black, had got ii])on the Mage, and uas lurking among tbt 
wings, now in one plate, now in another, with an amiable smile upon 
his countenance, denoting the interest he took in the proceediof^ 
The heavy roller of a scene was now being hoisted, and the t»U 
gentleman in black became confused as to hia whereabouts. "No», 
sir 1" exclaimed a voice, "do for heaven's sake keep out of ihe w»)rt 
Do you want to get your back broke?" The elderly gentleinin 
apologised with a deprecating bow, and immediately retired. "Who 
was that?" somebody intjuired : but nobody on the stage at ihM 
moment knew. It was the Duke \ This direful conlretemps, wU 
speedily put to rights by the ready tact and proper feeUng of our 
manager, and was the source of much amusement to the amiable 
nobleman, who warmly and humorously expressed his thanks for th* 
timely warning. U was "set about " that the blunder had been cm*" 
mitted by one of the stage- carpenters ; hui there was good reason *^ 
be afraid that it was one of nous aulrts. 

Another incident, which will be regarded as rather odd and uniqu^^ 
may ser\'e as material for some curious speculations as to the force 
imagination, and also of the sympathy between our visual and olfacS^^ 
tory oigans. Colonel Flint, of the guards, a bully and duellist.— - 
described in the " dramatis personas "as a " fire-eater," was to stan<^ 
with his back to the red glowing chimney-piece in "Will's Coffe^ 
House." The period is that of George the First, when it was fashion- 
able for great bloods and bucks of the day to smoke long pipes, 
designated as a "yard of clay." With such a pipe Colonel Flint 
had duly provided himself for rehearsal \ and to make his stage- 
business more perfect, soft-rolling clouds of smoke began to Issue 
from the bowl, and float over the once famous coffee-room. In no 
rime came the Manager, speaking quickly. " My dear H on ne 

f Celebrities. 


^Ha attempt to smoke ! The Queen dctesis tobacco, and would 
IKtiie box immediately." 
" r.ut there's no tobacco in the pipe ;" replied Uie Colonel. 

■ I ih— come— nonsense," 

look here !" — and the Colonel took out of his waistcoat pocket, 
indful of dried herbs. "I got them in Covcnt Garden market 
. morning, on the way to rehearsal" 

iVell~we smelt tobacco the moment we came within sight of the 
-v" laid Mr. Dickens : " the pipe must be foul." 

llis quite a new pipe !" 
^I.itk l,enion now came up, and protesting that he also had smelt 
■, and that the pipe must have been an old one re-burnt, to 
■'. clean, the otfcnding clay was flung aside, 

I'.-fore the next rehearsal, however, .mother pipe, warranted new 
! pure, was obtained, independent of which it was placed in the 
, ind kc[it there at while-heal long enough to purify it ten times 
-.. even had it been one of the unclean. Again the cloud began 

infold its volumes over " Will's Cotfee-room ;" and this time Sir 
--\i\\ Paxion catnc nmning from the seats in the front to the stage, 

■ iinag tiiai the Queen so detested the smell of tobacco, that 
.. iiing must really not be attempted. Once again the Colonel 

■ 'i-^ted the innocence of his pipe, in proof of which he produced 
■iiidfu! of dried thyme and rose-leaves from his waistcoat pockeL 
I vjin. Sir Joseph insisted that he had smelt tobacco I — " They all 

"it it!" So this second yard of day was sent to shivers. 

i'Ji the Colonel had chanced to see a "Mode! of the Battle of 
ttiloo " exhibited some years before in Leicester Square, in 
li the various miniature platoons of infantry, as well as the 

^jd« of artillery, were supposed to be firing volleys, the clouds 

: Breaths of smoke being fragile fixtures. These capital imitations 
'louds and wreaths of wiioke were discovered, on \e\y close 

■ iwnuion, to be composed of extremely fine and thinly drawn out 
" nf cotton, sup]>orted on rings and long twirls of almost invisible 

■"' ■ and attached al one end to tht mouths and muzzles of the 
■iture cannon and musketry. This model for a trium]»h in the art 
' -iii^king 3 pipe in the presence of a Queen who abhorred tobacco, 
now adopted by Colonel Flint, but held in reserve for the 
'■'iifig rehearsal of the full-rfress rehearsal of the same iiighl, when 
■ wouki be a preliminary audience, 

. ' !o flatter himself that all these delicate considerations i 
would be much applauded and complimented, both b^ J 
T and the man,\g(rracnL V«c timn "VU '^g 


The Gaitleman s Mamzine. 


sooner was the cloud of appareot smoke perceived to issae &om ihe 

pipe, than the Manager, Stage -manager, and Sir Joseph PuLlun 
hurried together to the too assiduous Guardsman, begging him od w 
account to persist in this smoking ! — this smoke — -ot this (on examin- 
ing the smoke) appearance of smoking. It would be most tnjudidous. 
Her Majesty would think she smelt tobacco, and this would be as bad 
as if Her Majesty really smelt it; at the same time, they added, 
coliectively, that they themselves had smelt tobacco, no matto' from 
what source, or what cause ! Of course there was an end of tht 
matter, as we were all anxious to be harmonious; and the discorafiied 
"fire-eater" of the comedy did the best he could to bully the com- 
pany in " Will's Colfee-room " with his empty-bowled and imnuculaU 
yard of c!ay. These minute details, however, will serve to showte 
pains that were taken even with the slightest parts of this petftOB' 
ance ; pains that were worthy of the Comidie Fran^aist. 

But with regard to the supposed tobacco smoke, " there's moie ■ 
that than meets the eye." For, query — did they not real^ g« i 
faint effect of tobacco, though no such thing had been there? ^ 
the force of imagination, it will be said. Yes ; but not only bytlsti 
but by some subtile power of memory and association, reproducing 
such an effect on the senses. It is easy to smile; but who kaon? 
With which adventurous but very pregnant problem, we will IttW 
the subject. 

At the full-dress rehearsal, the audience was composed excbuivt^ 
of the relatives, friends, and acquaintance of the Duke of Devon- 
shire, and of the authors and artists engaged in the perfoniMiK<- 
All went well, and the " first night " was announced. The tidirti 1 
were five guineas each, and Her Majesty sent a hundred guineas ft" 
her box. This night — our first^-our all-important night — went O" 
most satisfactorily. Only one little accident occurred. Every gentiC' 
man of the period, of any rank, wore a sword ; the manager, the**" 
fore, intimated that as our stage was small, and would be neaf^ 
filled up with side tables and tables in front, in the conspiracy see*** 
in " Will's Coffee House," it would be prudent and important tl**^ 
the swords of the dramatis personm should be most carefiilly cc»* 
sidered in passing down the centre, and round one of the tables * 
front. At this table sat the Duke of Middlesex (Mr. Frank Stow ^ 
and the Earl of Loftus (Mr. Dudley Costello), in a private and hig'* 
treasonous conversation. On the table were decanters, glass^^ 
plates of fhiit, &c. At the other table, in front, sat Mr. DaV' 
Fallen {Mr. Augustus Egg), the half-starved Grub Street author a***' 
political pamj,)hleteer, with some bread and cheese, and a little <^*^, 

Bygone Celebrities. 253 

of ale. The eventful moment came, when Mr. Shadowly Softhead 
(Douglas Jerrold), Colonel Flint, and others, had to pass down the 
narrow space in the middle of the stage, to be presented to the Duke 
of Middlesex, and then, as there was not room enough to enable 
thera to turn about and retire up the stage, each one was to pass round 
the comer of the table, and make his exit at the left first entrance. 
This was done by all with safety, and reasonably good grace, except 
one gentleman, who shall not be named ; for as he rose from his 
courtly bowing, to advance and pass round, the tip of his jutting-out 
sword went rigidly across the surface of the table, and swept off the 
whole of the " properties " and realities ! Decanters, glasses, grapes, 
a pine-apple, a painted pound cake, and several fine wooden peaches, 
rolled pell-mell upon the stage, and, as usual, made for the foot- 
lights ! A considerable '* sensation '' passed over the audience ; 
amidst which the Queen (to judge by the shaking of the handker- 
chief in front of the royal face) by no means remained unmoved. 
But Mr. Dickens, who, as Lord Wilmot, happened to be close in 
front, with admirable promptitude and tact, instantly called out with 
a jaunty air of command, " Here, drawer ! come and clear away this 
wreck !" as though the disaster had been a part of the business of 
the scene, while the others on the stage so well managed their bye-play 
that many of the audience were in some doubt about the accident. 
When inquiry was instituted as to the culprit on this occasion, who 
had failed to carry his sword with due circumspection, as every one 
of the "Guild" protested his innocence of the awkward fact in 
question, it was presently discovered that the guilty individual was a 
supernumerary lord for that scene, enacted by a gentleman who was 
one of the Duke's suite. 

Two other amusing incidents occurred. A number of bedrooms 
had been placed at our disposal for dressing-rooms, A certain 

gentleman of the " company " (the portly and genial M L it 

was whispered) had been somewhat too long over the buttoning of a 
long-flapped and stiffly embroidered waistcoat, and the call-boy had 
been sent up stairs a second time from the prompter below, to inform 
him that the stage would immediately be " waiting " for him ! Away 
ran the boy, and vanished round a comer. In his haste, the "character" 
in question took a wrong turn, and coming upon a steep flight of stairs, 
down he hurried, and then down another long flight, and presently 
found that he was close upon the kitchens. Up he rushed again, 
and scuttled along the gallery, till he turned into a still longer gallery, 
well lighted, but vacant and hopeless. Once more he made a turn, 
now wild with the thought oi the stage being kepX. v^^ixvcv^^ ^xA 

54 The Gentlemati s ilfaj^astNC. 

;eing a tall, dark figure passing the further end, li« rusbed to»arf» 
— wigged, powdered, buckled, ruffled, perspiring, tnaddcncd, and 
asping out " Where^where's the stage ?" He was barely able W> «- 
ognise the Duke, who with a most delighted and delightful urbuii^. 
t once put him upon his right course. Another niiscalcuUtioii of 
me occvirred, in consequence of Sir Joseph Paxtoti remarking in the 
reen-room, just after tlie conclusion of the performance, that he hiil 
rranged the Queen's chair in the supjier-room, in a peculiar taflnno. 
■ith exotic and other rare flowers, whicli had arrived that evcnni}! 
esh from the Duke's gardens at ChatBwonh. Colonel Flint heanqg 
lis, requested ]jermission to Bee the floral tliron^, before Htr 
dajesty's entrance to the 

"By all means," said Sir Joseph, "but yoii fnust be v«y (Hifck.* 
Lway hurried the applicant, and was speedily in the siipper-nwoi, 
nd made his w-ay, his stage costume notvrith standing, throu^ * 
umber of gentlemen in waiting, officurs ailircd in a very difttiflil 
ort of uniform, footmen, &c., to their no small surprise and ami>» 
nenl. But the sight well rewarded the efiorL 

At the top of the table and furthest from the door, there w» 
Lchly-carved and cushioned chair, raised a few inches above 
ther chairs. It had large padded arms of figured Batiu and velvtli 

rlvcl. ] 

Bygone Celebrities. 255 ] 

by Flint, when suddenly it was announced that the Queen was 
approaching the supper-room \ Instantly the awakened Colonel 
m.ade a dash lor the open door, but it was only to encounter the 
bofting backs and elegant embroidered coat-tails of gentlemen and 
lords in wailing, who were ushering in Her Majesty! There was 
nothing for it but lo spring aside, and range in line with the officers 
and genllemen in attendance, and to " stand attention " at if on 
grand parada He trusted, in the confusion of the moment, that his 
;;uaitisman's uniform of the time of George 1,. notwithstanding the 
polished thigh boots and towering powdered wig, would not be ob- 
served by the Queen, with Prince Albert, the Duke, and suite 
attending, or following. Vain hope ! The gleaming glances that 
|)a6sed told all ; and with long rapid strides, the instant Her Majesty 
was seated, the anachronismic uniform made its exit at ihe rear of 
the line in which it had so unseasonably appeared m indilaire. 

Various other incidents, no doubt, transpired with respect to dif- 
ferent individuals, but did not chance to come under the present 
writer's observation. 

After the perfomiance, and before leaving the box. Her Majesty 
had sent to the manager lo express her gratification, coupled with the 
remark, ''They act very well indeed." This was duly announced to 
the Company, when assembkd for siijiper, and was received with 
great satisfaction, modest and otherwise; but I)it:kens went on, 
«ln1y adding^" But the Queen Ik very kind — and was sure to say 
*kat;" — which very much strjighlened the complacent faces round 
«he table, till ihey laughed at each other. Nevertheless, a few more 
■^ords may be said on the subject. They really did act well ; some, 
very well. When it is remembered the studious sort of men they all 
■were, and the time, together with the great pains bestowed In all 
respects,. — why not ? The principal character, as matter of elocution, 
■was that of Hardmaii, and the gentleman personating this rising 
A'oung statesman was unquestionably one of the best private readers 
of the day. Then, as to acting, most of the company were jjractised 
amateurs long before this event, more especially Douglas Jerrold and 
Mark Lemon, who, in jjarts that suited them, were first-rate actors, 
almost equal to Dickens. The two latter were matchless in the 
jifter-piece, but the parts they played in the comedy were not in ac- 
cordance with their peculiar talents. It has been said that Mr. 
Dickens, in private life, had very much the appearance of a sea- 
faring man. This is (juite true ; and his long daily walks about 
1-ondon and the environs, or at the sea-side, caused iiini to have a 
■voy aua-bomt weaJber-beaMii face. His fulUcnglW yionmv. xm^ 


256 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

readily bt mistaken for the captain of an East Indiaman, if tiudk- 
fully painted. But the character and costume of " Lord Wilmol a 
young man at the head of the Mode, more than a century ago,** did not 
suit him, and was in fact against the grain of his nature. His bearing 
on the stage, and the tone of his voice, were too rigid, hard and 
quarter-deck-like, for such " rank and fashion," and his make-up, with 
the three-cornered gold-laced cockt-hat, black curled wig, huge sleeiv- 
cuffs, long flapped waistcoat, knee-breeches and great shoe-buckles, 
were not carried off with the proper air ; so that he presented 1 
figure that would have made a good portrait of a captain of a Dutch 
privateer,* after having taken a capital prize. ^Vhen he shouted in 
praise of the wine of Burgundy, it far rather suggested fine kegs of 
Schiedam. It was in " Mr. Nightingale's Diary," which followed, that 
he was inimitable. The late Miss Mitford, being present at the per- 
formance of this some time afterwards, pronounced certain parts ol 
liis acting in this piece as something wonderful Neither can it be 
said that Mr. Mark Lemon was quite at home in his part in the 
comedy, viz.^ that of " Sir Geoffrey Thomside, a gentleman of good 
family and estate." He looked far more like a burly, wealthy York- 
shire brewer, who had retired upon something handsome. In the 
after-piece he could hardly have been surpassed. Yet both the last- 
named parts in the comedy were fairly acted. Jerrold also (a capital 
actor in certain parts) was hardly in his right element. The head 
and face of Jerrold were a good illustration of the saving that most 
people are like one or another of our " dumb fellow creatures," for 
he certainly had a remarkable resemblance, in several respects, to a 
lion, chiefly for his very large, clear, round, undaunted, straighl- 
fonvard looking eyes ; the structure of the forehead ; and his rough, 
unkempt, uplifted flourish of tawny hair. It was difficult to make 
such a face look like tlie foolish, half-scared, country gentleman, "Mr. 
Shadowly Softhead ;" but he enacted the part very well, notwith- 
standing. As a contrast to these, Mr. Frank Stone, the painter, pre- 
sented a very grave, tall, stately full-length of the proud " Duke 
of Middlesex," whose dignity was astonished at his wife daring to 
take "such a liberty" as to give him a kiss; while the **Earl 
Loftus" of Mr. Dudley Costello, was far too elegant for a noble- 
man of the court of George I., and rather resembled a highly- 
polished French marquis of the age of Louis Quatorze. The make- 
up of Mr. Egg as " David Fallen," the Grub Street author, &c, ^"as 

* A celebrated painter is said to have made a similar remark. What would he 
have thought of Mr. Dickens in the above costume ? 

Bygone Celebrities. 


h « only a fine painler could well have effected. lHleltectua.1 

\ amidsi his seedj' cloiliing ; resentful of his hard lot, yet 

1 by disappoimnieni and semi -starvation, his thoughts ap- 

osciliale between independence of character— his politiutl 

his hungry family in their miserable attic; such a 

btenaoce was presented as the stage has seldom seen, and Is verf 

Btdy ro see again, except at rare and exceptional intervals. The 

a landlord of Mr. Fallen (Paddy O'SulJivan) was represented 

1 by Mr. Robert Bell, whose gigantic stature, long frieze 

e bit of a hat, ragged-red wig, and highly-painted smiling 

e (reminding one of the Sompnour in the "Canterbury Tales "") 

» a {uaure that even surjiassed the effect of the rich brogue iu 

h he blurted out the few words allotted to him. The minor 

I, hnwcver. of this pky ha\e all been reduced to mere shreds in 

ting cupies since published. No professional actors would be 

y tu take such pains with them as were exhibited on thti 

Miy formal critique on the comedy of " Not so Bad as we Seem ; 

puiy Sides to a Character," would here be out of place ; but as 

s DOW little known and never acted, a few extracts and 

( may be interesting, as showing the difference 

wit and humour of Lord Lytton's legitimate high comedy, 

K dreadful punning stuff and "sensational" tricks of the period. 

11 look at two or three extracts taken at random. 


tu Ote ime ySiR GEOFFREY ThoWISIDB— X/ Iff iatk a lai 
ly t» tkt grotmJ~Suie-J»af ta an adjaining tvom — .Styll i>/ 
•dfiom tkt Dutth in lAe reign 0/ H'Uliam HI. (otd'/oihiaaKi, l/uri-, 
uiigited ta Ihi Play's, rUh aad hiaiy ; mtk fanih, parity pit; high- 

Wabiin, 6v. 

Eater Sir Ck 
But I say ilie dog 

)FFREy and Hodgf, 
did howl last night, and it is a most 

Fegs my dear Maester, if you'se think that these Lunnon 
tvc found out that your honour's rents were paid last woik, may- 
Si sleep here In the luilKry, 

fj. \A$id*. How docs he know I keep my moneys here ?] 
Zooks! I'se the Did blunderbuss, and that will boite better 
'sc warrant ! 
•■ Ciaf. \Asiiie. 1 begin to suspect him. For ten years have I« 


1 sieep in my librarf J 
^ Ja case J should come In and dcuo. "wa^-^ 

258 Tlie Genllemaii s Ji/agasine. 

see murder in his very face. How blind I've been i] Hodge, you vt 
very good— very j come closer. [Audi.: What a. felon step he h«s 1] But 
1 don't keep my rents here, they're all gone to the banker's. 

Hodge. Mayhap I'd best go and lock up the plate ; or wil! you «irf 
that to the banker's ? 

Sir Geo/. [Aside. I wonder if he has got an accomplice aX the 
banker's 1 It looks uncommonly like it.] No, I'll not send the plate W 
the banker's, I'll — consider, You've not detected the miscreant who h» 
been flinging flowers into the library the last four daj-s?— or observed wy 
one watching your master when tie walks in his garden, from the windo" 
of thai ugly old house in Deadnian's Lane? 

Hodge. With the sign of the Crown and Poor Culley I Why, il maiui 
be very teaiely. 'Tint a week ago 'sin it war empty. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside. How he evades the question! — just a» they doll 
the Old Bailey.] Get along with you and feed [he house -dt^—ib'f 

Hodge, Yes, your honour. [Exit, 

Sir Geo/. I'm a very unhappy man, \ I'ly. Never did harm to any on* 
— done good to many, And ever since 1 was a bnbe in the cradle, all the 
world have been conspiring and ploliing against mi;. It certainly is ai* 
exceedingly wicked world ; and what iti attraction can be to the oth*' 
worlds, that they should have kept il spinning through space for s>> 
thousand years, 1 can't possibly conceive — unless they are as bad *' 
itself; I should not wonder. That new theory of attraction is a s^^ 
suspicious circumstance against the pl.ineis— there's a gang of 'cm ! X. . 

Bygone Celebrilies. 

rother. And did rot he conspire wiih my cousi 
gainst me ; and trick me out of my heritage '! 

Easy. But you've heaped favours as great on ih 

foster-brother ; and he ^ 

Sir Geo/. Ay ! but he don't know of them. P 
that girl's mother' 

Easy. Well— well ! we agreed never to talk upon that subject. Come. 
otne, what of the nosegay ? 

Sir Geo/. Yes, yes, the nosegay ! Hark ; I suspect some design on 
ny life. The dog howled last night. When I walk in the garden, some- 
lody or something (can't see what it is) scen>s at the watch in a window 
[) Deadman's Lane^pleasant name for a street at the back of one's 
iremises ! And what looks blacker thap all, for five days running, has 
icen thrown in at me, yonder, surreptitiously aiid anonymously, what you 
M — a nosegay t 

Easy. Hal ha t you lucky dog 1— you are still not bad-looking '. 
Depend on it the flowers come from a woman. 

Sir Geo/. A woman ! — my worst fears are confirmed ! In the small 
:ity of Placcntia, in one year, there were no less than seven hundred cases 
»f slow poisoning, and all by women. Flowers were among the insina- 
iieiits they employed, steeped in laurel water and other mephilic prepara- 
ions. Those flowers are poisoned. Not a doubt of it I — how very awful I 
Easy, But why should any one take the trouble to poison you, 

■Sir Geo/. I don't know. But I don't know why seven hundred people 
• one year were poisoned in Placentia. Hodge ! Hodge 1 

Enlfr Hodge, 

^ptp away those flowers 1 — lock 'em up with the rest in the coal-hole, 
^icxamine them all chemically, by and by, with precaution. \Exit 
^ncE.] Don't smell at 'em ; and, above all, don't let the house-dog^ 
^^ at 'cm. 
Er*uv. Ha I ha ! 

^MrGeo/ [Aside. Ugh .'—that brute's laughing !— no more feeHng 
Lttx a brick-bat !] Goodenough Easy, you are a very happy man. 
Cfa/y. Happy, yes. I could be happy on bread and ■'flter. 
Saff Gee/. And would toast your bread at a conflagration, and tilt your 
E fo>in a deluge ! Ugh ! I've a trouble you are more likely to feel for, 
3fou've a girl of your own to keep out of mischief. A man named 
dznot, and styled " my Lord,"" has called here a great many times ; he 
^*«nds he saved Lucy from footpads, when she was coming liome from 
'^K house in a sedan chair. And I suspect that man means to make 

'^ W her ! 

^^asy. Egad I that's the only likely suspicion you've hit on this many 
l^y. I've heard of Lord Wilmot. Softhead professes lo copy him. 
■^thead, the son of a trader': A; be a lounger at Wliite's and Will's, Mid 
*e with wits and fine gentletaetil He live with lotds'.^he toIotw^ 

26o The Gentleman s Magazine. ^^| 

fashion ! No ! I've respect for even ihe faults of a man ; but I've nont 
for ihe tricks of a monkey. 

Mr. Shadowly Softhead, it will he remembered, was iilaycd liy 
Douglas Jerrold. By a peculiarly fine tact, and what we may deiig- 
nate as personal _;fw<'jjc combined with dramatic instinct. Lord Lyltta 
has put uito the next speech of Sir Geoffrey, when s[)eaking of 
Softhead, a remark peculiarly like some of Jeirold's own pungent 
wit ; as if, though almost unconsciously, to make amends to Jemdd 
for the weak-minded part he enacted ; — 

,S*/>- Gcof. Ugh ! j-ou're so savage on Softhead, 1 suspea 'tis from envf. 
Man and monke)-, indeed ! If a rihbnn is titd to the tail of a mtmtfy, il 
is nol Ihe man il enrages; it is some other monkey wkoff tail Am w 
rihboH .' 

Easy [angrily]. 1 disdain your insinuations. Do you mcnn to imply 
that I am a monkey ? 1 will not praise myself ; but at least » more 
steady, respectable, sober 

Sir Geof. Ugh ! sober !^I suspect you'd get as dnink ns a lord, if » 
lord passed the bottle. 

Easy. Now, now, now 1 Take care : — you'll put me in a passion, 

Sir Geof. There — there— beg p.irdon. But I fenr you'i-e n snwlnng 
respect for a lord. 

Easy. Sir, I respect the British Constilution and the HouieofPefn 

a prr;i-:i(li;r \\i-vr (Mllcd (.iiiir-, \]]>- '1 hird. Sih li is tlic p-ii- 

v;V/.'. 1 >nlli ;irr .ii-i!i -il. .ind .ili, );k-. ) 

[A/^tX'.v //?r r^/z/tv {^(wr by ivhich lie is standi tig, 
\sidi'. So, I guess his intention.] [Opens the window and looks 
d, the officers are come. 

/hat the law calls high-treason I know not ; what the honest 
I I know. Traitor, thou who hast used the confidence of a son 
; life of a father, thou shalt not quit these walls with that life in 
-yield the proof thou hast plundered or forged. [Seizes him. 

m immediately thrusts his hand out of the window, ready 
e papers into the street, where the Officers of Justice are 

rcoiling]. Foiled ! Foiled ! How act ! what do ? And thy 
1 bloodhound on thy track, O my father ! Sir, you say you are 
I guess the terms you now come to impose ! 
I impose no terms. What needs the demand .? Have you an 

think better of you. We both love the same woman ; I have 
I year, you a week ; you have her father's dislike, I his consent. 

yield — why should I } Rude son of the people though I be, 
I be thrust from the sunshine because you cross my path as the 
e high-bom ? What have I owed to your order or you ? Listen 
iiemed to save your father, not to injure. Had you rather this 
fallen into the hands of a spy ? And now, if I place it in yours 
XT name from attainder, your fortunes from confiscation, your 
1 the axe of the headsman — why should I ask terms } Would it 

263 The GenlL-maiis .\fagaziue. 

permission to give it myself to your father, «nd ¥rith such word* a^ wll 
save him, and others whose names are hereto ftCtdchdl, from such pffitotu 
hazards in fulurei ■* 

WiU In this too i fear that you leave me Do choice ; I must trutl a I 
may to your honour ! but heed well if 

Hard. Menace not ; you doubt, then, my honour? 

Wit. \-witk suppressed passion\ Plainly, 1 do ; our characters differ, 1 
had held myself dishonoured for ever if our positions had been revened^ 
— if I had taken such confidence as was placed in you, — concealed the 
rivalry, — prepared the scheme, — timed the moment, — forced the condition 
in the guise of benefit. No, sir, no ; that may be talent, il a not honour 

This is dramatic wTiting ; this is ihe true drama of the class that 
has been smothered for the last twenty years by costly scenes, 
costly dresses, licentious dancing, and costly decoratiotis ; .ind bj 
vile burlesques and clap-traps, which are an insult to the hiunsB 
understanding, and have proved the well-merited ruin of «> nati 
deluded managements. The public never craved for such stuff; il 
was forced upon them, till they came to believe that the British mge 
was intended to hold the mirror u]d to Folly and Vulgarity, as fin 
most attractive representations of Art and Nature. 

Some account of the after-piece, entitled " Mr. Nightingale's 
Diary," written jointly by Mr. Flickens and Mr. Mark Lemon, but 

11 RON AND Ironworkers. 

HE history of ironworking, from the days of Tubal Cain, 

the inspired artificer, down lo these stirring limes of 

Bessemer and Fairbaim, means little less than the 

history of national life and civilisation. It is interwoven 

le progress of art and science and agriculture all the world 

It has triumphed alike in works of peace and works of war. 

the pastorals of Virgil and the epics of Homer, and 

^_. 'ondets in this later age the dreams oi the hoary alchemist are 


ddly enough we are indebted to a poet for our earliest description 

ron making. Homer represents Hephicstus as throwing the 

ttials from which the shield of Achilles was to be foiled 

H furnace urged by twenty pair of bellows. This simple de- 

pDn gives us some clue to the date of what Mr. Fairbairn has 

miere called the first epoch in iron manufacture, viz. — the em- 

"meni of an artificial blast to acceleralecombustion.* The shores 

he Black Sea, Laconia, Spain, Africa, and Damascus are among 

most ancient sources of iron produce of which we have any 

Itic record. From Laconia the Greeks obtained, through the 

ipan merchants their first supplies of this materia!, and the 

shores yielded to the Romans argosies of iron ore at a period 

ite antiquity. 

Ac invasion of Britain by Csesar (B.C. 55) the Roman legions 

■nonished to find our savage ancestors armed with swords, 

and chariots of war, but there is no evidence to show that 

fere of native manufacture. The probability is that they had 

lought by the Phcenicians from Soutliem Europe in exchange 

produce of the Cornish mines. It is, however, almost certain 

e Roman occupation of Britain was immediately followed by 

ablishment of ironworks in various parts of the island. £vi- 

: of this have been abundantly furnished by archaeological 

h. Not only have immense beds of cinders been discovered 

b said that in Madognscar ii 
Ibe blowing appaninu co 
worked by liand. 

i much in the same way, 
s of hollow tnuika of trees, with VoqmV) 

264 The Gentletnan's Magazine. 

containing Roman coins and pottery, but niins of altars to Jupttr 
Dolichenus have further attested this generally accepted fact.' The 
process of smelting employed by the Romans in Britain was a slight 
modification of that described by Homer. On an open hearth laym 
of charcoal and ironstone were placed alternately, and fire being 
applied, it was urged by men treading upon huge bellows. This was 
caJled the " foot-blast," and it prevailed in all the iron-making disUicB 
for several hundreds of years. 

As to the extent of iron manufacture in England, eren for KKW 
s after the Conquest, the records are too few and xaeagK f 
anything like a satisfactory estimate. An authentic documot 
quoted in Rudder's " History of Gloucestershire " leads to the sapf'^ 
sition that the Forest of Dean was the first iron-making dubDCtoT 
any importance in this country. In the year ii8z, according lo iok 
generally-received authority, there were in this forest seventy-tw 
" moveable forges, "t established by special licence from the king.and 
yielding to the Crown an annual tribute. Many of these forges iKte 
in connection with abbeys and priories, the monks of the Abbey of 
Flaxley being iron makers of considerable repute. The ironworken 
of this period undoubtedly possessed great skill in the manipulation 
of " Mars' metal," as the defensive armour and church fittings sbU in 
existence abundantly testify ; but the processes of manufacture ntK 
both tedious and expensive, and the aggregate yield of the countiy * 
this time must have been comparatively insignificant Camden. '" 
his "Britannica,"speaksof England as being "full of iron mines evef" 
where, for the casting of which there are furnaces up and down t-'* 
country." Sussex, Yorkshire, and Staffordshire are especially tm^^' 
tinned as iron -producing districts. All the old chronicles agree tt^"^"^ 
down to the time of Queen Elizabeth the processes of iron roak^^ 
had undergone little or no improvement since the days of Ccesai. — -"^ 
the reign of the Virgin Queen may be assigned the invention of C^^ 
blast furnace, one of the most important steps of progress in U^-^ 
entire history of the trade. 

From this period the manufacture of iron occupied an iropoite-^ 

• Andrew Yarrwiton, wriling in 1698, relates thai he himself saw dug np^ n^^^ 
the wolU of llic city of Worcester, the hearth of one of the Romin fbol-blwt ite^^ 
(uroaces, which was seven feel deep in the ground, and by its Hde was an mil 111 1^ < 
vcissel containing abont a peck of Roman coins. 

+ Various theories have been advanced as to the meaning of this Icnn, bat tt^^ 
most natural one is that the forges were so constructed that they could be remove-* 
without difficulty to such parts of ihc forest as afforded the bc5t timber, Ibe coc^"' 
sumption of which for milking charcoal must have been very coosidenble. 

Iron and Irom.'orkers. 


position among the national industries; but, oddly enough, its voij 
prosperity sown began lo threaten its decay, if not its complete anniht* 
lation. The use of timber became so enormous that the wholft 
country was alanned at the prospect of the land being completelj' 
deforested. Patriots cried out that the " wooden walls " of old 
England were in danger, builders and carpenters groaned under the 
heavy prices of o&k and elm, and poets and other lovers of the beautiful 
in nature joined in the general lament. Evelyn and Fuller were espe- 
cially vehement, the latter in his " Worthies of Kngland " offering a 
suggestion, which, by its realisation long afterwards, may almost be 
regarded as a con5rmation of the old saying that poetry ts akin to 
prophecy. "It is to be hoped," he says, poetising in the guise of 
prose, " that a way may be found out to char sea coal in such a manner 
as to render it useful for the making of iron. All things are not found 
out in one age as reserved for future discovery, and that perchance 
may be easy for the next which seems impossible to this generation." 
The upshot of the agitation was an Act of Parliament forbidding 
timber to be felled to make coals for burning iron ; and the employ- 
ment of'timber trees of a given size was prohibited within certain 
districts, exceptions being made for the county of Sussex, the W^ld oi 
Kent, and some other centres of the iron trade in Sumey.* 

Before the close of Elizabeth's reign blast furnaces capable of pn^ 
ducing twenty-one tons per week had been established in such part* 
of the country as had an abundant supply of waier-power to work the 
huge bellows then employed. The demand for iron was great, iheit 
was no lack of enterprise on the part of the masters or of skill 
on the part of the workmen, and nothing seemed to stand in 
the way of great prosperity to this industry save the growing 
scardiy of fuel Tlie solution of the latter difficulty had, however, 
now become of vital importance, and would admit of no further 
<[day. In the year t6ii Simon Sturtevant patented a process for 
m&nufocturing iron with pit coal, but it did not succeed, and he 
surrendered his right to ihe exclusive use of the invention in (h« 
following year. Three other adventurers — by name, Robinson, 
Gambleton, and Jordan a— -successively patented inventions in the 
n»ne direction, and with similar result. Seven years after Slurtevant's 
Ikiltire Dud Dudley, an Oxford student, was called from Balliol before 
he had attained his majority to undertake the management of his 
father's ironworks in the Chase of Pensnett, near Dudley. One of 



r Band, a FteiicHTnan, i: 

266 Tfu Gcntlana}{s Magazine. 1 

his first enterprises was an attempt to utilise the excellent pit coal fith 
which the neighbourhood abounded for the smelting of iron or. 
After a series of experiments he succeeded, and obtained a psttBt 
from King James. His success was, however, dearly purchased. 
Jealous rivals harassed him by disputing the validity of his patdiftf 
riotous workpeople cut his furnace-bellows, a great flood swept a«lT 
his works, and subsequently his allegiance to the Royalist larQT 
during the Civil Wars led to a confiscation of his property. Undc^ 
the weight of these calamities he was forced to succumb, but mt^ 
until he had been able by his invention to make iron "moresuffideD^ 
more cheap, and more excellent" Dud Dudley's reverses ai^iear to 
have discouraged subsequent ironmasters for a time, and the industry' 
so far languished that the greater part of the pig iron used in 
country was imported fi'om Spain and Sweden. About the year lyj 
Abraham Darby, of Coalbrookdale. invented the process of 
forming coal into coke for use in the furnace, and this led in a 
time to charcoal being entirely superseded by coal as a fuel for aLA 
the processes of iron manufacture. 

Inunediately following the success of this invention bellows wuc> 
substituted by large cylinders with closely-fitting pistons,* and pre — 
sently the steam engine lent its pK)werful aid to the blowing of the- 
blast But so greatly had the industry suffered by the tardy applica- 
tion of inventions which were, in truth, the offspring of necessity, 
that in the year 1788 there were only seventy-seven blast fiimaccs 
throughont the kingdom, and the aggregate produce of iron was 
actually less than it had been before the Commonwealth. During 
the last ten years of the eighteenth centiuy, however, the iron trade 
experienced a wonderful impetus, and, with the exception of the 
newly-developed North of England districts, it assumed its prfsent 
geographical limits. In the year 1806, when an unsuccessful attempt 
was made to impose a tax of 20s. per ton on pig iron, there were 22a 
blast furnaces in Great Britain. The year 1829 was an impK>rtant era 
in the iron trade, owing to the application by Neilson, of Glasgow, of 
the hot blast in the process of smelting. To this invention Scotlaiwl 
owes much of its present fame as a great iron-producing centre. 

Meanwhile, efforts had not been wanting to improve the procesacs 
of iron manufacture in its subsequent stages. In this direction the 
labours of Foley and Cort are especially noticeable, the former as 
the introducer of slitting mills into this country from Sweden, and 

* The first of any magnitude were erected by Smeaton at the Canon Iroowff^ 
in 1760. 

the latter as the inventor of the now indispensable processes of 
puddling and rolling. Of Foley's enterprise a romantic stoty is told. 
He cammenced life about two centuries ago as an itinerant musician 
in Stourbridge, and was familiarly known as " Foley the fiddler." 
Hearing that the Swedish ironmasters had a machine for slitting iron 
into bare, a process which in this country was most laboriously per- 
formed by hand, and that the construction of this machine was A' 
secret jealously guarded, Foley set off one morning on a bold and 
ingenious expedition. He fiddled his way to Hull, worked his 
passage across to Stockholm, and thence by the aid ol his fiddle 
penetrated the Swedish iron district. Here like a true disciple of 
Orpheus, he so charmed the ironu'orkers that they admitted him lo 
the very mills he had gone expressly to see. and while his finger*' 
were busy with his fiddle, his eyes and head were at work in master- 
ing all the details of the machine. In due time the long-lost fiddler 
again turned up in Stourbridge, and by the prudent use of the secret 
he had thus stealthily won, he efiecied almost a revolution in the 
English iron trade, accumulated a large fortune, and founded a 
lamily. Cort. who resided at (iosport, introduced the processes of 
puddling and rolling in 1773-4. His first patent comprised methods 
of " fagoting bars for various uses, the hammer and anvil being 
employed, and the fagots brought to a welding heat in a balling 
fiimace instead of one with a blast By passing faggots through 
toilers all the earthy particles are pressed out, and the iron com- 
pressed into a lough and fibrous state." The reverberatory furnace 
he also introduced, into which the fluid metal was run from the 
smelting furnace, and he demonstrated how by a process of puddling 
while exposed to the oxidising current of flame and air, the cast 
Inetal could be rendered malleable. In short, the germ of all the 
exisring processes in the production of finished iron are to be found 
in the records of the patient labour and far-seeing enteqjrise of this 
great but luckless inventor. Mr. Fairbaim tells us that Henry Cort 
expended a fortune of ^20,000 in perfecting his inventions for puddling 
iron and rolling it into bars and plates ; that he was robbed of the 
fruit of his discoveries by the knavery of officials in a high depart- 
ment of the Government, and that he was ultimately lefi — Uke poor 
Snider — to starve, by the apathy and selfishness of an unjjatefal 
country. The invention by James Watt of the steam engine, soon 
after Cort's death, inaugurated a new era in the iron trade, and old 
methods were at once superseded by its immense power, economy, 
and convenience of ajiplication. 

Atnoqg the comparative J/ recent improvements in ft\e vnUL'atx.a.'Qs^ 





268 The Gentleman s Magazine, 

of iron, from the smelting of the ore, to its perfected conditioD, dte 
following are the most important, viz. : — ^the direct production of 
wrought iron from rich ores in a reverberatory fixmace accomplidnd 
by Mr. Clay in 1840 ; the introduction of anthracite, stone coal, 01 
culm in smelting, by Mr. Crane and Mr. Budd, about the same period ; 
the invention of the steam hammer by Mr. Nasmyth in 1843 ; the 
utilisation of waste gases by Teague, Meckenheim, and many sabs^ 
quent inventors — Mr. Cochrane being of the number ; the application 
of steam to puddling by Guest and Evans, Nasmyth, Maitien, 
Bessemer, and Talabot ; the conversion of cast metal into sted by 
granulating it in water, and decarbonising it by fusion with spathosc 
ore; the ** boiling" process in puddling, an improvement on Con's 
principle, by the late Mr. Joseph Hall, of Tipton ; and last, but bjr 
no means least, the simple transformation of iron into steel by the 
I >a tented process of Mr. Henry Bessemer. 

The centres of the English iron trade have undergone great changes 
as regards their relative extent and importance during the last hundred 
years, the industry having, since the disuse of charcoal for fuel, prin- 
cipally been developed in the richest coal districts of the country. 
About the middle of the last century Gloucestershire was the largest 
iron-producing county in Great Britain. Sussex had the greatest 
number of furnaces, and there were a few in Kent, in the Midland 
counties, and along the Welsh borders. In regard to these localities, 
the tables have been completely turned; the two former districts 
having long since been eclipsed by Staffordshire and South Wales, 
and these latter in their turn are now being outrivalled by the newer 
centres of Cleveland and other districts in the north country. 

Nor are the changes less striking in the results of the various pro- 
cesses and the aggregate proportions of the industry within the same 
period. A century ago the average weekly yield of a blast fiimacc 
was 5 tons. Now the produce ranges from 150 to 200 tons. At the 
former period there were only fifty-nine furnaces in the whole country, 
and the total yield was little more than 17,000 tons. There are now 
in the United Kingdom not less than 912 blastfurnaces, and although 
not more than two-thirds of them are in operation, the present yield 
is at the rate of 5,000,000 tons per annum. It need scarcely be added 
that the progress has been proportionately great in the manufacture 
of finished iron, the puddling furnaces now numbering 5,950, and the 
rolling mills 850. 

England has no longer a monopoly of the iron trade, Belgiu^» 
France, Sweden, and the United States having within a comparatively 
few years developed this branch of industry to a remarkable degree 


Iron and Ironworkers. 369 

The rivalry of Beigiuni has perhaps been most largely felt by English 
ironmastn^ the comparative cheapness of labour, together with the 
OOmmendAble enterprise displayed by the leading ironrnakers, having 
.giveii Belgium an advantage, which it has not been slow in turning to 
tte best account. Some years ago it was estimated that the annual 
coosumption of iron in Great Britain was equal to 15 lbs. per head 
upon the entire population ; while at the same period America was 
taking 16 lbs.; Belgium, 13 lbs.; Prussia, 10 lbs.; France, 8 lbs,; Italy, 
Russia, and Turkey, 6 lbs. At the present time, at the lowest com- 
putation, the annual produce is at the rate of above 1 cwt. per head 
for Great Britain. 

Yorkshire yields more iron ore than any other English county, its 
Annual produce being over three and a half millions of tons. Scotland 
ranks next with 1,250.000 tons; and tanging from 500,000 to 
■,Doo,ooo tOQS are Staffordshire, Cumberland, Lancashire, and South 
Wales. To Yorkshire also belongs the distinction of being the 
greatest pig-iron producing county, its tjo furnaces yielding over 
800,000 tons per annum. South Staffordshire, with considerably 
more furnaces, yields only about Ooo,ooo tons, the furnaces in this 
district being of much less capacity than those in the famous Cleveland 
district of Yorkshire. Durham, Monmouth, Glamorgan, and Lanark- 
ihirc are the other important centres of iron smehing, their respective 
produce varying from 350,000 to 500,000 tons. In the production 
of finished iron South Staffordshire is pre-eminent, having 1 1 1 distinct 
e»tflblishments, comprising 1,695 puddling furnaces and 280 rolling 
mills. Yorksliire stands next, with thirty-three establishments, in 
which are included 983 puddling furnaces and 151 rolling mills. 
Durham has 726 puddling furnaces and fifly-one rolling mills, and 
Glamorgan and Monmouth have respectively 557 and 540 puddhng 
furnaces ; and the former has ninety-four, and the latter fifty, rolling 
mills. The lesser iron-producing districts in this cmmtry are 
Northumberland, Cumberland, Shropshire, Derbyshire, North Stafford- 
shire, Northamptonshire, Lincolnshire, Wiltshire, Denbighshire, Breck- 
nockshire, Ayrshire, Stirlingshire, and Fifeshire. For the rapidity of 
its growth and the boldness of its enterprise, the Cleveland district it 
unrivalled. A quarter of a century ago this now busy centre of the 
iron trade presented but a dreary landscape of hill and mooriand. 
An observant sportsman in quest of feathered game chanced in his 
rambles to espy a piece of iron ore, which he carefully " bagged," and 
subsequently analysed. This chance discovery speedily led to further 
investigarions, and Cleveland was forthwith pronounced "a land 
yjyjse stones aie iron, and out 0/ whose hills thou m&^e&x &^\^i&s&" 

2 JO The Gentleman's Magazine, 

— the latter tenn being used, however, in a OMiventional father lius 
a literal sense. Within a few years the banks of the Tees have W- 
come as famous for iron as those of the Tyne are for coal \ and, »tD 
example of Cleveland enterprise, it is stated that iron ore lying in the 
famous hills of that district is within six weeks extracted, smdted, 
rolled into plates, and launched in the shape of an iron steamship oo 
the turbulent bosom of the Tees ! The approximate value ol the 
iron annually produced in the United Kingdom is ^35,000,000 ster- 
ling, and the number of workpeople directly employed in its prodiK- 
tion cannot be far short of 250,000. Scarcely one-half of the iron 
produced in England is exported in its raw state, but is worked up 
into finished goods ranging through myriad forms and sizes, finom a 
needle to a steam engine, and affording employment to an QUtoM 
number of mechanics and artisans. 

The social condition of the ironworkers varies somewhat b tibe 
different districts, those of the North countiy being perhaps Ae 
most advanced in thrift and intelligence. As a dass^ however, Aqr 
are improvident, and more or less the slaves of pleasure and fA 
indulgence. The strain upon their physical eneigies leads to extn- 
vagance in diet, and to excess in stimulants. The daintiest viaodi 
are secured very often at tlie expense of the commonest housdioU 
comforts. Saint Monday is the patron saint of iroilworkers, and bis 
weekly advent is dutifully if not devoutly honoured. The wages of 
ironworkers vary in each department. A furnace-man earns 35/. to 
30J. per week, a puddler 30X. to 34X., while a millman will realise 
50J. to 75X. in the same period. This inequality is the source ^ 
much dissension and periodical disturbance, and an equalisation i* 
much to be desired. There are however many redeeming features ^ 
the character of the ironworkers. They are extremely hospitable 
and kind to distressed comrades ; they are generally well conducted 
and they take a pride in the education of their children. With tl»* 
present rate of progress there is reason to hope that in a few j^ean ^ 
most " strikes " and " lock-outs ** will be superseded by intcUigeO* 
argument in an improvised Court of Arbitration whenever dispute^ 
arise. In such an event, the labours of Mr. Mundella and M^' 
Rupert Kettle in this direction will be gratefully acknowledged by 
all intelligent Englishmen. 


'X ' x./-^-^ »'^*.'^ ' 


PW evening, daughter of the day and night, 
Spreads over meadow-land a dusky shroud : 
The sun, retreating, floods the west with light, 
And hangs a golden lamp on every cloud. 
The fairy-butterflies have shut their wings — 
From secret places moths come out to flit, 
Or wait in windows till the cricket sings — 

Till doors are closed and cottage candles lit 
Nan, in a pretty cap and simple frock. 

Takes in the snow-white linen from the hedge 
To damp and iron by the kitchen clock, 

And think of Ned, who swings the smithy sledge. 
The farmer over supper falls asleep. 
And, snoring, dreams of turnip crops and sheep. 

Guy Roslyn. 

' *_* V/ ** N^ ^,' H.^ X^-V^ VX^^ 


The Royal Marriage 

^HE approaching marriage of the Princess Louise and the 
Marquis of Lome has recalled the provisions of the RofSl 
Biji^ Marriage enactment, and it may not be uninteresting « 
dUiLss the present moment to inquire into the circumsUDcei 
that gave rise to this celebrated statute, and the mode in which it wai 
passed. Perhaps those who are disposed to envy too much the lot of 
Princes and Princesses, and to think that their position of itself 
secures perfect feUcity, may derive consolation from the knowledge 
tliat there are some disadvantages attendant even upon those who tire 

" In the fierce blaze thai beats upon the throne, " 

The constant publicity under which it moveB, the unifonnity of 
attention and manner shown to it, the absence of those shadows of 
life which to ordinary mortals make the light brighter, the difficoliyil 
must experience in distinguishing the true from the false frieniJ. an: 

The Royal Mat^riage Act. 273 

wich 3, view to his education that the King claimed the right to 
appoint his inatmctora as against the boy's Tather. Ten of the judges 
consulted answered the King in the affirmative. They based this 
answer, in a great measure, on the idea that all [he Royal Family were 
public personages, that the Prince of Wales was one and the same 
with the King, and they deduced from this that the King, to whom the 
executive power is entrusted, had the care and command in the mar- 
riages of his grandchildren, as well as of his children, for the good of 
ihe whole nation. They quo[ed the case of Lady Arabella Seymour, 
and urged the fact that both the daughters of the Duke of York had 
been married with the consent of Charles II. alone, Two, however, 
of the judges thought otherwise. They declared that the father alone 
had entrusted to him the education of his children, and although they 
wt^re of opinion that the care and approbation of the marriage of his 
grandchildren belonged to the Sovereign, they qualified this avowal 
by stating that they did not thereby mean to exclude their father. 
They said, too, that although they found such marriages as had been 
contracted without Royal assent looked upon as contempts of ih« 
Royal authority, they could find no instance where the father's consent 
had not been previously sought by the reigning monarch, 
opinion has always been considered to be the sound one, although 
the unanimity of the other ten judges is surprising. Indeed, as Mr, 
Stephen says, in the notes to his edition of Blackstone, " if the ques- 
tion had arisen before the judges were independent of the Crown, *« 
would have been inclined to have suspected their sincerity and thf 
authority of their decision." 

In 1753, was passed Lord Hardwicke's Act (subsequently repeaJed) 
for the prevention of clandestine marriages; but from this, at the 
express command of George II., the Rc^al Family were exempted. 
" I will not have my family," said the Royal potentate, "laid under 
these restraints." 

llie immediate cause of the Royal Marriage Act of 1773, was the 
marriage of the profligate Duke of Cumberland with Mrs. Horton. 
What gave additional sting to the blow inflicted by this event on 
(leorge III., was the fact that the lady was sister to Colonel LuttreU, 
whom the Court parly, after ejecting Wilkes from his seat for Middle- 
sex, had thrust into his place. We can fancy how the arch -demagogue 
nibbed his hands as he repeated, or might have repeated, the lines : 

"Neque cnim lex jiislior ulla 
Quam necis aniticn ulc perire suK." 

£ut ther« was a canstitutioiuJ passion for coattactto^ mtsaUiamu \ 





2 74 The Gentleman s Afagazifie. 

ihe children of Frederick, Prince of Wales. The Duke of Gloacesttr 
had secretly married Lady Waldegrave, the Duke of York had bea 
on the point of marrying Lady Mary Coke, and the King hixoself bd 
in early life been almost overcome by the charms of Lady Smh 
Lennox \ indeed, but for the intervention of his mother and Lori 
Bute, she would probably have been his queen. But he took tolxM 
very much the Duke of Cumberland's wedding; and when,shorif 
after, his favourite brother the Duke of Gloucester publicly annooDoed 
his own marriage, the King could bear it no longer. Though tbe 
mischief was done, George IIL resolved that in future suchM^fiflS- 
ances should not disgrace any of his descendants. Accordingly, on 
the 2oth of February, 1772, a message was presented to both Hoaso 
of Parliament, stating that the King was desirous that the ri^t of 
approving all marriages in the Royal Family, which had belonged to 
the Kings of the realm, should be made effectual, and recommending 
them to take the matter into their consideration. A Bill was shorty 
afterwards introduced into the House of Lords, very much in die 
form in which it was made law. It, however, encountered consider- 
able opposition, both with the Lords and Commons. The opinions of 
the judges were again taken as to the truth of the inducement stated 
in the Royal message, and they answered that the King had the care 
and approbation of the marriages of his children and grandchildren, 
and presumptive heir ; but whether he had such care in the case of 
other branches of the royal family they did not determine. But the 
provisions of the Bill went much further than this, for they enacted 
that all the descendants of George IL, other than the issue of prin- 
cesses married into foreign families, should be incapable of contracting 
marriage without the consent of the reigning Sovereign. There was, 
however, a proviso that a marriage contracted after the age of twenty- 
five should be valid, if twelve months* notice was given to the Privy 
Council and neither House of Parliament interfered during the time 
The most bitter and conspicuous of the adversaries of the Bill ^ 
Charles Fox, who resigned his office at the Admiralty, in order to 
oppose it. He protested against it as vigorously as his father Ix)id 
Holland had formerly protested against Lord Hardwicke's Marriage 
Act The proviso with reference to marriages of those above 
twenty-five, is said by Horace Walpole, to have been inserted iB 
order to soothe the wrath of the young Whig. Walpole equally de- 
tested the Bill — " never," says he, " was an Act passed against which 
so much and for which so little could be said." He cannot, howei'cri 
be regarded as an unprejudiced witness, for I^y Waldegrave, the 
Duke of Gloucester's wife, was his own niece, being the natural 

The Royal Marriage Act. 275 

laughter of his younger brother Edward. Every part of the Bill was 
cenly contested, the chief objections urged to its principle being thai 
t itfas contrary to the natural rights inherent in mankind, and that 
he prerogative claimed by the King was not founded in law or sup- 
■orted by the opinion of the ten judges in 1718. It was gravely urged 
JO, thai there were about 30,000 persons in the kingdom computed 
have some royal blood in their veins, and that if the Gill became 
iw, in course of time the whole of its subjects would be in a 
Cate of wardship to the Croivn. The two chief amendments moved, 
fere that the King's power should be limited to the care of his 
hildren and grandchildren, and presumptive heir, and that the age 
'hen marriage could be contracted independent of the King, 
hould be twenty-one instead of twenty-five. This late period 
eetned unreasonable, when the law permitted the King to reign at 
he age of eighteen. This was urged in the well-known yVa d'espril, 
hat appeared at the time. 


" Quoth Dick m Tom, this .\ct appears 

Absurd, as I'm alive. 
To take ihe Crown st eighteen years. 

The wife at iwenly-five I 
The mystery how shall we explain. 

For sure as Dowdeswell said," 
Thns early if they're fit to reign 

They most be fit to wed I 
QuQlh Tom to Dick, ihon art a fotd, 

Ar>d little know'st of life, 
Atas I 'tis easier far to rule 

A kingdom than a wife." 

Eut George III. was determined that the Bill should become law. 
^ wrote as follows to his Prime Minister, \axA North. " I expect 
■«iy nerve to be strained to carry the Bill. It is not a question re- 
ting to the Administration, but personally to myself — therefore, I 
-^« a right to expect a hearty support from every one in my service, 
L<i I shall remember defaulters." He kept his promise according to 
^Ipole, and showed by his implacability to the opposers of the 
"U, how much hia heart had been set upon it 

The Bill accordingly passed by a majority of 165 to 115, and has 
'ersiuce remained law. In 1820, Lord Holland, true to the tradi- 
^Bs of his house, endeavoured to get it repealed, chiefiy on the 
■'Omid that the marriages of the descendants of George II. had 
-en unhappy ones, but his Bill did not get beyond a first reading. 


The Gentleman s 

The policy of the Royal Marriage Aci is certainly open to much 
discussion. Lord Stanhope in his History rejoices that it has con- 
tinued to be the law, but that it was formed upon an exaggnaitd 
view of the royal prerogative cannot be doubted. The (qKnians »- 
torted by George I. from his judges, had reference only to his childtm 
and grandchildren, and the judges consulted by George HI. wen 
silent as to the King's power over other members of hia family. Th« 
some restraint should be exercised over the tnarriages of the Kiog^ 
lineal descendants is no doubt wise. The heir to the Throne ii fiit 

" He may not as unvalued penoas do 
Carve for himself, (or on his choice depends 
'I'he sifety aiid the heallh of the whole Slate;" 

and his marriage with one in an inferior rank ol society Wpulc^ It | 
long as monarchy is regarded with favour in England, be a pubEc 
misfortune. But to compel the King's brothers and uncles, hil , 
nephews and cousins, to obtain the Royal consent to many, seenaiiot , 
only unnecessary but even conducive to immorality. A Royal lib* I 
tine may safel)' go through any forms that his ignorant and creduloM 
victim may demand, and if of late years we have been spared ft* ' 
scandals that formerly disgraced the Court, it is due to a hiehef to 

The Story of the Irish 


^fc. NE example of the beautiful contradictions of modern 
British civilisation and enlightened government in the 
nineteenth century appears to me, the narrator of the 
following true story, to be the seizure for poor-rates of 
; goods and chattels of a man too poor lo jwy them. " Then he 
i no business to live in a house," says some stem political econo- 
it of the day. " What !" I reply, " with a dozen children, an aged 
ither, a sick wife, who can't go out charing by reason of her illness 
1 poor hard-working woman, ' charing- crossed ' after a manner the 
1 and genteel do not dream of?" " My dear Sir," replies the 
ary of Mill, " he ought not to have had those children ; the aged 
ither has her resource in the workhouse, and should not be a 
■den to her son. There are remedies "—I think of baby-farming 
1 Towers (in China), and become indignant " I suppose, Sir," I 
MTupt hotly, ■' that he ought to pay poor-rates towards the support 
his own mother in the workhouse." I then get into an argument 
aut British pauperism generally. I express my wonder that a 
lion working harder than any people in the world, with the vast 
iources afforded by our Colonies, with till lately something like the 
mmand of the seas, should starve by millions. " Frenchmen," I 
iservc, " play at dominoes ha!f their time, Spaniards loimge and 
loke cigarettes, Germans get muddled on beer, Americans loaf in 
r^ and Russians are frozen up half the year ; but we work, work, 
irk for ever, and our labouring classes cannot lay by a sufficiency 
keep them out of the workhouse. How is it ?" He replies thai 
s drink and trade unions. I know it isnt. Desperation drives 
poor to dninkenness, and oppression of the trade-unions of em- 
k'ers to reprisals in that respect. Well, well, this is not an essay 
Political economy, but a tale ; so I will not argue, or be tempted 
' a discussion on the equalisation of poor-rates, but simply state 
things. One is that there is something very rotten in our laws — 
'^tary, commercial, and social — or these things could not be ; and 
^er, that s short lime ago there were so maiiy &sUease& m ^raot 

2 7^ Tlu Gentleman s Magazhic. 

men's houses in London that there was not a sufficiency of professionals 
to put in possession, so the authorities employed lightennen aad 
other such characters out of work to do the supplementaxy doty. 
What a picture ! A man with an execution in his own house pot ■ 
by the broker into another poor wretch's dwelling-place! But this 
is no fanciful picture of modern distresses and distress. I was talUng 
of these and kindred subjects with a veteran Irish Reporter— new 
mind where — when he said, ** TU tell you a little of my experience of 
such things ;" and so saying, he commenced : — 

''Some twenty years ago I was living in a little place at Renniofi' 
ton with my wife and five children. I had been doing pretty weD op 
to within about six months of that time, but had a long illness^ and 
had consequently done little or nothing for many weeks. I sat on 
the only chair in the sitting-room near the only table in the house. 
Our beds were on the floor, for we had eaten the bedsteads loDg 
1)efore, and should have eaten the table had it been saleable. Asve 
had not, I could not say, as in Virgil, — 

*' Ileus, ctiam mensas consumimus inquit lulus/* 

But I could say that our ravages had been like those of an am^ o( 
white ants in a tropical dwelling. We had devoured all the bookSr 
most of the linen, and very nearly all the furniture. Nay, we had 
gone beyond the power of the ants, for we had swallowed the plates 
and dishes, and cups and saucers and spoons, and knives and forks 
— the last as if we had been Indian jugglers, only that we could not 
repeat the act — and we had left but a minimum of anything in the 
house. My children were huddled in a comer, my wife was weeping 
her eyes out, as the saying is, and I was very sad, as I sat smoking my 
last half-pipeful of tobacco, and ruminating on the shadowy expecta- 
tion of the next meal. The truth is I was getting desperate, and fell 
a-thinking it would be no great sin to rob a bishop, if I could meet one 
in a lonely place. I tliought also of plans for reducing the National 
Debt, and of the vast sums in specie stated by a last week's news- 
paper, which I had just been reading, to have been lately brought 
from California. In fact, I was thinking, as people do under similar 
circumstances, when a loud knock at the street door was heari 
Ours was a five-roomed house, but the parlour below was empty, the 
only things left in it being some broken toys of the children, who 
played there — play ? — ha ! ha ! We were sitting in the front bed- 
room. * WTiisht, now, go and see who it is,' says 1 to my wife. 
* Mayhap it's the editor of the Times^ or Miss Burdett Coutts, or some 
one from Blackwood's Magazine about my article.' I think I shwJd 

,' 1 said to the wife, ' but si 
«' (hem the house and furnitui 
f«jihasis on the word Chri; 

Tlu Slory of the Irish Reporter. 279 

ave jested hid it been Death himself, but ' not merry." So the poor 
otn in ■ii_^ed and wigied her tears away Vith the rnmcr of her dress, 
nd went down stairs. I heard her faint replies m a grufif voice, and 
son after the sound of heavy footsteps coming up stairs, A tall, fat, 
orid personage, with a note-book and pencil and a paper in his hand, 
p^cared, followed by a short, sharp, sour-looking man. 'Good 
ft*mt>on, genitemen,' says, I ; ' excuse; my risinjj;, I'm an invalid. 
rike a seat, and make yourself at homi: j you're welcome to the best 
1 this house.' ' We've come to levy the poor-rate,' says the tall, fat 
Uin, looking round. ' Divii a rate will ye levy here,' says I ; ' if 
your name's Levy, mint is Lazarus. What will you take to drink ?" 
-^nd then, looking steadfastly at the fat, rosy man, who appeared 
good-natured enough, I must say, I burst into such a fit of uncon- 
tollable laughter that the two men looked bothered endrely, and 
pparently didn't know what to say at all. ' Don't be after crying 
'. to these Christian geiuk'men, and 
e.' .\nd maybe I didn't put a little 
' I perceive,' says I, 'gentlemen, 
at you are a deputation from the Poor Law Board, with a portion 

«hc Executive Committee ; do your duty like Englishmen.' They 
^rttand looked into the other rooms, and very shortly came back. . 
r ow,' says [, ' business being, I presume, concluded, what will you 
c< lo drink, and will you smoke a pipe of tobacco ? Vou seem a 
■-■pie of mighty civil, decent, well-informed gentlemen, and may be 
fc« 10 give me a little information on the subject of stock or securi- 
^, with a view to future investments. I'm about to make a fortune,' 
l^~a I. My poor wife looked at me when I spoke of the drink and 
t^occo. ■ What are you slopping for?" I asked. 'Don't you sec 
e gentlemen arc waiting ?* 'Oh !" cried she, ' how can you — ?' 
Vhishi, now, darling,' says 1. 'My good friend,' I continued, 
L*3ressing the tall man. 'du you happen to have a florin handy? If 
• lend it to me, for divil a hap'orth of change have we got in the 
*'Jse ; and in this poor neighbourhood they won't melt anything over 
ft^e-pound note, I assure you.' With that he put his hand in his 
*>stcoat pocket, and pulled out half-a-crown. 'Thank you,' says 

•landing it to the wife ; ' whiskey and tobacco, or mayhap the 
'^llemen prefer beer. Do you prefer beer?" The tall man said 
*y preferred a drop of something short, and I added, ' You may get 
^'i'lr to amuse the children— a cake or two ; or stop, they'd like 
'niiy loaves better, my dear — one a piece. It's better fur the health 
*hem any how, and if they prefer it — ' The little nun looked very 
'Pitient, but the tall otte was evidently both cuhous and a,mu^d. 

^^9^ ^i-. f-'i- >f>:t. 



280 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

' Don't get the tobacco at the publichouse,' I called after raj wife 
who, to speak truth, was in a hurry to go ; for, as she afterwards said, 
she thought that the tall man was only playing with us, and would 
change his mind. ' Weil,' he remarked, as soon as she was gont, 
'I've seen some cool cards, but you beat a!l I ever did see.' I replied 
in amanner calculated to increase his wonder, if not his respect 'Did 
you never see an Irish gentleman at home before? Do you know 
whom you are addressing ? You see before you a lineal descendant 
of the Irish kings. Perhaps you never heard of Tully-na-bogiie?' 
' Can't say as ever I did,' answered the short man testily. ' It's there 
any how that stood the princely residence of my forefatheis dgbt 
hundred years ago.' 'That's a long time,' said the tall man good- 
humouredly. ' It was in the year 1051,' replied I, 'that Donidl 
Cinel E Ogan, Prince of Tyrone, my direct ancestor, stood a siege in 
his own palace on the marshes for five months. He and his followol 
were on that occasion so pressed for victuals thai they first ale all llie 
babies in the garrison, and then the bodies of the slain, and it is said 
that cannibalism has existed in the family at intervals ever since.' The 
short man touched his forehead significandy. The tall man simp!]' 
SMd, ' I've read such things of savages in the 1. O. U. Islands, orsome 
Budi place.' ' 0. Y. E. ye mane, probably,' I replied with dignitf 
' Maybe ye've confounded it with Fiji,' ' Never mind, Mr. O'Fenll,' 
says the tall man ; ' 1 dare say you know more about such thiDp 
than I do. A gent as writes in the papers ought [o. My govemor 
here,' pointing to the short man, ' knows a sight of laming, he doo, 
and he ought to, he ought. He was twenty year porter to the Huy- 
bone Hinstitution, he was.' The short man smiled for the first DBie. 
' Bless you,' continued the tall man, 'he knows a sight about booki 
and langwidges, he do.' 'Then,' said I, 'he must know somOhing 
about the Irish kings. You ought to know. Sir, that you see before 
you, not Mister O'Ferall, miserable Saxon misnomer of genlilitT> 
but The O'Ferall, the sole lineal representative of a line of monarchs. 
Have you ever read the "Annals of the Four Masters?" Sir,' ! cM- 
tinucd, turning to him, ' do you know " Pymar's Survey of UlsWi 
or " Lewis's Topographical Dictionary ;" have you studied ll* 
" History of the Round Towers of Ireland," the ancient boundaiio 
of the noble races, from one of which I spring, and of one of whiw 
my ancestors were the haughty and imperious rulers ?' ' As for dic- 
tionaries,' replied the short man, beginning to be overawed, ' we '■*'' 
a good many in the library of our Institution, and I've heard say thtl 
Johnson's was the best of the lot" 'Walker!' I interrupted, waving 
my hand in a dignified manner; 'Walker has superseded Johnsoa 

The Story of the Irish Reporter. 281 

'Welly' says the tall man, 'all I can say is, that if I'd had ^ancestors, 
as you call 'em, as was put to it to eat babies, I should keep it dark. 
That's what I should do.* * Hush !' I replied ; * you don't know 
what you say. You are on delicate ground. But here comes the 
material anyhow.' At this moment my wife returned. She had a 
bottle containing half a pint of whiskey, half an ounce of tobacco, 
and the loaves, which my phildren preferred unquestionably at that 
moment to any sugar-plums that ever were made. ' One and four- 
pence whiskey, twopence tobacco, fivepence bread — there's seven- 
pence left anyhow for tea and sugar,' was my rapid survey of the 
situation. ' Come, gentlemen,' I said aloud, ' will you take it neat or 
diluted ? Glasses, Mrs. O'Ferall, if you please.' My wife looked at 
me, and placed one cracked tumbler and two teacups without handles 
on the table in silence. They took it neat, and so did I. We lit our 
pipes, and the tall man balanced himself on the table, while the short 
man seated himself on the beds, which my wife, poor woman ! had 
doubled up for the purpose. * Come here, my little man,' says the 
tall man to my eldest boy, who was just seven years old. * They are 
very well-behaved children,' he observed. I thought of what made 
them silent, and only bowed in answer to the compliment. ' If I 
was to give you a penny,' continues the tall man to my eldest-bom, 
what would you do with it ?' * I'd buy a sword to kill the clumsy 
great man who run over my papa's foot with the cab-wheel,' replied 
the youngster. 'And I'd kill all the naughty taxes,' cried little 
Kathleen, my five-year old daughter. * Here's a penny for each of 
you,' says the tall man, laughing heartily. My wife burst into tears, 
and led them out of the room, and into the empty parlour — to play. 
They were very quiet for about a quarter of an hour, and then we 
heard them making noise enough, as children ought to do. ' Mrs. 
O'Ferall,' I said, * gentlemen, is a very estimable woman, an excellent 
housekeeper and mother, but she has a complaint on the nerves 
just now. Do me the favour to excuse her agitation.' * Perhaps,' 
says the short man, * she takes too much tea.' * She does,' I replied ; 
* between ourselves, she has hardly been prevailed on to take anything 
else for a fortnight, though the family physician orders port wine and 
beef tea.' The tall man coughed, as if his whiskey didn't agree with 
him. Perhaps it was the tobacco smoke that had gone the wrong 
way. The short man took up a note-book, or rather some leaves 
gummed in an old cover, which lay on the top of a pile of torn books 
and manuscripts. * What language is this in ?' he asked. It was my 
last notes in shorthand, containing the account of a fire in Ber- 
mondsey. *Oh 1 that,' I answered, ' thatns Syro-PVicemdaiv. T\v«<J^ 

\3 % 

aSj The Gmllenuiits Magasau. ^^H 

not a man li\ ing in England undersiands that (hH myself' Tbe b« 
was true enough, seeing that it was a phonetic system of my own. <rtiich 
I brought to great perfection, and in whidl I could lake down the 
sound of any language,' ' And what is this ? continued my qucret 
pointing to another page. 'Vernacular Turkish,' I answered, 'chicflj 
understood by the gentlemen on the staff of the ^M^/i^awi-newspapn, 
when they review foreign books.' ' And this ?" pointing to anolhci, 
' Thai's simple Hindostanee,' I replied. ' And do you mean to m,' 
rejoined he, 'that with this learning, you — you are in this condi 
lion ?■ 'Gentlemen,' says I, ' the most learned and gifted men have 
been occasionally in difficulties like me. The greater the gifts, the 
more chance of it, if they are not horn to fortune. Besides, I h»« 
been verj', very ill. Allow me,' and I filled up the cratfccd gtnijud 
the broken teacups. ' i drink to your health. You sccni Wo very 
decent fellows. May you never know what sickness is, especially i" 
circumstances like mine. In solemn silence, if you pleaiie.' And 
neither of them spoke for a fu!l minuie after. ' 1 thought you wU Up 
to a thing or two in laming,' says the tall man to the other, tlut 1 
pause ; ' but I'm blest if he don'i take the shine out of you. 1 sup- 
pose you've travelled a good bit, now," he said to me. ' I've voyaged.' 
I replied emphatically, 'from Bailinafad to Tanderagee.' 

Th^ Story of the Irish Reporter. 283 

g5t them, stand the poor in about the rate of about £^i los. a ton, 
when the rich get the best Wallsend screened at 26s. * I see,* says 
the tall man, puffing away at his pipe. ' Will you answer me one 
question? It's something Fm very curious to know.* *With 
pleasure,' I replied. * Whatever was it,* he asked, * that set you off 
laughing at such a rate when I came in ? I noticed it was me you was 
a-looking at in perticular, and not him,* jerking the stem of his pipe 
over his shoulder in the direction of the short man. * Do you really 
want to know ?* I asked. * That I do, mister,* he replied, * and no 
mistake.* * Well, then,* said I, * you shall know. The last book I 
read was on cannibalism in savage countries. It is a subject in 
which I take great interest, owing, perhaps, partly to the circumstances 
I told you which attended the siege of my ancestor, Donach Cinel 
E Ogan in his palace of Tulachog by Ardh-Rea-Fearghail, and the 
propensity since diplayed by several members of my family at various 
epochs. When you came in,* I proceeded, regarding him fiercely, * I 
thought how fat and wholesome you looked, and that before my 
children, the descendants of the regal Donach, should die for want of 
food, I'd like to kill and eat you — that's all.' The short man got up 
and edged towards the door, and the tall man put down the cup he 
was raising to his lips, and the pipe he was smoking on the table, 
from which he also rose. * Yes,* I continued, taking up a rusty catving 
knife from the floor, as if accidentally, * that's what I thought, and 
tliat's what made me laugh ; but don't be alarmed, gentlemen, you've 
smoked and drunk with me, and you're quite safe now.* * I've an 
appointment at half-past six, Tomkins,' said the short man, * and we 
shall be late, as it is. Let us wish this party good evening, and 
better luck the next time we look in upon him.* * Stop !* I said ; 
* listen to me. *Tis you, or those that sent you — for you are good 
fellows, after all, and I dare say have children of your own, and I 
thank you for your kindness,* turning to the tall man — * it's the autho- 
rities that are worse than cannibals, and more savage than the inhabi- 
tants of any islands over the sea, that would grind my bones, for 
I've little else to take, to pay their taxes, and murder my innocent 
children with their inhuman laws. And do you wonder at my 
thoughts ?' and I laughed as if I could not stop myself — a long and 
bitter laugh. * There, God bless you both,' I said. * Good night, 
and may you never know the dark thoughts of sickness and des])air, 
^^hen they are mocked by demands like these;' and I handed his book 
ind paper to the tall man, whose face was working all the time, as 
tVe seen a soldier's at the front-seats in a theatre, ashamed to own 
Xature, yet unable to suppress \itr^ when old Fatten p\ayeA tiT;ixv^^;5c'0cvM\ 

284 Tfu Gentleman s Magazine. 

Whitehead, about the very time of which I speak. ' Dash it f said 
the tall fellow, after a pause ; ' mine aint a lively trade, or one u 
makes much money, and it's for the sake of them that's at home Fm 
here to-day ; but if this is any use ' — and he felt in his waistcoit 
pocket — * take it, governor, and may it do you some good. You en 
pay me when you're all right again, you know.' And he presKd 1 
half-sovereign into my hand. It was my turn to cry now, but I didnl 
I took down his name and address in ' Syro-Phoenician,' and I gnsped 
his honest hand, and the pair went off. The short man fdt in Isi 
pocket, too, and muttered something about having given change it 
the last place he called at That half-sovereign saved us all ; it ns 
the turning-point in my life. The next day I got my coat back, and 
went out and obtained work. I paid the half-sovereign back almost 
directly, and added handsome interest too, when my fat bene&ctor 
had lost his rosy colour and some two stone of his weight with fcwr 
and trouble some three years after that distress for poor-rates was put 
in. Excuse me, but the tears that would not come then wiD find 
their way now, when I think of that little affair, though it was twaty 
years ago ; but I've never told the story to a living soul before, n I 
have now to you. And now you must have a glass with me ; it^ 
pretty near my time in the * Lords.' " 

Charles Lamb at his Desk. 

F CHARLES LAMB personally, of his dress, his style, 
his conversation, we know more than we know of any 
of his contemporaries. His slight, spare figure, his 
spindle legs — Tom Hood said they were immaterial — 
tiis head, which Leigh Hunt said was worthy of Aristotle, his pile 
^f forehead, his curved nose, his hazel eye, sparkling with wit, and 
lis half playful, half melancholy smile, have been noted in a dozen 
:icetches; and with the help of these nothing is easier than to 
icture to ourselves the author of the "Essays of -fi'/w," in his black 
ness, the proper costume, as he thought, of an author, with his 
uffiing gait — "a compound of the Jew, the gentleman, and the 
grel "; — hurrying along Cheapside and Fleet Street from the India 
>iise to the Temple, between four and five in the afternoon. 
Icing in at the office of Barry Cornwall or of Talfourd to stutter out 
invitation to supper, to play a rubber of whist, to smoke a pipe, 
I to hear Coleridge talk metaphysics over a glass of grog, or Words- 
t:\\ recite his poetry, under the inspiration of a glass of water. 
^ those pleasant social gatherings of his in his Temple Chambers, 
^ vividly they reproduce themselves as we glance through the 
■^s of EHa! His low-roofed rooms, in Inner Temple Lane, 
^ their smoke-begrimed ceilings, their prints of Titian, Leonardo 
Ni^inci, and Hogarth in black frames, his old high-backed chairs, 
^ his long plain book cases filled with moth-eaten folios of 
-^^espeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, all tossed 
^"ther, are as well known to us as the furniture, books, and pictures 
>vir own rooms ; and the imagination, without an effort, repeoples 
^^ rooms with the old familiar forms, — Coleridge with his splendid 
-^i, his large grey eyes, and his musical voice, looking, as Lamb 
^» like an archangel a little damaged; the tall gaunt form of 
^x-<isworth, with a green shade over his eyes ; Godwin, the author 
'^lie most sensational works of his day, with his thin voice and 
il manners, but with a head that Phidias might have chiselled ; 
Barnes, the Editor of the Times \ Hazlitt, with his critical 
^"^entious tongue, and his slouching gait; Leigh Hunt, with his 
^^ng locks and his benevolent smile ; the gaunt form of George 
^J"; Charles Kemble, with his majestic air, Talfourd, The Crabby 
'^^Xk^ Buraej — the Bumey whom Lamb has \inmoiXaXS&^ \i^ "Vca 

286 The Geniletnaii s Magasttte. ^^H 

mei^" II" dirt was triiirnps. what a hand you would have, Michac!'" 
— and Mar>- Ijinb, witli her old-fashioned dress, and her capacimi' 
cap, the very soul of good nature, looking wilh a half-humorous, hiilt 
reproachful expression at her brother as he lays down tus Uidi 
to mix his second tumbler. 

But of Charles Lamb as an author, of Charles Lamb al biit dole, 
we know less than we know even of Coleridge 

Here and there in his letters wc come across a hint BE to wW 
and where this or that sonnet w,n> written. Thus ihe verscs "To 
my Sisler " were written, as he tells Coleridge, in one of hi* Incid in- 
tervals in the course of six weeks «hich he "spent very agretabj)' 
in a mad house at Hoxton " aLiciiii the beginning tif i;y6. Utt 
verses opening with the line " The Lord of Light shake* off hiadfOW^- 
hed " were written during a walk down into Hertfordshire; aild 

'■ When last I roved these ivinding wood.wallt. grwii " 

was written "within a day or two of the last, on reviMtinfiaspW 
where the scene was laid of my first sonnet, ' that mocked mj Mfp 
with many a lonely glade !' " 

The sonnet, " We were two pretty babies," a «onD<1 ihu '« 
valued more than any of these trifles which were thrown off undw 

X^harles Lamb at his Desk. 287 

in!;tance, in the thirteenth — * How reason reeled/ &c. — are good 
lines, but must spoil the whole with me, who know it is .only 
a fiction of yours, and that the 'rude dashings' in fact did 
not 'rock me to repose.' I grant the same objection applies not 
to the former sonnet ; but still I love my own feelings ; they are dear 
to memory, though they now and then wake a sigh or a tear." 

But with the exception of hints like these it is surprising how little 
we can trace the hand of Charles Lamb in his essays and farces. We 
know all his favourite books as well as we know our own. We can 
take down one by one all those " ragged veterans " which he trea- 
sured so affectionately. We can turn to the open page in the Life 
(»r Sir Philip Sydney where he laid down his book, with the comer of 
the leaf doubled down, " for ever." But where are the MSS. of his 
contributions to the Reflector and the London Magazine i When, 
where, and how did he write the Essays of Elia ? Questions like 
tht:.«>e we ask and ask in vain ; for Lamb, like Handel, kept a lock 
ttnd key on his desk, shut himself up when he was at work, gave 
orders to his maid that he was not at home, and, unlike Sheridan, 
guarded against the inquisitive eye of his biographer by burning all 
his rough drafts, if he had any, all his first attempts, and all his 
unfinished essays and plays. 

\Ve have, however, one compensation for this loss, and that is the 
•article on " Newspapers Thirty-five years Ago." That article contains 
ii striking and vivid sketch of Charles Lamb at work, when — to use 
his own expression — he was making his *'tirst callow flights in author- 
ship," writing "John Woodvil;" "hitting off a few lines almost 
extempore " in imitation of Burton ] and conjuring *' visionary 
guineas, the deceitful wages of unborn scandal," by scribbling pas- 
cjuinades on " Mr. Pitt, Mr. Wilberforce, Mrs. Fitzherbert, the Devil, 
^c," to add a trifle to an income then barely sufiicient for the decent 
support of himself and his sister, in their Chancery Lane garret " In 
-tiiose days," says Lamb, speaking of the first years of the century, 
*' every Morning Paper, as an essential retainer to its establishment, 
Iccpt an author, who was bound to furnish daily a quantum of witty 
paragraphs. Sixpence a joke — and it was thought pretty high too — 
'was Dan Stuart's settled remuneration in these cases. The chat of 
the day, scandal, but above all, dress, furnished the material. The 
length of no paragraph was to exceed seven lines. Shorter they 
might be, but they must be poignant." Through the influence of 
Coleridge with Dan Stuart, ** one of the finest tempered of editors, 
frank, plain, and English all over," Charles I^nib had been installed 
^as Chief Jester of tJie Aforning Post It was K\s dul^- 'm \>a;)\ c^.^^- 

288 The Gentleman s Magazine. ^^H 

city to send in half-a-dozen jokes a day ; and a fashion of flcih, or 
rather pink-coloured hose for the ladies, luckily coming up ai ihe 
juncture when I-arab entered upon his probation, established hu 
reputation at once in that line. He was pronounced "a capital 
hand." " Oh, the conceits which we varied upon «rf in all its prismatic 
differences ! from the trite and obvious flower of Cytherea, to the 
flaming costume of the lady that ha.s her sitting upon " many waten.' 
Then there was the collateral topic of ankles. What an occasion to 
a truly chaste writer, hke ourself, of touching that nice brink, and yet 
never tumbling over it, of a seemingly ever approximating somelhiog 
' not quite proper ;' while, like a skilful posture-master, balancing 1» 
twixt decorums and their opposites, he keeps the line, from which t 
hair's-breadth deviation is destruction ; hovering in the confines of 
light and darkness, or where 'both seem either;' a ha;!y uncertain 
delicacy ; Autolycus-like in the play, still putting off his expectanl 
auditory with — ' Whoop, do me no harm, good man !' " The fiishio^ 
however, did not last, " The ankles of our fair friends in a few w«to 
began to reassume their whiteness, and left us scarce a leg t6 Stud 
upon. Other female whims followed, but none as pregnant, so ioTt 
tatory of shrewd conceits, and more than single meanings ;" *ri 
when pink stockings ceased to be worn, even Charles Lamb's Wf 

Charles Lamb at his Desk. 289 

Land) may be fitly denominated No Man*s Time ; that is, no time 
in which a man ought to be up and awake in ; the odd hour and 
half in which a man, whose occasions call him up so preposterously, 
has to wait for his breakfast. " O those headaches at the dawn of 
day, when at five, or half-past five in summer, and not much later in 
the dark seasons, we were compelled to rise, curtailed of half our 
fair sleep, fasting, with only a dim vista of refreshing bohea in the 
distance — to be necessitated to rouse ourselves at the detestable rap 
of an old hag of a domestic, who seemed to take a diabolical pleasure 
in her announcement that it was * time to rise ;* and whose chappy 
knuckles we have often yearned to amputate, and string them up at 
our chamber door, to be a terror to all such unseasonable rest- 
breakers in future." 

But poor Lamb's engagement on the Morning Post did not last 
long, not more probably than a year or eighteen months ; for turning 
to his correspondence, I find him writing to his friend Manning in 
February, 1803, that the best and worst that has happened to him is 
that he has given up two guineas a week at the Post^ and regained 
h\s health and spirits, which were upon the wane. " I grew sick and 
Stuart unsatisfied." He transferred his services to the office of the 
•Alburn newspaper, late Rackstrow's Museum, in Fleet Street " And 
'What a transition," he says, musing over the change in his matter-of- 
life style — " fi'om a handsome apartment, from rosewood desks, and 
silver inkstands, to an office — no office, but a den rather, but just re- 
deemed from the occupation of dead monsters, of which it seemed 
Redolent, — firom the centre of loyalty and fashion, to a focus of 
%mlgarity and sedition ! Here in murky closet, inadequate from its 
Square contents to the receipt of the two bodies of editor and humble 
jMiragraph-maker, together at one time, sat in the discharge of his 
:new editorial functions (the * Bigod' of Elia\ the redoubted John 
iJ'enwick." Charles Lamb's occupation here was to write treason, to 
insinuate, rather than recommend, possible abdications; and in 
^Jiese contributions of his to the Albion^ " blocks, axes, Whitehall 
^(xibunals, were covered with flowers of so cunning a periphrasis " — 
SLS Mr. Bayes says — " never naming the thing directly — that the keen 
^ye of an Attorney-General was insufficient to detect the lurking 
snake among them." Two or three of his paragraphs were marked 
9X the Home Office, but a lucky squib against Sir James Mackintosh 
'broke up the establishment by annoying Lord Stanhope, the last of 
their patrons, and left Lamb and his friend Fenwick, with hardly a 
^inea between them, " to the safe but somewhat mortifying neglect 
of the Crown Jaw/era." This ended Lamb's newspapw cax^^x. 


TSu Gentlenmn s Magazixe, 

The year 1804 is a blank in Latnli's liccraiy hisiory. None of h« 
letters have been presen-ed under that dale ; and writing to Words- 
worth in November, 1805, he says he has done nothing since iht 
beginning of last year, " when he lost his newspaper job." " I luusi 
do something," however, lie adds, " or we shall get very poor. Some- 
times I think of a farce, but hitherto all schemes have gone off; in 
idle bray or two of an evening, vapouring out of a pipe, and goiag 
off in the morning; but now I have bid farewell to my 'sweci 
ciiemy,' tobacco, I shall perhaps set nobly to work. Hang work! 
I wish that all the year were holiday ; I am sure that indolence— in- 
defeasible indolence — is the true state of man, and business the 
invention of the old Teazer, whose interference doomed Adam to ao 
apron and set him a-hoeing. Pen and ink, and clerks and desks, 
were the refinements of this old torturer some thousand years ifter, 
under pretence of ' commerce allying distant shores, promoting ind 
diffusing knowledge, good,' itc" I need hardly add that he posi- 
poned his tarcn ell to tobacco for some years alU-rwards, on the pie* 
that it was a very ditficiilt task to cure anything of smoking. Bulihe 
farce which he was vapouring over with his pipe, soon after took fonn 
and shape; for in a [lostscript to a letter addres.sed to Hnzliti in 
Fcbniarj', 1S06, we !ind him intimating that he had taken a room 'l 

Cltarles Lamb at his Desk, 291 

« r 

T think this will be as good a pattern for orders as I can think 
of," he says, writing to the poet of Rydal Mount. *' A little thin 
flowery border, round, neat, not gaudy, and the Drury Lane Apollo 
with the harp at the top. Or shall I have no Apollo? — simply 
nothing? Or perhaps the comic muse? The same form, only I 
think without the Apollo, will serve for the pit and galleries. I 
think it will be best to write my name at full length ; but then if I 
give away a great many, that will be tedious. Perhaps Ch. Limb 
will do. BOXES, now I think on it, Til have in capitals. 
The rest, in a neat Italian hand. Or better, perhaps Boxrg, in 
old English characters, like *Madoc* or *Thalaba'?" "Mr. H." 
was not put into rehearsal till the close of the year 1806. It 
w^ produced on the loth of December, and in a single night all 
Lamb's anticipations of his 200/. or 300/., his franking privileges, and 
the compliments of the press, were dissipated into thin air. The, 
piece was damned beyond hope of redemption. Lamb sat with his 
sister in the front row of the pit, and joined with the house at the 
outset in encoring his epilogue, and afterwards when the tide turned, 
took his part with great gusto in hissing and hooting his own play 
and its actors off the stage. ** Hang 'em ! how they hissed," he says, 
giving his friend Manning an account of the evening's diversions. 
" It was not a hiss neither, but a sort of frantic yell, like a congrega- 
tion of mad geese, with roaring something like bears, mows and mops 
like apes, sometime snakes, that hiss'd me into madness. The noise 
still rings in my ears. Were you ever in the pillory ? Being damned 
is something like that." 

Except that hiss, Charles Lamb soon forgot all about " Mr. H." 
and its failure, and turned with fresh vigour to "The Adventures 
of Ulysses" then on the stocks, and to the preparation of his 
** Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who lived about the time of 
Shakespeare," for Longman. And these works were hardly out of 
hand, when we find him entering into an agreement with Tom 
Sheridan over a bottle of claret, to write some scenes in what Miss 
Lamb calls "a speaking pantomime," for Drury Lane Theatre. 
Whether this speaking pantomime was ever produced on the stage, 
I cannot say. It is written upon the model of T/u Duama; and 
the MS., now lying in the British Museum, is all through in the 
handwriting of Lamb. 

The establishment of the Reflector under the auspices of Leigh Hunt, 
in 1 810, opened a fresh and congenial sphere for the pen of Charles 
I.^ainb ; and in writing his Essays on Hogarth, and his criticisms on 
^Shakespeare for the publication of his old schoo\ eorcv^axvvoTi^ x^wi 

292 The Cmlleman s Magazifie. 

East India Office clerk found where his strength lay. It is noti vny 
high compliment to a man's genius, to say thai he has distinguished 
himself as a critic ; for, with one or two exceptions, ] know no crilii; 
however distinguislied he may have been in his own lime as a write, 
whose works the world will care to preserve a single day, except po- 
haps as a contemporary commentary on those great works of geniui 
which form the noblest part of our heritage. Criticism, as a rale, 
is poor trash, to be read as It is generally written, off-hand, axA, 
thrown aside without a second thought. But with Lamb, critidsm 
was not cavil by the rule of line and [.luramet It represented wtiU 
all criticism that deserves the name of critidsm ought to rcpccMOl, 
the reflections and suggestions of a man who entered into the spini 
of his author with the sympathetic insight of a man of genius; and 
1 Shakespeare is equal to anything that I know ia our 
, The i>aper on "Lear" is alone worth half the criticism thu 
has been written by Jeffrey and Gifiordj and it is the only piece of 
criticism that one can take up and read with pleasure after laying 
down the play itself. 

In this criticism on Shakespeare and Hogarth, and in the ripei 
Essays of Eiia, which were published ten or twelve years afleni-ardl 
we have Charles Lamb at his best — Charles Lamb in his liappinl 

Charles Lamb at his Desk. 293 

^^harles Lamb, in those moments when, as Hazlitt pictures him for 
]S| he stammered out those fine, piquant, deep, eloquent things, in 
lalf-a-dozen sentences, which his friends loved to treasure up in their 
recollection, and probed a question with a play upon words ; — 
C^harles Lamb discussing the traits of men famous in history that one 
irould wish to see again, — Pontius Pilate, Sir Thomas BrowTie, and 
Dr. Faustus; or closing a long tirade against vice and crime from one 
jf his visitors, by asking, in his solemnest tone, " Whether he meant 
:o say that a thief was not a good man ?" answering a bore who was 
X)asting that he was a matter-of-fact man, " Now, I value myself on 
Deing a matter-of-lie man;" asking one of his guests who annoyed 
Coleridge and Edward Irving, by his flippant remarks upon Christi- 
inity, whether he had come in a hat or a turban ; and tranquillising 
Leigh Hunt about some particularly emphatic religious expressions of 
Coleridge, "Ne-ne-ver mind what Coleridge says, he's full of fun ;" 
md Charles Lamb, as he is preserved in one of his pen-and-ink 
portraits, with one of his tattered folios tilted up before him, Donne, 
or Beaumont and Fletcher, or perhaps Sir Philip Sidney, with his 
pipe and his glass of gin and water by his side, turning over their 
most crabbed passages on his palate, " as epicures taste olives," and 
pronouncing them delicious ; or strolling out in the lanes and fields 
>f Enfield and chatting over Hogarth's prints, Claude's landscapes, 
)r the cartoons at Hampton Court In these hours of social ease, 
[Charles Lamb was one of the most delightful of companions, the 
nost suggestive and often the wittiest of talkers. And what Lamb 
iras in these hours of ease, he is in the Essays of Elia, They are the 
nirror of his conversation. " In reading over these old essays," says 
Jany Cornwall, " I seem to import into them the very feeling with 
rhich he wrote them ; his looks and movements are transfigured, and 
communicated to me by the poor art of the printer. His voice, so 
incere and earnest, rings in my ear again." Talfourd, too, says there 
s hardly a note of Lamb's that has not some tinge of the quaint sweet- 
less, some hint of that peculiar union of kindness and whim, which 
listinguishes him from all other poets and humourists. And this is 
)eculiarly true of his Essays. They are prose sonnets, and they 
)ring out Lamb's genius, all the qualities of his mind and his heart, in 
heir most vivid light 

Charles Lamb was one of those men who are marked out by 
nature for an essayist He belonged to that order of imperfect intel- 
lects which he has described in his essay on "Imperfect Sympathies," 
to an order of intellects which is suggestive rather than comprehensive. 
** The owners of these sort of faculties," he says, " V\ave: tvo ^TtX^wvc^ 


The G CI! (/email's 

to much clenmess or precision in their ideas, or in thtir imnDcraT 
expressing them. Their intellectual wardrobe (to confrss fairly) hl« 
few whole pieces in it. They are content with fragmunts and scat- 
tered pie :es rjf Truth. She presents no full front to them — a fboirf 
or side-face at the most Hints and glimpses, germs and crude essa^ 
of a system, is the utmost they pretend to. They beat up a littb 
^ame, [jeradvemure, and leave it to knottier heads, more robust con- 
stitutions, to nm it down. The light that lights them is not steai^ 
and polar, but mutable and shifting: waxing, and a^aln waning. 
Their conversation is accordingly. They will throw out a random 
word in or out of season, and l>c content to let it pass for what it is 
worth. They cannot speak always as if they were upon their oatt— 
but must be understood, speaking or writing, with some abatement 
They seldom wait to mawrc a proposition, but e'en bring it to markft 
in the green ear. They delight to impart their defective discovena 
as they arise, without waiting for their full development. They iw 
no systematizers, and would but err more by attempting it" Tlu! 
sketch was dr:twn ironi the depths of Lamb's own consciousness- ll 
marks the man with discrimination and delicacy, and forms the intti- 11 
lectual diagnosis of Elia. I 

e power Charles Lamb did not possess a sparlt. "I ] 

Charles Lamb at his Desk. ag^ 

nd liis sister Bridget, stand out on his page ! But wlien, instead of 
tching the portraits of his friends, I^mb tried to create, he failed. 
.11 his tictittoits character are shadows. No one ever thinks ol 
uoting them. 
" My brain is always desultory," he says, writing lo Wordsworth, 
and snatches off hints from things, but can seldom follow a work 
icthodically ;" and comirosition, in which methodising is required, he 
;I1s Coleridge is beyond his faculries. And this was apparently the 

Yet with all diese flaws iTl his intellect, Charles Lamb possessed, 
nd possessed in a high degree, most of the qualities which distin- 
;uishcd Addison and Montaigne, Cowley and Goldsmith. He had 
rit ; he had humour ; he had imagination ; he had a good heart. 
\dd lo this that he possessed rare powers of observation, a quick eye 
isT th« picturesque, sj-mpathics that covered the whole field of thought 
ind feeling ; that he had browsed upon our old English authors, 
essayists, poets, and dramatists — Sir Philip Sidney, Cowley, Donne, 
and Isaac Walton, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and Beaumont and 
FIclchcT — till he had made their spirit his own, and had coloured 
with their thoughts every fibre of his own intellect ; that he looked at 
everything from his own point of view, was free from everything like 
atificc and cant, and that pen in hand he jotted down his thoughts 
ft the terse, chatty, and suggestive style in which he scribbled a note 
> Wanning, or Coleridge, or Barnard Barton, at the India House, 
ith clerks chatting around him of the price of indigo or the rate of 
:cliange in Calcutta, or talked at his own tireside ; and we have 
fia — the Elia of our library slielves, and the Charles Lamb of the 

f have been beating about for a phrase to describe the charm of 

* style. To say that it is pleasant, genial, chatty, that it sparkles 

* epigram, is intensely personal, rich in paradox and fancy, is to 
y nothing. It is all this ; and yet when you have said this, you 
-' thai, after all, you have not hit the exact mark liciween wind 
'd Water. There is a soul m Lamb's writing which you feel, and yet 
^nnoi describe by any simple expression. Its antique simplicity, 
' tiitigled gravity and humour, its fantastic turns of thought and ex- 
'^ssioa, the sweet and benevolent spirit that breathes through every 
^'ence, even the occasional perversity of the train of thought, give 
'* " Essays of EUd" a charm which, hke the charm of his conversa- 
^"i every one feels, and no one can hit oif in a characteristic phrase. 
'*** he set himself in opposition to every principle of political 

y ands ocial morality in his chapter on "Beggaii'," K^^^t. 
. VI., N.S. tSji. 





296 The Gcfttlemafis Magazine. 

what a halo of sentiment and fancy he throws around the BKdI 

Tobits of the Strand and Fleet-street You disagree with his theny; 

you know that theory to be based on a false and mischievous axuxp- 

tion, and yet how that theory fits in with all Lamb's thoughts vH 

sentiments. There is that way of looking at Beggars, and you (edit 

once that that is Lamb's way. He takes a side view of Beggan^ and 

refuses to trouble himself with " withering theories of population." 

Many of Iamb's writings bear marks of the file ; and it is notorioH 

that he generally wrote with great labour. His Essays on "Boob" 

and on " Poor Relations " are wrought like a piece of tapestry \ andytf 

when we compare even essays like these with the best of his Icttei*- 

those to Manning, for instance, which are as terse and as ridi ia 

thought, and whim, and fancy, as anything that he wrote for the 

press, and which we know were written in the main at his desk in 

I.eadenhall-street on invoices and bills of lading — ^it is not easy to ajr 

off-hand how much of this terseness and compression is the result of 

labour and how much the consequence of habit Run through the 

Essay on the " Superannuated Man," and then turn to his Icttasto 

Manning and Barton upon his sensations when walking home^ior 

ever." The letters are superior (infinitely superior, to my thinking) 

to the essay, and his fictitious " Life of Liston " falls far below hii 

letters to Manning. But of his habits of composition we know ncit 

to nothing ; for he kept no diary, and he is curiously reticent in hi* 

correspondence with his friends about all his compositions, with the 

exception of his Sonnets, and they generally speak for themselves. 

But from the hints which he drops here and there in his Essays and in 

his correspondence it is plain that he wrote very slowly, revised and 

corrected endlessly, and generally preferred to write by candle-light 

Extolling the invention of " long sixes," in his whimsical essay on the 

fallacy " that we should lie down with the lamb," Elia says he lo^ts 

to read, talk, sit silent, eat, drink, sleep, by candle-light " By the 

midnight taper the writer digests his meditations ; by the same l^ht 

we must approach to their perusal, if we would catch the fiame, the 

odour. It is a mockery all that is reported of the influential Phoebus; 

no true poem ever owed its birth to the sun's light They are abstracted 

works — 

* Things that were born when none but the still night 
And his dumb candle saw his pinching throes.' 

Marry ! daylight — daylight might furnish the images, the crude material; 
but for the fine shapings, the true turning and filing (as mine author 
hath it), they must be content to hold their inspiration of the candle' 

Charles La))ib at Ins Desk. 297 

The mild internal light that reveals them, like fires on the domestic 

hearth, goes out in the sunshine. Night and silence call out the 

starry fancies. Milton's * Morning Hymn in Paradise/ we would hold 

a good wager, was penned at midnight ; and Taylor's rich description 

of a sunrise smells decidedly of the taper. Even ourself (Lamb adds), 

in these our humbler lucubrations, tune our best-measured cadences 

(Prose has her cadences) not unfrequently to the charm of the 

drowsier watchman * blessing the doors,' or the wild sweep of winds 

at midnight" That he wrote slowly we have his own direct acknow- 

' ledgment in more than one instance. Writing to Southey, for instance, 

when " John Woodvil " was on hand, Lamb hints his doubt whether 

it will ever be finished ; " for," he says, " I am as slow as a Flemish 

painter when I compose anything." When writing blank verse, 

again, he complains that he is dismally slow and sterile of ideas ; and 

ire have more than one hint as to the recasting of his essays. '* I 

write with great difficulty," he says, when at work upon his review of 

" The Excursion " for the Quarterly, " I can scarce command my 

resolution to sit at writing an hour together." And his sister, in a 

letter recently brought to light by the Pall Mall Gazette^ gives us an 

interesting glimpse of Charles Lamb when at work, I believe, upon 

^is notable review. "Last winter," she says, writing in Nov. 18 14, 

" tiiy brother being unable to pursue a work he had begun, owing to 

^c kind interruptions of friends who were more at leisure than him- 

^^IC I persuaded him that he might write at his ease in one of these 

rooras (a suite of tenantless garrets which they had discovered by 

^''ealcing through the panel of their own apartments), as he could not 

then hear the door knock, or hear himself denied to be at home, 

^'^ioh was sure to make him call out and convict the poor maid in a 

P^- Here, I said, he might be almost really not at home. So I put 

^^ ^n old grate, and made him a fire in the largest of these garrets, 

^^^ carried in one table and one chair, and bid him write away, and 

consider himself as much alone as if he were in some lodging on the 

"^*cist of Salisbury Plain, or any other wide unfi-equented place where 

"^ Could expect few visitors to break in upon his solitude. I left 

^'^ xquite delighted with his new acquisition, but in a few hours he 

^^^^^e down again with a sadly dismal face. He could do nothing, 

^ ^aid, with those bare whitewashed walls before his eyes. He could 

'^^^ '^nite in that dull unfurnished prison. The next day, before he came 

. ^*^^ firom his office, I had gathered up various bits of old carpet- 

^'^S to cover the floor ; and to a little break the blank look of the bare 

^^i^ I hung up a few old prints that used to ornament the kitchen \ 

^^ after dinner, with p-eat hoAsl of what an imY>TovemcTv\. \ \\;sA 

\ ^ 

298 liic Ge}ttlemaiCs Magazine. ^^^| 

made, I took Charles once more into his new study. A weei of 
busy labours followed, in which I think you would not have disl&fd 
to have been our assistant. My brother and I almost covered the 
walls with prints, for which purpose he cut out every print from evm 
hook in his old library ;" and there Lamb spent many hours at his 
desk in the evening. 

His MS. was precise and clerkly, Init neither particularly dtjini 
nor fluent. He called it a sort of deputy Grecian's hand, a little better 
and more of a worldly hand ihaji a Grecian's, but still remote from 
the mercantile ; and Barry Cornwall says Lamb's hands were wanting 
in pliancy, and therefore never good, neither text nor running hiujd. 
The MS. of his Pantomime in the British Museum is appaTcMlj^a | 
fair copy. It is as neat and legible as his correspondence Of to 
original drafts we know nothing ; bi7t if he revised his own compott- 
lions in the severe and critical spirit that he dissected Coleridge'i 
poems and Barton's, his MS. must have been as lull of alterattOiB 
and interlineations as that of any of his contemporaries ; and 
that was an age when few men wrote — as most men do now — 
turrtnU ailamo. 


England and Her Ocean 



HE conviction has become general that England may not 
only have to fight, in order to maintain her position, but 
to fight without much warning. The question of the 
hour is, in fact, are we ready to defend ourselves, and to 
ttack our foes ? Answers to this question are not wanting. Their 
ame is legion, and they are of the most diverse character. To 
lumerate, much less to discuss, them does not fall within the pro- 
ace of this article. It will suffice to say that while there is a general 
ubtfulness respecting the efficiency of our military organisation, 
>rG exists a deep and widespread confidence in the power of our 
^a.1 force. In speaking thus no discredit is cast upon the army, 
ioli would do all, or more than all, that could be expected of it ; 
t:he fact remains, and is strongly felt by the nation, that while we 
riot match our military forces against the mighty armies of the 
n tinent, we can dare a conflict on the ocean with any foe. Not 
t our navy is faultless, or that the faults existing are unrecognised, 
tliis matter we ourselves are the severest critics, as successive 
^X"ds of Admiralty can feelingly testify. But, taken as it stands, 
"^ all its faults, our navy is a grand force, both as regards personnel 
^ jnateriel ; and we can still hope that, with its aid, — 

** Britannia rules the waves." 

x>. maintaining this empire of the sea during the last half century 
^ave had no easy task to perform. Within that period have been 
^>^ prised at least three reconstructions, each involving great outlay 
^ the introduction of considerable changes. The • first of these, 
^ ^^ected with the improvement of our sailing ships by the late Sir 
^liam Symonds, need only be mentioned. The second, conse- 
-*it on the introduction of steam propulsion, was of far greater im- 
^~^^nce, for it gave us that splendid fleet of wooden line-of-battle 
T>s and frigates which was the country's pride twelve years ago. 
^^ fleet had only reached its fuJJ development when \l Nvas i^ivAet^^ 


The Gcnlkman i Magazine. 

useless, or almost so, in consequence of the introduction of atinoui- 
plating ; and during the last twelve years tile production of iron-ctui 
ships has taxed the energies of our shipbuilders most thoroughly. 

Ever since steamships began to be used for warlike purposes we 
have been engaged, too, in close competition with our neighbours 
across the Channel. They readily grasped at the opporiunilies 
afforded by the enforced replacement of our numerous sailing rfiipt 
by steam-ships, and of our unarmoiirod >-essels by iron-clads, and did 
their best to o\'ertum our naval supremacy For a time they kept 
the lead, in fact, in both steam and iron-clad ship construction ; but 
we are hard to beat in anything connected with naval affain, isA 
may congratulate ourselves on having won a well-contested batlle, 
in which no blood has been shed, but on which much depended, 
and much treasure has been spent. 

In this great race for precedence the professional men amongst in 
have united in efforts which are certainly deserving of grstilude. 
There have, of course, been differences of opinion as lo the besl 
plans to adopt and systems to follow ; but the long and loud discis- 
sions on such points have not prevented action, and, as a result, 
progress has been made in all the departments of naval constructiai 
and equipment such as will always be memorable. In the structuol 

England and her Ocean Empire, 301 

manu&cture and iron shipbuilding, which has kept us, in these 
branches at least, ^ in the front of the nations of Europe. 

It has been no light task, amid the whirl and confusion of such a 
period as this, to wisely direct and properly choose the course to be 
followed ; and it is no difficult matter, by the light of matured expe- 
rience, to find fault with the policy of those who have had the con- 
duct of naval affairs. The Admiralty is, perhaps, one of the best abused 
of our great departments, and it cannot be denied that there has often 
been good reason for complaint of its administration ; but it must be 
admittedalso that our naval policy, during the last twelve or fifteen years, 
compares most favourably with that of any of our rivals, and that we 
have had no such egregious blunders as the Americans, or such a 
sacrifice of efficiency to uniformity as the French. It is no exaggera- 
tion to say that at present we lead the world in war-ship construction ; 
and it is equally true that not so very long ago we were being led in 
that department by both the French and the Americans. I'he change 
is, undoubtedly, for the better, and it augurs well for our future. 

Let us now take a hasty glance at the present state of our Navy, 
so far as the character of the ships comprised in it is concerned. 
Our Navy has two great services to perform — home service for the 
defence of the British Islands ; and foreign service for the protection 
of our colonies, dependencies, and commerce, from the attacks of 
an enemy's fleets. How are these services now provided for ? For 
the latter — service abroad — we have sea-going iron-clads, equipped 
for sailing as well as steaming, and capable of forming squadrons 
superior in force to any that could be brought to meet them ; swift 
unarmoured cruisers, capable of playing the part of Aiabamas^ 
or of protecting our mercantile marine from similar dangers; 
the renmants of our wooden steam-fleet, of which the frigates 
lure especially useful, as the recent voyage of the " flying squadron " 
^mply proves ; and, lastly, the small fiy of corvettes, sloops, gtm 
vessels, &c, which do such useful and economical service on distant 
stations in time of peace, and constitute no mean protection to our 
<x>nimerce against lightly-armed cruisers in time of war. 

In each and all of these classes of ships we can fairly claim supe- 
riority to all rivals. The French rank next to us in the possession of 
Tigged iron-clad ships, but they have of late years given up the com- 
petition to a very great extent. In the matter of unarmoured cruisers, 
the American navy probably stands nearest our own ; but it has no 
iron-clad sea-going ships, and consequently could not compete with 
our fleet — ^a fact which the highest American authorities fully admit, 
and greatly deplore. M^e borrowed from them the idea ol WCvditw^^ 

302 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

\cry fast cruisers, carrying heavy guns but liaving no aimottr- 
*' Alabamas of the future," as they have been termed ; but vfacKtt 
their vessels proved failures, ours have proved most successful, ind 
they are fain to admit themselves beaten at their own game. Loi)| 
may it be before British and American seamen meet in battle, but if 
the day should come we need not fear the result, so long as the 
relative forces of the two navies remain unchanged. Blockading the 
American ports with our armoured deet, and sweeping the sea widi 
our swift cruisers, it would be in our power to cripple AiBerican 
commerce to a very great extent, and to protect our own from 
serious reprisals. May such a necessity never arise ! 

It may not be out of place to refer, in passing, to a matter wfaich 
attracted considerable attention a few weeks ago, when the Eastern 
Question was before the public. We were threatened, in case of a 
war with Russia, with a swarm of privateers, which were to be 
equipped in American ports and to prey on British coBuneice. 
Whether such a danger will have to l>e run or not, it is^ of course, 
impossible to say ; but one thing seems certain, viz., that while do 
nation would have more to fear from this mode of attack, oD 
account of our world-embracing commerce, none would have any- 
thing like the resources to meet the danger that we possess. Our 
numerous unarmourcd war-ships would be most dangerous to any 
privateers of the kind ; and we could, in case of need, arm and 
ct[uip a large number of our splendid mail steamers as rival cruisers, 
which our foes would tind it difficult to escape and by no means 
}>leasant to encounter. That we should suffer some loss is certain 9 
that we should suffer anything like as much as many persons would 
have us believe is, we venture to think, very doubtful. At the saia^ 
time the possibility of such hisses renders it clear that while bendiag 
our greatest efforts towards the production of armoured ships, ^'^ 
should not neglect the efficiency of our unarmourcd cruisers. 

Not less ii"n[)ortant than foreign service is the home service uhic»* 
our navy has to perform, lender the old rc^imc^ when sail was th<^ 
only propeller available, it was usvial, and in fact necessary, to us*^ 
the same classes of ships for both services. Since armour-plating h^*^ 
come into vogue another i>lan has been followed, and vessels wilho** 
masts and sails have been built for channel and coast service. * 
describe these would be out of i)lace here, especially as iheyto'^ 
ahead) been described in the jKiges of this magazine. It may ^^ 
stated, however, that they consist of monitor and ram ves.sels, strong O 
armoured, carrying the heaviest guns, and having no ** top-hamper," *** 
sailors term it, of masts an:l rigging to cause danger when in actic^*** 

England and her Ocean Empire. 303 

uch vessels can go to sea with safety, and two of the class are 
ow in the Indian Ocean on their way to Bombay. But they 
annot make very long voyages without re-coaling. This pre- 
ludes them .fipm, being employed for * cruising purposes, but it does 
iot interfere with their fitness for Channel Service ; and some of the 
arger vessels will carry enough coal to proceed to the Mediterranean, 
>r even across j^e Atlantic, in any case of emergency. We have 
2^t or ten such vesspls now — most of them being unfinished, how- 
ever — but if we want to be safer from invasion we must have more. 
In fkce of the resistance offered by such ships, it would be no easy 
task to force a passage even with war-ships alone, much less to 
convoy the numerous fleet of transports, which would be required 
br the conveyance of the invading army. Much has been said, of 
2te, of the necessity for a great military organisation in this country, 
order to prevent such an army from making head, supposing it 
kave landed, and most persons are agreed that the idea is, in 
T^ ciple, a good one. But there is as yet nothing like agreement as 
t \Mt method of carrying the principle into practice, nor is there any 
ediate prospect of a conclusion being arrived at. No one will 
ute, however, that while this is a good plan it is a better one to 
•"ent an enemy from landing at all, or at least in any con- 
Table force, and this may be done, we think, by multiplying 
coast-defence vessels and strengthening our Channel Squadrons, 
hing but advantage can result from such a policy, and its adop- 
would greatly enhance the feeling of security in the country 
^^ng the period that the military organisation was being perfected. 
-^ special interest attaches to these remarks on account of the 
^ttiours of a possible German invasion which have recently been in 
•Hculation, and which some people appear to think possible. Igno- 
"^Tice alone, it seems to us, can lead to such an opinion, seeing that 
^t present the German fleet cannot venture out to face the French, 
^nd would be far less likely to dare an encounter with the squadrons 
Ve could send to their coast at short notice. Such sc^uadrons 
would undoubtedly embrace both the most powerful of our sailing 
iron-clads, and the special unmasted vessels to which reference has 
been made, which by their comparatively shallow draught of water 
md great fighting capabilities, would prove most valuable aids in 
naintaining a blockade or in attacking the enemy's ports. The 
Krench iron-clads drew too much water for such services last autumn; 
iut some of our ships would not be similarly incapacitated for 
;ervice, and if our squadrons should ever be despatched to the 
S'orth Sea an:l the Baltic, ihcvc will probably be avioiVvcx Vo\^ \.^ v.^. 

TIu C.cnilai 


i betii madL', luo, or ihc report ihai in .ill prolNibiliiy 
ompanied by a cession of part of the Frendi fleet W 
ind of the danger which would result to us then&om. 
Ising the cession to be total, instead of partial, there Vtti 
of fear, for it is no exaggeration to say that our flea 
e combined French and German fleets with man dUn 
jf victory. In fact, it may fairly be doubted whethti 
)uld not be a positive gain to us, as France would thw 
fiidable, while Germany would possess a fieetof but modc- 
]', far inferior both to our own and to that which the ncccui- 
■ position would compel her to construct, before long, if no 
Ik place. Just before the outbreak of the war Gennan agents 
■n this country attempting to collect skilled workmen tnd 
r ship-yards, in order to proceed with the constnie- 
h-clads, and there is httle doubt that further efforts in lliis 
me only postponed on account of the pressing emergency of 
u which they are engaged. 

I ; our system of home defence stands thus : — In ihc fir«l 
fcged or cruising iron clads backed by a few of the spcci* 
Iships, forming blockading squadrons off the enemy * 
thind this a second line of monitors and rams, aider" 
Isquito fleet of diminutive gunboats, armed with vc*^ 
, which we have been recently building. To effect 
ough the first line would be no mean uodertakin^^^. 
Iht to be far more difficult to effect the disembarkatit^ 

En^^la)id a)ui lui' (\i\ni li))ipn\' 


with the remark, that there is good reason to believe that our ships were 
never better manned than now, and that their superior qualities will 
doubtless be turned to the best account in action by seamen who 
possess the old dash and spirit of the service, in combination with 
a degree of intelligence and skilfulness in warlike arts, which their 
predecessors never attained. 

The period of transition consequent on the construction of iron- 
clad ships has now extended over twelve years, and the end has not 
yet come. In fact, no sufficient test of the capabilities of such ships 
has yet been made, and the only actions which have occurred — at 
Lissa and during the Civil War in America — have not added so much 
to our knowledge as the costly experiments made at Shoeburyness 
and elsewhere. Many points at first doubtful are now settled ; very 
great progress has, as we have seen, been made ; yet greater progress 
both in guns and armour is seen to be possible ; and the long- 
standing duel will still go on unless some furtlier change takes place. 
But many points remain unsettled, chief among which stands the 
question whether under-water attacks by torpedoes will not do much 
towards rendering armour-plating of less value. Many eminent 
authorities think that this is the case, and that we may yet revert to 
uuannoured ships, constructed specially to meet this danger. We 
need not venture an opinion, but we may express our gratification at 
Icnowing that experiments are to be made at Chatham, to ascertain 
^e effect of the explosion of torpedoes under the bottoms of our 
armoured ships, and we have little doubt that the results of such 
^^^riments will have considerable weight on our future policy. 

Within and Without. 





5|iSKjm|SsANY pleasurable recollw.lions arise in looking ibfoogh 
Hl^^^m^ a vi.sta of thirty or tliinv-fivc ye.irs. I scarcely wp' 
3iSwra?Br |)osed, when I was a boy just retiring from a boarding 
3!stTb^jI£. school, that Old Swan W harf, contigtious lo Old S»an 
airs, would ever bt entwined with a far-distant memor)'. 
1 )lci Swan Wharf— the habitation uf the great firm of Thornton >1m) 
est — then exi.sled, and had already reared for itself a location And & 
but I, as a lad, fond of the river, aquatic sports, and lowiD! 
matches, never presumed that my acquaintance with Old Swan Siai**> 

Within afid Without. 307 

ish from the '' Shades " on that auspicious event was something awful 
> witness. Every year, however, keeps the sensation up, and like 
le " great battle " between Oxford and Cambridge, never seems to 

If the celebrities of that time who sculled their " trim built 
berries " are now no more ; if the Will and Dan Godfreys, or David 
rid are " resting in peace," Old Swan Stairs remain to hallow their 
lefmories, and Old Swan Wharf, with all its glorious recollections, 
ill live for centuries to come. 

Of the successful " Coat and Badge " men, there are many I could 
ace. But one — only one — made a permanent impression upon me. 
nd that was Frank May — ^jovial Frank May — ^whose beautiful little 
Eiughter, with her jet black eyes and raven hair, used to bring her 
ther's dinner to the shore. He lived to wear his honours long — 
le, poor girl, to many persons* dismay, died early. The " Coat and 
adge " is still the great trial of the river, and the " pistol shot " is 
eard when the court of assistants of the Fishmongers* Company 
leet, before the important festival of the ist of August, to celebrate 
le match, takes place. 

In the succession of years changes ensued ; the " Shades ** were 
tered, Fishmongers* Hall was rebuilt ; and the approaches to Old 
N2Xi Wharf and Old Swan Stairs thoroughly varied. Yet Old 
van Wharf— "the old House in the City" — was sustained in its 
ipreme simplicity. 

Meanwhile I had become known to Richard Thornton, and also to 
homas Thornton, both of whom occupied most important positions 

connection with mercantile and financial life. The elder, the 
icle, was recognised every>vhere as a shrewd man of business. His 
jphew followed in his wake, but his opportunities of acquiring 
ealth had not been so numerous. 

Richard Thornton had utilised his money in a most remarkable 
anner, and though the operations of the firm, Thornton and West, 
ere associated with the East India, China, and Japan trade, he per- 
inally went into all kinds of operations that brought large profits, 
ough not at all times unattended with risk. In the early periods of 
e struggles in Spain and Portugal, he advanced large sums of 
oney; and his favourite expression of the "blood and treasure" 
crificed in the cause of the Carlists and the Miguelites, will be 
membered by all who ever heard him address various meetings at 
e London Tavern. 

Owing to some important transactions which he concluded in the 
orth of Europe with a success that was hardly aTiUcvp2Xe,dL^\v^\?^s. 

3o8 The Gentlefnans Magazine. 

christened " Richard, Duke of Dantzic," a sobriquet by whidi he 
was known for many years. He was not a great attendant « 
'Change; he occasionally appeared there, but when he went it wis 
with some special object. He was intimately known to the Rotb- 
childs ; especially the father of the present house, Nathan Mqfcr 
Rothschild, to Overend, Gurney and Co., and the real solid sdwol 
of the last half-centur}\ 

Lloyd's was, however, the great place to see him. First, before the 
the memorable fire occured ; secondly, in the new rooms over the pre- 
sent Exchange. Surrounded there by Thomas Ward, Joseph Sancs, 
Duncan Dunbar, and Seymour Huffam, all notabilities whose namei 
are well known and revered, he was the " observed of all obscnrcR" 
His undenvriting account was on a large scale, but he never refiwd 
to take " risky lines," and from these sources he frequently obtained 
important gains. At the same time he was an enormous operator ia 
foreign loans, and as his means enabled him to subscribe for laige 
sums, there was immediately a commensurate profit. Throughout an 
independent and long career, he consequently possessed every oppor- 
tunity ot acquiring riches ; and since his expenditure was of the most 
moderate character, they so rapidly increased, that one confidential 
employe was continually engaged in looking after his dividends, and 
the arrangement of coupons in preparation for their pa)'ment. 

Richard Thornton always took part in the important financial 
transactions with the Knglish Ciovemmcnt. If a loan in'as to be 
negotiated he was always in attendance with the other important 
capitalists at the Treasury. If the issue of Kxchange Bills had been 
excessive, he was ready with the other magnates of Lombard Street, 
the West End banks, and the Stock Kxchange, to participate in the 
operation of funding. I remember at one of these inter\-iews— itwas 
when I was quite a stri])ling — Lord Melbourne being Prime Minister, 
and Spring Rice, afterwards Lord Monteagle, Chancellor of the 
Exchecjuer, that a question was raised about terms. 

The Government appeared to think that they were not dealt i^itn 
liberally enough. Mr. Richard Thornton, then hale and vigorous 
took up the question in favour of his colleagues and himscU, 
stating that if the Treasur)* authorities wanted money " they must p^V 
for it." 

A visit to Old Swan Wharf was well worth making, but it iR'as ^^ 
every one who was invited, or who, if they called, were allowed ^ 
insight into its mysteries. It was one of those old-fashioned establ^^ 
ments with a capacious entrance, and a staircase capable of allo^^ 
two or three to walk abreast Outside the warehouse, or entra-"^ 

IVif/nn and M'ltlioul. 300 

to the wharf, was one of those unmistakeable cranes, fit for any 
drudgery imposed, and always available for active service. 

A\'Tien you arrived on the first floor, you entered flush into the 
counting-house ; a very extensive room with compartments on either 
side, so arranged that you might have fancied it was never intended 
that one clerk should see another. They were a kind of huge high- 
grained stalls, with rails all round, from which every one who entered 
could be immediately seen. 

When you did enter, and if you were known, Richard Thornton or 
Thomas, his favourite nephew, at once came forth to greet you, and 
ascertain your business. Then you passed into the sanctum sanc- 
iorum for a short and agreeable chat Forthwith you were shown 
the model of the church and schools which Mr. Richard had erected 
at Burton, Yorkshire, his native place ; and then an admirable bust 
by Behnes — that sculptor who, notwithstanding his extravagance and 
dissipation, made a considerable mark in his time. Then another 
short chat and a friendly good-bye — the old gentleman being sure to 
drag out his massive gold watch, suspended by the ancient blue or 
brown ribbond, to note the hour, and the interview concluded. 

The last time I encountered the great Richard Thornton was a 
few months before his death. It was in the spring ; he passed from 
this world in full summer time. He was weakly and ailing then, but 
he was possessed of all his faculties, and appeared to enjoy life as usual. 
I was with a cherished friend of mine, and having a business appoint- 
ment — Birch's (or Ring and Brymer properly so called) was the 
establishment we adjourned to. 

There was the great millionaire just finishing his mock-turtle, and 
when we entered, he was about to retire. Recognising me, he ad- 
ventured into some every-day topics of conversation, and after he 
lefl, I told my companion who he was, and the reputed amount of 
his wealth. The sum named made my friend's mouth water ; and he 
simply ejaculated, " Oh ! that I were a near blood relation." 

There was something touching, if not poetical, in his last words 
ere he departed this life. Though brought low by the attack of 
bronchitis which confined him to his bed, he appeared every now 
and then to gather fresh vigour whenever any of his relatives or 
friends approached him. 

On the occasion referred to, the last day he lived, he was more 
than usually animated. It was a beautiful evening in June, and his 
room at his house at Merton commanded a fine view of the sur- 
rounding Surrey scenery. His nearest relatives were assiduous in 
their attentions, and he received them as usual ^'\tVv V\t\A\^ stoJ\cs». 


The Gentler. 


Al! of a sudden he paused, and raised himself on his shouMfrt, 
his face assuming a very serious expression. The sun was gradually 
sinking in a "golden glow," ihe douds being tinged with rith 
cliameleoii hues, diffusing a brilliant light throughout the well- 
furnished apartment, 

"Stand aside," he said with reverence, aS he shadowed hit cy« 
with his pale wan hand, intently watching the scene. " Stand uide, 
please — let me see the sun go dott'n— I shall never see him tbe 

So passed away Richard Thornton from his labours on earth. He 
had nearly completed his ninetieth year, and was buried according 
to his wish, without any important parade or show. The news of 
his death spread like wildfire through the City. The great point 
under discussion was what his fortune would represent RichaM 
Thornton had not of late years talked largely concerning his re- 
sources — in fact, he never was a braggart in that respect ; but cvrry 
one knew, and therefore required no telling, that his estate would b* 
calculated by millions. He left a veritable solid 3,000,000/., nil in 
good and approved securities, and the executors paid under riie 
covenants of the will, the enormous amount of 700,000/. succesnM 1 
duty. The "money bags" of the great Richard Thornton proRtfli I 

Wilkin a}td Without. 311 

wealth, was a comparatively rich man before his relative died. His 
own patrimony wa^ considerable from his share in the business of 
Thornton and West, and his gradua! accumulations were important ; 
but when he obtained nearly a miltion under Richard Thornton's 
will, his resources were enoftnously augmented. 

Riches, however, do not always bring happiness. Thomas Thorn- 
ton, although a good man of business, and employing his wealth in 
advantageous cliannels, was assailed in the domestic circle. Pallida 
mors and the rest is soon told. First a daughter, and then his wife, 
were torn from his bosom. Oh, the agony he experienced whenever 
he referred to these harrowing events ! 

.\fter these shocks he never in reality recovered. He became, in a 
measure, listless and desponding ; and although occasionally, when 
he met old connections, he would endeavour to attempt a favourable 
diversion, the "strong grief" came back, and he failed, as it was 
natural he should, to be amusing. He nevertheless sustained an 
active part in business to the last — visited Lloyd's occasionally, went 
to his new offices, and then returned to his residence at Brixton. 

About two years ago I met him in what we call the " dividend 
time " in the City ; the neighbourhood was Throgmorton Street, and 
he was visiting establishments where he would have to receive con- 
siderable sums from his investments. He was, as usual, very cordial, 
and I asked him in a good-humoured manner what brought him so 
near the locality of the Stock Exchange. 

" I am obliged to come," he said, "to look after my investments. 
You know, my dear friend, you must look after the shillings, and then 
the pounds will look after themselves," 

" But," I said, " my dear Mr. Thornton, you talk of looking after 
the shillings and the pounds ; why, you must reckon your fortune by 
at least millions." 

He rejoined, "Sol do; but it wants careful watching — careful 

He then intimated in a quiet, jocose manner, that he reckoned 
himself worth about X'i'=""', 000 sterling— sufficient, he thought, to 
Jirovide comfortably for his family and leave something to the poor. 
^iJow that his will has been proved within the last two months, all he 
^serted has turned out thoroughly correct, and he has not neglected 
to make seasonable donations amongst his Yorkshire and other local 

It was about September last that we met at Rolfe'i City Studio, in 
Nicholas Lane, where we were looking at some very choice speci- 
knens of Herring's farm pieces. Little did I tonV \^\cii 'Om.v \tt& 
M Vol. vs.. y.S. JS71. -« ^m 

3 1 2 Tlu GentUtnans Magazine. 

prediction concerning himself would be so speedilj verified. He is 
recounting an anecdote of how a bishop had recently approaxM 
hitn, and had had the boldness, knowing he was a wealthy man, to 
ask for a donation of j;^i,ooo, pur d simple^ for some new dundi 
fund. He said of course he politely refused, because he had alrendj 
built one church and endowed it, and had erected schools He dies 
became dejected, and, passing from one topic to another, said he fidt 
convinced he was suffering from disease of the heart, and would be 
shortly missed from City circles. 

And so it was. Death from disease of the heart carried off Thomas 
Thornton. His uncle's, Richard Thornton^ death was occaaoned bf 
bronchitis. But he was a much older man, and had in earlier yean 
fought the battle of life much more severely. Hie firm of Thomtcm 
and West still exists, but the business is conducted by carefiilly wdl- 
trained successors in more modem offices in Mooxgate Street Old 
Swan Wharf, though let out to different tenants, will always be 
recognised and long remembered. 

HE Ballad of Sir John 
De Courcy, 

[TramlaUd from tlu German by SyzvoE'i'lcus.) 

c£ grasped his faJchion blade, 

High o'er his head then hurled ; 

iKI^jK He smote the ground, and said, 
3»^^£[ai» " Come one : come all the world ! 

" Shame on the churl who lags, 
To knighthood's faith forsworn, 

When tongue of foeman wags. 
To speak his country scorn ! 

" So true 1 Courcy higjit, 
TJar'st thou the battle claim ? 

I'll prove in mortal fight 

Thou hast done the truth foul shame." 

Then o'er the barrier sprang, 
Who spoke the boastful word, 

Which Gallia's praises rang. 
And England's honour slurred. 

They fought with raantul pride. 
And long the strife endured. 

Till through the Frenchman's side 
Brave Courcy drove his sword. 

So when the foe had |)aid 

Dear vengeance for liis vaunt, 

He whirled on high his blade. 
And breathed the haughty taunt : 

" Ye've seen this ann strike down 

The champion of you all, 

Wlio dared the Briton crown 

His head before the (jUuI. 

The Genllenian s Magazine. 

" But I before the sighl 
Of king and all his realm, 

Shall use the conqueror's right, 
And thus I don my helm. 

" And who doth dare gainsay, 
This helm shall here remain ; 

With hira, be who he may, 
I'll do the fight again." 

The French king from his throne 
Then spake the knight unto : 

" Though wrong to thee was done. 
More grievous wrong dost thou. 

" To quit these lists with life. 
Thou Shalt not hence go free. 

Till thrice in mortal strife 

Thou hast made good thy plea, 

The Ballad of Sir John De Courcy. 

Then many a knight rushed forth 
Into the blood-stained field, 

To prove his country's worth. 
And bid proud England yield. 

But spake the monarch well, 
Who sat on Gallia's throne, 

" His own wrong to repel, 
He us this wrong hath done. 

" Tis but what we enforced ; 

Let him in peace go free ; 
For he hath well discoursed 

His bold and valiant plea 

"So let in record last 

What we this day have borne, — 
He blows an empty blast, 

Who speaks proud England scorn." 

Then where the monarch sat, 
Courcy unhelm'd kneeled down, 

Rose up, put on his hat, 

And straight again was gone. 

So, homeward when drew near 
That knight all unafeared, 

And England's realm did hear 
The deed that he had dared : 

In jewelled pomp and pride, 
The king upon his throne. 

The princes by his side, 

And nobles round him shone ; 

There, foremost midst the throng. 
The brave De Courc/s led, 

Still with his beaver on, 
And thus the Monarch sud -. 

3i6 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

'' For England's name and praise 

Thou didst go covered there, 
Think not thy helm to raise, 

Thy head tot me to bare. 

" Through all our kingdom's pale, 

A token this shall be, 
That England ne'er may fail 

In heroes like to thee." 

And still whoso may hight 

De Courcy in the land, 
He covered sole hath right 

Before the king to stand. 

[The above is a translation, which I made upwards of twenty jreiis ieo,of> 
piece which I found in a collection of German prose and poetry, llie Dimeoftk 
author has escaped my recollection, but I should not be surprised if mj otiginl 
turned out to be itself a translation from some English ballad, probably bmilitf M 
some of Mk. Sylvan us Urban's readers, although unknown to nmdf. 11k 
compliment to England in the nineteenth stanza, put into the mouth of the French 
king, strongly points to an English origin. In Burke's Peerage I find notnceof 
the legend here recounted. Sir John de Courcy, Earl of Ulster, so nimed ifttf 
the province which he had conquered, is there stated to have been liberated 6^ 
his prison in the Tuwer to meet in single combat the champion of Philip Ai^istVi 
between whom and King John it had l^ecn agreed to decide by wager ofbittk 
some question concerning the affairs of Nunnandy. The combat was to take pli^ 
in the presence of the Kings of France, England, and Spain ; but the French 
champion, seized with sudden panic at the sight of De Courcy, clapped spun to his 
horse and rode off, wlicreupon the victory was unanimously adjudged to tie EngBsh 
earl. At King John's request he gave proof to Philip Augustus of his ext* 
ordinary strength by cleaving in twain a helmet with a single blow of his swonL 
Thereupon the King offered to grant him whatever he might request ; and D« 
Courcy, saying that he hail land and honours enough, begged to be allowed the 
privilege for himself and his heirs (their first obeisance being made) of wearii^ 
their hat in the presence of the King and all his successors. The privily «* 
accorded him, and was claimed in the reign of William III., greatly to the sarprise 
of that monarch, by Almeric, iwcniy-thiixl Haron, in 1692 (1 ought to have said 
that the barony of Kingsale was conferred upon Sir John in lieu of the eaiidon 
of Ulster, which had parsed to his enemy, Hugh de Lacie) ; and again by Gerald, 
the twenty-fourth baron, in the reign ol George I. I have a sort of indistind 
recollection that some one (whether the head of this family, or another, I cannot 
say) claimed the privilege of remaining with his hat on in the presence of 
George IV., and drew from him an unpleasant remark, to the effect that wbatc^'tf 
the legal right might be, it was ungentlcmanly to insist on its exercise. A simibr 
privilege of wearing his hat in the Royal presence was conferred by Heniy VIIL 
on Sir John Forester, of Walling Street. Co. Salop, ancestor of the existing nobfe* 
man of that name. The present Lord Kingsale, Michael-Conrad de Courcy (wh*^ 
a name to make the mouths of Tybumia*s daughters water, and their ean tingle!) 
— a direct descendant of our Sir John — succeeded his brother as premier baron 01 
Ireland in 1865, being the thirtieth of that fine old stock. I cannot help asking 
myself whether any German author in these daj's would give himself the trouble 
of translating or inditing a ballad in honour of the courage and indomitable 
pluck of our sometime glorious old England ! England would hardly now be 
typified under the form of a De Courcy wearing his helm in the &ce of all tbe 
world, but rather as going about the world with bated breath and cap or hat iO 
hand, making obeisance all round, and none so poor to do her reveremt^ 

• The Defects of the French 

MN that remarkable and thoughtful exposition of his political 
opinions, " Les Id^es Napolfeniennes " written in 18391 
Louis Napoleon, then a disregarded exile, enjoying a gentle- 
manlike misery in a comfortable house in Carlton Tenace, 
and with but small chance of ever becoming the Emperor of FrancCi 
expressed, strange to say. great admiration of that Prussian military 
system by whose hands he has been recently struck down. In the 
following memorable passage, after eulogizing Bonaparte's plan of 
the conscription, he mentions that other nations, among them the 
Prussian, had carried Bonaparte's views still further. 

" It was not sufficient," wrote the exiled theorist, the adventurer of 
StrasbuTgh, " that the army was recniited from the whole nation, it 
was also necessary that the whole nation should, in case of disaster, 
form a resen'e to the army. The Emperor said, ' Never does a , 
nation which repels an invasion want men, but often soldiers." The , 
military system of Prussia offers immense advantages. It removes 
the barriers which separate the citizen and the soldier ; it gives the 
same motives and the same objects to all men under arms— the 
defence of the soil of the country; it furnishes the means of 
nuiintaining a great military force with the least possible expense ; it 
enables a whole population to resist invasion with success. The 
army in Prussia is a great school, in which all the people instruct 
themselves in the art of amis. The Landwehr, which is divided into 
three bans, is the reserve of the army. In the military organisation 
there have been several classifications : but all are derived from the 
same source, all look Cowards the same end. There is emulation, 
not rivalry, amongst the organised corps." 

What fatal blindness, sent from Heaven, struck then this man. that 
he should rush with his gay, uncohesive army against the iron-bound 
men who have now trodden France under foot ? 

Let us examine into the causes of this degeneracy among the sons 
of the heroes of Marengo and Austerlitz. We shall find these causes 
nowhere more fearlessly exposed than in a book, written by General 
Trochu, dedicated to the memory of his maalci m viai, tjenss.^ 



The Gentleman s Mi 






Bugeaud, and entitled " I.'AmnSi; Fran^aise en 1867." In this wodt 
tlie Orleanist general appeared as a military reformer, and his views 
were, no doubt, regarded by the Imperial Court as mere underhand 
attacks on the Imperial dynasty, and disregarded accordingly. In 
the introduction lo his eighteenth edition, Trochu expresses his 
opinion that Europe was in a great transitional period between two 
modes of warfare, and he doses his remarks with these notable com- 
phments to Prussia: — "It is the merit and fortune of Prussia in 186!, 
as before, in the time of the Great Frederick, to have foreseen tfie 
evolution of fresh ways and means in war. They showed atten- 
tion to these conditions during a long i>eace, and they applied 
. the principles they discovered resolutely and solidly." In another 
place the General does full justice lo his present enemies, in a quota- 
tion from a book of niilitar)' instruction (perhaps his own) used 
in the Govemmeni School of Artillery and Engineers at Meu:— 
"The moral standard is higher," says the educational writer, "in 
the Prussian army than in all the other armies of Europe. The 
sentiments of honour and of patriotism are highly developed among the 
soldiers, who belong to the upper classes of society in a larger pn>- 
portion tlian those in armies where substitutes are allowed. Bj» dc 
nature of this composition, the array in Prussia is the faithful image 
of the nation." 

There at least was one French General who had not 
Bugeaud's wise words to his brave fellow countrymen : — "One 
with impunity disdain an enemy whoever he may be." '' 

The first abuse tliat Trochu pointed out was that of substitutes- 
Any conscript caii purchase a substitute for a certain sura, jad 
devolve his military service upon this purchased proxy. Prussia, on 
the other liand, does not allow this transfer of duty to a depu'J'- 
When she was enslaved by Napoleon after Ji:na, and her standioj 
army limited to 40,000 men, Von Slein and other subtle patrio** 
of the day iuventt-d a plan by which the whole youth uf Prus^ 
was to be passed in batches through the army, so as to be re»^1 
at any moment for the war of independence that sooner or U*-*' 
was inevitable, and a law was passed requiring personal gratuity 
service from every man between twenty and forty. The merits 
this system the French could not appreciate. They were chie^' 
struck by the jouih of the Prussian soldiers of the line, ivho we- 
sent back after three years of service under the colouis to the d^* 
posable reserve, and then lo the Landwehr. The solidity of a systei^^ 
uf which the results were Sadowa and Sedan, was ignored by U'^^ 
French military critics. In vain Trochu pointed out that the lai^* 

about recruiting were initialed by Marshal Gouvion Sl Cyr and 1 
Marshal Soult in times of peace, when the nation had become ■ 
weary of war, and when tranquillity was the necessity of the present 
and the probability of the future. Napoleon's conscription had 
borne heavily on France during a period of incessant war, and the 
remplaccmtnt system now served to temper its apparent hardships. 
The ev-ils of this system are enormous, especially during a prolonged 
war, when, the price of substitutes being raised, evasions of service 
become more and more numerous. But since the fall of the Emperor 
it has been discovered that since the State took upon itself to pur- 
chase substitutes, the money was really sjicnt for other purposes, 
and sulwtitutes were never sent to the regiments at all, so that 
a regiment 2,000 strong on paper had often really only some i,JOO 
rank and ftle. The peri)etual impending lKUikru|)tcy of the luxurious 
and rotten empire led to these frauds, as it did to so many other 
knaveries, oppressions, and deceptions. 

The system of reserves Trochu also condemns, for he says sen- I 
sibly enough that met) who have returned to their trades and acquired J 
habits of independence, do not a second time make the sacrifice I 
with willingness. They return, in fact, the worst material for soldier* J 
On the other hand, if, according to the rule before the war, they 1 
come to the depot for three months the first year, and six monthf I 
the second, they return with dislike to the profession ; and, when f 
called out, show less good will and tlan than men who had never I 
before quitted their families, and for the first time joined the regiment. 
Trochu added — "In our contemporary wars (the East in 1854-5, 
Italy in 1859) the imperfection of our military organisation was re- 
vealed by this fact — that with a considerable effective force, we could 
not set on foot more than a single array, which did not represent more 
than a fourth part of our effective e.siimate." 

deneral Trochu dwells much on the merit of "old" soldiers, by 
which he means a soldier of one, two, three, or four years' service. 
Such a man, says the defender of Paris, is still young in mind and in 
body, and has belief in illusions He is full of strength and full of 
honour ; he will not give his country a day beyond the time the law I 
requires, for anterior and supenor duties recall him lo his family. ' 
But liiese years he gives entirely without restriction and without cal- 
culation. In peace he is a man ot rule and of good example; in war, 
a man of devotion. He trembles with emotion when his General 
speaks to him of his country. It is he who with imperious instincts 
of impulse and of passion, condemns himself to the painful rest of 
tile- trenches, M'hcre death may .strike liim even when limimti', \v 'vi 


The Genllemans Afagaa'ne. 

he who works energetically, who suffers patiently, and who, when he 
is ready to return to his own fireside, demands as the end and rewan! 
of all his efforts only this — a certificate of good condtut. This man 
returns lo work unstiffened by age or the use of amis, strong, pliant, 
ready to tend the plough or wield the axe ; and he does not swell 
the number of hopeless or idle persons in great towns. 

He marries in his village, he founds a family, and propagates 
around him traditions of obedience, respect, and good order, which he 
had learnt in his regiment, and thus renders to society, without being 
conscious of it, new and precious service. An army, says Trochu 
eloquently, which thus periodically renews itself, receiving into its 
bosom a chosen portion of the best population of the country, and 
returning every year a contingent of liberated soldiers, such as 
have been described, sending forth in this manner in three yean 
nearly a million of good citizens, is a powerful instrument of public 

But in spite of this agreeable, and often true picture of the 
soldier turned citizen, even Trochu gives but a melancholy descrip- 
tion of the man who again leaving his family returns lo end his days 
in a regiment The army is no longer a momentary sacrifice, it is i 
trade, so he tries to get some pleasure out of it ; he grows sour, 
gnimbhng, shifty ; fights sometimes vigorously, but only when he 
chooses ; he loses ail scruples, and too often becomes a drunkard. 
Life in barracks, the idleness of garrisons, the example of old soldieis, 
and the absence of associations that once kepi alive his self-rcspwl, 
gradually corrupt him. Against all institutions like the Invalidc*. 
Cleneral Trochu loudly exclaims. His idea of an army is a smiU 
number of old officers and soldiers, and a constant retteival, by young 
blood, of the whole mass. To which, Baron d'Azemar, one rf 
Trochu's critics, appends the fact that a General Duverger had bee» 
captain in a regiment of chasseurs it cheval fifly-two years. 

General Trochu's attacks on les vieiix grognari/s of the F.mpire, tho-*' 
men of iron who followed Napoleon through the fire al .Areola, a^"^^ 
hurled the Russians to death at Aiisterlitz, drew upon him a swaC"^ 
of assailants. " Adieu done jxiuvre gloire " they said, with Berang^^ 
These old moustaches were also phantoms. Too many writ^^ 
vilified the stubborn Breton, who dared tell his own countrymen t^^ 
truth. Yet the Duke of Fezensac himself says, in his " Souvcn^^ 
Militaires," that after the battle of Eylau, in J807, — there we^^-^ 
60,000 absentees, and these were nearly all marauders ; a few w^=^ 
ill, and some were dainpins^ or men who with a little more coun-^^ 
and moral energy could have rejoined their ranks. The Count *^ 

The DefecU of ihc Freiuh Army. 

'., chef d'fUl major to Prince Eugfcne in Italy, says, in hi 
i Hiaiori<|iie," that aTier the battle of Mincio, in 1814, thi 
itrmie had half their effective men in hospital It has been] 
i the same, says one of Trochu's defendere, for in the yi 
T Uie great Republic, the effective were put down in figuri 
»,ooo men, but 200,000 or 300,000 of these men were eithi 
glets, wounded, convalescent, prisoners, or sick, forming wl 
J, in soldier's irony, " the rolling array." 
T of Ttochu's proposed reforms drew upon him a storm of 
ration. He declared firmly his wish to suppress grenadiers — 
i he, "now that all infantry fight in the same manner, and 
; weapons, why have two ilile companies in each batal- 
o weaken your centre companies ?" Marshal Saxe has said. " I 
t grenadiers, tliey are the eli/e of your troops, and if the 
J is hot, you soon use up all your best men." " Rather," said 
" suppress the grenadier companies and form instead com- 
if Franc-tireurs — choosing your best shots, trusty, brave, agile 
10 know how to manage independent fighting." He is also 
mng away with the battalions of the chasseurs ^ pied. These 
; said, restored to the general mass of infantry, would give 
r Fretich lines of battle their maximum of power and solidity. 
antiy which should give the French lines strength and tenacity 
V llie mere dregs left after artillery, engineers, cavalry, and 
aifs i pied, have selected the most intelligent, the strongest, 
most active of the soldiers. We who can now see that some 
inent of evil must have been working in the French army 
« disasters of Cravelotle and Sedan could have occurred, can 
ntand the prophecies of men like Trochit, who as far back as 
d toe courage to say :— " Our centre companies, which numeri- 
m the chief pan of our line of battle, are wanting 
oliiies that create activity, spring, and confidence, and it is i 
that their weakness will appear with all its lamentable results." 

The French military reformers demand that the standard of hei^t 
(or botb infantry and cavalry recruits shall be lower, so as to 
obtitin a. larger number of soldiers. No defect in height should be 
aa objection in infantry regiments now, they say, for since breech- 
loaders have been introduced, one of the strongest arguments agaii 
■hurt infantry men is removed. 

One of General Trochu's loudest cries was for the suppression 
|]ie ltD|>criaI Guard. In 1804, this body guard consisted of onl 
7.000 men — " with my complete guard of 40.000 or 50,1 

"J A&ouJd beiCrong enough to travel^ a.\\ luiitc 


The Gentlemaii s Magazine. 

In 1810-11, he raised this reserve d'i/iU to ihis required number, 
and in 1814, as his ambition grew and his difRculdes increased, thts 
reserve rose, according to General Bardin's " Anny Dicdonaiy," to 
1 1 2,000 men, buL this is an exaggeration. The Imperial Guard, which 
fought well in Iialy and the Crimea, is now considered as a solid and 
important army reserve, and Trochu's attacks upon the privii^ed 
body were not well received, though the grtat Napoleon himself had 
compared them 10 the Roman Pnetorian Guard, and confessed that 
under any otiier hands than his own, they would be dangerous to in 
absolute sovereign. 

An idea became prevalent among French officers, especiallj 
after the Italian Campaign of 1859, that modem firearms had ren- 
dered cavalry useless. In a book called " L'Avenir de la Cavalcrie," 
Baron d'Azeniar, with true prophetic instinct, wrote to warn his 
countrymen against this error. Ilonaparle said ai St. Helena, where 
he reviewed his oi*-n life, "In 1813, ii" I had had cavalry, I could 
have reconi|iiered Europe." The Baron cried, "People propose to 
reduce the cavalry [ They think that cavalry are ' played out,' and 
will in future pl.iy a minor part in war. Woe to the nation thai 
follows such conceits ! Woe to the sovereigns who adopt audi 
maxims! To-day, as ef old, I say llie Jiiturt of anpires is in thefutun 
of their cavalry." The recent war has vividly shown the truth of (hit 
prophecy. The Uhlans have been the eyes and hands of the invading 
Prussian army — as the prisoner of WHhelmshoe himself confessed— 
the Uhlans hung like a veil before the whole Prussian army ; masking 
its operations, and confusing and anticipating the enemy in itl 
directions. Trochu was of the same opinion as MacMahon vA 
D'Aiemar. He said : " The difficulties the cavalry had to take theii 
proper part in the Italian Campaign of 1857, gave rise to an opiniw 
that before modern rifles cavalry had become powerless. This is w 
error which it is important should not gain actejitance. Cavalry ^ 
par excellence in war, the insurer of speed, the producer of those g 
moral effects which paralyse and disorganise, and the results of wbi** 
are incalculable. And is then the arm which most lends 10 prodi*^ 
rapidity of execution useless ? It is impossible. On Ihe contrif'^' 
the formation of cavalry will increase, but it must be on conditS ■* 
that it at once abandons old beliefs and traditions." Troclk * 
proposed reform was to lighten the cavalry horse's load by putii "i 
light men on strong and resisting horses. He insisted on at or^ 
throwing away all cavalry helmets and cuirasses. According 
French writers on cavalry, one of the great defects of the Fret**" 
cavalry is the saddle. Under the Republic and the Empire the 

TIte Defects of ihc Fretu/i Army. ^2^ 

Hungarian saddle was used, which was very simple, by no means 
clumsy, and easy to repair. The modem saddle is more elegant 
than the Hungarian, but it hurts the horses and the men. In the 
Italian Campaign of 1859 two thousand of the horses were injured 
by the saddles, and many of the non-commissioned ofHcers had sores 
on the knees. The French cavalry carbine is also too heavy, and 
the trooper is allowed to carry too many small articles of use. ■ 

It was generally thought, before the advent of the L'hian.s, that the fl 
lance, which Monlecuculi called " the queen of weapons," had become 
obsolete. In spite of Marshal Saxe having given his own regiment of 
hussars lances, and the Marshal of Ragusa wishing to arm his second 
rank of cuirassiers with the lance, Trochu and others condemned 
its use. No, said these reformers ; take away the lances and pull 
off the cuirasses, put light men on strong horses, and they will crush 
squares just as well and with less pain and fatigue to tlie animals. 
One of the recent battles between France and Prussia proves how 
powerless the heaviest cuirassiers are against infantry when the men 
on foot stand hnn and shoot calmly and carefully. In the future, if 
French reformers have their way, hussars and chasseurs will not 
wear the sabretache, which is a mere vanity and impediment. 
Chasseurs and hussars will have the same uniform, and with the 
eclaireurs of each infantiy regiment there will be a company of light 
horsemen, mounted on small horses, and carrying the lightest form of 

This disastrous war has shown how fatally true these boders of evil 
were. For years Trochu strove to show the Government the extent 
of its danger. He exhausted himself in useless efforts to reach the 
Imperial ear. Long he tried in vain to convince the authorities of the 
evils that were daily increasing. He reminded the Kmperor how 
Napoleon himself had said that France in '91 resi.ited the great 
Coalition because it had three years to prepare and raise two hundred 
battalions of National Guards, and after all it was only attacked by 
100,000 men. If 800,000 men, said Bonaparte, had marched under 
the Duke of Brunswick, Paris would have been taken in spite of all 
the energy and Mi« of the nation. " Rubbish," said the Imperialists. 
"Trochu forgets that in 1840, when a European war seemed immi- 
nent, the French army was reorganised in such a way as to provide 
750,000 men at the first trumpet-call." Among these decriers of 
Trochu and the pessimists. General Changarnier was one of the 
loudest He acknowledged the great victories of Prussia over the 
Austrians, but he said the Prussian army was very young, and was 
hastily doubled in strength by a reserve suddenly atiatjivei ^^qw 

524 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

sedentary occupations, and which had shown itself unfitted to^ 
the fatigues of a long war. In a campaign of only some weekafl 
covered the roads with laggards and sick. In vain Trochii's fi 
urged that Pmssia, with a population of now more than t»'enty-ntm 
million souls, could raise an army of 1,500,000 combaianl*. The 
answer was still contemptuous, and the result of this contempt wii 
the great break-up, beginning at Worth, and ending who may sa| 

Walter Thornbi/bv. 





["T was ten o'clock before the bills were settled and the letters 
n and sent off to the two banking-houses. 
1 said you had some tetters to write, Alfred?" said 
, Malvina. " If so, don't mind me. I am tired, and shall go 
to bed as soon as I have had some tea. What lime do we start 
to-morrow ? " 
" Ten, if we go by the lake." 
"Oh, no, don't let ua go by the lake ; it is too cold. Why, we arc J 
getting on into October," 

" Yes," said Alfred ; " we shall be the last visitors in Switzerland. J 
fJowever, there are no more wood -strawberries, and the ciystal 1 
►locks of ice do not look quite so tempting as they did in August" 
"It makes me shiver to look at them," observed Malvina- 
*'Well, the train starts at one. We will breakfast at ten. I must I 
all on Dr. Bertall to wish him good-bye — I suppose he is still at I 
^usanne— ^and then we shall be ready." 

K Shall you tell the doctor?" 
Yea, I think I had better. Why not? On Sunday next the 
M will be published." 
■'True' . . . Minna, for the second time — how many times am 
' to call you ? — bring the tea. Now, Alfred, go on with youf 

Alfred wrote a letter to his father, saying, in answer to Dr. 
Leighton's renewed inquiries, that he was getting on well, and 
should soot* be home. He mentioned the fact that the Princess 
Karabassoff had been staying at the same hotel with him for the last 
three months ; that she had been very kind to him ; that he found ' 
her very much changed, and fiill of excellent qualities ; that he was ' 
glad to have had the opportunity of renewing her acquaintance ; that 
he expected to see a great deal more of her ; and that he would write 
agpiin in a few days from Parii>. 

326 The Gentleman s Magasine. 

Two other letters did not require answers, or at least not imiM- 
diate answers. 3ut although he was not about to reply to eitiicrof 
them, Alfred read them both over again. 

One was from Captain Fiudyer, informing him that eveiyone «» 
well at St. Ouen — a matter about which Alfred cared very little— ud 
that a servant from the Augustines' Convent had been inquiring &r 
him many weeks before at the '' H6tel de la Couronne," and, not 
finding him there, had gone away without leaving any message. He 
(Fiudyer) heard that Mr. Arnold would inherit a laige sum of money 
through the melancholy event which had caused him (LdghtoD)so. 
much grief. Captain Tremens had had one of his old attacks, and 
had seen spiders on the wall of his bedroom ; Captain Raccroc had 
gone back to Algeria ; Lieutenant Billebande had broken his collar- 
bone ; the Rev. Japhet Stickney had preached the Rev. Lacktfaoipe 
Roydon out of St Ouen ; and Roydon, while threatening an acdoo 
for defamation of character, was, for the present, doing duty sonM- 
where in Paris. 

Alfred wondered again and again who could have sent to him 
from the Augustines' Convent, and came to the conclusion that it 
must have been the Superior. 

'* She little knew wliere and 1k)w the news would reach me^" he 
said to himsel£ 

The third letter was from Captain Thornton, Sophie's Indiin 
cousin, and must be given in die writer's own words. It was u 
follows : — 

** Madras^ Amgusi 266I, 1859. 

" Mv Dear Leighton, — I delayed answering your letter from day 
to day, and I have now received one from my uncle which contains 
the saddest news. You wrote to me that you had seen my cousin, 
and that you admired her ; in fact, you seemed very much struck 
with her. You must, therefore, have been much grieved to hear (rf 
her death, and will, I know, sympathise with us in our affliction. Mj 
uncle must be terribly cut up. For myself, I felt nearly heartbroken 
when the news first reached me, and I still keep asking myself 
whether my conduct was quite justifiable, and whether I am no^ 
partly responsible for wliat she, poor girl, must have suflfered" 

" Confound his conduct ! " thought Alfred. " Confound his mon- 
strous vanity, above all ! Much my poor darling Sophie cared ix 



it b no use rq^tting the past," the writer continued. " I 
'fcnow exactly, if you will kindly asceOain for me in what 

Ml my uncle is left by the death of his daughter. The old boy 
St much given to habits of economy, and all that was settled on 
Jophie (jo,ooo/.) passes now to her mother's family ; and, in 
comes to me. It (s on these occasions that a man feels how 
money is really worth ! My cousin's life was insured for a 
a sum in the Dragon Office, and there would not be the least 
In your calling there to inquire what the amount was. If there 
Idifficulty, go to my old friend, Mr. Finch, of Holywell Lodge, 
■«n-Thames, who is one of the directors ; make use of my 
hnd if necessary show him this letter- My object in wanting 
wt (he precise sura is, that I may be able 10 judge whether the 
Rd boy will have enough to live upon. If not, we must see 
Can be done for hitn. I think, considering my relationship and 
ffection I always entertained for poor Sophie, I ought to take 
hal he has an annuity of at least three hundred a year. At 
[e he could buy that for a few thousand pounds ; and as I 
Miat an insurance had been effected for iomelhing. I could 
[linake up the necessary sum. Perhaps, however, he has 
pcd money on the policy, or perhaps his creditors will come 
nt it Even then I will do what I caji — with due regard, of 
i to the interest of my own family. 

B heard about your duel, and talked it over at the mess. I am 
|POu did not wing him, but I dare say you did your best, 
9 Cartwright said if it had happened twenty years ago, and he 
en there, he would have placed you ai fifteen paces, and made 
til fire at the same time. I hope you did not suffer much 
Ik wound, and that you have had a jolly time of it ever 

Irish now that 1 had slaved in the ?;tnd Hussars i but it did 

Rm prudent when I got married. I fovmd that my wife's 

> was all tied up in the Three per Cents, and though it seemed 

od lump, it only brings in nine hundred a year afier all 

les, it is settled absolutely on my wife and her children^iist 

ay poor aunt's money — so that if anything had happened to 

light have been left with nothing in the worid but my pay. 

ie all that I had of my own went long ago. Now, however, 

is quite different, and I shall be able to hold my head 

le wife desires to be particularly remembered. Colonel 

it sends kind regards. — Your sincere friend, 

" Georgk Thokstos" 
VL. N.s. 1871. 

32S The Genlkmans Magazttu. 

" He was nearly heartbroken whi-n the news first readied him, bill 
he has inherited twenty thousand pounds, and can now hold his hod 
up ! That's what it amounts to ! " said .\lfred to himself, u he pal 
the letter down. "Thank God, he wais' ne%-ei my rival far one 
moment 1 However, we were very good friends in India, (nd of 
course I must do what he aska me about the insurance nkoncy." 

At lirst Alfred tliouglit of writing to Mr. Finch : but it is Hieh A 
trouble to write a letter when a visit will do just as well ; lad it 
was quite possible that, asked point-blank for an answer in wiiring, 
Mr. Finch, as a prudent man of business, would refuse to give My 
information whatever in regard to the affaire of his office. 

As he was sure to be in England before another three weeks had 
elapsed, Alfred postponed all ini|uiries with regard to Mr, AmolA 
position until he should be able to make them in person. 

When Alfred called on Dr. Bennll to wish him goodbye ud 
receive his congratulations on the subject of his appnaeluBg 
marriage. Dr. Bertall did congratulate him very wannly, and enpresMd 
his admiration of the Princess, who, he said, possessed that distiiK- 
tion which, if not inseparable from high birth, was seldom found 
without it. 

Alfred did not think it necessary to tell the phyaician who MririBl ., 

Malvina. 329 

At the Hdtel du Rhin he found a letter waiting for him from his I 
agents, enclosing a statement of account. Alfred kept no detailed 
record of his expenditure. It had often struck l\im that by doing so 
he would only be giving himself a great deal of trouble without 
increasing his resources ; that he would, in fact, be doing an 
accountant's work without receiving an accountant's salary. Perhaps 
for this reason he was a little surprised when he found that he had 
only thirteen pounds, six shillings, and eightpence left. 

He had been spending a great deal of money since his return from 

Getting shot by the Count de ViUebois had cost him — counting 
hotel expenses, medical expenses, and loans to Captain Fludyer — 
about sixty pounds. 

Travelling expenses from St Onen to Hillsborough, from Hills- 
borough to Paris, with expenses and loans to Captain Fludyer, had 
amounted to fifty pounds more. 

Then there had been his own and Captain Fludyer's expense^ 
alone and apart through Switzerland until they reached Ouchy, which 
annther cheque for sixty seemed to have covered. 

He had afterwanis given Captain Fludyer thirty pounds for hin*- 
self in acknowledgment of a month's service, besides fifteen pounda 
to pay his expenses from Ouchy to Hillsborough, and from Hills- 
borough back to St. Ouen. 

Finally, he had spent thirty pounds in taking Malvina about on 
excursions, and he had paid thirty pounds at the hotel on his own 
account, and seventy on her account — ot he might say, on their 
ioini account 

He had scarcely been living beyond his income. But he had been 
W^^ng close up to it before ; and now, in the beginning of October, 
(■is agents having already given him credit for his October quarter, 
''e found that he had a balance to draw upon of thirteen pounds, 
'"E shillings, and eightpence. 

But a man can do a good deal with thineen pounds, sixteen 
'■'iAlings, and dghtpence, especially if he is on the point of marrying 
^ ^woman with eighty thousand pounds. Fortunately Malvina did 
'»t want to be taken much about Paris. She knew Paris by heart, 
"*^*i for the most part liked it She found the Boulevards interesting, 
'*^ Champs Elys^es delightful, die Bois de Boulogne incomparabh 
' Kc rest she considered all vanity — except, of course, the Italian 
■'I*«ra, and a few of the theatres. 

liowevcr. she sent the servants to the Palais Royal, the Lcni'nt, 
2£. Pantheon, and the Jnahdes ; and once Pibre m\A Wtoto. 


The Centletitaji s Mairmiue. 

to Versailles to see the fountains, and came back with their tnrs 
trodden upon. They also visited the Madeleine and the Morgue. 

For Malvina, the Champs Elysees and the Bois were aboui 
enough ; and the carriage in which she look her arternoon drives wu 
fiimished by the hotel people and charged in the bill, 

Alfred look Malvina once lo dine at the Caf^ Anglais, when ihey 
were going to the theatre, and did not want to return beforehuid » 
the hotel; and once she took him to the gardens at Sceaux, ciiled 
" Robinson," where they dined up .1 tree. 

Here Malvina was quite at home. The atmosphere of the plice 
seemed to suit her. A party of students and studentesses were 
dining at the table set among the lower branches, and perhaps their 
gaiety was infectious. On that occasion Malvina reminded AlftwU 
good deal that day of the Malvtna he had known seven or eight yean 
before at Hillsborough. 

The evening bt-fore the day fixed for the marriage, the linl 
representation for thu- season at the Th^Stre des Italiens was to take 
place. " Don Pasquale " was the opera announced ; and Gna, 
Mario, Ronconi, and Lablache were the singers ; so Alfred, tanng 
still a good deal of his thirteen pounds, six shillings, and eightpeoce 
left, took a box. 

" ' Don Pasquale ? ' " evclaimed Malvina, when she heard whit he 
had done. " The viry o])cra of all others riiat I shoidd like lo see." 

She buret out laughing. 

" The music is charming." she added ; " Imt it is, of coutk, U* 
piece that I am thinking of." 

"The ]>iece is not worthy of the music, in my opinion." bM 
Alfred. "But, taking it altogether, it is a delightful opera." 

Malvina expressed her assent ; and in the evening they arrived l> 
the Salle Ventadmir in lime to hear DiUtxsn*ara sing " Bella siccooC 
un angel o." 

Malvina, however, did not take much interest fn the (wrfonnanw 
until Nm'ma came on. She smiled her approval of Nerina's aan- 
meets on the subject of youth and beauty, and the chann wWA 
properly brought to bear, they cannot fail to exercise upon the h'*'' 
of man ; but this was nothing to the plensure she seemed to 
cJiperience when Norma reappeared in the simple, modest garb of* 

At one time Malvina was obliged to hold her handkerchief 10 Her 
mouth to check her laugliter. 

" If she had only a green sash to tic round lier white dress," ^ 
said to herself, "it would be pettixl." 

She looked at Alfred, and pleased lo see that there was i 
the least chance of his taking the same view of the perfoimaiice 
which had presented itself to her. 

" Perhaps it is as well, even now, that lie should not," she said to 

\Vhat a treasure the poor deluded Pasqiialt iliought he had 
discovered ! And Malvina reflected tliat it was all possible and 
natural , and not merely natural, but typical. 

When at last the Jiiarriage contract lieen signed, and Noriiuf ! 
threw olT the mask, Malvina's delight knew no liuuuds. 

■' I never saw a woman enjoy a theatrical [jerformance so much 
before," thought Alfred. And indeed, when Noritia upset the 
furniture, made an appointment with her lover, and finally boxed her 
husband's eara, Malvina entered fully into the spirit of the situation, 
and laughed outrighi." 

" Malvina ! " said Alfred, in a lone of gentle remonstrance. 

She looked hini in tlie face, and for just one moment continued to 
laugh. Then she said, "It does amuse me so much, Alfred," and 
was silent 

It is not usual for ladies to laugh out loud at the Theatre i 
Italiens ; so .\lfred feh a little annoyed, and showed it. 

But it mattered very little to Malvina now whether he was annoyed 
or noL Norina was about to sing her final words, it was past eleven 
o'clock, and at eleven o'clock the ne-it murning the Princess 
Karabassoff was to become Mrs. I^'ighton. 




There weR' no selilements to sign. Malvina's money was already 
settled on herself. Alfred now only possessed a hundred and twenty 
francs, of which he proposed to give a hundred lo the officiating 

The officiating clergyman was the Rev. Luckthorpe Roydon, the 
same who had administered two black eyes to the Rev. Japhet ' I 
Stickney at Sl Ouen. He remembered having seen Alfred at St 
Uuen, knew all the jjartioilars of hi.s duel, gave him news of Captain 
Fludyer, and told him that Mr. Arnold had come into a quantity of 
money "through the death of that charming young lady," and that 
he had been going al)ouI Europe of late with his friend. Dr. Rowden, 
"playing the veiy deuce." 

332 The Gentlefttan's Magetsint. 

" A nice set of friends you seem to have had ! " said Malv'ina. 
" I hope you will drop ihem, now yovi are married." 

This aspiration was expressed in the vestry while die Re». 
Lucklhorpe Roydon was giving somi^ instnictions to his clerk ; but 
before Alfred coiiid say anything to Malvina in reply, Mr. Roydon 
had again joined them, Malvina asked him to breakfast, and Alfted, 
who for a moment had felt irritated, thought, since he had nol 
answered it at the moment, that he would now let her uDcalled-foi 
observation pass. 

The Rev. Luckthorjie Roydon enjoyed the breakfast, which, 
beginning soon after two, was prolonged until five. The coffee was 
served, and by an ingenious use of liqueurs the enteriainmenc wu 
kept up until about six, at which hour the Rev. Lucklhorpe Roydoo 
and a friend from St. Ouen, whom he had brought widi him, rose 
and took their departure. 

" You had better have the bill up and settle it," said Maliiaa ifl 
.Mfred, as soon as the visitors had gone. " I suppose you hnve aoi 
any money ? " 

" Yes," said .Alfred, jocularly; "1 have twenty francs. But I will 
draw 3 cheque on your bankers. We shall want money (br the 
journey, too." 

Malvina. 333 

Alfred wanted to have a good talk with Malvina, and gave the 
guard five francs to put % them in a caupi by themselves. How the 
notion amused Malvina. 



Oncs seated in the railway carriage, Malvina heaved a deep sigh 
as of relief Her eyes sparkled ; she took a cigarette case and a 
small box of lucifers from the pocket of her dress, lighted Sifapiross^ 
and began to smoke. 

^* Malvina, my love !" exclaimed the astonished Alfred, '^ I thought 
you had given up that bad habit long ago." 

" Give it up ! Why I have had it since I was a girl at school 
Who ever gives up a habit, especially if it is a bad one?" 

She had inhaled the smoke and now blew it out through her nose, 
from which it issued in two rushing streams, like water from the 
nostrils of a sea-horse. 

My God, Malvina !" exclaimed Alfred. 

Swearing, Alfred? You are beginning rather early I" 

''I didn't swear; but I shall before long, if you don't stop 

'* Pray go on. Don't mind me. Never inconvenience yourself on 
my account." 


" What is the use of repeating my name in that absurd manner ? 
I know it well enough !" 

" Pray remember that you bear mine as well." 

" Yes ! Much good that will do me ! From * Princess * to 
become plain * Missis.' If it were 'Baroness' it would be bad 
enough ; but fancy * Missis !' Ha, ha ! Why even your aunt is the 
wife of a baronet ! However, I have made it all right on the cards." 

" Made it all right on the cards. What do you mean ?" 

"I mean that I have put on mine, 'Formerly Princess Kara- 

" You surely have done nothing so monstrous ! It is like * after- 
wards Columbine ' in the play-bills." 

"Perhaps when I am married a third time I shall become 
columbine. I shouldn't be surprised now if I ended by marrying a 

" This is intolerable." 

334 '^^' GentUmans Magazine. 

" Vou will have to bear it, my dear sir. The fatal knot has bten 
adjusted, and the unforCunate in;ia launched into maCrimony." 

" ' Fonnerly Princess Karabassoff,' indeed ! You were not Princess 
Kaiabassoff when I first knew you !" 

" No ; I was Malvina Gribble, daughter of a country lincndrapef. 
and you were my father's apprentice." 

" I was nothing of the kind !" 

" You were ! You were such a dunce that you couldn't pass youi 
examination, so they sent you to my father's shop, as if it were soms 
asylum for idiots." 

" I was never your father's apprentice !" 

" Vou were ; only as a matter of kindness no premium was taken. 
Your father could not afford it. Gibbs's father paid his ; and yei 
you thought yourself a better man than Gibbs. Why Gibbs uraa 
worth ten of you, and is now." 

" Malvina, I did not expect this :" 

" Expect it ! Of course you didn't ! Otherwise you wouldn't have 
been such a fool as to m^ury me. Uut yuu will not run away to 
India now !" 

"Run away to India. If you are thinking of seven yeais ago, you 
know perfectly well that at that time 1 was obliged to go out to 

"No hypocrisy '. It is too late. You made love to me foryour 
amusement then, make love to me for your amusement now. Call 
me your sweet child, your dear little girl, your darling angel, your 
eternal pet. Yoti see how well I remember those names. There 
would be no harm in it now • • • You won't leave me now, 
Alfred, will you?" she added, relapsing into her Ouchy Imk of 
tender sentiment " You won't desert me now and go amy V> 

" I find that I have married a sort of devil," said Alfred, speskil^ 
aloud to himself. 

" Yes," said Malvina ; " a devil of your own making I" 

Alfred saw no help for it but to remain silent, and Malvina 
continued to make Alfred to fume until they got to Calais. 

On the boat Malvina made the acquaintance of an English offiert, 
who was returning from India. It was a moonlight night, and s\>'^ 
walked up and down the deck with him, talking and smoking 
cigarettes, until they reuched Dover. Then she introduced h« 
newly-made friend to her husband, saying that Alfred had also be*" 
out in India, and that he was very anxious to go back, but uiicerts'i 
whether he could manage iL 

Malvina. 335 _ 

Alfred fuund himself placed in a ridiculous position, but the ofHi 
was not 10 bUnie, and there was nothing to be done. 

At Dover Malvina expressed her regret lo the officer that she 
not going with him as far as London, and wished him good night 
and shook him warmly and affectionately by the hand ; Alfred 
looking on, and naturally looking foolish, the whole time. 

The officer — a highly respectable married man when he was at 
home^went away much gratified, saying to himself that he had 
made a conquest, and that India had not aged him so much af^er alL 

Malvina and her liusband then walked over to the 

"A room, ma'am?" inquired the porter. 

■' Half-a-dozen rooms '." said Malvina. " A bed-room and 
dressing-room for myself, a bedroom for this gentleman, a sitting- 

" Veiy good, my lady." 

" If I were you, Alfred, I should get rid of Pilare," said Malvina, 
as the servants carried the luggage upstairs. " He will cost you 
more money than you can afford, and you might just as well bnidt 
your clothes yourself." 

" I shall not get rid of Piferre alone," said Alfred. 

" indeed \ W'cli 1 must have some tea sent up to my room now, 
and go to bed. I should advise you to take a glass of pale ale in 
the coffee-room. We breakfast to-monow morning at eleven, mind. 
—The hotel-keeper will tell you the number of the room." 

"Eleven is far too late. We must go to London by an early 

"On the contrary, I shall remain here for a week if I like the 
lijriace. To-morrow I must see whether Major Crayford is at Dover. 
1 rather think his regiment is in garrison at the castle. If so it will 
e rather fun." 
" Damn Major Crayford !" cried Alfred. 

"You are swearing now, Alfred," said Malvina, reprovingly. 
s rime you certainly used an oath. After that 1 shall go to bed. 
Good night," 

Alfred made no reply, but went off to his own room. 
"She accuses roe of having made her what she is," he 
htmself. "I wonder what she would end by making me. 



Tlic Gentli'maiis Mamzine. 



i began by doing very much what his wife >vas doing at the 
he liglited a cigar, and valked up and down the 
coffee-room smoking furiously. 

The sea, just outside the windows, howled and yelled. Alfred did 
neither. He called the waiter, and asked him for the address of i 
respectable solicitor. 

The waiter, unwilling perhaps to criminate himself, made lio xe\Ay, 
but went to the other end of the room, fuid returned with a local 

However, there was no divorce court at Dover, and after taking 
down two or three addresses Alfi-ed said to himself the business he 
would now certainly have to transact with the lawyers might at least 
be postponed until after sunrise. So, after telling the waiter to call 
him at half-past seven, he went, provisionally, to bed ; philosophising 
as he lay between the sheets on the new situation which he had 
made for himself, and puzzhng himself as to its true significance. 

He could not reproach himself with any one particular act since 

MaLvina. 337 

having allowed himself to be deceived by the little serpent against 
whose £ucinations his own instincts had warned him when he saw 
her for the first time in all her youthful brilliancy. 

He reflected bitterly that the very grief he had suffered from the 
loss of Sophie had laid his heart open to the little reptile's attacks ; 
and he could not foigive himself the melancholy pleasure he had 
taken in fancying from time to time that he saw in the doubly dis* 
guised Malvina some semblance of his divine Sophie. 

He ended by deciding that he was being punished for uncertainty, 
fickleness of purpose, irresolution. He should have known that 
the Malvina Gribble, who, as a young girl, had deliberately com- 
promised herself in order to excite his pity, would, the opportunity 
presenting itself^ be capable of doing the same thing again in a 
different way ; and that she would strive all the more eamesdy to 
be successful from the fact of having failed, to her own infinite 
mortification and disgrace, in her first attempt It was clear, more- 
over — at least it became clear to him now that he thought of it — 
that he had made a mistake in supposing that he could hold the 
official position of husband in regard to Malvina while he was wedded 
indissolubly by the heart to the image and recollection of Sophie. 

If in this respect he had once more behaved thoughtlessly to 
Malvina, he was, on reflection, very glad of it He, at least, had not 
committed the indignity of placing the living Malvina on an equality 
with the dead Sophie. But why had he not said to himself that the 
sort of condescension which he had practised towards Malvina was 
not likely to be appreciated, or rather was likely to be appreciated 
at its just value? To give her to understand that he was willing to 
marry her but could not love her was far worse than telling her in all 
sincerity that he loved her, while refusing to consider the marriage 
question at all. 

Feebleness, cross purposes, confusion of ideas, had brought him to 
the inextricable position in which he now found himself ; and that 
position was the immediate result of his weak endeavour to '^ make 
amends '' to Malvina — as if there were not some things in life for 
which amends cannot be made, and had better, therefore, not be 
offered. Nevertheless, what he chiefly reproached himself with was 
infidelity towards the memory of Sophie ; and it now seemed to him 
that the mere happiness of Malvina, even if he could have secured it, 
was not an object to which the shadow of a sentiment instinct -of 
Sophie ought to have been sacrificed. 

Of the ignoble insults which might yet be in sXot^ ioi\i\xcw\i^ ^\^ 


The Gentlonan s Magazine, 


not think, because lie had resulved to put an end lo his eighteen 
hours' marriage (it was now five in the morning) as promptly as 
might be possible. He wished it were light, for he coaid not sleep, 
and he longed for a solicitor as a mat) with a raging toothache longs 
for the dentist 

I suppose it must sometimes happen to solicitors to be knocked 
up in the middle of the night to make a will. Hut they perhaps do 
not like being disturbed at eight o'clock on a cold autumn morning 
to be consulted on an ordinary question of law. At all events, Mt. 
Sheddle (Sharp, Sheddle and Co.) didn't; and he afterwards was by 
no means conciliating nor prepossessing when, at about ten minutes 
past e^ht, he came down stairs, and completing his haslily-made 
toilette by tying his cravat, asked Alfred rather abruptly what had 
brought him so early lo the office. 

Alfred said that he had merely called lo consult him on a certain 
matter ; to which Mr. Sheddle replied that his hours were from ten 
to four. Alfred observed that he knew Mr. Sheddle's time was 
valuable, but addtd that he would only detain him a few minutes, 
and that first of ail he must beg Mr. Sheddle to accept a guinea by 
way of fee. 

"Now then, sir,"'said Mr. Sheddle, after pocketing the coin, 
" what can 1 do to serve you ? Make you a bankrupt ? Get you on 
to the Calais boat without being arrested— or what?" 

Alfred said he was in no need of any such services. 

"Oh, I see. You have just come from the other side of the 

He looked at his client for a moment, and said to himself, 

" Idle man, well-dressed, rather good-looking, distangay air. IVl , 
a woman." 

Then to Alfred— 

" Rather a delicate business, I presume, sir ?" 

" Exactly so." 

" A lady in the case ?" 'I"hen to himself, 

" He's run away with another man's wife, and the husband is al 

Alfred said there was, as Mr. Sheddle had surmised, a lady in ei-*^ 
case, and that the case was, he thought, rather an extraordinary on ^^ 

"No, sir," said Mr. Sheddle, sententiously, "there are no ext=:^^^ 
ordinary cases here. \\'e have them of all kinds. They se^^^ 
extraordinary to people outside, but in this olHce nothing is eitsi^-^ 
ordinary. Speak on, sir." 

Alfred said it was about a divorce i.ase. 



Malvina. 339 

Yes," answered Mr. Sheddle, in a tone of voice which plainly 

I knew that already." 
And," added Alfred, " I don't see how it is to be procured." 
" Leave that to him, sir," replied Mr. Sheddle, with a cynical grin. 
" You've done your part of the business, let him do his." 

"You don't understand me," said Alfred. "Indeed I have not 
yet told you any of the facts. However, I was married yesterday in 
Paris, and came on Co Dover by the night train. When I arrived 
here I had already had a very serious quarrel with my wife — a quarrel 
which cannot be made up. I parted from her on landing, or rather 
she left me, and I shall never occupy the same room with her as long 

" You'd found out something against her, I suppose ?" oh 

" Nothing." ^ 

" Then she'd found out something against you }" 

" Nothing on either side." 

" And you'd only been married that day ? You must have nice 
tempera, both of you?" 

"My temper is excellent," remarked Alfred. "Hers is not so 
good. But she did not lose her temper. She provoked and 
insulted me." 

" Oh, if I were you I should make it up," advised the solicitor. 
" I thought there was a case, but there's no case ; and it does seem a 
pity to go at it like that the very first day." 

'■ Impossible ! I have made up ray mind." 

" Well, but what's to be done ? You have nothing against her ; 
she's nothing against you. She didn't hit you, I suppose? If she 
did you couldn't apply for a dissolution of marriage on the ground o t 

" No, she didn't hit me. Bui she changed her demeanour towards 
me directly we were married. 1 couldn't tell you everything, but I 
can tell you all you like to ask me." 

" Why you hadn't your eyes off her until you both reached Dover ; 
you told me thaL And at Dover you parted company. You didn't 
leave her, she left you ?" 

" Exactly," 

"Well, my dear sir, you had a right to follow her." 
Thank you !" exclaimed Alfred. 

" Or to call upon her to follow you. If she reliises your offer of 
and board, you are not answerable for her debts." 
She has no debts ; she is very rich." 
Money settled on herself? Never mind, ^dm ca.T\ \a3ct Vet 

The Gcnilenians Ma^asiae. 

dividends, rents, JniereM, whatever it is, directly it becoffiCS dot 
Do tliat, and you will soon make her return to good beharioor." 

" I should not like to do that Resides, my object is not to liw 
with her on any terms ; it is to get rid of her." 

"Shall I put sorile one on to her?" 

" What do yoi 


to follow her. watch her wherever she goei, 
intercept her k-tters ; in fact, find her oat, if there is aoTthing to 

find out.'"' 

'■ Ccnninly not '. What a horrible idea !" 

'■ If you were to give her cause yourself," 

" No, no. And she would not take action even if I did- She 
wnshes to live with me that she may irritate and annoy me." 

'■ What a strange idea ; • * * Well, my dear sir. I have told you 
all you can do. If you won't try to catch her in the wrong, and if 
you won't put yourself in the wrong, why you must both remain in 
the right. There is no help for it" 

This sad view of the case was indeed the only one that could well 
be taken. 

Alfred thanked Mr. Sheddle for enlightening him as to hii esacl 
position, and Mr, Sheddle begged Alfred to call again if he had any 

Malvina. 34 1 

" Alfred I" she answered, " how can you speak to me in such a 
manner I Sit down and take your breakfast I did not think your 
ill-temper would last until this morning. What has annoyed you so 
much? You are not ill again, I hope." 

"No more of this comedy, Malvina!" cried Alfred. "I am 
irritated and disgusted at your odious conduct." 

" Now, Alfred, think of what you are saying ! Any one would 
imagine that I had been in fault Just tell me what I did I Did I 
say anything to you when you swore so dreadfully?" 

'' I swore," said Alfred, " at some man you wanted to bring here to 
break&st — Major .Crayfoot, or some such humbug." 

" Oh, Alfred," said Malvina, laughing. " Why not call him Clul>- 
foot, while you are about it ? Poor old Major Crayford is sixty, if he 
is a day. I had no idea you could be so absurdly jealous." 

"Jealous be " 

" Now don't swear, Alfred. That is the very thing I can't put up 
with. Let me give you some tea." 

" Thank you ! I had a glass of pale ale last night in the coffee 

" Nonsense, Alfred ! How can you remember such things ? Only 
4hink how you provoked me with your horrible oaths. Just tell me 
now what you have to complain of?" 

" I only wonder at your shamelessness in asking such questions. 
Have you forgotten your tobacco-smoking, your taunts, your insults, 
your cynical avowal of the reasons which induced you to become my 

" I admit the smoking, Alfred ; and I not only apologise, but I 
will promise, if you wish, never to smoke again." 

" You may do as you please about that," said Alfred. 

" So I will ; and since it annoys you I will give up smoking 
altogether. Now as to the question of vengeance ; might I not love 
you very much, and wish very much to be revenged on you at the 
same time ? " 

" I don't know, the question does not interest me." 

" Ah, you are an ungrateful man, Alfred." 

" Ungrateful ! What for ? " 

" After all I have done for you and all I meant to do, if you only 
behaved yourself!" 

" You mean, I suppose, that you have opened an account for me 
at your bankers. Close it 1 I shall not draw upon it any more 1" 

" I will write to my bankers to that effect this very morning." 

Malvina rang the bell, and ordered writing materiais. 

' 34^ ^^ Genlleiiians Magas. 

"There is still time, if you choose to make it up," she said, wiA 
ihe paper before her, and the pen ready inked lo apply to it " You 
took coffee yesterday, which never agrees with you, and drank two 
glasses of chartreuse afterwards. No wonder you were ill-tempered in 
the train." 

"Shall you be ready to leave at one o'clock ?" was Alfred's oaly 

" I shall be ready if j'ou wish to go to London at that time ; but 
the letter will have been sent off by then." 

Without answering Malvina's threat, Alfred went down stairs and 
despatched a telegram to his agents requesting them to recall his 
letter of resignation, or, if that was impossible, to make their best 
endeavours to counteract its effects. 






Alfred and Malvina travelled together as pleasantly as was 
possible for two persons, occupying the nominal position of husband 
and wife, who were not on speaking terms. It was at least better 
than the journey from Paris to Calais, during which a great deal of 
speaking had been done on both sides. 

" I don't think I shall go to Hillsborough just yet," said Malvin*, 
when they had already passed New Cross, and were about to arrive 
at the end of their journey. "What a place this London is ! The 
London smoke and your temper are really the two most intolerable 
things 1 know." 

Alfred made no reply. 

" Well, Alfred, sulk as much as you like — you have sulked all ifej 
way from Dover here — but think what hotel we are to stay td^ 
They were now at Charing Cross. ^H 

" I must remain in London a few days," she said. ^H 

"So must I," answered Alfred- "The nearest hotel will do as 
well as any other. Let us go in here." 

They entered the Charing Cross Hotel, and made the same 
arrangement as at Dover in regard to rooms. Then, without 
speaking a word to Malvina, Alfred paid a visit to his agents, and 
found that his resignation had been duly forwarded. He at once 
wrote a letter to Sir Edward Leighton and another to his &lher, 
saying what he had done, but without explaining the circumstances. 

Alalvina. 34^ 

ftnd l>eg};ing Ihcm to do all in their power to gtt his reitignatioil'H 
withdrawn or set aside. , | 

Then he went to the Insurance Office, where he found it impossible 
to get any infonnalion about Mr. Arnold's affairs. In the first place 
the secretary was absent, and the gentleman who was replacing him 
had not the honour of knowing Mr. Leighton. Alfred said that he 
made his inquiries at the request of Mr. Aniold's nephew; but it 
seemed that many other persons had been asking questions about 
Mr. ,\moId. whereas the office had nothing more to do with hitn, 
knew- nothing about him, and could answer no questions. _ 

Alfred had brought with him the letter so queerh' spelt, which had ■ 
been addressed 10 Mt. Arnold at Lucerne — the letter from "Mary 
Dollamore " — in which the writer spoke of jioor Sophie as her niece, 
though it was impossible she could in reahty be Sophie's aunt. No 
one known could tell him Mr. Arnold's address. It was thought he 
had gone abroad. It wa.s rumoured that he had left Europe. In 
any case his address was not known at the Dragon Insurance 

Alfi-ed saw that the only thing left for him lo do was to call on 
Mr, Holywell at VValton-on -Thames. He drove to the Waterloo 
Station, found a train just starting, and about lialf an hour afterwards 
had reached Walton. 

Mr, Finch being afflicted, like many other suburban residents, with 
a mania for withholding his full address, Alfred had at first some 
diliiculty in a.sceruining where "Holywell Lodge, Waiton-on- 
Tliames," really was, Mr. Finch himself, however, knew perfectly 
well where he lived, so did most of his friends ; and for the public at 
large " Holywell Lodge, Walton -on -Thames," was sufficient, and had 
a much finer effect on a card than the same address with ignoble 
details as to the name of the road and the number of the house 

After asking halfa-dozen persons tlie way to Holywell Lodge, 
and obtaining no satisfactory information in reply, Alfred turned at 
random iato the first piiblichouse he came to, and asked whether 
Mr. Finch of Holywell Lodge got his beer there. , ■ 

Mr. Finch apparently got a great deal of beer there, for thwfl 
publican took the trouble to send his pot-boy with Alfred to point 
out Mr. Finch's place of residence. 

"Jest at the bottom of the road," the publican had said, "you'll 
, see a lot o' houses enclosed in gardens — gentiemen's houses ; houses 
[t about a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Mr. Finch lives in ths ■ 

M)nd on 'em, number fourteen. But the lad '11 show ^ct." 
V^rt,, N.S. i8p. 


The Gen/ieman's Magazine. 




Alfred took out a carri, wrote " From Captain Thornton, Modm,* 

at the top, and sent it in to Mr. Finch. 

Mr. Finch, as the publican had surmised, paid one hundred and 
fifty pounds a year for his house, which, to any one who knew Mr 
Finch's arithmetical principles, proved that Mr, Finch had a cleat 
income of fifteen hundred a year. 

Mrs. Finch was allowed five hundred and fifty pounds a year for 
household expenses. Not so much because Mis. Finch required 
that sum, or more than that sum, or less than that sum, as because 
five hundred and fifty pounds a year for househoid expenses, fifty 
pounds a year for rales and taxes, and one hundred and fifty pounds 
a year for rent, represented altogether one-haif of Mr. Finch'» 

Mr. Finch kept a sort of carriage, called vaguely a " trap," which 
served to take him to, and from the station, where he was well known 
—if Alfred had only thought of asking for him there. Indeed he 
had never once missed the tjuarter-past nine up train, nor the halt 
past four down train, for the last seventeen years ; except, of course, 
Sundays and during his holiday month in the autumn. He had a 
gardener, whose wages were classed with those of the coachman, and 
put down to the out-door account ; and a groom, who, by reason of 
his waiting at table from rime to time in the disguise of a butler, 
was charged one-third to " Household Expenses " and Iwo-thirds to 
"Garden and Stables." 

The out-door account, reckoning Mr. Finch's annual railway 
ticket and cabs to and from the Waterloo Station and the City, came 
to two hundred and fifty pounds a year. Out of the remaining five 
hundred, two hundred was devoted to the payment of insurance 
premiums, forty to Mr. Finch's dress, one hundred and ten to the 
costume of Mrs. Finch and the two Miss Finches {or "the Misses 
Finch," as they with greater correctness styled themselves), fifty to 
"lunch in the City," and one himdred to "medical expenses, chang( 
of air, amusements and reserve fund." 

Mr. Finch rather prided himself on the ingenuity shown in the 
contrivance of this last item, the only elastic one in the whole 
budget. If there had been no illness in the family ihey could go lo 
Paris, the Rhine, wherever the greater part of a hundred pounds (for 
something must be reserved) would lake them and bring them back. 
If money had been spent on medical attendance, they would perhaps 
have lo content themselves with a ran down to Brighton. 

As for amusements, Mr. Finch did not care verymuch about tbem. 
It was quite amusement enough for him lo go to ihe City regularly 



every day. Now and then, when they could afford it, Mrs. Finch I 
and her two daughters would go to the theatre, and come back by 
the late train. But Mr. Finch on these occasions stayed at home 
and went over his accounts, or made entries in his diary (he kept a 
diary), or had a good snooze on the sofa. 

Comfort was his great divinity, and he was content with such 
gentle emotions as comfort could give him. Perhaps if he had 
possessed five hundred a year more he would have advanced as far 
as luxury. But art, which brightens the existence of so maoy who 
scarcely know where to dine, had never had any meaning for him ; 
and all that interested him in the study of politics, which no English- 
man can wholly escape, were such vestryman's questions as whether 
the Government would or would not get a majority on the Turnpike 
Bill, ot whether Jenkins would be returned for Mudport in place of 
some other Liberal equally confident and equally uninformed. 

Mr. Finch was a very good fellow all the same ; but if no one has 
a right to blame him, every one has a right to describe his metljod 
of life, which was in many respects that of a savage reduced to a 
state of comfort. It was about five o'clock when Alfred called ; and 
Mr. Finch received him with a hearty welcome when he found that 
he came on the part of Captain Thornton. 

" Captain Thornton ? " he said. " Let me see." 

He went to a book-case, and brought out a memorandum-book— 
sort of appendix to his diary. 

" Sailed for India, as comet in the isnd Hussars, March 6th, 1847, 
Yes. How is he ? " 

" He was quite well when I saw him, seven or eight months ago, 
at Madras, and I had a letter from him the other day. I believe bf 
was in good health when he wrote." 

" He got married lately ? " 

" Yes ; he married Mrs. Watkins, a widow." 

" Married May loth, 1869," said Mr. Finch, nefeiring to hilf ^ 
memorandum-book, "Mary, widow of Colonel Watkins, of 1 
Bengal Artillery." 

" I believe she had a large fortune ? " remarked Alfred. 

"Thirty thousand pounds," continued Mr. Finch. "All in th«J 
Three per Cents, and settled on herself. I know the trustees. I*] 
have their names here somewhere." 

He turned over a few pages, then stopped, and read aloud. 

"Thompson, of Thompson, Williams and Co., Bedford Row, and ] 
the Rev. John Watkins, of Hals ton -on -the- Heath." 

" He thinks of coming homt^" said Alfred. 

J4® The Geiitlernans Magazine. 

" Ytf. ; he lias inherited a lot of money besides, 
will give you the particulars." 

He referred to his book again, as ir unable to trust solely to R 

" Twenty thousand pounds in funds, shares, and other secuiiticiL 
And il goes lo him absolutely. He can do what he likes with it. 
Make ducks and drakes of it, if he pleases." 

It was evidently to that eccentric purpose that Mr. Finch thought 
the money would be turned. 

" He inherits it under very painful circumstances," observed 

" Painful ? I should think so. Very pamfiil to us I He gets ii 
from his cousin, a young lady to whom he was engaged to be 

" Never ! " exclaimed Alfred, the colour mounting to his cheeks. 

"Never? What do you mean, sir i"' answered Mr. Finch, very 
much astonished, and a little hurt at his exactitude being called in 
question. " I have it in my book," 

He searched for a few moments, and on finding the looked-for 
entry, said to Alfred, — 

" Now, sir, this is, so to say, official." 

He read aloud as follows :— 

" ' Sophie, daughter of Richard Redgreave Arnold, Esq., ditd 
June 30th, 1869.'" 

"At Lucerne," interrupted Alfred, hastily. He was anxious 10 
hear no more on this subject. 

" Ah, then you know ? But listen. ' Only child. Formerly en- 
gaged lo her cousin, Captain Thornton, who inherits ^ by her 
death.' I had that from her father's own mouth." 

" Well, I will not discuss the point," said Alfred, who, Mr. Find* 
observed, had turned very pale. " And now you have mentioned the-^ 
father, I wanted particularly to ask you something about him. You 
will see by Captain Thornton's letter that 1 am commissioned lo 
do so — in fact, that I do so by his desire and in his name." 

Alfred showed Thornton's letter. 

"Well," said Mr. Finch, when he had read the passage to which 
Alfred pointed, " Captain Thornton need not give himself any 
trouble about Mr. Arnold. Mr. Arnold has left himself very well off 
indeed. Mr. Arnold has made a good thing of it Mr. Arnold has 
taken fifteen thousand pounds — yes, sir, fifteen thousand pounds .•— 
from the office in which his daughter's life was insured. I am one 
of the directors, and 1 tell you — fifteen thousand pounds !' 


rMr. Finch spoke as though the mere acceptance of such i 
a an ofEce with which he was connected was a crime in itselC 



Poor Sophie ! " thought Alfred. " So her death enriches her 
who will easily be consoled, and her cousin, who scarcely 
lecded consolation ! It gave me eighty thousand, too, for a few 
houis. However, there is fortunately an end to that." 

He fell a bitter satisfaction in reflecting that he, at least, had never 
ceased to grieve for Sophie ; and that, instead of profiting by her 
death, it had now so happened that he was completely ruined by it 

■' You will do me the pleasure of dining here, Mr. Leighton, will 
you not ? You must, really ! You have come so far, and it is 
just dinner-time, and I want to ask you so many things about 

Alfred began to excuse himself on account of his dress ; but Mr. 
Lch justly observed (hat that was all nonsense, and it was arranged 
tt he should stay. 

If Alfred had wished to get away, he might easily have done so 
on the plea that he had only been inarricd the day before, and that 
his wife was perhaps waiting dinner for him at the Charing Cross 
Hotel. But he resorted to no such subterfuge. 
Alfred was now introduced to Mrs. Finch and her two daughters, 
iilher of whom pleased him. They on their side came to the con- 
that their visitor was an uninteresting and slightly conceited 
man, with nothing whatever to say for himself. 
The dinner did not last too long, and as soon as he was left alone 
;h Mr. Finch, Alfred said that he was very anxious indeed to find 
It Mr. Arnold's address. 
He does not owe you any money, 1 hope?" asked Mr. Finch. 1 
No, no." ' 

Because I don't think you'll get it. He is rolling in wealth 
now ; but they say he is the sort of fellow who never j)ays a[iy 
However, I will look for his address. 1 am not ai ail sure 
1 have it" 

He went into the adjoining room, and brought hack with him one 
of the memorandum -books. 

" ' Richard Redgreave Arnold, Morley's Hotel," " ht- read, " ' applied 

September 30th for insurance money. Certificate of death produced. 

Signed, Benhotd Rieger, M.D. ; Roben Rowden, M.U. Identity 

im to by Robert Rowden, M.D. Confirmatory evidence from. 

ical officer who had seen the life in very weak condilii 

rks before death. Proofs admitted.' " 

'34^ The Genilrnimns Magazine. ^^H 

"But he has left Morlcy's Hotel," said Alfred i "for I Iieaidofln 
being abroad." 

" Oh, I dare say gone away — gone to the devil ! He has got al! 
he can out of us, and we shall never hear of him again." 

" You did not know Miss Arnold ? " suggested Alfred. 

" No ; not I. 1 had scarcely ever heard of her. Never paid any 
attention to the case until the father came down upon us for the 
money. Very queer customer *he seems to be. Just fancy ! He 
wanted permission to take her out of Europe. The medico] officer 
gave him permission to lake her to Egypt. Recommended him to 
take her. Said it was the only thing that coutd possibly prolong her 
life. Instead of that he hurries her off to a cold mountainous 
country, where, of course, she dies, and comes upon us for fifteen 
thousand pounds. I should have let him bring his aclion. Half 
these cases, sir, won't bear the light of day. How many houses ate 
insured only that they may be burned down ; and do you think no 
lives are insured with a similar object? When I go down to the 
Board and say ' another case of incendiarism,' or ' another case of 
wilful murder,' they all begin to laugh. But I know who's right \ " 

" Mr. Arnold," said Alfred, " seemed lo me a very selfish, heartless 
man ; but he was not guilty of the unnatural cruelty of which yoi 
accuse him. Switzerland, in the month of June, is anything buts 
cold country ; and he meant to take Miss Arnold to Egypt in the 

" Well, that may be true enough. I look at the case, however, not 
as a father of a family, but as the director of an insurance company, 
and I simply say to myself, ' Had he a greater pecuniary inteiesi in 
the life or in the death of the party ? ' That is what it comes to. 
Besides, there is another point The proofs of identity were not 
worth twopence. No office but ours would ever have accepted 

Alfred drew his breath and shivered all over at this suggestion. 

"What's the matter, Mr. Leighton ? You look quite ill." 

" I have travelled a great deal lately," said Alfred, " and I ha^* 
only just recovered from a. serious illness. But I was going to 5»-3 
that I was at Lucerne soon after Miss Arnold died. I saw her gra^'"^' 
I saw it twice." 

"Poor young man!" thought Mr. Finch. "He saw it twic^ 
Then he relumed to it" 

" I am sorry if I have pained you," he said. Then, unable * 
give up his crotchet, he added : " Of course, Mr. Leighton, in th^^ 
affairs some one dies and some one is buried. Even that doet a-^ 


always happen ; but 1 believe it did in this case, for the death was 
registered, and Dr. Rieger's certificate was not forged. We sent 
man over to see him." 

" I saw him myself," said Alfred. 

" But you did not see the Life — the patient, I mean ? " 

" No." 

" I was sure of it?" 

"The last time I saw Miss Arnold was on the 23rd of May." 

"Twenty-third of May? Five weeks before her death ! She 
already dangerously 111 then ? " 

" She was as well as either of your daughters." 

"I knew it!" 

" My God \ knew what ? " cried Alfred. 

" I cannot pursue the subject, Mr. Leighton, if you grow so 
excited. But tell me frankly— it is better you should do so — had you 
no doubts yourself?" 

"Unhappily, none — none whatever!" Alfred replied. He wai 
indeed afraid to admit to himself the faintest possibihty of adoubL 

" But why were you so extremely anxious for Mr, Arnold's address ? 
You say you have no regard for him ? " 

" I merely wished to forward him a letter which arrived at Lucerne 
after he had gone, and fell accidentally into my hands. I went with 
it to the Or^on Office to-day, but they would not take chai;ge 
of it." 

"They never do anything at that office that they ought to do. 
And you think it is an important letter? It ought to have been im- 
pounded, and the whole case brought to trial ! " 

" I do not believe it is important It is from an aunt of poor 
Miss Arnold's." 

" An aimt ? UTiy, Mrs. Thornton is dead ! Just let me show 

He went into the next room for his memorandum-book, brought 
it back with him, and found under the name of Thornton the 
following entry: — "Anne Thornton, widow of Joseph Thornton, 
Esq., of Harrowby House, near Halifax, died April 3rd, 1845," 

" Arnold was an only son," continued Mr. Finch, " We know all 
about him ; and his wife Amy— I will find her in the book, if you 

" No, no," pleaded Alfred. 

" Died sixteen or eighteen years ago, I had better look her out." 

"1 know that she is dead," said Alfred, imploringly. 

"Then where is your aunt?" asked Mi. pindi, Xmt&t'aa.'Q-'i^- 

: a. 



356 T^e Gen/ieman's Magazine, 

"Miss Arnold had no such thing as an aunt. Ne^■er, at least, sidrt 
the year 1845. What put the aunt into your head ?" 

" Well, to tell you the truth," said Alfred, " a friend of mine voA 
the letter before it came into my hands. We were pursuing Mr. 
Arnold, and my friend — very unjustifiably, of course — opened it in 
the hope of getting upon his track." 

" Your friend had more sharpness than delicacy. But why -mat 
you pursuing Mr. Arnold ? " 

" You have already guessed my secret," answered Alfred, reluc- 
tantly, and colouring a Utile. " Because Miss .Arnold was with him. 
And I fancied he was avoiding mc for the same reason." 

"Aha!" said Mr. Finch to himself. "If his daughter had got 
mained, he would have lost all her money, and at the same time til 
chance of ottrmoney, which the villain has now got in his pocket" 

Then aloud to Alfred :— 

" Mr. Ixighion, you must not be startled at what I am gdng B 
aay to you." 

" I don'l think anything will startle me now, Mr. Finch," answered 
Alfred. " I have been a good deal startled of lale. Besides, I hiw 
thought already of the possibility of all that you have suggested, 
and the /wpossibility is loo great" 

" Well, what I say is, that Mr. Arnold has been guilty of foul plq^ 
Either he has hastened the death of his daughter " 

" Impossible ! " exclaimed Alfred. 

" Then — which is indeed far more probable — the poor young lady 
who died at Lucerne was not Miss Arnold at al! : " 

Alfred felt as if he would swoon. He put his hand to his forehead, 
closed his eyes, thought of Sophie's perfect health when he had ta« 
seen her, of her altered appearance at the insurance office a week of 
two afterwards in a d)nng condition, of the inability of the giri 
at the .Strasburgh hnlel to recognise her from her photograph, of die 
sort of league which seemed to have been formed between Mr. Arnold 
and the disreputable Hr. Rowden, of the Rev. Liickthorpe Roydon's 
statement that the two were stiU wandering about Europe in OOD- 
pany, and finally of the servant from the convent asking for him M 
the Hotel de la Couronne. 

This last fact was alarmingly suggestive when taken, as he BO* 
took it, in connection \^-ith the others bearing upon tlie same t^S^ 
terrible subject 

At the awakening hope that the lost Sophie might yet be fbnni 
, he suffered such acute pain as men given up for drowned feel on 
being restored to life. 



Then, as he still reflected, all the imirortance of the letter (lashed I 
upon him. He look it hastily from his pocket, glanced once mors ( 
at its contents, and laid it on the table before Mr. Finch. 

" Now," said Mr. Finch, when he had read it carefully through, 1 
" we have something to go upon. This makes it plainer than ever. 1 
Calm yourself, Mr. Leighton, and just tell me how such a letters 
this could possibly come from Miss Arnold's aunL * Dear kind sir, 
,\nd then look at the spelling. 

" I didn't know what to think," ansv/ered Alfred. " I didn't knot^ 1 
what distant relations Miss Arnold might have. I only knew that i 
the contents of the letter were uninteUigible, and that 1 ought ne 
to have seen them." 

■* It is a great blessing that you did, I am sure," answered Mr. 
Finch, " for your sake, as well as for that of the office. This Mary 
Dollamore sold her dying niece to those infamous speculators. The 
thing to me is as plain as a, b, c." 

" Maria 1" he called out to his wife, and, opening the door, walked 
across the passage to the drawing-room. " Maria ! I have discovered 
another fraud!" 

" Have you, my dear? 1 am so glad !" responded Mrs. Finch. 

"A case of subsiitutioa One of the most extraordinary things I 
ever heard of." 

" Mr. Leighton," he said, returning to the dining-room. " I should i 
like to celebrate this discovery with some Lafitte thai would do you I 
good. You need it" 

But Lafitte, toast-and-water, brandy, vitriol, were all one to Alfredi 
He only wished to go into the garden, and walk about in the 
open air. 

When, ten minutes afterwards, he entered the drawing-roora with 
Mr. Finch, Mrs. Finch said to him, 

"You are not married, Mr. Leighton, [ hope?" A speech which 
caused the " Misses Finch " to tnake significant frowns at their 
naamma, as much as to say, 

" Don't, momma ! He'll think you want him to marry one of U! 

" Not exactly I" exclaimed Alfred, in language worthy of a diplo- 

" Because you have lost the l;\st train," added Mrs. Finch ; " a 
you must accqrt our hospitality for to-night." 

"Certainly he must," said Mr. Finch. "I have the most im- ' 
portant business to talk to him abut the first thing in the morning. 
We breakfast at eight, Mr. Leighton, and I catch the train at a 
ijuarterpafit nine." 

J5' 7>4c Gentlanans Magazine. 

Mr. Finch before going to bed made a justifiable entiy in Ms 
memorandutn-book under the head of " Maiy DoUamore." 




Alfred was now experiencing the greatest trial to which he bul 
been subjected. The dream, it was scarcely a hope, that Sophit 
might yei be alive ; the dread, it was all but a conviction, that this 
faintest of hopes would prove groundless, caused him, as he alw- 
naied from one idea to the other, cruel torture. 

The most painful part of it was that there was nothing to be done. 
For many hours at least he could take no action with the view rf 
solving his terrible doubts. 

And in the morning, what could he do then? he asked hiisidt 
Telegraph to Fludyer to call at the convent? But it was not ceittiB 
thai Fludyer would be received. 

Telegraph to the Superior ? That would be the simplest and bol 
course. But was it likely, after all, that Sophie, even if that were 
true, which he scarcely dared allow himself to hope — was it likely 
that she would return to the convent ? 

Then he said to himself that the Augustincs' Convent, being the 
only place where she had any friends, was the very place to which 
she would wish to retire ; and, moreover, that a man possessing the 
sort of cunning which belonged to Dr. Rowden might think it a veiy 
eligible asylum, as being the most unlikely place in the world at 
which any one would think of looking for her. 

Then he thought this notion too far-fetched, and that Sophie, if 
alive at all, must be concealed somewhere beyond his reach, TbeD 
he reflected bitterly that she was indeed concealed beyond his reach, 
for that she was buried in the cemetery at Lucerne. 

"The poor young man will do something dreadful in the nifihl," 
said Mrs. to Mr. Finch, listening to Alfred's footsteps as he walked 
wildly up and down the room next their own. 

" If he knew as much about these cases as 1 do," said Mr. Finch, 
"he would sleep calmly in his bed. Miss Arnold is as well as you 
are. 1 don't like to keep telling him so, because if there shoalJbt 
a mistake it would be such a dreadful thing. But 1 am not a man lo 
make mistakes. I have already entered in my book the name of 
' Mary PoUamore.' And If I did not make it a. lule to enter no fact 
in that book of which I am not absolutely certain, I should have 


Idded the following, 'sold her niece, in a rapid consumption, tol 
"Richard Redgreave Arnold, Esq., by whom. leagued with Robert 
Rowden, Esq., M.D., she was made to persomite Miss Sophie 
Arnold, insured in Dragon Office for ;£i5,ooo. Niece died at 
Lucerne. June 30, 1859. Certificate of identity signed by Robert 
Rowden, M.D.'" 

" What horrible villains !" responded Mrs. Finch. " That poorfl 
young man is breaking his heart. And all through them." • 

" Yes ; and the office !" remarked Mr. Finch. " Fifteen thousand 
pounds ! It's no joke." 

Alfred certainly made his presence felt in that comfortable and 
usually quiet mansion. The Misses Finch overhead heard him, and 
agreed that they had id the first instance misjudged him, and that he 
was by no means the uninteresting young man they had at first 

" Poor fellow ! How he must have loved her \" said 

" Yes," said the other, who was of a more practical turn of mind^' J 
and, in fact, took after the father ; " but I am sure it is a personatioi 
ca5e. It was not the young lady he was in love with who diec 
Papa explained it all to me." 

"And think, then, of the poor unfortunate girl who did ^iz; away I 
from her friends, in a strange land, with no one she cared for by her 
side. Perhaps she too had a lover I" 

" Yes, it is very horrible I I would have them all hanged, if I had 
my way !" 

" They deserve it," rejoined the sister ; after which the Miss 
Finch closed their eyes, but started in their sleep and woke up from~ 
lime to time, seizing hold of one another, and caUing out, " Oh, my I" 
"What is it?" "Oh, I'm so frightened !" " Don't be such a silly!" 
with similar appeals and exhortations which lasted far into the night. 

But everything has an end, and at last Alfred ceased to walk up 
and down the room, and determined that, after being asked to stop 
all night, he must, if only for the look of the thing, get into bed. 
He felt sure that he should not be able to sleep, but he fell asleep 
all the same, and did not awake until seven the next morning. 

After so much excitement, such sudden, violent, conflicting changes 
in the currents of his ideas, he naturally awoke very much confused. 
Where was he? Charing Cross Hotel? Lord Warden? No; s A 
private house. He was at Mr. Finch's, at Walton-on-Thames. ™ 
Then the terrible question presented itself to him again — Was 
Sophie alive or dead ? He endeavoured to think of her as of some 
one who was "not expected to live"— an e>.piea&\on iw&x. a.\i,'i.'it\£» 






5g4 The Geitlleman's Magazine. 

intolerable than "expected to die." He was m a more rationil 
frame of mind than on the preceding evening ; and as he dressed, 
and then walked to the station to send off a telegram, he did hi) 
best to familiarise himself with the idea that Sophie was, as it wck, 
on her death-bed — not by any means expected to recover, yet noi in 
such a state that her recovery was utterly impossible ; in the positi«i . 
of one who has received the last offices of the Church but has not 

The telegram he sent off was addressed to " The Superior of the 
Augustines' Convent, St Ouen," and was in the following words;— 

" I b^ and supplicate you to send me without delay by lelegra]ih, 
news, good or bad, of Miss Arnold. Is she alive? 

"AlhieD LEtCHTgN. 
"Charing Cross Hotel." 

He also sent off half-a-doien words to Captain Fludyer, at llie 
Caf<^ de I'Ours Blanc, saying where a letter would hnd him in 
London. i 

Then he returned to Holywell Lodge, and found Mr. Finch jm J 
coming down to breakfast I 

"How do you do? Vou have had a walk already ?" asked hiahosL 1 

Alfred said he had sent off a telegram. 

"Telegram ! To whom ? Oh, 1 beg your pardon !" 

" No, it is about the same matter. To a place on the ContineDi, 
where Miss Arnold was once at school." 

"At school? Mr. Arnold never said anything about that He 
was not obliged to, but he would probably have mentioned it if bf 
had been playing a fair game. It has been a deception from begin- 
ning to end ; I am sure of it ! " 

Alfred felt as if Sophie's chances of getting better had really 
somewhat improved. 

"Then she had a French medical attendant, I suppose?" continued 
Mr. Finch ; "but the only name given to us was that of Dr. Rowden." 

" Dr. Rowden never attended her, I feel confident," said AlfreJ- 
" She felt a sort of repugnance for the man. I remember distinctly 
her saying so. Besides, he had not been much more than a week »t 
St. Ouen when Mr. Arnold, with or without Miss Arnold, left the 

"Each new fact you mention makes the fraud more evident," 
remarked Mr. Finch. 

Alfred had now begun to doubt whether Sophie had ever left St 
Ouen at all. But no ; Fludyer had seen her on the boau Then he 

Malvina. 355 

reflected thai Fliidycr had not recognised her. Ah, but unhappily 
he had been told by the tovriire at the convent that she had gone- 
"■' ElU est partU, monsieur! EtU n' est plus id!" He remembered 
the very words. Then, on the other hand, some one from the co&; 
vent, not knowing that he had left St. Ouen, had been to the H6tel 
de la Couronne to ask for him. He forgot, or at least rejected, the 
interpretation he had formerly given to this incident, and now said lo 
himself that the mesiienger had come to bring him not bad news but 

When Mrs. Finch, and, shielded by her protecting wing, the two 
Misses Finch, appeared, Alfred felt capable of engaging them in 
polite conversation. But the topics somehow presented themselves 
awkwardly. Under the head of "foreign travel" Ouchy and the 
l^ke of Geneva turned up ; and when Alfred was asked whether he 
went to the Opera in Paris, he had a sudden and terrific vision of 
" Don Pasquale," with Malvina in the part of Norina, and himself in 
that of the Don. 

"If I could only get rid of her as easily!" he said to himselC 
But that was the least of his troubles ; and in the meanwhile he ha^ 
to talk to the Misses Finch. ■ 

They were civil to Alfred, and really took an interest in him ; and 
they were nicer girls than he had imagined the night before. Thrf 
sun, too, was shining, the air was brisk and exhilarating, and it was 
altogether a very beautiful day. 

These external influences would, I suppose, make themselves felt 
to some little extent even upon a man who was about to be hanged. 
On Alfred, in whose breast hope was just beginning to rise, they had 
a decidedly cheering and inspiriting effect As breakfast went on 
several appropriately superficial ideas occurred to him, which he 
communicated with success to the Misses Finch. He even ventured 
upon a paradox, which pleased the fancy of the sentimental sister, 
and drew forth a refutation from the practical one. 

The nondescript carriage came to the door. 

" Before we go," said Mr. Finch, " I want lo ask you a favour. 
I wish to enter your name in my book. 'Mr. Alfred Leighton,' 
Now as many particulars as you like to give me." 

"Bom at Hillsborough, September i, 1830," said Alfred, pausing 
to give Mr, Finch time to write it all down. "Went to India 
December, 1851. Returned from India, May, 1859. Died at 
Lucerne, June 30, 1859." 

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Finch. "Oh, I understand. 
But you must not despair. The thing is certain bow, ai.'Ctux^i^ *««, 




The Gentleman s Magazine. 


may not be able to prove it to-day. Look here ! This will be ihs 
first entry ever made in my book by anticipation, To-<tay is Novem- 
ber a." And he wrote, "Came to life again, November a, in Ihi;, 



" Where are you slaying in London ? " asked Mr. Finch, as Aey 
went along in the train." 

" Charing Cross Hotel. And I must now tell you," said Alfted, 
" thai I have only communicated to you what I may call my spirituil 
(roubles. I have a worldly trouble besides. But, by comparisan, 1 
don't mind it." 

"Tell tne about that afterwards," answered Mr. Finch, "One 
thing at a time. Do you mind giving me the letter from thU 
woman, Mary Dollamore ? There will be a meeting of the BoJid 
to-day. It will astonish them ! " 

" There it is," said Alfred, putting it into his hand. 

"I shall institute inquiries about her at once. She comes from 
Uxbridge — at least the letter did. That is all we have to go upon 
as yet But I dare say it will be enough. Now, where can I put 
you down?" he said, as they got into a cab. "At the Hotel, I su[>- 
pose ? And when will you meet me afterwards ? " 

" If you will stop for one moment at the Hotel, I will see whether 
an answer has arrived to my telegram," said Alfred, "and then gotjn 
with you — if it is neces-sary to go on with you." 

" Necessary ? Of course it wil! be necessary," answered Mr- 
Finch. " But you must not keep me waiting. I shall be three or 
four minutes late as it is." 

Alfred went into the Hotel and asked if a telegram had arrived fof 
him. No telegram liad arrived, but a man had called twice to see 
him that morning without leaving any message. Mrs. Leightoa fl-as 
upstairs. She had not yet ordered breakfast 

Alfred had no wish to see his wife. He went up to his own rooni, 
opened his trunk, took out Sophie's portrait, and hurried down again 
to join Mr. Finch, who was waiting for him in the cab, looking every 
moment at his watch to see whether he should yet have time to get 
to the office within five minutes after the hour. 

When Alfred said what he had been doing, Mr, Finch was almost 
pacified. On reaching the office, he at once took Alfred to the 


Matvina. 357 

secretary's room. Thtf secretary was just arriving — he was sis 
minutes late— and on looking at the photograph expressed an 
opinion, but only an opinion, that it was not the portrait of the young 
lady who had been represented as Misa Arnold, and who had called 
with Mr. Arnold at the office, so ill that she was unable to get out 
of the carriage. 

The great point, however, was to see the medical officer, and he 
was not expected until eleven. In the meanwhile Mr Finch brought 
his powerful mind to bear on the question how Mary Dollamore was 
to be discovered. The first thing that su^ested itself to him was lo 
put an advertisement in the Times, informing Mary Dollamore that if 
she would call at a certain place, she would hear of something to 
her advantage. Bu this might have the effect of frightening her, and 
it would, of course, give the alarm 10 Mr. Arnold and Dr. Rowden, if 
they happened to see the advertisement, 

Mr. Finch ended by sending out for a detective — a personage with 
whose characteristics, real or supposed, every novel-reader must be 
only too familiar. 

The detective came, and, as Alfred thought, exhibited a feeble 
love for minute and irrelevant particulars. 

"I notice everything," he said, complacently. "Nothing escapes 

"Not even the criminal?" suggested the secretary, in allusion, as 
Allied afterwards heard, to a notorious forger who had recently 
slipped through the detective's fingers. 

The man smiled, but also looked at the secretary, as much as to 
say — " If they should ever put me on you, you won't get away so 
easily ! " 

In the meanwhile the medical officer had arrived. On seeing the 
photograph, he said, without hesitation, that il was not the portrait 
of the young lady he had visited outside in the carriage ; that there 
might be some resemblance, but that this was the portrait of a girl in 
perfect health, whereas the invalid who had come to the office with 
Mr. Arnold was in the last stage of consumption, and must have 
been ill for many weeks, and probably many months, or even 

Such a statement, taken in connection with so much other evidence 
of similar effect, would to any one but Alfred have settled the point 
But he, at least, felt that Sophie's case was no longer desperate, and 
when, on returning again to the Hotel, he found a telegram waiting 
for him, which said " Miss Arnold is aUve and well," he was able, by 
an eflbrt, to control his joy, "She adjures you to sa.-/ no'irai^ ^out 


The GcnlU-iiiaii's Magazine. 

her to anyone," the message continued 

to communicate with you. Will write." 

The telegram was from Sophie herself. 

' Has betn endeavouring 


"no account. 

oihe I 

From trouble to trouble I But now from the greater only to 
less. Sophie was alive, and everything else was indifferent to Al&ed 
He thought of all that had happened since he had seen her ; ind 
the strange incidents pa.ssed before him like the recollection of a 

His reverie, however, as he sat in his own room at the Chuiif 
Cross Hotel, was rudely disturbed by the entry of Malvina. 

"Well, Alfred," she said, "this is nice conduct I I never hetn) 
of such a thing ! Keep dinner waiting, never send a word to i^ 
where you are, and then stop out all night I What is the meaning of 
this behaviour ? " 

" I have no account to give you of my actions," answered AlbetL 
" I went out because I pleased, and I came back because 1 pleucd.* 

" Do you suppose, then, that 1 am going to remain stuck iltdiif 
hotel by myself?" asked Malvina. 

" Vou must do as you think fit," he replied. " I am not goingb 
stay here with you, I can tell you that much." , 

Alfred had, without intending it, inflicted a terrible punishment CQ 
Malvina. He had placed her in the position of the cat deprived of 
the mouse. Finding that he had escaped, she had smoked innumff- 
able cigarettes, torn up scraps of paper into minute fragmenl^ 
rolled up the bread brought to her at dinner into a multitude of littl* 
balls, walked hundreds of times up and down the room, scoldfd 
Pi&rre, and boxed Minna's ears. If Alfred had returned while the 
fit was on her, she would certainly have scratched him. 

But at last depression had come upon her. Then she began w 
weep and shed bitter tears, until it occurred to her that she wouW 
like to go to the theatre. She sent Piferre out to get a box, ord«ed 
a carriage, told Minna in the kindest manner to get ready to conw 
with her, and took the well-slapped maid to the play. 

However, she herself had seen all the pieces before in Paris, and 
was very little amused. They were what are called "adaptations;' 
that is to say, translations in which the scene was changed froni 



Ftance to Engljind, with all the wit and cliaracter left out, and 
much of the original local colouring kept in. 

She came home and had supper, and made Minna sup with her, 
that she might not be alone. Minna and Piferre did not exactly know 
what to make of domestic affairs. They saw that there was a screw 
loose, very loose indeed, somewhere ; but they fancied their mistress 
must be in the right, and they had always looked upon Alfred as a 
sort of intruder. 

After having suffered, so much from his absence, Malvina acarcely -. 
knew what to do with Alfted now that she had got hold of him 
again. She would have liked to treat him in a conciliatory spirit, 
but his haughty and provoking demeanour rendered that impossible. 

" What do you mean to do, Alfred ? " she asked. 

" Do ? I mean lo go to France in the first plat 

" I am going there also." 

"Are you ? Then I will go to Italy." 

Malvina said she would also go to Italy. 

" Then I will go to Russia." 

Malvina did not say she would go lo Russia, nor did Alfred notice 
her silence in that respect i 

" Look here, Alfred," she began, in a lone that was almost i 
affectionate, "we can't go on living this cat and dog life, can we?" ' 

" No," said Alfred ; " our married life has come to an end." 

" It can't come to an end, unless you kill me or I kill you ; and I 
am not likely to kill you !" 

" It would not be necessary ; I should kill myself if I remained 
with you. But I shall go back to India." 

" No, Alfred," she said, with a sweet smile ; " you will not go back 
to India. You have sent in your resignation." 

"Oh, you think you can reduce me by hunger, do you?" 
exclaimed Alfred. " We shall see." 

He took his hat and was going out, when he was met by the man 
who had called twice before to ask for him. 

" 1 have called about a cheque for forty pounds," said the man, 
"changed in Paris on AVednesday, presented at the Metropolitan , 
Bank yesterday, and returned with this remark- 
He showed the cheque to Alfred. It was the one the hotel-keeper 
had got changed for him in Pmis, and it was inscribed " No, \ 

" Good God, Malvina I " exclaimed Alfred, " whai is \ke TO.ea.ivM\% J 

tthis ?" He pointed t o^e WOT^" ^Q iic<3}^'i^! 
Vol. VI,, K.S. iSjt. "l^BRSF^ .■■- '*' - _ 


The Gentlentati s Magasitte, 

Malvioa began to laugh. 

" It means," she said, " that you have no account I have; 1 
a very good one." 

" It doesn't matter, sir," said the man, " if you'd settle it now. 
There'll be something for expenses. We had to telegraph to the 
Lord Warden at Dover to find out where you had gone. We are llw 
correspondents of Mosheim and Co,. Paris, where the cheque wu 

" Wait here while I go round to my agents," said Alfred. " I will 
bring you the money." 

Malvina liad written from Dover, early the nioming before, Friday, 
instmcting her bankers to pay no cheques drawn on her accouni 
which did not bear her signature. She had threatened to do so, and 
Alfred had laughed at her. She ha<! done it, and now she laughfd 
at him. 

It had not occurred to her that her letter would take effect so 
soon. She had not meant to stop the payment of this cheque cashed 
in Paris. But since it had been stopped, so much tlie worse fo' 
Alfred, if he was so obstinate as not to ask her for the money. 

" What, shall you do," asked Malvina, " if Mr. Leighton is not (hie 
to give you the money tonday? It is already two o'clock, and on 
Saturday most places of business close at two." 

" Well, it would be a very serious thing. It might be made a voy 
serious thing as it is. But I suppose be could give me the n 
Monday morning at latest? He is not going to lesive the O 


1 as pos^le. But I 

" He said he should go to France as 
suppose he will not go before to-night," 

"Oh, did he?" answered the man sharply. "He EaidfaesttwU 
go to France, did he? 1 tell you what, mum, you had better ptfil 
for him, if you don't want him locked up." 

" I havn't got it," said Malvina, which was perfectly true. 

"Very well, mum," said the man. "I've done my best" And 
thereupon he departed. 

Alfred in the meantime liad been to his agents', and found tl* 
place closed. He returned to the hotel, and had an interchange irf 
ideas with Malvina, which ended in Iter offering him 40/., and tS^l 
fiiither sura he wanted, on condition that he would repent, apolDpw 
and make friends. 

He was just expressing his indignation at her venturing to make 
such a. proposition to htm, wtven the d(»i o^enod, and t2ie dvu vIv 

Malvina . 

had called aboui the cheque appeared, accompanied by two ungodly-1 
looking persons who turned out to be bailiffs, 
■ /'It's only a trifle after all," said the htJder of the cheque. "You'd 
ter pay it for hiin, muin." 

"I'll pay it if you like, Alfred," said Malvina. "But you must 
It for iL" 
j^'Call a cab, please," said AlCired to one of his captors. 
"Why not take the carriage?" said Malvina. "The horses have^ 
not been out to-day." 

"Call a cab," Alfred repeated; and the functionary represcadng 
the SheriA' of Middlesex departed in quest of a vehicle. 

" 1 have seen this sort of thing on the stage," said Malvina ; " but 
ally didn't know that it ever took place in actual life." 
" You may see stranger things than this in actual life before you 
have done," said Alfred- 

" Aiiii do you mean to say that you are guing all the way to Ni 
gate in a common cab ? " 

■' No. mum, he is not going to Newgale ; not quite so bad as that,' 
said the ofliccr who had been sent to secure a cab, and had just 
returned. " We're only going to take the gentleman to Whitecross 
Street, or, if he prefers it. Chancery Lane, where they will make him 
comfortable, and charge him a guinea a day." 

" Dear me," said Malvina, " it's very reasonable. We're paying 
two guineas a day at the hotel for rooms and attendance alone, and 
we bring our own servants. That reminds me, Alfred, you had 
better take Pierre with you." 

" Curse Piiirre, and you loo !" said .Mfred. 

The melancholy procession now left the room in the following 
order: — i. Representative of the Sheriff of Middlesex; i. The 
^^lisoner ; 3. Officer assisting the Representative of the Sheriff of 
^Hfiddlesex ; 4. Tlie holder of the cheque. 

^H^" She seems a rum un, she does," .^d the aide to the holdo- of 
^ftte cheque, as the cor^^f descended the staircase. "She's no wife 
of hisn i or if she is, I'd have given her a wipe on the mouth if she'd 
been mine." 


THE PBIN'ti:. H 

[ SHALL only he here for an hour or two," said .\lfred. when ho ■ 
d his desrination. 
IS, Sr," said his host ; " everj- genilemin say^t \hax v^ven Vt 








362 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

•• Yes," said Alfred. 

" Very gocwl, Sir." 

Bat when Alfred had thought the matter over, it c 
that there was really no one to whom he could send. If he tele- 
graphed to Hillsborough, the money, unless sent by a special messen- 
ger, could not reach him until Monday morning, when he would be 
able to get it from his agents. But if the money were forwarded to 
him by messenger his position would be known, and he wished for 
many reasons to conceal it. 

Near London there was no one but Mr. Finch to whom he couid 
apply ; and he knew that the mere fact of his applying would be 
punctually entered in that gentleman's memorandum-book. What, 
too, would such 3 suspicious man as Mr. Finch think of his being 
arrested for inability to redeem a cheque drawn upon a non-existent 
account ? Then the whole story of his matrimonial connection with 
Malvina would come out No ; the notion of sending to Mr. Finch 
was utterly out of the question. 

After looking at the messenger for a few seconds, as ihriugh the 
sight of the man might inspire him with an idea, he gave him some 
money, and said he should not want him. He was very much 
troubled about the letter he expected from St. Ouen, which, if it fell 
into his wife's hands, would doubtless remain there. But il was 
Saturday ; no letter from St. Ouen could now be delivered until 
Monday morning, and by Monday not later than half-past ten o'clock 
he expected to be free. Still, by way of precaution, he sent to the 
manager of the hotel to say that any letters which arrived for him 
were to be forwarded to him where he then was, and not under any 
pretext delivered to any one but himself 

Thanks to the joyful news which had reached him that moraing, 
he cared very little for what had happened since. Gradually, how- 
ever, the fact became more and more evident to him that the marriage 
he had contracted with Malvina was, after all, a serious tie, and 
might prove an insurmountable obstacle in the M-ay of his happiness. 
The thought that Sophie was alive when he had believed her dead 
had for a time filled his mind to the exclusion of everything else. 
But little by Httle he became accustomed to the idea as one becomes 
accustomed to light after darkness ; and now that he examined the 
situation as it really was, he saw a host of troubles before him, all 
represented by the existence of Malvina, or rather by her existence 
in the character of his wife. 

Seeing a good many dreary hours before him, and having still 
several sovereigns in his pockel, he called the messeogei and told 

Malvina. 363 

>iim to go to Mudic's and take out a subscription for the shortest 
possible time. He began making out a list of novels which, as far as 
he remembered, were appropriate to his situation, and from the very 
numerous ones in which the hero is burdened with two wives, or at 
least two matrimonial engagements, selected these three: "Jane 
Eyre," "George Geith," and " Paul Ferroll." 

He scarcely liked, considering his sentiments towards Malvina, to 
ask for another work which he only knew by the title, "Why Paul 
Ferroil killed his wife ;" though he felt really anxious to know whether 
any husband had ever been worse treated than he had been by 

Alfred said to himself, as he looked once more through the 
eloquent pages of "Jane Eyre," that Malvina would certainly not 
go mad like Mr. Rochester's first wife. 

Nor did "George Geith" give bim any satisfaction — except as a 
work of art. 

There was not the slightest possibility of his resorting to the primi- 
tive expedient of " Paul Ferroll ;" though he certainly read the life of 
that high-minded murderer with interest 

Then he sent for some law books and studied the marriage law, 
and curious cases of marriages which did not hold ; but though he 
fancied that he had left himself a sort of loophole by which it was 
just possible he might escape, he did not find his view of the case 
confirmed by, law. 

on reading law and novels, oovels and law, all Saturday 
ight and the greater part of Sunday, until, late on Sunday afternoon, -_ 
heard a familiar voice on the staircase call out — J 

" Is this the way?" H 

And the moment after Captain Fludyer appeared. \ 

" How distressed I am," he began, " to see you here. But what is 
the meaning of it? And do you know what you did in Paris? 
There will be the devil to pay. Not for you, perhaps, but certainly 
yoor wife 1 " 

How do you do, Fludyer?" replied Alfred. "Your news does 
alarm me in the least. I don't care what my wife has to pay. 
She wouldn't pay forty pounds to prevent my coming to this place ; 
in fact, she was the cause of my coming — laid a regular trap for me." 
" You don't mean it ?" exclaimed Fludyer. " I heard at the hotel 
in Switzerland that the Princess had at least a hundred thousand 
pounds ; and so I believe she has. But you have made, all the sam«, 
%. most serious mistake." 




The Genlicmaii's Magazine. 

L mistake," said Alfred ; " but it can't be 
— have you heard anything about the 

"Yes, I have made \ 
helped. Tell nie now 

" Old Arnold was last see at Nice, or ratlier at Monaco, playing ai 
roulette like the very devil. You heard that he inherited a lot of 
money by the death of his daughter ?" 

" Is that all you know about it?" 

"That is all. It is a very sad thing. Bui 1 want to tell yo*J 
semething pressing, imnn-diate — the man is outside." 

" Well, let him come in, whoever he is." 

" No, I must tell you ; for perhaps after all he is an impostWjl 
dare say he only wants to extort money from you. But this is n 
he pretends. He wants to make out that he has some diJni 
upon your wife ; and he thinks he has only to tell you of it to be 

'■ This is rather interesting," said Alfred. " Has he seen my wtfc?" 

" Oh, dear no ! She fancies he is in Russia, or Siberia, or si 
where. He is a serf, and the deuce knows what." 

"And he wants me to pay him for not disturbing my macriinoniil 
felicity ? It is worth thinking about. How did he find you out?' 

" He went to the Rev. Luckthorpe Roydon directly he saw the 
announcement of your marriage in the Paris papers. Ro>-don did 
not know where to find you, and sent him on to me ; and directly I 
got your telegram I started for I^udon, and brought him with me." 

" But why did you bring him with you, if all he wanted was to 
extort money from me?" 

" Because it was a thousand limes better thai you should see him, 
than that he should be advertising for you in the journals, and 
sending the police after his wife, and all that sort of thing." 

" His wife?" cried Alfred. " His wife? you can't mean it !" 

" I am sorry to say I do !" 

" Sorry, indeed ! The very thought of it raises me to the h^jliest- 
point of happiness. But who is this original person? It is "iafi 
strangest plan for extorting money T ever heard of!" 

"\Vell, I believe he was a courier, and a great swell in his way^ 
but a serf all the same, belonging to a very rich master, who would 
not grant him his liberty on any terms whatever. His story is — and 
he told the same thing to Roydon — that he was put up lo marry the 
Princess, I mean the lady who is now your wife. She had been 
flirting very violently — ^excuse my saying all this, but you had better 
hear it — with a number of ofticers and other swells at Vichy — 
Russiitas, Austrians, Prussians, FtencbTOcn, ■roetv of a.U nations, in 


s a !*rincc, and ended by- 

"and I 

I must square him ; diere 
I, please." 


fact. They compared notes and found that she had been taking 
them all in alike ; so ihcy made a plot— it was a blackguard thing 
to do, no doubt — passed off the courii 
getting the young lady to marry him." 

" It is a tragic story," said Alfred, 
despondent than ever." 

" Never mind," said Fludycr. " Yc 
nothing else to be done," 

" yquare hira, indeed ! Bring him i 

Captain Fludyer went outside, and called out, " Karabassoff !' 

" It soundi Hke it at all events," thought Alfred. " But it is im- 

Karabassoff was a handsome, good-looking man^large black eyes, 
black moustache, fine white teeth, no whiskers or beard — -who, in the 
matter of manners, could have given points to Piferre himself. He 
was, in fact, too civil by half ; and Alfred, wherever and under what- 
ever circumstances he might have met hira, would not have dreamt 
of competing with him in the forms of politeness. As courier, he had 
taken charge of some of the most distinguished men in Europe ; and 
it was true, as he loved to relate to his intimate friends, that he'bad 
frequently been mistaken for the master, and they for the servant. 
He was just a little extravagant in dress, but at Vichy his costume 
had been supervised by a committee of taste. He spoke French, 
English, German, and Italian with e(jual fluency and incorrectness ; 
but his talk, if often ungrammatical, was always idiomatic, and 
Malvina had for a time looked upon him as a marvel of linguistic 
attainments and a man of high education generally. 

Karabassoff entered, and told Alfred very gravely that he had for 
some days past been seeking the advantage of this presentation, and 
that the matter about which he desired to speak to him was one 
which need not cause either of them the least serious in- 

Alfred asked him to sit down, and Captain Fludyer at the same 
time got up and lel^ the room. 

Tell me at once, please, the object of your visit," said Alfred. 
I wish to lay before your lordship," said the cornier, "a simple 
exposition of [he slate of affairs. Your lordship will then decide for 
himself what is to be done." 

" I am not a lord," answered Alfred, " but I should like to hear 
what you have to say all the same." 

"Good, your excellence ! To come then to the point, 1 had the 
luc of meeting, at Vichy, the charming lady — ^tot b\vc a cfcwnKnv'j. 


366 The Gentleman s Magazine. ^^H 

in appefuance, that is not to be denied — whom you now call jwr 

"I am neither an ambassador nor a minister; but proceed," said 

" As I was telling your honour, then," said Karabassoff, who could 
not descend to simple " sir," " I was presented at Vichy to the btau- 
tiful Miss Gribble ; I was fortunate enough, as I thought at the lidK, 
to please her. I placed myself at her feet— she accepted rac. In a 
word, she became mine," 

" Just tell me, please," inquired Alfred, " did you call yourself it 
the time simple KarabassofT, or Prince Kaiabassoff?" 

" That has little to do with the matter, your honour," answered the 
courier ; " I signed the register ' Arcadius Karabassoff.' " 

"She must have thought 'Arcadius' was the Russian for' Prince 1'" 

" Possibly, your honour. But one thing certain is that 1 did Mt 
call myself ' Prince ' in signing the register. 1 called myself 'Aicadiui 
Karabassoff,' my true name. I was married in the English diBidl 
and the Jtoman church. My seconds " — 

" Your seconds? You were not fighting a duel." 

'.'My timoins, my witnesses, were M, de Castella, diplomatisl ; 
Baron von der Brinken, Prussian Life Guards ; Captain Schli^ 
Hungarian hussar ; and Count Molodietzky, brother to him whatWH 
at Vienna, In one word, I became her rightful husband." 

" I congratulate you," said Alfred, getting up, and not knowing 
what to do to control the manifestation of his joy. " I congtatnliU 
you, most sincerely." 

The courier looked surprised, and remained silent. 

" And you have come to me to ask for your wife's addieait" Hid 
Alfred, taking up the conversation on his side. 

" No," answered Karabassoff, " I ask not for her address. Sut* 
more the wife for such as you than for a courier as me." 

" Yes, but you are married to her." 

" I said to your honour before, that I came not to cause iacoif 
vcnience, but I have my little expenses. I travel from Paiis to Si 
Ouen, from Sl Ouen here, and, above all, things must be pttt in 
order. They can scarce remain such as they are." 

"Well, what do you propose?" asked Alfred- " I merely ask for 
the sake of curiosity." 

" I propose what is most moderate. You pay me one thoawxl 
pounds each year, and never again shall you hear that 1 lire. But 
I have rights, although a courier, and not a nobleman, like youndf 
and many others. She treated me badly. AVhen she finds I «»» 


courier, she disavows me, she slaps my face, she tears my hair; she 
goes to Count Molodietzky, what was at Vienna, and all through 
him my master calls me hack to Russia and makes me stay, He 
finds me wrong at each minute, and finally sends me for life to 
Siberian colonies, from which I thought never to return, and all 
because I gets married without his permit." 
"But how did you get back?" asked Alfred. 

" I would never have got back, your honour, had not the Count 
my master, rest to his soul, been pleased to expire." 
" And his son recalled you ?" 

" His son my noiv master, so soon as the estate was his, gives wie 
passport, tells me to go abroad to earn money, to do what I will, and 
first I wish to speak with you of my wife, which is aJso yours. She 
with Count Molodietzky, him which was at Vienna, laughed much at 
me ; now I laugh at her, but not at you, your honour, not at you." 

" Well," said Alfred, after thinking a few moments ; " you are 
willing to resign all claim to this beautiful, amiable, and accomplished 
lady ?" 

Karabassoff grinned. 
" On condition of my paying to you one thousand pounds 
punctually every year?" 

"That is it I" said Karabassoff, with a bow. "Your honour 
seizes my meaning with preciseness." 

"And what on the olher hand?" inquired Alfred. "What shall 
I give you on condition of your not leaving this beauriful, amiable^ 
and accomplished lady on ray hands ? What shall I give you to , 
induce you to accept her and carry her off?" 

" Your honour is joking, She is not a wife for me ; it is only for 
a gentleman as you that she is suitable. M. de Castella was mad for 
her. Baron von der Blinken acted follies, all the gentlemen loves her; 
but for me a woman something more common would belter suffice. 
I wish not to inconvenience you ; I make no claim to her. One 
thousand each year— it is not much from four thousand ; and I go to 
Italy, and you hear not that I live." 

" No," snid Alfred, "' I will be generous ; I will give you up every- ' 
thing. You shall lake the lady, the four thousand a year, and all." 

" For no money would I dare to live with that lady," said Kara- 
bassoff, with a look of alarm ; " if she would not kill me, she would 
drive me insane. But she is very beautiful ; all the gentlemen loves 
her, and you loves her also, for sure." 

" I do not love her sufficiently to keep her from you. But how I 
wish you had made your appearance a week ago '." 


The Gcnllemmi s Magazine, 

" A week ago she was not married afresh, and I knew nol irjerc 
she was. One month ago I was yet in Russia." 

" We!l, as it is," said Alfred, " I have nothing to offer you ; lake her, 
she is yours, and may you be happy. You ivill find her at the Charily 
Cross Hotel." 

" If I should accept you at your word," said Karabassoff, with i 
cunning look—" if I carry her off, and you see her no more ? " 

"Well, to put an end to the matter, I would rather tnow she woe 
in Russia, Siberia, Central Asia, than anywhere near London ; but id 
any case she is not my wife. It so happens that she might annoy at 
very seriously, and I should be glad lo get her out of the countiy— 
out of Europe, if possible ; but it is the most ludicrous thing io Ae 
world to suppose that I should pay you for leaving her on my hands. 
Why, who do you think put me in this place — in this prison?" 

"I know not." 

" The very lady we are speaking of." 

" How I recognise her in that," said Karabassoff, with a chtrcklt 
"She is, indeed, a harsh woman ; I have known some severe MB, 
but not one other such as this." 

" Well, you see we cannot do business," said Alfred at last ; and 
he called to Captain Fludyer to come in. 

"Does your honour propose to reside here long?" asked Kiw- 
bassoff. " I might yet make myself agreeable to your honour." 

morning, saifl 
morning? Nd 
here; only come" 
accept the 

" I shall not be here after t 

" And where may I wait o 
at the Charing Cross Hotel?" 

" No, no !" said Alfred, " you had better ci 
soon after nine o'clock as you can." 

Karabassoff made a formal salutation, asked .Alfred 1 
expression of his high respect and esteem, and departec 

" I am free !" cried Alfred with delight, when Fludyer entered. 

" Free !"answered Fludyer, " but you don't want to get rid of he" 

" Don't I ? Ah ! but you don't know all, I told you, howeW, 
to begin with, that it was she who put me here." 

" But if you want lo get rid of her the thing is easily nunagci 
If this fellow is really her husband the thing is already done ?" 

"Yes, but there is scandal to be avoided. There is a ccW" 
quarter in which it would be death to me if it were known thai 1 weW 
through tbe ceremony of marrying Malvina, though that ceremony 
really counts for nothing. I can't explain, but the facts arc as I suit 
them. Malvina in her battle with me " 



"Her battle?" 

" Yes, it has been a regular system of war — first treachery and then 
downright fighting. But I was going to say that, in this battle, Mal- 
vina will not allow herself to-be defeated all at once. She will die 
hardy and if she only knew one little thing, which I must conceal 
from her, but which I can't conceal for ever, she might yet destroy 
all my chances of happiness." 

Captain Fludyer was now warned by an attendant that it was 
time for him to go. Alfred gave him a line to his agents, requesting 
them most particularly to honour an order for a hundred and fifty 
pounds, which he enclosed ; asked Fludyer to get the order cashed, 
and begged him to bring him the money as soon after ten o'clock as 
he could get it 

(Thbe concluded next month. ) 

'%.• ■* f---^ >w' -v - 'V^- 


What is ihe titk of this war to be? Its hislorical title, I iiieiB,c( 
course. The newspapers all call it the Franco- Prussian war; but this is 
neither English, French, nor Gennan, and what is still worse,il isnoti 
characteristic description. If it ends in the course of the month we nuf, 
perhaps, call it the Seven Months' War, in contradistinction to the Seitn 
Years' War; and considering how it is apparently to end, in the inoupo- 
ration of every acre of German soil within the frontiers of Gennaoy, ai 
in the apotheosis of the House of Hohen«a!lern, there will be a hippj 
historical coincidence in the phrase which will be particularly useful » ibe 
memory a few years hence as an historical landmark. But this is *11» 
kypalkesi; and what we want is a phrase for current use. At first it wis dB 
war of the Rhine; but neither of the armies have been within 100 mile* 
of the Rhine since Sedan ; and to call a campaign which has spread inctf 
out over a tract of country stretching from Havre to Dijon, and froo 
Amiens to Orleans, by the name of the Rhine or the MoseUe, is an abne 
of language. Yet, perhaps, in the end we may tind it convenient tooooc 
back to that name ; for it is obvious that the banks of the Rhine havebca 
uppermost in the thoughts of the two armies all through the c 

And talking about the war, what a picturesque touch the Tww ^ 
India supplies, by its description of the destitution which this can^N 
of the Rhine has produced in the Valley of Cashmere, to the biiw 
who wishes to rival that graphic bit of description of Macaula/s in 
essay on Frederick the Great, that bit of description, I mean, «li 
with a vigour and beauty of language which is, perhaps, unequalled in 
language, the historian heaps upon the head of Frederick the guill rf 
all the blood that was shed in those terrible years that followed the R»p« 
of Silesia, the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the moua- 
taineers who were slaughtered at Culloden. "The evils produced byte 
wickedness," says Macaulay, " were felt in lands where the name i 
Prussia was unknown ; and, in order that he might rob a neighbour •hoi' 
he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coiomandci, 
and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of North Amerio-' 
How Macaulay, with his fine artistic appreciation of ever)-! hi ng that cmW 
give life and colour lo his writing, would have seiied upon this picture n 
the colony of Cashmere— weavers thrown out of work by a quwrf 
between a couple of ambitious and intriguing statesmen tr>ing to outrt 
each other in Paris and Berlin ! It used to be said that every blo* ■ 

Table Talk. 

lie ajce in the forests of America found a.n echo 
-ancashire ; but the only apt parallel that occurs 

in the West inlerferins with the industry of the East, 
of the price of red herrings in the Hebrides, which was 
lioncd by one of the campaigns of Ghengis Khan ; and (hat, 
ghi add. 

" I WISH she'd go I I have nothing to say to her. And yet what am I ^k 
do to get her off?" is said to have been the "aside" of an eminent 
itesman, distinguished almost as much by his absence of mind as by his 
administrative powers, when calling upon a lady, and after going through 
the ordinary round of morning commonplace, taking it into his head thai 
the lady was his visitor. And Lord Blank's difficulty with his imaginary 
nsitor represents one of the perplexities which most of us are a 
ourselves in every now and then with people who do not know when to go. 
You may cut a bore short with your watch. But you can't talk of appoinl- 
Dients to a lady, and ask her to excuse you — unless she happens 
pass/, or your moiher-in-law, or a poor relation, and then, perhaps, policy 
may require a touch of masterly rudeness ; and I should like to ask if v 
cannot acclimatise a very pretty custom which prevails in India, with ar 
litUe variation, of course, that the circumstances of our position may re- 
quire. After you have run through the Indian gamut of commonpiac 
which is not very much longer, although perhaps a trifle more poetical 
than our own, and the position is becoming embarrassing, your host rises, 
gives you two parcels of betel wrapped up in leaves, drops a little alar of 
roses into your hands, sprinkles you with rose-water, and the interview is 
at an end. The custom itself is a pretty one, and as the intimation which 
it is intended to convey implies no reflection upon the guest, it might, 1 
venture to suggest, be brought into use at home. 


What a romance lies hidden in the trust-deeds of our charities and 
public schools ! Perhaps, one of these days, some man with plenty rf 
leisure on his hands, will look up the subject, and if he has any of the 
literary skill of Hepworth Dixon, he may make one of the most interest- 
ing books of the season out of the perversity of the moral senliments that 
bas marked many of the ladies and gentlemen to whose memory we are 
in the habit of offering hbatjons of chablis and champagne, as benefactors 
of our race. I heard an anecdote the other day of one of the founder* 
of Christ's Hospital which, 1 believe, very fairly illustrates the sort 
of impulses which govern people in witling their property to public 
institutions. His name was Hunt, and under his will Christ's Hospital now, 
1 believe, receives an income of about £120,000 a year. He was a City 
merchant, a bachelor, and lived with his brother. This brother had sons 
and daughters, who were brought up with the expectation of enjoying 
their uncle's property at his death. But there's many asUp WvU.\\\cc^ 



The Gentkntans i 

and the lip, and a couple of sharp words at dinner 

; day between Ot \ 


brothers dissipated all their expectations to the winds. The bachdK haJ 
a prnchant for new potnioea and melted butter, and one daj, wheiAe 
polaioes and the butter-buai happened to come into suggestive coniiguiq, 
the epicurean millionaire stuck his fork into a potato, dipped it inio the 
bulter-boat, and swallowed it. " Excellent !" " Beastly I" answctnl th 
brother. " Beastly^-do you mean lo say that I'm a beast ? "' " Ves, 1 ilo. 
The man who can dip a potato into the butter boat In thnt »'uy, must h 
a beast." The words were quickly spoken, it was not so easy lu mill 
ihem. You may ridicule a man's opinion, expose ihe silliness of kit 
crotchets, laugh at his prejudices, and quii his personal appearance— ud 
he will forgive you. But there is one limit to this personal criiidsm. A 
man's tastes at table are above criticism, and an alderman's saci«d, lit 
Hunt thought so. He tore up his will at once, cut off his belt *ridl cht 
mythological shilling, and tefi all his spare cash and estates to Ouisl^ 
Hospital. All I am surprised at is that the old gentleman did not i&A ) 
proviso that the boys should celebrate his aimiversary by a dinaw, m 
which ihe principal dish should be new potatoes and melted butter. How 
the bluc'Coat boys would have cherished his memory if he had i As iti^ 
no one but the governors and trustees know anything cither of his viraia 
or of his peculiar tastes. 

Has any one of the many narrators of the story of the Franco- Hniaian 
War referred back to the speech of King William on the prorogBiionof 
the North German Parliament ? There was a passage in it not nwdi 
thought of at the time, but significant enough by the light of subsequni 
events. His Majesty took the opportunity of congratulating the Bundoa 
the fact that tht military orgaiiisatiiut of the North German Con/edrraliM 
■was at last complete. That was in May, Two or three weeks elapsed, 
and the Prince of Hohenzollem-Sigmaringen became a candidate for the 
throne of Spain. The one event followed suspicioiasly close upon tht 
other. Assume that the Count von Bismarck regarded the lime as ripeM 
length for Ihe struggle which might reduce the power of France, and 
accomplish the union of Germany under the rule of Prussia, and »bt 
move could be conceived so likely as this to initiate hostilities? Who 
could devise so clevera plan for setting the two nations at war, and ibro^ 
ing the responsibiUty apparently on France? So soon as tlie SpaDisli 
candidature was mentioned, all the leading journals of neutral countiiei * 
Europe foresaw that French susceptibility and indignation would i* 
aroused ; and the writer of the "Story of the War " in The GENTLEMAN^ 
Annual has shown very clearly, from the published dipkimatic eon*- 
spondence between Earl Granville and Lord Augustus Loftusai Beilii. 
that the Count von Bismarck was prepared to treat the expression) <i 
French excitement as a casus belli. The impartial historian of the liitiW 
will perhaps be in a position to dymonatrate that, from the day wIm^^> 
military organisation ol the North German Confederation was a 
waj- with France was a queitiott of only a few weeks or months. 

Table Talk. 

When railway accidents occur as frequently as iliey have done lately, 
ine is set a-thinking upon the extraordinary number of h.iir's breadth 
icapes we must liave in the course of a year's travel. If so many 
nishaps actually do happen, what a vast number must ver)' nearly 
lappen '. Shut up in a carriage in total ignorance of what Is before us 
lod what behind us, what sort of line we are on, what reliance is to be 
placed upon axles and couplings, what manner of men we have for drivere 
Liid guards — boxed up in this ignorance, we must over and over again be 
•ithin an ace of coming to grief while we think ourselves far out of reach 
)f danger. Every whip can recall a score of close shaves and approximated 
ipsets ; every sailor can tell a score of tales of disasters only just avoided, 
md casualties averted by some lucky fluke or fortuity. And no doubt 
■very old engine-driver could unfold many a story of coUision just cleared, 
md break-down just saved ; a[ least it is very strange if he could not. 
But what we know not we fear not ; and our ignorance here is bliss indeed. 
I don't wish to raise alarms or create fears, but in furtherance of those 
■afety reforms which are so needfiil in existing railway management, it is 
ust as well to reflea thai, according to just inference from probabilities, 
■very railway accident that happens is but Iho one realisation of many 

Is there any good reason why our Civil servants should not be dis- 
inguished by uniform habiliments, like the officers of other services ? 
rhey form an important section of society, and many of the reasons for 
Iressing army and navy men obtain wjth them. John Bull would like 
o know his writing men when he sees them, as he does his fighting 
Tien : and for consist en c>''s sake an official ought to bear the Government 
mark. A uniform serves two purposes ; it makes the wearer respectable 
md respected ; for a man is obliged to mind his bearing when he carries his 
insignia on his back ; and all people look with some reverence upon a man 
in recognised costume. To tlie Government clerk himself a regimental 
dress ought to be a boon, for it would put him above the necessity of 
spending too much of his modest income in following the fashion, and 
society would be none the worse for knowing who's who or what's what 
in that miscellaneous company which the Civil Service comprises. I 
wonder the tailors have not moved in this matter. 

1 PRESUME that the J. E. Gray who has been suggesting improver 
in our playing cards is the learned loologist of the British Museum, One ] 
might ask what he does aboard that galley, but his proposals arc so good 
that one is indisposed to question their source. He tt'ould put the pips 
on the court cards always to the left of the effigies' heads ; he would shift 
the odd pip of the seven card into the centre, as in the five and nine, 
instead of placing it at one end, which causes the card to be confused 
with the eights ; and he would amend the shapes of the pips so as 
make them more distinct from t'ach other than thev ate all. ^leicWL. 


374 ''"''"" Gciilh-man's Afagaziue. 

these are improvements which ever>- caid-player will rccogntM ai luch. 
Hut 1 would add anaiher which 1 think would be fell as a greater boon 
ihan any of the preceding ; it Is that at two opposite comers of every pip 
card a small figure be placed, corresponding wilh the number of pips on 
the card. This little addition wonderfully f^ljcates handling, soraag, 
and playing ; as any one will find who will lake ihe trouble to number (k 
corners of a pack with pen and ink. And it could be made without die 
great alterations or sacrifices of stencil-plates which Mr. Gta/s sugges- 
tions would involve, and which I fear must make those suggestiDJu of 

As a beer-drinking people we ought to hear wilh delight that a ne* 
source of our national beverage has been discovered and commerdallr 
introduced. It is rice. The German brewers in many places Mt 
mashing the white grains wilh a proportion of mall, and producing! 
liquor that foams and exhilarates like the produce of the Munich vatl, 
and is as mild and palatable as the Bavarian drink that is straggling iu 
way into English favour. Thai great and semi -barbarous section of 
mankind, the rice-eaters, may now, if they care about civilisation, talKM step theretowards by instituting a native beverage of ihehighal 
prestige and antiquity. A nation's character depends upon its drink ; ud 
where arc the nations that can stand against the beer-drinkers? Perlups 
the new stock may improve our own brewings ; there is plenty of rOM 


March, 187 i. 

Life Recluse. 


5 yon cloud, o'er gorse-clad hills 
Crag-lopped, with plenteous breast which stills 
• The clamouring brook, ere yet it leaves 
' Our welkin, light's last smile receives; 
So here, on earth's rough edge, may we, 
Time's dues discharged, gain grace to see 
God's, and the world's, best bleswngs blent 
In life recluse, with soul-content. 

By roadside rood, moss-barbed, to jwuse 
Where pilgrim, oft, in pious cause. 
His beads retold ; by wizard's board 
Feastful, of kings ; by stone adored 
Sun-wise ; while throngs, with wordless lips. 
The lord of light's stai-crowned eclipse 
Oul-gazed ; to o'erpace the moonlit green 
Ogres erst irode, or elves, still seen j^ 

How happier, thus, to wander here, 
'Mid proofs of old belief sincere, 
Unselfish ; rock-scooped hermit's cell ', 
Rude oratory ; or, sainted well, 
With uncouth virtues still endowed ; 
Than 'midst a bowing, mumming crowd. 
View reverend recreants in one rite 
Fafab and apostasy unite. 

3^' The Genllemans Magazine. 

Let merchants, rich in worldly gear. 
Their gains redouble, year by year ; 
Delve these the gold Australia yields ; 
Reap those the Afric's gem-dewed fields ; 
Fall rank, fall pomp, to other's lot ; 
I.and5, honours, funds \ — I crave them not 
I only ask the sky, the sea; 
And, sweetest, thy dear company. 

Let midnight molis, rogue-rid, dictate 
To senates how to undo a state. 
That patriot virtue toiled to found, 
And gen'roos power with freedom crowned , 
Let one true man from anarchs wild 
Realms save, — and live, by realms reviled ; 
While these their maniac trophies shew, — 
All order wrecked — ^their own o'erthrow. 

Their angry blood let nations shower, 
In long preparcd-for test of power ; 
Wjiile tremblin 

Life Recluse. 377 

More, less ; to give belief the lie, 
Preach faith in infidelity ; 
And, while propounding Nature's laws, 
Ignore their legislative cause : 

Let leambd lecturers time's long rolls 
Ransack, to prove earth's loftiest souls 
Dust-kiAned, from those premundane days 
When space nought showed save shimmering haze ; 
We, humbler wits, the creed would claim 
Which gives, to God, a Father's name ; 
And us, the trust, — if wrong, forgiven — 
That soul hath rise, and end, in heaven. 

Let failing force all fact deny, 
And damn ; it fails to damnify 
Man's now safe poised and liberal mind ; 
But, as a wave that thwarts the wind. 
Foams out its threat- thinned life to reach. 
Vainly — the proudly patient beach; 
So powers presumptuous fitly fail 
Who the soul's freedom seek to assail. 

Let jealous Jews, to one poor race 
Who trow confined infinite grace. 
Know, that not Hebrew sole, but Greek 
And Heathen truth God's voice can speak ; 
Can sacred make all tongues ; just deed 
Saving as faith ; and for God plead 
Through Stoic slave's discourse as strong 
As throned voluptuary's song. 

Nay, though book-zealots, fain to bind 
With bonds deemed meet, the authentic mind 
Would deify, in black and white, 
What finite weens of infinite ; 
Let us, if we would perfect be. 
Add to our faith philosophy ; 
And, in Heaven's universal plan. 
World-worded, spell God's love towards man. 

c e 1. 


The Gentler, 

s Magazine. 

Let us, till science dares affirm, 
Beyond the void's blank stars, some term 
To power creative, still believe, — 
Howe'er by sin man God may grieve, — 
'Twere vain, 'twere impious to allot 
To His benevolence bounds ; for not 
More numerous spheres in heaven that move, 
Than mercies 'midst His breast of love. 

Let blustering broad-sheet scribes contemn 
\S'ho swear not by, nor shout with them ; 
Let servile cynics sleep their style 
In gall or filth ; they self defile. 
The soul enlightened from on high. 
That feels Whose arm sustains the sky, 
Shall solve life's problems unper^ilexed. 
And judge both this world, and the next 

While foolish fashion's thoughtless thralls 
Madden in mock theatric halls, 
We, in sage fiction, weird romaimi. 
Or classic lay, that dead gods haunt 
Ghostwise, find truer, simpler, jest ; 
And, high o'er cities' gross unrest, 
The world's still progress scan, elate ; 
Or, in God's silence, meditate. 

Man's skill who prize, let fondly trace 
In pencilled view or marble Grace, 
His hand. This living landscape ; these 
Age-sculptured crags ; tide-tinted seas ; 
Moonrise ; sundown ; wood smoothed by wind ; 
And cloud on shouldering breeze reclined ; 
A changefiil gallery, night and day. 
All walls without — God's art display 

To us. Vaunt not thy palace proud. 
Prince : fly ! there's pillage in that crowd 
These rocks, with flowering myrtles greened ; 
This lowliest lodge, by laurels screened ; 

Life Recluse. 

This rood of shore ; this refluent main ; 
Von Heaven, we each aspire to gain ; 
All these, God's largesse, sky, soil, sea, 
By tenure of the eye, hold we. 

Friends thus of earth, with deep, with sky. 
Free be our talk, our musings high ; 
These sands to roam ; this moonlit sea 
To sail, in yon slight skill with thee ; 
At night, through saint and sage to 6nd 
Commune with God and human kind ; 
Then, sleep ; and in foreshadowy dreams 
Recounted, choose mom's opening themes ; 

So live we : scenes of strife and pride, 
Avaimt ! mere meanness magnified. 
Be it ours, with thankful prayers to pay 
Their love, who cheer or charm life's way. 
What would we most ? That gentle Peace 
Show flattering signs of fair increase ; 
Wisdom train knowledge ; and the van 
Head, in the mighty march of man. 

While tempests vex the Atlantic waves, 
And ships engulph in wandering graves ; 
While northern ebbs, the land-ridge o'er, 
Call south floods, with rain -thirsting roar ; 
While havening fish-boat scuds aghast. 
Smote broadside, by the sloetful blast ; 
'Tis all thou canst, with hope-bom sigh. 
Commend to God, who live, who die. 

Enchantresses thou know'st, whose spell 
Shall spirit-worlds at will compel ; 
And now, round homely altar bent, 
Lure angels from the firmament. 
Not such thy gifts. Diviner though 
Thou art, such arts wish not ; but know. 
There is no miracle so great 
As law which none can violate. 

j8qi The Gentleman s Magaziru 

Seek not, in sacred 1ms. to find 
Monitions apt of heavenly miad j 
Nor stars, that, ignorantjy sublime, 
Foreview the vast events of time, 
Consult ; though 'midst them, loosed or bound, 
Fate's mysteries, and iheir key, were found ; 
Through nought less nigh than prayerful soul 
(vod deigns the day's decrees unrol. 

Seek God ; nor Him as Lord, alone, 
Of worlds ; but who with us doth own 
Use spiritual of justice, worth, 
Tnith, virtue, holiness. From earth 
To heaven one hallowing liiie we draw 
(."ontinuous, life's, elective law. 
"I'wixt good and ill ; man's moral state 
Thus rounding in Cod's patriarchate. 

The soul which shares communion free. 
Vital, supreme, iviih Deity, 


Life Recluse. 

Let conscious caitiffs kneel and yell ; 
To spirit assured, those rose-lights tell 
Heaven's blameful blush of shame for titnes 
. We, Christians, crowd with gore-dyed crimes. 

tJod's law is, Him to love ; good do 
To men ; deal justly ; sin eschew ; 
Think kindly \ truly speak ; forgive ; 
And temperately, and purely live. 
So men by good redeem their sins, 
No sumptuous booth of badger skins 
God asks ; gilt ark, nor temple ; rife 
With worthier rites stands godly life. 

Blow high, the blasts, o'er down and cam ; 
O'er moorland mere, and tor's black tarn ; 
Hurl from its base ihe logan lone ; 
Or crouching cromlech's covering slone ; 
We, home from Druid fane returned, 
One great consoling truth have learned ; 
How faith, through every faith, might win 
Some glimpse of God, without, witliin. 

For sec, where grimly silent stand 
Par round, of old this hallowed land. 
Tall menhir, preaching, stem and sole, 
God's oneness 'midst the unbounded whole \ 
Of His eternity divine 
The upright circlet's mystic sign ; 
Whose numbered stones to soul imply 
Reunion with Divinity, 

Who all beliefs know, rest agreed 
Truth cites a brief but trusty creed ; 
God, and the soul's progressive state. 
The most faith cares to formulate - 
Good souls, by rest and task repaid. 
Like grateful ; evil, better made. 
Be sure — earth's future to foretel- — 
Ulio made all jjood, will end all well. 

^8* Tlic Gcnllcman'& Magazine. 

Know thou, too, who, with level mind. 
Thy lot, by prescient grace assigned, 
Bear'st ; that lift's confluent forces fix 
Our fates, and those we help to mix. 
Yield then the world its splendid blanks 
To those who pay it idol thanks ; 
I lelping or hindering, all fulfil 
Cod's ends. Strike we to His, our will 

IjCt crowns and empires come, or go ; 
Give me to fix mine inward eyes 
On things eternal ; truths that flow 
From lips inspired, divinely wise. 
Of bard or prophet, lords of soul 
Who each, their wcirld of thought control, 
Godlike ; whose high and heavenly race 
No knavish rouis, one hour, displace. 

1.^1 earth, then, round her axle roll, 

In strengthful calm ; while, from the pole, 

The Fall of Paris. 


Farii, Saturday, Stfl. lo, 

YES; I mean to stop here and see the siege, 
can't last, yon know. I've thought it over, and S 
rather like the notion j and then it will be something \ 
3 talk about when it's done." 
1 said that this morning to an old friend who had come 

" You really mean to stop, do you ? More fool you. YouTi be 
sorry for it when you're locked in, and can't even squint through the •\ 
keyhole. Bombs to listen to, and rats to eat, are not cheerful for 
anybody. I can understand a fellow facing them if it's his duty ; but 
you, a Britisher, who have the right to run away, would be an arrant 
idiot if you didn't. And besides, 1 should like to know by what 
process of reasoning you can get your conscience to approve your , 
subjecting those children of yours to the dangers and suffering which | 
are coming on to Paris ? " 

" Danger and suffering be hanged !" I scornfully replied. " Paris ' J 
can't really be defended ; it will be only a clever show for the honour , 
of the thing. They'll come unscrewed within a month; and as for I 
shells, why, how are they to reach us here? The Boulevard 1 
MaJesherbes is covered by the Bois, and the Bois is covered by ■ 
Mont Val^rien ; it wil! be a long Prussian gun that will throw 1 
shot in here." 

"Well," said my friend, gravely, " I fanded you were a wiser man. I 
It's your business, not mine. Good-bye; poor little children !" | 

^Vhen he was gone, I looked out of window. Now I have noticed " 
that looking out of window is a position which not unfrequently | 
engenders sage reflection : so it was to-day. My first impression was I 
that there was absolutely nothing lo look at. My friend had vanished i 
round a corner ; there wasn't a soul on the great pavements of the 
£oiJcv~aid, not a cab on the macadam ; all the ^h\i\.\eta wckl ^«^^s^ 


The Gentleman's Magazine. 

up in tho houses round us, and there wasn't an object to catch itiy 
eye except the growing dirt-heaps which have accumulated in all the 
streets since Paris has taken to arming and given up cleaning. My 
second fancy (it came, I can't tell how, by one of those hugt 
jumps that thinking alone effects, and which no acrobat can evcf 
imitate) was, that if all those shutters were locked in, it was b«au« 
the people who live behind them havt- absconded. Why should ihcy 
have gone, if we can stay ? And tliose dirt-heaps, too ; they furaiih 
nasty evidence that Paris isn't Paris now. My thoughts grew mistjr. 
A lialf-d reaming vision fonned itself aliove the tree-tops in the Pare 
Monceau opposite ; a vision of vague oudine, mixed up vidl 
scrambling rats, and falling shutters, and giant piles of unswqit 
filth, and whiz;iing bombs, and Prussians twelve feet high, and voices 
yelling at me, " Vou fool ■ " In fact, a wild, knotted niglitniare in the 
sunlight, made up of the words 1 had heard and the things I had 
seen during the half-hour before. I fancied suddenly that I heard a 
crying child — my child crying for food and crying from pain. This 
was too much. I turned sharp round, and the distorted day-dream 
vanished. I felt cold and nervous, but in ten seconds realities came 
back, and therf passed through mc one of those rushing revuludu 
which carry all before them, ride over argument, and pulveriw 

' The Fall of Paris. 585 

(like all old maids), I expected she would give me what the French 
caU a '* soaping." 

But she mercifully didn't ; so I patted her on the back, and said, 
" Now that's the way to behave. Never bully a fellow when he 
knows he's wrong. Where to ? Ah ! where to ? Well, it's getting 
coldish for the sea-side, and there are too many people there already, 
and I don't think they take luggage by the Normandy trains ; and as 
the Prussians will of course go down to the coast, we shouldn't gain 
much there; and it's confoundedly dear at Dieppe and all that 
country, and I'm horridly hard up, you know ; and if one could hit 
upon some place that one could get to easily, especially with 
baggage, and where one could live cheap, and where the children 
wouldn't be too dull — poor little darlings, that I was going to wilfully 
assassinate in this Paris ! — and where I could find somebody to talk 
to, and where you could have a good church to say your prayers in ; 
that would be the sort of thing, you know." 

Amdie listened without interruption to this dishevelled speech of 
mine (I was half afraid to stop it, for fear she should begin to lather 
me after all), and answered one single word — " Versailles ! " 

" Versailles ? " I screamed. " Versailles ? You're mad ! — madder 
even than I was to think of stopping here ! Why, Versailles will be 
burnt, or pillaged, or requisitioned off the face of the earth ; and we 
should be all starved there, and see all manner of horrors. Versailles, 
indeed ! I'd as soon go to Metz, itself." 

Am^ie kept her temper (glory be to her !), and contented herself 
with responding, " You asked me for advice ; I gave it, and I repeat 
it Let us go to Versailles. It's about the only place in France 
which combines all the conditions you just now indicated ; and as 
for danger and starvation, we shall have to risk them anywhere. 
Decidedly I vote for Versailles." 

As, on t]|e whole, I was very contrite, and as my sudden conversion 
from the decision to stop in Paris to the opposite one of instant 
flight had momentarily made me somewhat diffident as to the value 
of my own opinion, I determined to be guided by woman's instinct ; 
which, after all, is often surer than man's wisdom. 

So Versailles was unanimously elected — I may say amidst loud 
cheering — for the children came in with a rush, and yelped with 
delight at the news of our precipitate departure. I began to recog- 
nise that they were not stopping here because they liked it, that 
they thought any place was several stone better than Paris, and that 
I had been, as men always are, a selfish brute not to foresee the 
possible trials which the siege may bring about. 

386 The Gcnllcmaiis Magazine. 

In five minutes our plan of action was matured. Wc g<f to- 
monow. Amdlie trotted off to the Rue St. I,azare to catch the 
12.30 Versailles train, and see about a lodging ; the children opened 
all their drawers and threw everything on the floor, noCuvithsUtfidiiig 
Ihe Virions expostulations of Ethel, our old English nurse, under 
pretence of packing up their dolls. I proceeded to hunt out a can 
for the transport of our boxes to the chef lieu of Seine-et-Oise. At 
dinner we met again. Am^ie reported that she had had infinite 
success. She had discovered and had hired a first floor in the Rue 
des Reservoirs, just opposite the hotel ; all the comforts in life ; rather 
small, it was true, but big enough for a few weeks' stay, an adorable 
landlady, and rent only 8/. a month. I announced that after four 
hours of researches I had at last succeeded in unnesting a little cart. 
said to be the only one in Paris which is not employed in canj-ioe 
ammunition to the forts ; that the negotiation with its owner had 
been laborious, but that he had finally condescended for the sum of 
thirty francs — about three times the rate in ordinary limes— to do us 
the favour to change the longitude of our trunks. The children's 
report of progress was less satisfactory. It seemed, so far as we 
could gather from their extremely contradictory statements, thai there 
had been a general mixing up of dolls' clothes on the floor, and ihai 
a scrimmage had resulted from conflicting claims to the properly of 
many of the articles. 

The evening was spent in joyous packing up, and I fancy that I 
was the most contented of us all. I felt as if I had got all the 
family out of prison. 

yenaillii, Sunday, Sefl. IT. 

We came down to-day by the 1.30 train. The boxes were count- 
less hours on the road, for the animal which dragged them »"« 
eminently unequal to the task, especially as we had audaciously 
added a piano to the pile. However, all was safely landed in ih* 

The lodging is not quite so splendid as Am^ie gave out yesierdaji 
and as for the landlady, it would take a good deal to enable rne U 
adore her ; but anyhow we are out of Paris, 

Monday, Sffl. II. 

Surely they are not going to defend Versailles. I have wandered 
about to-day, and have seen the National Guards all drilling, and 
deep trenches cut across the roads outside the gales. What is ill 
that nonsense for? The trenches don't even slop the market 
women; they simply drive round them in the fields ; and I suppose 

The Fall of Paris. 


ihe armies of King William can do the same. As for the National 
Guards, ihey and their firelocks are really very funny. Most respect- 
able old fogies they seem to be, full of earnest desire to learn how 
to hold iheir weapon so that it mayn't hurl them ; as for its hurting 
anybody else, of course no one expects such an impossibihty as that 
I stood looking at some of them for half an hour this morning : 
most of tiiem appeared to be suffering from acute rheumatism, and 
the old Zouave who was trying to instruct them did swear graphically, 
They reminde<l me of the soldiers in "' Bombastes Furioso ; " for their 
ordinary formation was "as you was before you was as you were." 
When they were ordered to ground arms, they first most carefully 
removed their toes from all possible neighbourhood with die butts of 
their venerable muskets^I think 1 saw one which had no lock, but, 
as Paddy said, " the Prussians don't know that I"), and then they osciU 
laiingly endeavoured to maintain the perpendicular while they 
gradually lowered down their blunderbusses about a yard in front of 
them. If these warriors should suddenly encounler a troop of 
Ulilans, they had better say, " Please, don't ; we were only playing," 

But what does it all mean? It isn't a time to play, and these 
worthy ancients may catch cold while they are standing about in 
this way. 

The piace is odiously dull, duller than I have ever seen it 
Versailles never was a lively place, now it looks like an abandoned 
cemetery. I hear that half the people have run away ; this is 
scarcely saiisfactory to ourselves, and has made me somewhat doubt 
whether woman's instinct is really so safe a compass to steer by, for 
that same instinct which has led me here has made Gve thousand 
other women quit the town. However, here we are, and we must 
face it now. At all events, the place Is clean ; that alone is a con- 
solation to emigrants from dusty, dirty Paris. 

Tftsday, Srfl. 13. 

I've found out all about It. Versailles is not to be defended ; in- 
deed, it cannot be, for it is commanded by the hills all round, and 
half a battery would knock us into shavings in twenty minutes. But 
there is a Republic in France (I had quite forgotten that), and the 
Republicans require that there shall be an appearance of defence. 
So the roads have all been damaged, and big trees cut down, and 
good old gentlemen have been called upon to drill, all for show. 
Now what is the good of that ? It appears that everybody knows it 
is a show, and that nobody is deluded. How odd ! However, it is not 
my affair. But if Versailles is playing this Uttlc Htrce for the approval 
of the Republic, it has really done its duty plucWiVy m a.Yvox.Viex ■«»}. 


38S The Gentleman s Magaziiu, 

It has sent its able-bodied men to Paris to join the army of ddilMC 
That is really creditable j I should not have expected such an a« of 
vigour from this great sleepy place. Tlicy tell mc that two tboQUod 
estimable pcoi)le are simulating soldiers here, all for show Had good 

Di^spile the spectacle offered to me by these brave citiicnK, I haw 
had hard work to get through the day. I shall go up to Fans to-momw, 
to slay the hours and see whether any change has come rincc 

Wainttday, Stpl. l*. 

What a diriy train it was ! Where are the days when tlie VeisaiUa 
line carried otticers of the Guard and pfetly women ; when iJie 
5, 10 down express was an album of amazing dresses ; when cnmmcin 
people stood admiringly aloof and contemplated those splendid 
passengers? Alas! the Republic and the war have scotched all th«l. 
There arc no e^iiiresses now ; the lumbering trains are always half-ao- 
hour behind time; inside and out (on the banlieue railways there 
are benciies on the roofs), the carriages are full of Linesmen vA 
Mobiles, and peasants in ragged blouses, many of them half dnnA, 
with no respeit of persons and no deference for firsi-class citshioni 



TAr Fall of Paris. 389 

considerably astonished if they are ]icked into military subordinatiOD ■ 
without much time and difficulty. I 

On the whole, I wasn't sony to get home again to Vereailles, out 
of the dusty atmosphere of Paris, and the roaring riot of the train. 
Paris saddened me to-day. Two days' absence have sufficed to cleat 
my thoughts, and I vividly saw the amazing change which has come 
over the capital of the world. So long as I was in it, the daily 
growth to war shape scarcely struck me \ I have been away for sixty 
hours, and am astonished at the mighty alteration in all one sees. 
Old habits arc destroyed ; indeed, they have become impossible, A 
How could I have been so incredibly idiotic as to intend to stay it ■ 
I shall never respect my own opinion again, but I say that ■ 
ime I see that I made a big mistake. The mistake was so 
this time that I will really make a solid effort to remember it. 
Dull old Versailles, how green and calm you looked as I walked 
homewards from the station, with the din and dust of Paris and the 
trains still in my ears and eyes I I went into the church as I was 
passing it, and said a "Gloria Patri" in thankfulness for getting here. 

Thuriday, Sift. 15. I 

The Prussians are coming on at a rapid pace. They are close np 
to Paris on the other side. Cunning people calculate that they will 
stop there, and will not come so far as Versailles, which, they say, 
lies too much away from their basis of operations in the east Other 
people, who seem to me more cunning still, reply that as the Prus- 
sians have but one object, the siege of Paris, they must necessarily 
surround it ; and that, as Versailles is in the ring, it must of course be 
occupied at once, even if it did not offer such special resources as it 
does in barracks and hospital accommodation. I chime in with the 
latter view : they will come for certain, and very soon, I fancy. I 
lecognise that I am getting rathef frightened ; ihedanger is growing 

iminent, and I see that I don't like it. So long as I only read in 
newspapers about other people's sufferings, I said, " How shock- 
ing r but that didn't prevent my going quietly to sleep at night 
To-day I have realised somewhat abruptly that we, too, are going 
to have our turn, and that it will be then for more distant readers to 
say " How shocking I" as the story of our Versailles miseries reaches 
them. I own that this is but a proper punishment for selfishness, 
but the propriety of the thing doesn't make it any pleasanier. I 
have several times to-day looked nervously at the children, poor little 
darlings ! And besides the danger, which looks all the blacker to 
me because I can't tell what form it may assume, tiieie \& 'Oc\ai n3.aVj 

390 The Gentleman s Magasine. 

question of seeing blood. I suppose we shall have battle ronmi m, 
and [ suddenly discover that I don't like that either. ! ought lo 
have thought of all this before^weeks ago — -when there was stilt 
time lo go a long way off, and get into real, substantia! safet)'. But 
anyhow, whatever happens, surely this will be better than Paris. 1 
am in a fluctuating state of mind to-night, abominably uncotnfocubk 
and decidedly growing into terror. What is going lo happen to us? 

Friday, Sift. 16. 

I had a weary night ; sleep wouldn't come ; anxiety took its pUce 
— perhaps more the anxiety of doubt than of absolute, welWefiDed 
apprehension. But whatever may have been its precise nature, il 
gnawed me nastily, and I rolled feverishly about iti bed till dawn 
came and dissipated my black emotions. I never more distinctly 
realised the power of light as an antidote to nervous fear. 

What will the Prussians do to us ? That is what we all want lo 

iThe day passed weanly away. All the news was bad. Spiksd 
helmets are in sight of Paris; Uhlans are riding along the Seine it 
Villeneuve, wiil it be our turn to-morrow? The children laugh, 
and say the Prussians won't hurt innocent outsiders like ourselves. 
Am^lie goes much to church. We have begun the manufacture of a 
British ensign, which Wt mean to hang at our windows in testimony 
of our neutrality W ill that be any gooil ? If people are slaughtered 
round Uh, will our bunang save us? It is abominably unpleasant 10 
be in such a state of mind as this. 

Satiinliiy, Stfl, I J, 

I have been up again to Paris to-day to fetch more clothes ftom 
home, for the idea is dawning on us that our stay here may be longer 
than we thought. The aspect of the train was altogether changed— 
there was scarcely a soldier in it ; indeed, I doubt if there were 
twenty passengers altogether either way. The troops seem to have 
all reached their quarters and to have left off travelling. 

I was not altogether comfortable during the few hours I passed 
inside the walls ; it was not impossible that the railway might be cut 
to-day, especially as Pnissian cavalry was known to be all round out' 
side. I should not have at all appreciated a walk back to Versailles, 
and it was a vast relief to me to learn, on getting to the station, thai 
the trains were running stilL I got home all right, and was welcomed 
by eager faces out of window ; all had been anxio 
back, and I was overwhelmed by little arms and many kisses a 
upstairs with the bundle I had brought from home. 

The Fall of Paris. 391 

The evening passed off anxiously ; the wildest rumours were about ; 
the Prussians were in sight ; they were burning all the villages ; they 
were exporting all the male inhabitants to Germany ; they were com- 
mitting the most odious atrocities ; they had declared their intention 
to bombard Versailles without waiting for its capitulation — and a 
quantity of other equally palpable lies, which, however, frightened 
the woman part of the population, and seemed even to find some 
credence amongst the men. I knew the Prussians would not come 
in at night ; they don't like working in the dark ; but I went to bed 
with the conviction that we should hear their trumpets in the morning. 
The children seem on the whole to rather like it ; they are certain 
we are in no danger, and they have the blindest confidence in the 
red ensign now floating outside in the light breeze. In their eyes it 
is a talisman. 

Sunday ^ Sept. 1 8. 

I was up and out at six this morning. I found half the population 
in the streets ; the good people must have made an effort to get up 
so early, for I am sure they don't usually turn out at sunrise, but the 
situation is so exciting that no one could stop in bed. 

No Prussians, and no kind of news, but the very air seemed 

After hanging about the street corners for an hour, I went to mass, 
and then I turned home for coffee. But I couldn't stop indoors. 
I tried to read, I tried to write, I tried to talk quietly to the children, 
but none of it would do. I felt red all over ; I couldn't even sit 
down ; if I unconsciously took a chair, I got off it in half-a-minute. 
It was a new situation, and a hot one ; we were waiting for the soldiers 
who have ridden over a third of France, and who are coming to ride 
over us to-day. 

At eight o'clock I went out again, but only to return five minutes 
afterwards ; and so I went on, in and out, listening to imaginary 
sounds in the air, till nearly nine, when Amt^lie took the children 
down to church. I walked with them, but the strain was grown so 
violent that I couldn't stand it, so I rushed away. 

At 9.30 I was at the station waiting for the first Paris train to buy 
a newspaper. Two hundred other people had come there for the 
same purpose, and a pretty fight there was to get a Gaidois ; I 
thought I was in Tipperary. 

The railway people told us that a telegram had just come from 

Paris to stop the trains ; so they were going to send up the carriages 

at eleven, and thenceforth there would be no communication. This 

was grave ; it meant, beyond all doubt, that the Pivvsmtv^ >nc\^ cN.^^<i 
Vol. VI., N.S. 18; i. d \i 


The Gentletiiaiis M 


u|). I went hoiin,- again with this vtiiw-. and at eleven tried tob 
1U.^I. It wiis hard "work to i^al, luii ■ ■■indiow I did sw;iUaw baU4- 
^•j/xrt mushrooms and a cup of cdtii t, and then 1 began to snuike 
again — thai, at all events, I could do, 

Tho comnitiiitin in the streets was |>jin6a to look at If I hajn't 
bvcn suapiiallinglyafr.iid, I should have got good studies of frighttnwl 
l.icts, liiit I myself H-as u|) the trc- with all the othc-n, and I am 
Li^ruiin ih.U I might have made my uwn portrait with ^dvoiiuge^ I 

At twelve o'llwk I ivent to the Mairie. For the lasl few da)'* 
that ugly huililing has -been the ti'iural point of Vtrsullos ne»i 
'I he iriiivd the'e is ahvaj's thick, for evcjy one comes for iiiforauitioa. 
Thf t;r(iii|js befiire tilt railings vlti; very deiise to-day, but ^wre 
was nothing fresh. The Paris (lajurs of this momiiig had alrrad]> 
told LIS all, I listened to the talk, and maiked that bounce wasgooe. 
Tiicre was only une ftllow who mill talked big, but he «■« good 
euouyh to evjibin the reason why, He said i " My courage UM 
n.'iisdws, my indignation is so terniM , that really I could not venwe 
ti! Kttjp in my vilkigc- In biiiit of my intelligence, whidi a 
rumarkalile, I knosv I shouid have heen carried away by the nilSnK 
fury of my ^uiiliments, and that I should have' slaughtered imoy 

The Fall of Paris. 393 

So we stood about, extremely bothered, waiting on the weary 
hours, and straining our eyes towards the hill-tops beyond the 
Avenues to see if a Prussian was anywhere looming into sight. 

Suddenly, about three o'clock, a wild scream arose of "Here they 
are !" as four hussars at headlong gallop came tearing round the 
comer of a side street and dashed up to the Mairie gates. It was a 
false alarm ; the men were guides, who had been reconnoitring out- 
side. They reported that they had seen the Prussians in the woods 
close by, had exchanged some distant shots with them, and were 
riding back to Paris by the Ville d'Avray road, the only one that was 
free. In five minutes they were off again, amidst a shout of hearty 

This adventure carried our excitement up to a heat that would 
have melted platinum. We now knew that the enemy was really 
within ten minutes of us ; at any moment the famous Uhlan might 
appear from behind a tree. The mob grew silent ; the National 
Guards on duty at the Mairie fell in and formed a relatively straight 
line. I thought their intention was to be ready to propitiate the 
Prussians by j)resenting arms to them on their arrival, but it was not 
that at all ; the object of these warriors was to drive the crowd off the 
wide side-alley into the road. They advanced upon us with a flurried 
waddle, pushing us with their specimens of ancient firelocks, and 
tragically ordering us "en arriere !" Poor old fellows ! It was the 
only militar)' movement they have had to execute, and I won't 
expose them if they talk of it hereafter as a desperate charge with 
fixed bayonets against the rebel population. We rather gained by 
this expulsion from the gravel walk, for we got into the middle of the 
great Avenue, and had a completer view around us than we had 
enjoyed beneath the trees. As I possessed the only lorgnette, I 
became for some minutes a centre of attraction, and was listened to 
as an oracle each time 1 looked for Prussians on the woody hills a 
mile before us. But I could discover nothing ; there was no show of 
steel between the distant leaves, and at last the crowd got tired' of 
me, and evidently regarded me with contempt because I couldn't 
satisfy their impatience. 

It was indeed a moment of emotion. pAcept the children, who 
were plentiful all round, no one spoke. We all gaped on till the 
Mairie clock struck four. As the last sound died away there was a 
sudden turning of heads beyond me towards the comer of the Rue 
des Chantiers. Silently and gravely, but with electric (juickness, the 
whole crowd faced in that direction. Above the heads 1 saw three 
dark horsemen advancing at a walk. Now my loigneXX^ ^et\^^\xvfc\ 


The Gcntlejuan s 


it showed rae lliree Ijbclc kolbacks, with the silver skull 3xA\ 
bones. Instinttivdy and half unconsciously I shouted out ' 
hussards de la mort." The crowd ruiiliedby a half'tiwallowoi ^ 

This time thtre they really were. 

In a minute the Black BnmsHickerB lodc slowly to the gate, 
laijyhinj; saucily at the scared crowd whJdl shrivelled backivsidt U 
their ap|jroach. One of them saluted, and in excellent French idud 
if he could sfu the Mayor, The National Guards respectlully cot 
dueled him to the authorities. 

The in.ilant he disappeared inside the lailings the mob dosed iB 
upon his comrades. One second had dispelled their tenor nri 
lirought them back their voices. How they did scream! od 
nliiuisl jnyfiiUy. Here were two Fnissians, all alive — real, posim 
rru.isjijii; — with various weapons all about them; and instead of 
miirdi'nng rhey grinned. They were prodigiously ugly fellow^ bull 
am cert.iiii the crowd thought them altogether lovely, because thQP 
didn't ch:ir^'e and slay. Some of the boldest attempted a OQQVA^ 
sation with them, but neither side could manage it. tliough ofcoillK 
they all shovitcd in the hope of so making themselves more CSW^ 

j the first man rode out again, as cooHjmifllt 

The Fall of Paris. 

the details, and was getting near the Maine when a sudden roar all 
cannon stopped mc short and took my breath away. Roar aft^ 
roar came thundering through the sunny air. I don't know how ft 
may be with other people who, like myself, liave spent their lives in 
peaceful occupations and have never heard artillery excepting at 
reviews, but on me this first sound of balde, iat battle it evidently 
was, produced a staggering feeling of incredulous fear. For the last 
few days I have been resolutely trying to pre pare 'myself for war, I 
thought I had done so copiously, and that by mere force of will I 
had worked myself into readiness to face the thing ; but now that I 
had suddenly got to it I could not believe my reason and my ears. 
There, in front of me, some four miles off, evidently in those pretty 
woods of Meudon, men were killing each other. In an hour, perhaps, 
the fight might roll in here, I stood and listened, and found, to my 
disgust, that I was not prepared at alL I was distinctly tempted to 
run home again and hide the children in the cellar. But 1 des- 
perately wanted news, and felt sure I had time to reach the Maine 
and get back before we could have musketry in the streets. So I 
made a rigid effort I got myself approximately calm, and went on, 
involuntarily stopping as each fresh boom of cannon reached me. 

At the Mairie there was an enormous crowd. The old story was 
afloat again — the French had won a great victory this morning, thft' 
Germans were in full retreat, and therefore the capitulation which 
had just been signed would of course have no effect. Nc 
ears convinced me that the action had only just begun, and 
sure no news of its result could yet have reached Versailles, I 
expressed some doubt ;« to the reality of this intelligence, and, 
finding that nO more was to be learnt, turned quickly home. Two 
minutes afterwards, as I rattled on, a heavy hand grasped my 
shoulder, and a rough voice said, "Arrfelei I" I turned short, and 
found myself face to face with an excited individual, followed a few 
yards off by four breadiless National Guards, The excited individual 
informed me that I was a Prussian spy, and that 1 was to come back 
with him. The four old gentlemen gathered round mc, evidently 
delighted, in spile of the trial to their wind, at being engaged in a 
really useful action for their country, and one of them made a gallant 
effort to lift up the butt of his blunderbuss as if to knock my brains 
out on the spot ; luckily, it was too heavy for him. My naturaiij 
impulse was to laugh, but I have seen in Paris so many spy 

, I knew I had better keep calm and silent until somt 
Tlised mc. The four ancient gentlemen formed themselves inW 

t they thought svas a square (poor EucUd !), the excited man 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 

me into ilio middle of the irregular li,L,^l^e, and wc wei* jut! scttil); 
oui. right legs lir-^t, when I heard behind me, "A\1iy, what the deiil 
are ymi doinj; liere?" I knew the voice, even before I coul4 tiim 
round to see tile speaker. It was a friend of years ago, 1 great nun 
here, whri didn't know that we had come down to Vcr^iUts, sod 
who had hcen slujieficd on recognisiiiL: mc & prisoner. Tlie cxptau- 
tion w.isn't lung. My incredulity ahnut the victory of the Freoci. 

and mj- Norfolk shirt— looking, 
unknown uniform, possibly related 
fellows of jeslerdfly— had sugge.'ited 
(the e.'cdled individual) the notion tha 
"rcfuiis la force armee." and. five nie 
ine. My friend said, "Get out, yoi 
foolish, and liegnn apologies ; but 1 
iheir duly, and entreated them not Ic 

mourning black, lik« in 
in Gallic eyes to liiosc ihrw 
to a policciuan in plain cbtliM 
1 was " un cspion." So be W 
;i to one, ihcy had bid hold of 
asses!" They did look vai' 
told them they had only daic 
t to be iinhaiJiiy. They awkwinfly 
I polygon, whose angles \wt& oi 

every stride. 

Tiien my friend look my arm, ,ntid wc chatted eagerly on OUT «? 
to tlie Rue dii Reservoir, He lokl mc all about the capiwlatidl 
and .'inid the Prussians were cominy through Veraaillea at once oa \o 
the St. lienaain riratl. .As for the batde, which -was m.iring (in, hf 
fancied il Mas only an oiu|josl eii;^agcmenL I tliought tii myadt 

pick up wounded. I went over to them, and helped to stretch the 
litters and open out the straw. My conscience told me that I ought 
to go off with the others and help them in their horrid work, but I 
could not make up my mind to the effort. I shrank from the sight 
of suffering and blood, as I had already shrunk from the sound of 
cannon ; and, to my own contempt, I stopped behind. . I contented 
myself with looking wistfully at the carts as they drove away, with 
shame at my want of nerve, and with envy of the courage of those 
who went 

At breakfast nobody could eat. We had too much to think about. 

Towards one o'clock the sound of battle died away, and it began 
to get abroad that the French had been driven in at Chatillon, and 
that the Prussians were entering Versailles in force. At two o'clock 
a squadrcm of dragoons trotted down the street — how we stared at 
the pointed helmets, the first we saw ! — and then we heard the clash 
of music and the tramp of men. A dark mass of infantry turned the 
comer of the Palace just above us, and during two long hours there 
defiled below our windows an entire division of the Prussian anny. 
All arms included, there were about twelve thousand men, a pontoon 
train, and sixty guns. 

For the first time I saw the men who have conquered France. I 
looked at them with bitter curiosity, but as their very presence 
tranquillised half my fears, I was able to examine them with much 
diminished anxiety as to the consequences of their arrival. It is 
wonderful how anticipated difficulties diminish when one gets to 

The men were short and lumpy, but the marching was regular, the 
step elastic, the lines well kept. The look of the infantry was grave 
and solid, though a little stupid ; there was no talking in the ranks, 
there was no bright colour, all was sombre, but all looked tremen- 
d?)usly like work. And these are the men of whom I have read for 
weeks, in all French newspapers, that they are weary and footsore, 
exhausted from want of food, and decimated by disease ! Their uni- 
forms were stained and worn, but not so much as I expected, knowing 
that the men have been sleeping for two months in the mud, without 
any shelter but their cloaks. As for the" horses, their condition was 
beyond belief; their coats were sleek and brilliant, as if they were 
fresh from stables. 

Versailles was occupied by a battalion and four batteries. I went 
to look at them after the division had gone through. They were 
camped in the Avenue de Paris and the Place d'Armes, just before 
the Palace. On the top front of that great building is en^ravtid^ iri 


The Genilema^i's Magazine. 


letters two feet high, the dedicatory insLriptbn: "A Unites IcsG 
did la France ;" all the «'orld knows that. There was hideous satiit 
in the contrast between the words abo\'e and the scene below, and it 
was a relief to see the writing grow dim as the sua sank behind the 
woods or Satory, and withdrew its light from the misplaced phrase 

I went home moodily and angrily, mourning for jwor France wl 
cursing the Pmssians between my teeth. 1 am almost reassured aEmni 
ourselves, and so begin to think again of France. 

The occupations of the afternoon h:id made us almost forget the 
battle of the morning ; in quick-living times like these, one inpresaon 
drives out another. But after dinner, as we were looking out in the 
mcii;nlight at some Prussian soldiers idling past (the view of the spiked 
helmtln is still strange to us), we snw a crowd coming slowly up tlie 
street, accompanying a long string of carts. Not one of u« said i 
word, but instantly and instinctively we all shrank back, and Am^lie 
i |iiii.-kly { lii.sfil the shutters : we all knew, without asking, what it was— 
that tiidse were the carts we saw sLirt this morrung coming back willi 
ivQiiiiiied and dyin^^ men, and that we were about to liave outfnt 
sight (jf blood, ^Vith a mixture of horror and irresistible ruriosiij. 
we looked tremblingly through \\\t jnhuiies. It was nearly dark, and 
we could distinguish nothing clearly, but as the nimbling waggon* 
pas-itid onward-; loihe Palace, ne saw vague forms stretched oat, and 

TJie Fall of Paris. 399 

but we executed it pluckily, thinking, and with reason, that as we are 
in for it and shall have to face all sorts of horrors, the best thing we 
can do is to habituate our eyes to them as fast as possible. So up we 
went, nervously I own, but with no blinking, Am^lie and I in front, 
so that if anything too horrible came in sight, we might keep the 
children back. The wounded men of yesterday are lodged in the 
grand halls of the ground floor, on the garden front; they have air all 
round them, pictures on the walls to look at if they like, and the great 
park slopes far away before them. Nowhere could suffering bodies 
breathe a purer air. The high windows were all open in the sunlight, 
and we stood at them — gazing in with wondering sympathy. There 
was not much blood about, and we saw no dead ; but still the sight 
was a hard one for quiet people like ourselves. There were rows of 
beds with pale faces on the pillows, some of them almost blue ; and 
there were baskets full of reddened linen, and pails of blood-stained 
water; and now and then a low groan came through the silence. 
The children never spoke ; their eyes were fixed and their lips com- 
pressed. As I watched them I heard a low pat upon the floor ; I 
looked, and saw it was a great tear that had fallen from Am^lie*s eyes ; 
she was wet all over, for she had been crying for some minutes with- 
out knowing it I led them all away, and we sat upon a shady bench 
till they had got calm again. 

Tm glad we have done it, but I don't pretend we like it Quite 
the contrary. 

Our banner had been waving in the wind since Sunday, and many 
other foreign residents had followed our example, and had hung out 
their flags. At three o'clock to-day a policeman came upstairs, and 
requested me to withdraw my colours. This intimation put up the 
civis Romaniis in me, and I sternly told the miserable agent of autho- 
rity to touch them if he dared. He replied, uncomfortably and 
deprecatingly, that it was no fault of his ; that our concjuerors them- 
selves had just given the order for the suppression of all flags ; that 
they had begun by striking the French colours at the Palace and the 
Prefecture, replacing them by the Prussian eagle ; and that bis own 
functions were limited to a simple transmission of the Gennan order, 
as it had been notified at the Mairie. After this explanation it was 
useless to resist ; indeed, apart from the inutility of revolt, it would 
have been bad taste and heartless to pretend to keep up the union- 
jack after the tricolour had disappeared ; so I pulled in my bunting, 
amidst the indignant protestations of the children, who proposed to 
immediately burn the town rather than submit to those infamous 

family, thai out vAA \ 
k to see the Crown PrinM 
ht, and was noi so inrumicil 
the crowd outside the Prefn:- 
n the washemomcn held their 
silence of indifference raibd 
rs Stood before the jptci Bid 
A not to wait long; at fm. 
rt rode out from the Rue ia 
s dc of the Avenue dc Pi«: 
n but kind, as I h.-trc always Klfl 
3jA tuM. As they crotced iht , 
^ ofa greyjacleel in the noddle 
A grey )jLcket there seemed so oat 
II I t;n lively— as wetl as they couUll 
of variegetcd horsemen, InsSnr 
i\as a Norfolk shin wiih a bro- 
cheltc of di'iorations hanging from a builon-holc, A Norfolk shin! 
Th:it looki'ii singiibrly English. Who could he be? My natidttl 
i:urio.sily wiis lumiSL'tl, but for some minutes I could see no mote; ll* 
sliilf Ii.ilI cloM'il u]) illicitly while tlie Prince was inspecting ihe gUHi 

of the mmiv-criloured uniforms, 
of jilacc th;it my eyes followed it 
least, llirougli tlut moving mas; 
seconds il was quite clear ; i 

The Fall of Paris, 40 1 

are alive still, and, so far as I can learn, no one has yet been robbed. 
We vaguely expected rougher treatment Rumours are about that 
outside Versailles cottages have been pillaged, hen-roosts depopu- 
lated, and fruit-trees stripped of their just ripened crop ; I dare say 
all that is true, but in the town no one has suffered yet. 

So Versailles goes to bed this second night with a cheerier mind, 
notwithstanding the mental rage in which we all indulge against 
the foe. 

Wednesday^ Sept. 21. 

The Prince's staff puts up in part, and feeds entirely, at the Hotel 
des Re'serv'oirs, just opposite our lodging. This morning a crowd of 
officers were standing on the pavement in front of us, and afforded us 
a perfect opportunity of studying the varieties of German uniform. 
About half of them were grand hereditaries, high mightinesses, 
serenenesses, or dukes at least, and they were arrayed in every sort of 
garment. There was the plain dark-blue frock-coat with scarlet fac- 
ings of the Prussian staff; there the light-blue and silver of Bavaria; 
then came the graver uniforms of white-capped cuirassiers, dark 
lancers, and blue dragoons ; and there sparkled brilliant hussars who 
shone in the sun in every hue — light-green, light-blue, black, brown, 
the climax of brightness being represented by the red tunic, laced 
with gold, of the Zeithen regiment of hussars. Even white was in- 
cluded in the show, by the presence of a cuirassier of the guard. 
There stood handsome Prince Leopold of Hohenzollem, the innocent 
cause of this wretched war; next him the Hereditary Duke of 
Saxe Weimar, who is decidedly less good-looking ; then the young 
Duke of Mecklenburg, who by his mother is half an Englishman ; 
the Duke of Augustenburg, a very sympathetic fellow, brother of 
Prince Christian ; the Prince Royal of Wurtemburg, not pretty ; and 
twenty others whose names I don't yet know — yes, there is Duke 
Ernest of Saxe Coburg ; I mustn't leave him out, for everybody says 
he is such a good fellow. Physically, however, I can't help thinking, 
whenever I see him, " Albert and Ernest berry much unlike, 'speshly 

After looking my full at this collection of clothes and princes, I 
went to Russell, and met him on the road. We wandered in the 
park, looked a little at the wounded, and then strolled idly into the 
Picture Galleries. There, in a half dark room, we stumbled on to 
the Crown Prince himself; it was too late to back out, so Russell 
presented me to him, telling him that I had been in Paris on 
Saturday. This was rather awkward ground, for though I am a legal 
Englishman, I am by habit, affection, and prejudice a ¥i^Tvc)KHva.xv\ 

402 The GoUlemans Magazint. ^^H 

twenty years of I-'rance have Gallicised me so thorou^ly, that it 
would liave seemed treason (o me lo tdl the Prince a wotd thit 
would jircjiidice the defence. But it luckily happened tliat I was able 
to answer all his questions by quotaiions from Paris ncwspapns. 
The only original information whii:h 1 ventured to let out was tlui 
Paris is very dirly ; that fact, I ani ci-rtain, cannot affect ihc German 
ronduct of the siege. The Princt ^iiokc with the deepest honorirf 
aJ! war nd I »h I litiide and language confirmed what I haw 

1 J h d f h m hat he is a thoroughly wann-hearted man. 
P 1 my h gh he be, it \-i but iair to say ih;it of him. 

K II I k d w h us, and told the children amaiing IcgcwU 

M n I 

I I L f t. . n I found that some of my French friends are TCry 
:int;ry at my having seen the Prince. They evidently consider that 1 
am abandoning their cause, and disbelieve my declaration thai thf 
interview was a pure accident, and that I should certainly haw 
avoided it if possible, Two days ago I was a spy, now I am hall' j 
traitor : from these two assertions I conclude thai the war hu 
produced an unearthly state of mind amongst Frenchmen. 

Tkuraiay, Sifl. Si. 

The Fall of Paris. 403 

rubbing her eyes. A minute afterwards I heard her sobbing in her 

This morning we could get no milk for our early coffee (the first 
direct effect of hostile occupation). This evening we suspend all 
music I shall mark the 22 nd of September with a black cross. 
Confound the Prussians ! 

The want of milk was only accidental to-day, but it threatens to 
become definitive, for the Prussians have begun eating up the cows. 
I don't imagine that they do it purposely to deprive us of milk and 
butter, or that German education inspires a preference for cow flesh 
instead of ox. I incline to fancy (and it is but justice to the invaders 
to take note of it) that the system which will make orphans of so 
many calves is but the simple conse(|uence of the absence of all the 
bullocks in Paris, whither they were conducted ten days ago, in 
order ta provide food for the siege. Since Tuesday a string of some 
thirty cows goes past us every morning to the slaughter-house. We 

The Prussians are hammering in requisitions at the Maine, and 
nearly all the houses are swamped with billets. We hear most awful 
growling about it all. Every man I meet has his own story to tell, 
proving how abominably he is treated. The fact is, that war is 
unpleasant, detestably unpleasant 

Friday J Sept. 23. 

This is the fifth day. We have left off looking at the spiked 
helmets ; the sound of German in the streets has grown quite 
natural. Everything is quiet, I walk about just as I like, the children 
are in perfect safety, and the prices of food have not risen yet. And 
we are getting accustomed to the sights and sounds of war. As for 
cannon, we don't mind it now ; often when the children are at lessons 
a dull roar thunders through the sunny air, one of them almost care- 
lessly remarks " Cannon," and goes on spelling. Wounded men are 
carted past us all day long, but we look at them with a mixture of 
pity and indifference. This morning early I was out with my young 
boy, whose seven years of life have not afforded him much experience 
of slaughter. As we strolled along we met four soldiers carr)ing a 
narrow stretcher ; on it was a dead man, whose arms hung vertically 
from the shoulders. The child looked curiously at him, and simply 
said, "II est mort, celui-lh,, n'est ce pas, Papa?" 

So much for four days of war. We have got singularly hardened. 
It is scarcely credible that we stand it as we do, but there's the fact. 
It is true we have had no real horrors yet to face, no battle \o\rwi 

404 7"''"' Geiillcnians Magasine. ^^| 

us. l)Ut tilt lilllc «-e have made aciiualntance with is ihorOOi^lf 
ouisidc the ring of ordinary esisti-ni t-, and ought to h*Te upset m 
miiri; tliati this. 'Thank God it doe'^u'l 1 

'I'Ik; l'm.*ians seem to be settling down here as if ihey were u 
home. I dim'l like that. Their ;irraiigeni«its fnghten me. Do 
lliL'y me.iTi lu .May? 

The Verr.aill;iis art: howling awfully. 1 compTchend it ; liilletinjf 
IS odious. 

'J'he Natiijnnl Cuanl was dissolved yesterday, but their nnns wot 
only !)ro\i^ht in to-day. I looked in at the operation for nn hoar in 
the ho|if of seeing my friend of Siuiday, who was so anxious to be 
disarmed. I didn't discover him. Most <rf the dear old ifenllcmcn 
seemed iiiiieh Ti-licvcd when the>- came out of the Mairic sfw 

dqw^iiling their ^ 
Mond;iy saliited n- 
eminuoiis liinv, tiir 
tln-ivliynCfering ih 
bowj;il ii], ami 1 ai 
ivhiii the> -01 h(, 

■apuns. Two of those who airested me 00 
nen-ously as ihey went by. 1 miuJc them u) 
\\\% ray hat all round the c«m{wis, in the hope ot 
■n some consoLmon. Frenchmen like to be wdl 
sure tJiosc wheezy old fellows said 10 tlicif wive* 
e ; " Tu sais, ce Monsieur qui o'rftaJt |)!t3 cspioa. 
, i|ue nous alliuns arrfeter tout de infnic; ehbtcn, 
Miulii nie faii'e un trcs beau salut anjourdhui, tnaii 
Cc Mon.sii-ur est trfes bien." ^Ul that earned 

The Fall of Paris. 405 

)ther and even more interesting subject of discussion was the 
on how we are all to get money to live. We recognised how 
isely foolish we all have been. No one thought the war would 
ao one laid in cash ; no one liked to sell out securities (when 
ould still be sold) at the low prices to which they have fallen ; 
e thought it necessary to look six weeks ahead. Now we all 
LTtled by the sudden recognition of the horrid fact that the war 
1st indefinitely ; that no dividends will be paid on ist October; 
ven if they were no one here could get them, because all the 
are closed, and there is no post ; that it is the end of a quarter, 
is a moment when everybody's purse is dry, even in the best 
ies> that billeting hostile soldiers* is a source of new and 
lous outlay ; and, generally, that we are all in a woful mess, 
is likely to get far worse. What a pretty picture ! It is very 
that when the money which each family may happen to have in 
is spent, no more can be got till Paris is re-opened. And 
will that be ? The calmest people talk of Christmas, while the 
ins think Easter far more probable. I should like to know 
re are to live the year out. One comfort (if anything can be a 
trt in such a break-up of all the respectable rules of society) is 
everybody is in the same hole. Nobody is rich to-day. In- 

1 wealth is useless. What is the utility of securities if they 
in no income, and can't be sold at any price ? Nobody can 

v, because nobody has anything to lend. Nothing but coin has 
alue now. What incredible idiots we all have been to let our- 
be caught in this way. The change from almost absolute 
lillity to inevitable beggary is so sudden, we realise it with such 
;tantaneous shock that it really is doubly disagreeable. 
,y on earth didn't we think of it before ? 

2 day has passed off quietly. There has been some firing at 
3nt, and some French prisoners have been brought in. We get 
Lccustomed to the sight of prisoners than to the contact of the 
ied. Each pair of red trowsers that goes by guarded by 
ian helmets puts us into intense rage. We can't rush out and 
;, so we shut the windows savagely. 

Sunday y Si'pt. 25. 

ave long known that excitement is the least durable of human 
ons, but really the proof of that axiom which we are getting 
s singularly striking. It is a week to-day since I saw those 
Brunswickers, when I and all of us were in wild commotion ; 
ncied we were drifting into all manner of fearful dangers, and 
ental high-pressure was proportionate to the anUevy^LV^d Wciqtr* 


The Gentleman s 

<jf our position. Seven days have sufficed to bring us down, not 
only to calm, but positively to a tuginning of unraisialtable sreiri- 
ness. I have already asked myself if it is worth while to kesp a 
diary, for the days are growing dc'^ii.iiringly alike; of newswebi« 
none, and ai. for great events, I fanc)' we shall see but one — om ridt 
home again, whenever that may happen. Our life is as dull as if "« 
were at iiath, and that is saying a good deal. However, I dull go 
on noting do«'n what happens ; wc are in the middle of a gresl 
tragcily, and it may be that I shall sometimes meet a fact worth 
menlioning. It will amuse the children years hence to rrfrdh ihdr 
meuinries with this diary. 

The regiments now quartered in Versailles are mainly compotal 
of Rhinelanders and Catholics. Several hundred of ihcm camcta 
Mass this evening, at the Church of Notre Dame. Now VersaiQn ii 
a very pious place ; its reputation in that respect is universal and will 
deserved. I!ut the attitudes of the I'nisstans were so devout, tluM even 
the Versaillai.'i were bdvildered at them. After Mass was aver, (he oU 
women stood on the church .steps in groups, holding up their hSDlIf 
ami saying, "Wliat a lesson ! they not only conquer France, boi tfwf 
tench us how to pray ! " Certainly it was a suggestive sight tO«t 
iliose suldiers on their knees on the marble pavement, their hodJ 

The Fall of Paris. 407 

five minutes before, and was certain the railing was all right then. 
A suspicion crossed my mind. I looked at Amdlie, and she at me ; 
the same thought was evidently in both our brains, for instantly we 
turned our four eyes on Madeleine, who has a most tell-tale face. 
She hung down her head, and turned very red. That was frightful 
evidence, and my suspicion became a certainty. I had a strong de- 
sire to laugh, but duty forced me to pretend to be very angry ; so I 
said : " You iniquitous children, you have broken that fence your- 
selves ; how dare you commit so criminal an act ? You will all in- 
evitably be sent to prison. And worse than that, you have told a 
wilful lie about it ; it was bad enough to pull down the railing, but 
to say the Prussians did it is to augment your sin. Dry bread all 
round." After a moment of consternation the boy said : " Well, we 
did it — that's a fact ; but if we hadn't done it, the Prussians would ; 
they smash everything. So you see, my aunt, that it wasn't a whole 
lie to pretend they have done it already, because it's only putting the 
dock on a bit. Get us off the dry bread, there's a good old aunt" 

All this didn't mend the broken fence ; there it gaped. It was 
baking hot in the sun ^ but inside the breach was a lovely shady 
garden, full of grand old trees ; a cascade, whose waters dripped 
fi-eshly over green rocks framed in hanging ivy ; where all was cool 
and flagrant, and where no Prussians could offend our eyes. The 
temptation was too great ; we yielded to it ; we scrambled through 
the gap, Hfted the dislocated palings up behind us, and spent two 
delicious hours lying on the grass, as solitary and as quiet as if the 
war had been in Asia Minor. 

As we were going home Amdie whispered to me : " It is not 
reasonable to punish children for an offence by which we have pro- 
fited. Let them have their dinners." This was logical, and I assented. 
So ended this important episode. I inscribe it here in all its detail 
because I have nothing else to say. 

Three special correspondents came to dinner — the Timcs^ the 
niustratedy and the Daily Ncivs. They ate mashed potatoes with a 
fiu-y which painfully indicated that they have been long deprived of 
that British dish. ^^^^^y^ ^^^, 26 

We almost cease to listen to the cannonade. There is not much 

of it, but it is enough to keep us slightly supplied with wounded, who 

come in every day in tens and twenties. In our afternoon walk we 

went round the Palace, and looked at them in detail. Some of the 

men, who were hit a week ago, were on their legs and were strolling 

in the sun. None of them were very pretty : hospital dress does not 

set off a man's persona] advantages. On the "wYioVe, 1 \^.\^^ ^*a:N ^ 
Vou VL, N.S, 18; I, iL ^ 


408 The Gentleman s Magazine, 

less attractive set of fellows. We noticed one poor wrclch wfuw 
aspect is singularly hideous ; his face is abominably rut about, ud 
is striped with white bands of plaister and half-bleeding scats ; but 
the worst of him is that his wounds have injured the muscles of 
his mouth, and nothing can be more unsatisfactory to contemplitt 
than the impossible twist of his lower jaw. How it has ever got into 
such a position, and how it is ever to come straight again, suipasKS 
our imagination. For the sake of his wife, if he has or is to hiw 
one, we hope the doctors wil! somehow bring him square. What a 
commotion he would cause if he were to walk down Piccadilly with 
that face, his white flannel dressing-gown, hair that was brushed Usi 
June, bare legs, and list slippers. 

After this inspection of repulsive sights, we wandered in the sdu 
and we — upon my word, I can scarcely write it— we committed tiiEb- 
way robbery. That phrase, however, is an ugly one. I'll tame it 
down by using the proper war verb — we looted. A week ago «e 
were a highly well-behaved, decent sort of family, with the unal 
notions about right and wrong, faithfully respecting other people's 
property, even in the absence of a policeman, A week of tbtM 
atrocious Prussians has made thieves of us. So much for bad isgy 
Clarions I I said we wandered in the sun. Well, as we wandered 
we came upon a lovely flower-bed. There were such dunniBg 
flowers in it I We looked at them. Then one of us observed whtti 
bouquet they would make. (I think it was myself; but no cne it 
bound to incriminate his own acts.) The insidious insinuation fifl 
on willing ears. It was scarcely beyond my lips when, with a hunied 
glance behind us to see that nobody was in sight, we all dasbal in 
among the plants, and in a minute ran out again with our arms (iiU 
of brilliant petals. When Versailles belonged to France, we should 
literally have all got two months of oakum for such an act ; but then, 
when Versailles belonged to France, we were, as I have said alrady. 
most respectable people, and shouldn't have done it. Now tlut 
Versailles belongs to PrassiS, respectability ceases to have any 
value, so we go in and rob. I found, however, that wc still renin 
some sense of duty ; for when we came past the sentries at (h* 
gates, wc hid the flowers under the children's skirts. That was a sign 
that we are not yet altogether lost. It shows that though we arc quite 
disposed to steal, we are not at all willing to be found out I 
&ncy that ordinary virtue very often takes that form. 

TUfidoY. St/n. rj. 

Are we really going to be starved ? That at all events would be * 
flew excitement, and would wake us up a little. People have beg _ 

Tk€ Fall of Parts. 409 

:elling us all day, with horror-stricken faces, that the Prussians 
bave ealen out Versailles ; that there is absolutely nothing left, and 
;hai the patriotic departments west of us have nobly refused to let 
us have any food whatever from their stores, so that none of it may 
Teed the foe. Of course it would be a superb spectacle to see the 
Versailles people and their Prussian victors die in mutual hunger ; it 
would look grand in history; the details of the discovery of my 
skeleton lying on the four skeletons of the children, with the bonei 
of Amdie and the servants in the corners of the room, would furnish 
a harrowing article for the weekly papers ; but I am afraid we are not 
likely to corae in for the sym[)athy of contemporaneous or future 
iges, if that is our only chance of earning it. Abstractedly, I don't 
believe in starvation now-a-days, and specifically I see that all food, 
excepting butter, milk, and eggs, is abundant and by no means dear. 
We shall see. 

No fresh wounded came in to-day, and we heard no firing. 

Are we really in the midst of a hostile army ? Is there really war 
between France and Pnissia? Our life is so profoundly stagnant, 
that I could almost doubt it 

I dined with Russell at the Petit Yatel ; he avoids the R&ervoirS 
when he can, because "there are too many Princes there." Our 
dinner was hideous ; we both came away in appalling hunger. 

Wcdntsxiay, Srpt. 2%. 

The Germans are a rough, coarse people as a mass ; no one will 
deny that. I should, consequently, have expected to find more 
brutes in the Pmssiau army ; I can only explain their apparent un- 
frequency In Versailles by the effect of iron discipline, and by the 
fact that, inside our walls, the men are forced to behave with relative 

1 make the observation because we have seen to-day one most 
perfect brute. We were idling in the Park, in a very narrow shady 
walk, closed in by tall railings, out of which there was therefore no 
escape. Women and children were about all round, and everybody 
was lazily kicking over the dead leaves to hunt for fallen chestnuts. 
Suddenly we heard a horse, and in one instant a ruffian, an officer of 
some sort, I regret to say, dashed through us down the path at a 
tearing gallop, scattering the screaming children, unheeding the voci- 
ferations of the mothers. To prove that he was in a conquered 
country and meant all he did, this most atrocious beast pulled up a 
hundred yards beyond us, and tore back again at the same wild rale, 
his horse's hoofs flinging the leaves and sand in oui tacss, bs ■«%. 


4.IO Tke Gentirnian's Magazine. 

Kjueceed ourselves against the palings to avoid him. I yAAt \ 
" Canaille ! " at hiin, as loud as i could roar, but he was indifferent te 
all but his own self-glory, and 1 had not even the foolisl; satislacdaD 
of a row with him. 

Tliis is the worst case I have thus far seen, I have hean! some 
bullying in the shops, and have caught sight of a little roughness in 
the streets ; but the tone of the Prussiajis, both officers and men, 
though very cold and distant towards the French, seems generally 
cairn, and to a certain extent considerate. Of resolute brutality T 
have seen none till to-day : that blackguard on his horse is my fiisl 
example of it, I speak, however, of Versailles alone ; I hear tlie 
Germans are frightful barbarians outside. I can't go and see, because 
a pass is necessary, and I haven't one. 

The weather is superb. For besiegers and besieged, such a, Aj 
and such a temperature take away half the trials of campaigning. 

This morning I met the Crown Prince face to face. I waaos Ua 
before I had time to retreat, and pulled up short to uncover as he ' 
passed. It was with positive tenor thai I looked round to see if 
any Frenchman had observed me. To my intense relief, there W) 
no witness of my salute, otherwise I should infallibly be denounced 
as a declared enemy to France. If I had not been presented lo the 
Prince, I should have passed him with my hat on ; but I don't think 
that present circumstances, irritating though they be, justify mc in 
cutting a gentleman with whom I have had ten minutes' talk, simply 
because he is Crown Prince of Prussia, 

An utterly blank day^hot, dusty, and no news ; indc^, there 
never is any news. We are growing distinctly tired of persistent 
sun, spiked helmets, uniforms, idleness, and princes. These arc the 
' sole elements of Versailles existence now, and we find them wesri- 
some and worrying. The whole thing is dull ; there is no kind ot 
satisfaction in iL And we begin to look uncomfortably at the dosed 
piano, and to think that we have sufticiendy done our duty lo the 
country by our voluntiry suppression of ail music for a week ; Jl 
least that is the view the children and I take of it, but Amflie 
resolutely holds out, and won't give up the key. I wish we could 
change our lodging, and get away to some quiet comer where (M 
should see fewer Grand Dukes, and where we could make a noise 
without being overheard. My patriotism has never been very deepi 
1 have always believed that "«i/ bene, ubi palria," and my dcvotira 
to the abstract idea of native land — call it England or call it Fntnce 

The Fall of Paris. 411 

— is limited to what appearances require. I do think that while Francs 
is in bitter woe it would not lie decent for us to be playing dance , 
music in a room like this, where -every word we say can almost be 
overheard by the passers-by ; but that is a simple homage lo appear- 
ances, and I should like to listen to the piano all day long, provided 1 
no one could hear it but ourselves, I don't see why we should stop the " 
children's progress in learning music because Prussia has beaten France. 
The moral of the argument is, that I want to shift our lodgings. 

^B Friday, Stpl. 30. 

|P Another Friday, and no fish. No milk again for coffee. Butt^ I 
■grown so dear that in our penury we are obliged to suppress the 
many dishes which require its presence. Al! this shows that we are ■ 
in for the consequences of war, Am^Iie, who is strong in cookety, ^ 
has been reflecting as to new in^'entions ; she already admits grease j 
for frying vegetablea, but she can't yet bring herself to oil— that, 1 
she asserts, is only practicable for Neapolitans and Esquimaux, 
dinner we tried mashed potatoes with milk (it arrived at two) instead 
of butter. They were so good that we rather thanked the siege for 
the introduction of them. Possibly we may learn more new culinary > 
arrangements before it is all over. As it is prudent to prepare for 
all eventualities (we seem to be learning prudence now that it is tt 
late), we have laid in lo-day a hundred pounds of meal, which has 
been salted and packed in jars ; so that if the famine comes we may ' 
contemn it. 

Then we have a Prussian Prefect. Versailles administered by a 1 
German ! Ghost of the Roi Soleil, what do you say ? But whether \ 
Louis Quatorze is content or not, it is evidently a wise act to give a K 
manager to the department. France has been so utterly centralised 
in Paris during the last twenty years, that the villages would all 
break to pieces if they were abandoned to their own control. Liberty 
must be learnt like all the other sciences. Men cannot jump into' 
freedom as we take a header in the sea. In France liberty haa 
always been synonymous with licence, and 1 suspect the French will 
need three generations before they will be fit to calmly manage their 
o'*^l affairs. As I have nothing else to do, I shall watch this Prussian 
Prelect, and see how he does his work. 

The red cross folly is loo much developed here. Nothing can be | 
nobler than lo tend the wounded ; and I look with heart-felt envy ' 
and admiration al the mtn who devote themselves to that cruel task. 
The group of good Samaritans who work here with Horace Delaroche, 
and who form the Versailles branch of the It\leinaLtraQi\ 'fxycivO:^ , 

4 1 2 The GcntleinaiL s Magazine. ^^| 

nitrit all praise and real deep respect ; bui what is lo be »id ofprt 
young girls who have never been near a hospital, atid who, I im 
sure, would turn up a side street if th'y saw an approaching Utter, i»i 
who eciiiie trolling over the pavemctii in htgh-hceled bouts with iht 
Mallune barigc- on their arm or shoulderP For these young aHots 
thu- red cross is an article of dress. I hare seen men swaggering in 
spurs, lo make olhcri think they h:ive X horse. This war haipnv 
dutcd a new type of snob — the sham ambulance girl. Their pucnis 
oughl lo wliiji tiieni. 

SamrAif, OtI. 1 

No pleasanler for us to-day. Sliooting baa been ]»eiubitcil in 
Franee this aiitiinin ; and though \'L-rsaUlcG is surrounded byalistwo 
of yaiiie. wu can obtain none df ii. The I'rinccs and the st:tlTarc 
firing away all day, and we see thtui come back iirom the Satotj pw- 
si/rvoM with heavy bags, but tliere is nothing in them for our onuump 
linn ; it all goes to the kitchen ol the R&ervoirs, 

(; makes mt- tliink of soiiieihing else. The PruKiiau soMim 
dii Kini'll must villatiuusly ; a Red Indian or a dog wnuU foUin 
thrill a inilc otf by the scent, 1 admit that they have few focilitiet 
lor washuig; tubs are not supplied to them by their cotnmisnrai > 
ilii ) ^11., iM ilKir fi_et with some mlious utigiieni to keep llian hui! 

The Fall of Paris. 4 1 3 

journey would be altogether impracticable with children ; it might 
even be somewhat dangerous, for we should have to get through both 
French and Prassian outposts ; and, furthermore, the expense is alto- 
gether beyond our means. But the mere discussion of an impossible 
project is often satisfying, and soothes down irritation ; so we talk 
about it as if we meant to do it, knowing all the while that we shall 
and must stop here till all is over. 

Am^ie is the wildest of us all ; she can't even look at a Prussian 
without a shudder. She says she now understands the state of mind 
of an electric eel, for her one desire is to sting. 

Our house has not yet had much billeting. Two gendarmes have 
been here for ten days ; we see them sometimes in -the doorway. 
They seem to be decent, quiet fellows, and I almost fancy that they 
wash themselves. They play with the little child of the concierge^ 
and laugh when he says to them, " Moi prendre gros canon et tuer 
m^sants Poossiens." They know enough French to be able to under- 
stand the boy, and the fury of his eyes must aid them to seize his 
meaning. But they are magnanimous, and don't mind. 

This morning we all went to market. We thought we had waited 
long enough for the promised famine, and we went to see with our 
own eyes if it were coming. Our disappointment was complete. 
There is no apparent probability that Europe will have to say, 
** Those unhappy people at Versailles, literally dying for want of 
food ! Poor creatures, how very frightful ! " I had already judged, 
from the variety of our eating, that the town was well supj^licd with 
food, but I was not at all prepared to see, in the very midst of war, 
so astonishing a show. As for fruit and vegetables, they were in 
such abundance that the mere sight of them was strong evidence 
against the reports of pillaging outside. Dairy products were scarce, 
cheese especially, but there was butter for those who are able to pay 
five francs a pound for it Everything else was incredibly plentiful. 
There were endless piles of snowy cauliflowers, of blushing tomatoes, 
of salads, of every kind of beans. Poultry hung in interminable 
strings. The overflo^^^ng baskets of yellow pears, of ruddy apples, 
of bloom-covered grapes, were pictures to contemplate. And prices 
were extremely low, certainly far below the average of previous 

I learnt the reason of this abundance. The villages round 
Versailles are full of market -gardens, poultry farms, and orchards, all 
for the supply of Paris. Paris is locked up ; consequently all this 
mass of food is sent in here. No other market is accessible ; and 
as the things must be sold or thrown away, they go foi >Nl\aX xwa.^ b^ 


The GenilemaiC s Alagasim 

offered for them. This is niinous for the growers, but it is T 
pleasant for Vereailles. How long will it last? 

If we were honest, we should congratulate ourselves on out bx, 
aod should ht-artily thank Providence for placing us in so privileged 
a position, while all France i.s sulTering and in danger. But evideodf | 
we are not honest, for we have growled and grumbled all day long. 

TuiMay, On. 4. 
To-day there was a review of cavalry, before departure on Ibe 
road to Orleans. ^Ve did not go to see it, partly because it nas 
some way off, partly becRuse we have got a thorough indigestion of 
Prussian soldiers, anfl don't want to sae more of them than we can 
help. But notwithstaniling our ill-temper, we could not hdp 
admiring the four regiments which passed our windows after die 
review. First came the Prussian Black Hussare (not die Brunswidt 
death regiment) ; they wear black tunics, heavily brocaded in sBtw. 
Then followed the Brown Hussars ; a most effective dress— iht 
chocolate jacket embroidered in yellow. Both corps in ti^ts and 
Hessian boots. Third rode the White Cuirassiers of the Guaid, 
the strangest and heaviest-looking troopers in Europe — a mixture of 
Cromwell's roundheads and of Rhenish reiters of two hundred yesirs 
ago. These are the men of whom General Palikao said, " They art 
all annihilated ; there is not one left." If that was true, they have 
come to life again surprisingly, for 1 counted about eight hundred of 
them, all in blooming health. The Augusta regiment of dragoons 
came Uist, a superb mass of light blue and glistening helm 
Altogether more than three thousand men went by, all looking 
desperately as if they meant it. Indeed, the most striking charac- 
teristic of the Pnissian troops, even of the dandy hussars, is thai ihej 
look so workmanlike and real. One feels that they are not at play, 
and that they have come to fight, and nothing else. They rardy 
laugh ; and as for fun or arausanent of any kind, they literally doot 
seera to comprehend it. 

I have been strolling all about the town to-day, and have met * 
good many friends. Their complaints seem to be somewhat diminiih- 
ing: habit is perhaps producing its effect, and furthermore the 
niinous cost of feeding soldiers has ceased to be a subject of dedi' 
mation, for it is announced that the outlay is to be repaid to eaci 
householder hereafter, when accounts are settled between France and 
Prussia ; the money for nourishing your lodgere has still to be pro- 
vided, but it is to be a simple advance henceforth, and it will come 
back some day or other. 

The Fall of Paris. 4 1 5 

The general look of the town itself does not seem much changed. 
Tie substitution of Prussians for French soldiers is not the cause of 
Qy radical modification in the aspect of the streets. What strikes 
ne most is the almost total absence of ladies. At this time of year 
''ersailles is generally full of Paris families come down for air ; there 
re none here now, and most of the Versaillais have run away. • Some 
f the men have stopped, but they have sent their wives and children 
ito safety westward. "The consequence is that, as it was in Paris 
efore we left, one may walk a long way without meeting any bonnet. 
That is certainly the most salient detail in the general character of 
lie place, and it gives an air of special dulness to all but the Place 
'Armes and the streets converging to it. There the Prussians are 
Iways in active movement, but if we turn out of the Avenues you 
re in silence in an instant 

Perhaps we shall have an increase of excitement soon, for the 
wing's head-quarters are to be moved in here to-morrow. That 
iU more than double the number of staff officers, which is already 
irge enough, and will consequently increase the billeting. . But we 
lall see Bismarck and Moltke ; that will be a spectacle, and perhaps 

is a sign of peace for the King and his Ministers to lodge so close 
) Paris. May it be so ! 

(To be continued. ) 

Tun Rough Gallop. 


s are all over," and ere yet " the tphnj 

. profiiund quiet reigns in the gml 

whose baiintr has idiotic so praminou^ in 

vnnny a contest mmh and jouth during Uie eaiii- 

paifefi just cmicludcil. The jockey- liuy will ao more 1j« sunUHunedb 
.ilU'lld his duraf in jfjiirneys lo and fro, with a rouulc contunini 
iM the sUlik p;ini[j|iuri)Hlia slung un hiN a.ih stick; the long strtn;. 
will cease It; cUiller diiwn llie dusly lane en rvutt for NirwniArkct. « 
K[)Milii, or I loiK ;DitLT ; and the trainer's wife is reprieved awhile from 
thcisL- long hinirs of suspense wliidi precede the wired message nf 
virtory or defeat. Tlie Derby ho].".- of the stable sauotent lisilctfly 
fdiind the home pinJdock or in lee of the wood ; the cup howe taka 
thini^s wvily in his bo\, and hnndii ip nags of all kinds and dqpM 
lid 11] I in iinliii.-ity fur llit- wiiiL.r. Slay, there is the sr h oolmJSWr 

The Rough Gallop, 417 

stakes, and ultimately find their way into Mr. Tattersall's catalogue 
in a draft from the stable sent up for the sale to Albert Gate. As 
they walk in a ring in the great park-like meadow which slopes away 
from the trainer's house to the farm-buildings below in the pale sun- 
light of a December morning, you may note the style, bearing, 
and characteristics of each, and, if you are judges, perhaps assign to 
each his proper sphere as a racehorse. The flash, cocky gentleman, 
whose arched neck and proudly streaming flag tell of the Red House 
In or Spencer Plate ; the long, low, business-like looking nag, who 
walks so fast, and moves so truly ; the wicked-looking rogue who is 
never in the humour to try when wanted ; and the neat, compact 
little gentleman likely to be at home in any sort of company short of 
the highest The big brown colt who walks first in the string comes 
T5f a iamous stock in " North Countrie," but is a mere baby yet, a 
" late foal," as his breeder described him, and therefore backward as 
yet, and not so handy as the next little bay horse of eciually aristo- 
cratic lineage who strides so proudly behind. Look at his long, lean, 
taper head ; large, intelligent eye ; high-bred ears, tipped so daintily 
with black ; strong, well-proprortioned neck, and unexceptionable set 
of legs and feet. He is quite a marvel of quality, and when the sheets 
are whisked away, you can gaze long and fondly at his short, strong back, 
muscular arms and thighs, and hock clean, well-shaped, and in perfect 
harmony with the machinery which works so smoothly on any kind of 
ground. This is a home-bred one ; the apple of his trainer's eye, the 
pet of his good housewife, and hope of the stable. His lad is proud 
enough of him, you may be sure, and confidently brags among his 
fellows how he will give them the go-by this afternoon at Turnagain 
Bush. Next to him walks a magnificent chestnut, with blaze face and 
two white legs ; for them his owner gave a fabulous price under the 
Middle Park elms last June, when all the rank and fashion of London 
crowded fo the famous Kentish pastures, and idled away the sweet 
Saturday afternoon in the hospitable groves. The " governor " is 
especially proud of his fancy, and will have it that he will make the 
others lie down when it comes to mounting the hill. That magnificent 
symmetry and wonderful proj)elling power — what size and substance 
are his ! You do not care to inquire whether or not there is a softish 
look about his head, whether the white of his eye shows the least bit 
too prominently on occasions, whether the silky delicate nostril so 
nervously expanded and contracted is not indicative of a tempera- 
ment more excitable than courageous. Then there is a hard bay mare 
with plainish head (which her owner, nevertheless, loves for her dam's 
sake), and steelly well-formed legs, deep girth, and \iiv^Y.Q,^>^\A<:ixvaJc\.^ 


The Gentleman s Magasine. 

quarters, but with the tail set on a trifle low into « 
quarters. This high-bred lady is a Royalist of illustrious b 
neighed her fitst whinney when the rooks were busiest a 
round the snug Hampton paddocks, and the milky cones of At 
chesuiuts had not yet unfolded the glory of their snowy pyrainida. 
The black who paces on so staidly behind her hails from the green 
hills and sweet-attempered vales of Devon, one of the last scions of 
a race now dispersed over many counties, and in whose sun-shelteted 
paddocks the red steers chew their cud of idleness. Massive strength 
and substance, rather than beauty of outline, is his characteristic ; yet, 
though coarser and commoner than his fellows, he bears the taiDI 
mark of high breeding, and his dark coat is ticked with white, pro- 
claiming relationship with the best blood of the land. These »rill 
tell your eye the most ; for the rest, we shall not care to gaie on 
them so long, but follow in their track as they wind up the narrow, 
chalky, turf-bordered road leading up to that huge billowy extent of 
downland which has so frequently from a distance broken the sky 
line with its purple mass, and to which our gaze has so oflen wan- 
dered when, with the eyes of children, we regarded it as the limit of 
our world. A few of the trainer's " afternoon division " are filing out 
of the stable on their way to the paddock, and the lad.s turn round 
in their saddles to look after us, and the brood mares Iieavy in loal 
turned out for a few hours' sunshine in the snug paddocks sland in 
silent contemplation of the cavalcade. Some of them are well repre- 
sented by their progeny in that yearling string, and follow its progress 
meditatively, perchance recalling the winter afiemoon in days gone 
by when they were actors, instead of spectators, in the little pica 
shortly to be enacted on yonder breciy heights. Leaving the honw- 
atead, we can hear the low deep baying of the Cerberus of the estab- 
lishment, the terror of touts and loafers about the well-guarded pre- 
mises, A shepherd on his way home pulls up at the side of the road 
to take a long wistful look at the lengthy file, and nods his recognition 
to the trainer, who rides by their side in earnest conversation with 
his iiiiie-de-camp, the guardian -in-chief of the stable and formidable 
confederate of the watch-dog. The head lad leads the way on » 
battered old servant-of-all-work, who, though unqualified for stuij 
honours, is, like a late celebrated character, to be "always retained 
on the establishment." The trainer and his familiar bestride a couple 
of these cobby, thickset animals, apparently peculiar to racing stables, 
The day is fine and still, with just a breath of wind now and then 
to rustle among the brown oak leaves, clinging so affectionately to 
the parent stem, and to shiver through the larch plantation with 

T'ke Rough Gallop. 

\ touch of frosty influence. Just wliere two roads conveige at 
in angle of the wood, and where tiie horse-track turns away 
*on) bye-way into the full c^tpanse of dovwnland, the procession 
Encounters a momentary check, and the leader touches his cap and 
pulls his horse round to await further orders, white the trainer (rots 
up to a fly, drawn ujj on the turf by the road-side, from ivhich the 
"governor" and a friend are in the act of descending. Their Jeha 
is an old hand, well known in the district, and, if rumour speaks 
truly, devotes his spare time to a little business on his own account, 
by a system of amateur touting. He would give his ears to be 
lurking in the gorse, which spreads so temptingly round the trial 
ground, and deeply bemoans his durance vile on the box seat, while 
such exciting scenes are being enacted a short distance off. Owner 
ind trainer are in dcci> consultation, as the boys get their orders to be 
moving on, and follow slowly in the rear, while the watchful dragon is 
left in charge of the pupils, who begin to exhibit their appreciation of 
tfie soft, elastic lurf, by playful gambols in every direction but the 
r^ht one. In vain does the head lad try to steady them, for the 
old *un has caught a trifle of the infeclioJi, and " fccis his legs " as 
manfully as in his yearling days. There is quite a scene of con- 
tusion with the horses plunging in the exuberance of high spirits, 
Uds now soothing and now threatening, and Mentor remonstrating 
is wun, until they reach a fair sweep of sound galloping ground, 
irheie ihey are indulged with a brisk canter, pulling up on the 
bop of yonder brow, and walking more steadily back to where 
Dwner and trainer are descried, mounting the last ascent. Close 
by there stands a bush, one of Nature's landmarks, such as she 
hn placed in the familiar hollow of the famous Heath, or on 
the broad Hampshire down, where the undulating course leads 
post rustic enclosure and primitive stand to (he world-renowned 
bstncss of the Days. Towards its gnarled and naked branches, the 
■port of many a storm, and weather-beaten in every breere which 
iweeps across the ridge, there slopes up a broad expanse of the 
most yielding turf with which Nature has carpeted her wild domain. 
With gentle gradient?, it rises from a flat stretch of the same mossy 
texture of half a mile in length, until all vestige of the track is li 
txpon a brow of downland forming the background of as sweet a 
eouraeas the fairy siud of Queen Mab could desire. Taking your 
stand at the bush, the eye may wander over that fair vale spread out 
beneath, whose distance the grey winter mist is softly enveloping in 
hs embrace. There you may trace the cold steelly-blue river in its 
through liamlct and deep pasture and biowti •«qo4, «.n.ii "■». 


The Gentleman s Magazine. 

mingles with the ghostly film stealing over all ; the soimd of viU^ ' 
clock comes dreamily up from that sleepy hollow, and responsive to 
its note the sheep-bell tinkles close at hand. Above, the aty is 
flecked with cold feathery clouds, and in the horizon the sun is half 
hidden behind yon stretching bank of purple mass, which gnidgM 
to earth her full fruition of the short winter day. There is a feeling 
of frost in the air, and the distant bark of sheep-dog and caw of 
rooks, as they sail homewards in straggling flight, fall distinctly upon 
the ear. Yonder coppice will scarcely hold a tout now, these 
worthies being engaged in iheir daily elaboration of " reports " in the 
village alehouse below, or snoring before its taproom fire, in happy 
ignorance of what is going forward "on their beat," The sheep 
scamper off their favourite feeding ground as the horses take posMS- 
sion of it, and a startled hare goes bounding away down the hillside 
as if she was leading in the deciding course of a Waterloo Cup, ind 
Master McGrath and Sea Cove had just been slipped to her. The 
larks rise only to flutter away for a short distance and settle again, 
and a flight of twittering finches sweeps homewards on their way to 
roost in some snug comer of the wood in the hollow. Now the rich 
argosy of high lineage is on its way to the siarting-posL As the 
string winds homeward in more sober guise than on its journey out- 
ward bound, a star peeps out here and there, and the filmiest d 
crescent moons floats above looming downland and gloomy pine 
wood. There is something nipping in the air too, which teUs of 
coming frost, and unmistakeable signs of itt influence in llie crisping 
turf and hardening track. The rabbit scuttles liastily to his huno" 
over the dead leaves, and an owl {absit omen .') preludes his noc- 
turnal rambles with mournful screech. A mist steals over the distant 
landscape, but lights twinkle cheerily here and there, in some upland i 
farm, from which the labourers are turning wearily homewards., TIk 
trainer, who has lingered at the cross roads for a last word with his , 
employer, follows moodily after his pupils, who seem to stride along 
more spiritedly as they near the snug homestead, whose gates art 
now dose at hand. So silent and deserted looks the whole domain, 
that you might fancy its precincts untenanted, did not a dull li^l 
gleam for an instant through yonder stable window, and the reftain 
of some stable boy's song fail fitfully on the ear. Presently, a!l*^ 
be bustle and animation at evening stable time, till things have been 
made snug for the night, and the trainer betakes himself to the 
comfortable arm chair, where, as he sits watching the glowing embcft 
all manner of fanciful scenes are enacted, in which the (avousie 
bay colt is a conspicuous performer. Now he is watching him ot* 

The Rough Gallop. 42 1 

his canter down the Bushes Hill, on his way to the post on the 
Rowley Mile ; now his eyes are fixed on him as he advances or re- 
tires with that wondrous rainbow wake, which sweeps up past Sher- 
wood's with such mighty force, on the day of days at Epsom ; now 
he is leading him back to scale at Doncaster, with a cloud of ex- 
cited Yorkshiremen in affectionate attendance. Then, rousing. him- 
self^ the trainer will scan the long list of heavy Yearling entries, 
and table up the " pyramid of forfeits " for which his pet is liable, 
and reckon what number of his engagements are " mere matter- 
of-health " or "moral certainties" for the crack. Meanwhile, the 
subject of his thoughts is taking things easily in his cosy box, won- 
dering perchance at the new ordeal in which he has so lately borne 
so successful a part, and waiting patiently his time, until plaited 
mane and pitted hoofs shall signal the advent of actual strife. The 
" shadow of glory " and " dim image of war " have been presented 
to his astonished spirit for the first time to-day, and when the all- 
important hour shall come, on which he is to struggle for the acquisi- 
tion of a motto for his maiden shield, let us hope that he will bear 
himself as proudly, and struggle as gamely, as on the evening when 
he left his schoolfellows " standing still " halfway up the last incline, 
or, as his master expressed it, " had a long way the best of them all 
in a rough gallop." 




[)R many years of my life I lived dose to the set, 
m estuary frequented by ducks of ill kmdi; 
diiring a severe frost, t\ cry lil^ stream and open iiitmg 
afforded snijje, teal, witli woodcock to vaty the bag. nid 
the co;v=t and river abounded with HJidfowI; till the coastguard, wilh 
their eternal pating up and down, drove them from the shore lo lit 
estiiary. 1 iiiii-st confess to a sneaking weakness for smugglers, ori|iB- 
ating iirobabl)' in the tales of darin;" which were the delight of my 
chililliood, the |)rineipal actors in n'liich I adopted as my heroes, and 
wliose feats I proposed some dny lo emulate. Our coast was the 
favourite resort of such gentry, and in my grandmother's time. 
it was 'J common thing to find in the morning that the cart- 
hordes h.nd lieen [iressed into their service, and were wet and dirty 
ivith the ni;;lir'=. wfirli. Many n rjrgo has been landed in Church 

for a lost bird. Directly the widgeon saw him, instead of showing 
any alarm, they swam across and followed him to within half a gun- 
shot of me, and I got two barrels with excellent result. 

I do not agree with some writers who assert that ducks have an 
acute sense of smell ; on the contrary, I have found that their sight 
and hearing are exceedingly quick, but whether you work up or down 
wind, of ducks or geese, is not of the slightest moment. For instance : 
in some flat marshes belonging to a neighbour of mine there were 
long pools, upon which the ducks were visible from a great distance. 
I stalked them by crawling flat on the ground, always down wind, till 
their heads were just perceptible, and on a level with mine — then 
springing up, and running as fast as I could, gained many yards on 
them as they rose against the wind (as nearly all birds do, but especially 
ducks) — thus securing a double shot flat on their breasts as they turned 
towards me, and adding many a one to my bag that but for this device 
would have been unapproachable. Had their sense of smell been as 
acute as is supposed, they must have winded me. These marshes, 
which were only separated by an embankment from an estuary, remind 
me of the old keeper — long since gone to the happy shooting groimds 
— ^in whose house I saw a large duck-gun hanging up, and on ques- 
tioning him as to its capabilities, he replied : ** I should advise you to 
have naught to do with it If you fire it once, 'twill make your head 
ache for a fortnight. For all that 'tis a terrible gun to kill. One time 
I was watching on Orcheton bank, and see six ducks come in. I 
£red to 'em, and when I got up again^ I found I'd a killed five on 'em." 
Many a time after a hard day's shooting I have gone to bed at nine, 
with orders to be called at two o'clock, and after a cup of hot coffee 
walked two miles over to the river, to greet the rising moon and the 
flood-tide, to sit on the rocks opposite to one of the fresh-water 
rivulets that trickle down through the mud, and watch for duck and 
widgeon feeding up them with the rising tide. My duck-gim was 
loaded with nine drachms of powder and three and a half ounces of 
shot This was a heavy charge to fire from the shoulder, as a fiiend 
of mine discovered one day to his cost, while accompanying me in 
the punt Having been unsuccessfiil with the ducks, I perstiaded him 
to have a shot at a flock of peewits, which were circling round us, 
before pitching on the mud. Standing up in the boat, he took his 
shot as the birds were flying back past him, which brought the 
hammer nearly under his nose; he pulled; away went the peewits, my 
friend being nearly knocked overboard, dropped the gun, clapped 
both hands to his face, and ejaculated : " By George ! what a horrid 
gun I ! " Although roaring with laughter at his ridiculous appearance. 
Vol. VI., N.S. 1871. ^ y 

TIic Gcnflemaii ■• ^faga^t^^e. 
1 wns jusi in lime to catch llie ■■lurrid gun" by the liartri, a» il 

1 li.ivL- -.pciU Tive nights during oru ucck in my punt, tritltoiu ffflog 
to bi-il at all ; somt-tiiiifs punting against iBurind, and Himtlimc* float 
ing with \\md and title down on a flock olS^S, which coutd behcud 
but not &i;cn ; somi'limes making a gocmQBg, someliiiies none mill, 
lint never wtMriL'd nor discouraged ; furTToved the nlillncM and n& 
tiidc--lhe cl.irk sUadoivs — the crie>< of the wildfowl, and Ihc wbiMleuf 
tile oltcT — all sounding dmilily wiKl on the clear night air. TTnae 
ioimds were oci^asionally varied b)- the report of the poacheni' gon* 
in ihc 11 cii;li boll ring woods, follnwii I not unfrcqiienily by an old cod 
|jhe:isjiit fl) il)g away chuekling a! iIk' Lltirasint'ss of the night maraodm 

And now a word on retriever^ of whit^ I can write front ItMig 
expurifiK e, liaviiiy :iKvnys liroken my own, and been exceedingly fix- 
luiijte will] inuit of iliem. The riT>t thing to teach & puppy is te b( 
dmvii, die MuM to lie in the exart >])f)t pMRled out, and never toJeiW 
it till liiM tu du so by voice or signal. When this is ax-WMUliSriitd 
your dug is more iVian half broken. After that never let him pici n|l 
anj'ihiny he >ees fall, hut teach liim to use his nose, and woAbf 
(jLcni, not i^iyM i :ind when he- has k-amt he is only lo recover wiapd 
or Houmkd t;amc that he cannot sec, he will soon give up ao.'^- 
good dog ba^ been 'Mioilt by t 

Duck-shooting and Retrievers. 425 

feeding will retard, but not prevent, the progress of the disease. The 
shape of the feet and legs should be studied in selecting a puppy — as 
a retriever ought to stand up on his toes, like a foxhound, or he will 
weary in a long day, and cannot keep up with a horse or carriage 
without fatigue, or getting footsore. 

A good retriever is an essential for wildfowl shooting — the best I 
ever had was a Labrador; but all delight in ducks, and hunt for a 
wounded bird entirely by scent, not sight Ducks leave a very 
strong scent on the water (nearly if not quite as strong as an otter), 
which is proved by dogs retrieving them, after a search of twenty 
minutes or half-an-hour, amongst thick reeds and rushes. I have seen 
a dog go into the water for a duck, swim up and down, and, suddenly 
atching the wind, make for a projecting bank or root (under which a 
ringed bird will often lie perfectly motionless), and fetch it out 

Spaniels, colley-dogs, and even greyhounds, will go into water and 
ake a floating bird in their mouths, but can never be depended on to 
)ring it to you — as they will probably land it on the nearest bank, 
tnd should that be the opposite side of the river, nothing will induce 
hem to fetch it. I never knew a well-bred retriever do this; if he did 
should class him as a mongrel, and treat him accordingly. 

The sole delight of a retriever, pur sang, from earliest puppyhood, 
5 to carry; and later to bring everything to his master, for whom 
lone he works, and whose ways and even thoughts he knows with 
afallible instinct Often, when wearied with waiting, have I dozed 
^K, to be awakened by the dog, curled up at my side, making some 
light movement, to warn me of the approach of ducks, which, but 
3r his sagacity, would have passed me with impunity. Those who 
lave visited the celebrated Slapton Lees may have wandered on as 
IT as Torre Cross, a fishing village a mile or two farther down the 
:oast, and been amused by the dogs kept by the fishermen to 
ssist in beaching the boats, which are built sharp at both 
nds. The dogs, a species of Labrador — fed almost entirely on 
ish — lie about in the sun, apparently asleep, but on a boat near- 
Qg the shore swim quietly oft", when the painter is thrown to them, 
nth which they return to the men waiting for it, who run the boat 
ip on the beach, and the prettiest sight I ever witnessed was an old 
QOther performing her accustomed duty, accompanied by two or 
hree little bear-like puppies, who followed her into the sea. I could 
aultiply stories of the sagacity of dogs, but of all the species commend 
ae to the retriever — for his boldness, perseverance, and affection. 

T Y 2. 


Thoughts for To-day and 


. DUM 


S an example of excessive vam-glory and over-confidcnct, 
foundc-d upon utter absence of real preparatioB aoi 
capacity for action, what we have just witnessed vitt 
iffi^Sft-i regard to the niiUt:iry downfall and prostration of ■■ J 
fortunate Fr:ince is obviously without parallel in history. Ooi (KB 1 
war chronicles, liowever, should cause us not to be too unspaiiiigk ' 
i.iur censures of our late sister and ally, when we revert to theitod- 
fill (.list in blood and treasure which has resiilte<l from our ow ' 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow, 427 

garrison of Sebastopol proper, as well as the outlying posts, out of 
existence without striking a blow or firing a shot. Reduced to its 
simple elements, such was his lordship's proposition. 

Now, as government commissions, or military boards and war- 
councils, who " sit upon secrets " are invariably most exacting in 
their requirements, and equally reticent of all promises, there can be 
no wonder that Lord Dundonald would have been compelled to 
divulge his dreadful secret, and thus furnish the " board " with com- 
prehensive data upon the subject. Briefly, it was to send into the 
fortress projectiles which should burst on falling, by their own weight 
only, and therefore could not wastefully burst in the air ; and their 
explosion would liberate and disperse certain gases and effluvia that 
would at once both suffocate and poison every living being within 
their influence. The hair of the " board " (to use a bold figure of 
speech) stood on end ! They said the proposal could not be 
entertained. It was not in accordance with the laws of civilized 
warfare. They could not exactly point out the law that forbade this, 
but it was not in accordance with the recognised laws. *' But would 
you not," his lordship is said to have argued, " would you not destroy 
the whole garrison of Sebastopol by shot and shell, with bullets and 
bayonets to follow, if you could ? " This was substantially admitted. 
Then where was the difference ? The reply was that the thing seemed 
too shocking — barbarous — in fact, not in accordance — new. No 
such " arm " as this dreadful secret had ever been used before, and 
Lord Dundonald was, with many thanks, bowed out of the council 
rooHL So the fortress of Sebastopol was eventually reduced by the 
usual methods of yet more torturing destruction of Uves on both 
sides. Each argument was right in its way ; but surely we may hope 
that the progress, not merely of intellect, not only of humanity, but 
of the homeliest process of understanding among the people, the 
poor " food for powder," will compel the world to perceive that both 
arguments were wrongs and that the whole of the processes and 
diabolical "arts of war" are essentially wrong, and an insult to our 
boasted and semi-sincere Christianity, as of the commonest sense of 
the common family of mankind. This is, of course, supposing 
that a nation is not actually forced into war. 

And now a word as to the novelty of this new and secret engine of 
human destruction. In the time of Nelson, and previous great naval 
commanders, a missile was commonly employed when ships held each 
other by grappling irons at close quarters, and just before the rush of 
the first boarding party, which was known by an equally oflfensive and 
ridiculous name, and which effected, or was intended to effect^ ;i. 

428 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

jKiiioncins and siifTocating dcstniciifin. Al any ratci it was llimni '' 
with (Ik- dirocL purpose so to shiptT) , 1 hoke, and blind ihc cnonj thai 
licshniild f;ill ;i more easy prey to thf 'i-illasseSitoinabawiis.piKi'Ai,^ 
musk tt -clubs of ihc boiu'ders. As fi.>r the old saying that lliae a 
■■llotllinjr new under the sun," it is uu doubt tiue of most thtH£^in 
Ijrintiijlc, and lo a certain degree in practice; but it is tint true in thf 
Tull stJiBL- of the expression. Surely the discovery, or invcticimi, rf 
guTi-tutKm is ni.-w ; the whole sysitin of telegraphy, by land and ki 
is nciv ; thf st-wing machine is new ; Daguerrc, Fox Talbol. Nicpa, 
.ind Cliiiidft* may have been umvittingly defrauded of iheir due 
honour liytlio sdcntifif. substitute tif the general term " photti(tni[iliy,° 
instcfld of combining men's nanics with their wonderful discovcrin,— 
neverthtlL'ss, the sun-pictures and portraits really are new Ihingi 
" under the sun." So, among oihLT beneficent novelties of our 3|t, 
we must a<i*iire<lly rank the humane discovery, by the great Scacitsli 
]»hysici;in, Sir Jatiics Simpson, of the use of chloroform in soipol 
itpL'ra[iims, and obviating the apparently predestined pangs of pailu- 
rilion, and tilher cases of human suffering. Would it not alsoW) 
new thing undi-r tlie sun of our vaunted civilization to suggcKl thai, 
so long as capital punishments are allowed to exist on the legal rodtj 
(it niuiims. some means of painl(^^s extinction should be adopltrdf 

Thoughts far To-day and To-morrow, 429 

present day should really have been scientifically manufactured ages 
ago, the great majority of readers may not be equally prepared to learn. 
Anybody, however, who will pay a visit of inspection ito the Royal 
Arsenal at Woolwich, can there see and examine specimens of breech- 
loading muskets and guns, of large calibre, that were made at a date, 
not to speak of other countries (China ! for instance), that will 
surprise most people. 

We note down the following as among the most remarkable : — 

1. A breech-loading peterara of forged iron ; date Edward VI. 
(a.d. 1461 — 1483). 

2. Wrought iron breech-loading French gun ; date Louis XIII. 
(a.d. 16 1 9). 

3. The celebrated Bhurtpore brass and breech-loading gun, in tuw 
pieces^ screwing together in the centre ; date 1677. 

4. Cast iron gun (a breech-loader), evidently of very early date, but 
precise date unknown. 

5. Brass gun, rifled : sixteen grooves, by Joseph Manton; date 1790. 

6. Wrought iron breech-loading muskets (weight 60 lbs.), date 
Louis XIII. (a.d. 1619). 

7. Breech-loading flint-lock wall pieces, 17th Century. 
Ditto ditto wheel-lock, date about 1640. 

8. Revolver, flint-lock musket, a.d. i 702. 

9. Breech-loading flintlock musket, date James II. (from the 
Tower of London). 

10. French double-barrelled breech-loading rifled wall-piece, date 

A.D. 1690. 

11. Breech-loader, rifled (14 grooves, i in 74^ twist), by FuUick 
Sanem, 17th Century. 

12. Harquebus, rifled by Kotter, a.d. 1623. 

13. Several iron breech-loading gims, made by the Chifiese, looking 
very old, but date unknown, probably of the 1 5th Century. 

14. German breech- loading guns and muskets, date a.d. 1550 — 

On referring to books in the late Prince Consort's Library, we 
find that breech-loading siege-guns were used in 1580, some of which 
were to be seen (at the time the fact was noted) in the Arsenal of 
Paris. By this time, perhaps, they may have gone to add to the 
melting material of the church bells. A five-chambered revolver, 
which belonged to Henry VIII., is now in Warwick Castle. Rifling 
is said to have been invented by Gaspard Zollner, of Vienna, 
A.D. 1498. The grooves were cut straight; but in 1520, Koster, of 
Nuremburg, adopted spiral grooving, apparently as atv ^y.^txvcwixv\. 


The Gentleman s 

The earliest known spcrinien nf ■m 
1588. But how wonderful have 1 
y&irs ! 'With regard to the milt 
machine for hviinan liesiniction was 
paragraph in the "Table Talk" of ; 
'■ a real nilirailleuw is described i 
William I iraniraonii, of Ha«thomd^ 


English rifle beam the ilaK rf 
L'en ifac improvCTHcnts of bit 
illeuse, even this compliciftd 
originated many years ^ A 
coDtcmpoTBTy * infomu i» Hsu 
\ a Scotch patent gtuUnl u 
1637, hy Chute* 1." Ttei 

is intereslini; and yet more surprising. " It was lo be called t~ 
fulmiiMits — in the vwlgar tongue, ' fyerie drogown ' (or ' wapjwti," ii 

r« iinnf^min wiiiciii rwiic flirt ' .t ■:ingle soIdicF is to be ohlc tnukt 
.' It WM to be formed of rautkei 
:her, apparently like the Montlgny 
ev«n five balls may be ^^ in 
' fire one.' Soaic other ntup 
curious old patent — such u the 
tfhich seems to have [>eeii » Kn 
i curious to notice how the «peif 
" the weapon. We fix a bajonB 
ne were to have a spcsir with 1 
ither weapon wm the tru bao^ 
e day, ' box-pistoll, nwi^kctt-txit. 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow, 43 1 

Even a more curious weapon (patented 17 17) is a revolver, of which 
the chamber-piece was movable ; so that, as one was emptied, another 
might be inserted. The chambers all radiated from a centre, instead 
of being parallel, as now ; and they thus fonned a sort of wheels re- 
volving in a line parallel with the barrel." As the writer informs us 
that these breech-loaders and other ingenious pieces were as likely 
** to shoot backwards as forwards," it is no wonder this did not start 
into extensive use among the soldiery, nor become popular in private 
hands. It appears that the shapes of the chambers of these re- 
volvers varied, " some being formed to shoot square bullets against 
the Turks," and round bullets (as a complimentary consideration) 
against the Christians. But the most complete proof that all the 
family of revolvers is of early origin exists in the fact of a five- 
chambered revolver which belonged to Henry VIII. being now in 
Warwick Castle, from which it seems obvious that Colonel Colt took 
his first idea. I'he first revolver made by Colt is now in Warwick 
Castle, near the original,* 

The speculations of our contemporary are no doubt well founded 
as to the treacherously explosive character of these early " patents," 
causing the inventions to fall into desuetude. Even the ex-Emperor 
Louis Napoleon, in his well-known "Treatise on Artillery," when 
alluding to a certain " organ-gun " of the fourteenth century, which 
had three tiers of pipes, and propelled 140 balls at once, designates 
the diabolical diapason of this early mitrailleuse as an "imprudent 
innovation." Yet the patentees of these very dangerous allies 
generally puffed them off with most attractive skill. Of one of 
these front-and-rear terrors the inventor blandly assures the public 
that " it is cooled by charging, and cleaned by firing it ! " Many 
other advantages are added, some of which very likely only needed 
time and expense in experiments in order to prove themselves at 
least founded on true principles. 

We may appropriately conclude our list of deadly projectiles by a 
brief notice of England's largest gim, intended to suqmss Kmpp's 
monster gun for Prussia. In December last at Woolwich the final 
operation in constructing our " great giji " was thus carefully and 
admirably described by a reporter of the Daily Ncios : — 

" Woolwichy December 13, 1870. 

"This afternoon the final operation in the construction of England's greatest 
gun was successfully performed at the Royal Clun Factories, and the monster 

♦The Editor of Thf Gentlcnian's Magazine has l)een furnished by Mr. R. H. 
Home with a satisfactory authority for this startling statemetvt. 

ir M 

432 The Geiiiicinan's Magasint, ^^| 

uuinon now iinly tviiiiin.ii \n be vented aiicl |<r<;vttt to be Tcadf br Knicv, «UA ' 
H i« CDnfitli'nily otiiLvtal \o be by Chri&tmLi^. 'I'hb nioroiiu the lubt ofllicvn. 
ftliicU k .ili'nii '.NK'cii fwl [iiiig, was lir'ji[i;li\ mit of ihc liKIor)' III wiridiUlm 
■ 11 nil..!, r.'i ri>.-rl. niuwlc dnu'tiwards. ii; a pit, under ihe mo«i powAl 
<\.d Arsciinl po!is«»^c«. At (he ^Die time tli« Iic9*)r '"i*^ 
'I ' I'.ii M'l-i^liing tifteen tun-i. nnd in shape tumcthing like i uiloi't 
ntar!)- lu rtdnc:> mi an rfjnccnt gridinm, in eido m 
on i)u' healed tnou vu CBiTlilUr IJAcd wri 
lilt breech Dp tUc pirpeftdicitlar lobe. Whm oild iJu 
(! V.-3S >ilightl}' Il-s-^ tbin (he liuiDwIcr fA tlic lulic^ luit ttit 
allow nearly hall" -m inch free pbiy be(wocn Die t*n liH 
iTH'Stdi a^uled by ji/U of water so ■> to fia tin d^ptn 
•i., liiiJ thereby iiicreMB the tension uu eieiy |an.D( 
/ 11 ts i:iiinplci^-, wclglis 33 tons 7 cwl., the dUmdatt 
, nid ni IhL' i[iii77lc I foot 9 inches. The ituniwaf 
n one riiut, ami is Hfled an (he ' Woolwich ' Ijveft 
or »;tL>el. tempered in nil. and encased in niMsiir (iiUi 
IV with Fr:user's double colt ^slem, in addllicin ^a iht 
iiiun ring, ^^'il!l a gun so jtiun^'y Initlt il ii ihoqib 
r boll 700 llj.s, in weight, ind 10 pierce iron innnm 
lljt oriiiiiLiry charge of powdct twin}; calrjilalo) •• 
.11^ I5(ilbs-, The Krupp siecl gun, the neu nag 
,-uce, wei!;li.> ^ibrnit forty luiu, Iwl 111 pnijeclil* wci^ 
ilful TL'k<.-llit.'T it has ever been pmvei] with EvmlinL 
, priJvtil u'li-H ihc Prussians sent il to tlie IiitcnBiliniilJ 

ilr.Jl.p(vl llki- a tai. over 
htal e^l>lllnk■d Ft 5U n^ to 
ciioliiii; \<t-i^v^ lieiiTg afii 
finnly dnim on tlio iJioiiUi 
■he hUifuLT. I'liu 41111, 110 
tbt- l>fLvoli U 4 feci 8 iiii-hi: 
lli(L JHirii U ralliur k'Mi tli 
KoriHi^i^.ifjj. inner liib. 
ofwroHi;''! i".ii in sa^idiv 
iai>aiUi) niiiw niiJ the tru 
]icp!-'ililc 10 iliMW a *liiit 
lidecn inrllnv in tbitklie- 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow. 433 

Browne added that " he did not expect such an advance in the art of 
war as to disable men only, and to look upon every one killed as 
a mistake ; but he thought humanity favoured striking the enemy 
rapidly with the shrapnel bullets to torturing him needlessly with 
fragments of common shell." So, then, military men are in a fair 
way, at last, of discovering that the right object of a battle is not to 
destroy, but to be victorious with as little loss of life as possible. 

The advances of civilized mankind in the art and science of whole- 
sale human destniction, on which kings and governments spare no 
expense, seem gradually to be attaining their utmost degree of satis- 
factory completeness, as well as of endurable devastation. This 
latter circumstance does not yet appear to have occurred to crowned 
heads. Yet the wonder is, individual valour and prowess being 
now almost superseded, how long the old heroic dream of glory can 
endure after all the fair means of winning its fatal laurels are dashed 
to gory atoms and smoke, in most cases before a single blow of the 
hand has been delivered. That men can still be induced to face 
almost certain destruction, without the opportunity or chance of 
striking a blow, and probably with no successful result to their cause, 
as we have frequently seen of late, is one of those anomalies that 
must work its own cure before long. It appears as if we only now 
awaited the advent of some supreme professor of " natural magic," 
in order to make the earth crack and yawn beneath the feet of an 
armed host of enemies ; that he should cause the air of this host to 
be poisoned till the breath of life was taken from them ; or that 
another Franklin, but with a genius for killing people, should find 
means to collect and bring down the rain-clouds till men were 
drenched with water. This would be introducing a new element in 
warfare more numerically fatal in its effect than fire, if it could be 
used in a winter season, carrying with it all the crip])ling and para- 
lyzing influences of cramps, agues, fevers, spasmodic pangs, bron- 
chitis, sciatica, and dysentery. " What a pity we could not do this ! " 
the Parisians might think ; and " What a pity we cannot yet discover 
the means of causing an earthquake under the Tuileries ! " the Prus- 
sians might think. We are arriving at a beautifiil state of speculation, 
we highly-civilized, scientific homicides of Christian countries ! Surely 
these depopulating and ruinous slaughters must work their own cure, 
and cease throughout the world, by causing a congress of nations to 
sit in judgment on all declarations of war by great military Powers. 
Whenever it comes to that, there will soon cease to be any need for 
the existence of the costly national curse of vast standing armies, or 
the systematic arrangement for their creation. 


The Gentleman's 


Ti) rmTn for a moment to Earl Hundonald's "stcrM," a tl 
of a simil.iT kind, in a diemical and ctinqiicring sense, l«tt sn^KnafiOE' . 
tht ncL'd for skiijihter, had once [i;issL-d throng the brain of nfittitiooi 
cliar.ii.'tcr namtd " Michael Salter " in ,i novel, which, being quite od 
of print. Iho writer thinks he may be* pardoned for quoting, lias 
characit-r, not only accepting tlie world's cowardly and ungnidbl 
sarrasms at all dreamers, vLsionarics. and enthusiasts (who IwvB 
altt-iiys beun the " movers " of tht world), but glorying in the Ihots- 
ernwned ajiptlliition, promulgates, among Other ideOit, the TolloinSj 
—to wit, tli:it when two hostile armies meet, the wiser general, in- 
stead of iisint; murderous shot and shell, should overspread, envelope, 
and permeate the mass before him with at:ertAin chemical \-apour--i 
secret not very dift'icult to discover, yet not necessary to diiiilge— 
whereby the serried ranks of the enemy would in a few minutetbc 
laid prostrate. In this condition all their amis and amomnitiui), not 
to sptak of ]irovisioiis and baggage, could be quietly lakcn from thtni 
Tliey would reeover after a short time, and then terms eouid b* 
diciaied by the conquerors just as well as if they had covered the 
ik-ld nith dead and wnunded^n fact better, in several rej^iects,* 
All this seem.s r.ather ridiculous to our present view of lilood-reekiq 
fieiiis; in fact, almost Ividicrous, like the idea of "pulling a ginJi: 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow. 435 

of finding himself seated on deck beside the valiant naval veteran, 
Earl Dimdonald. During a desultory conversation, in which the pre- 
sent writer was little more than a listener, the question of the use of a 
certain aeriform fluid exuding from exploding projectiles was discussed, 
though no mention of the "dreamer" in the novel was hazarded. 
His lordship expressed his conviction that gunpowder was but the 
infancy of those means of destroying armies which the modem system 
of warfare would be certain to discover and develop. More than 
once he approached his " secret " in reply to leading questions touch- 
ing " Michael Salter's " idea, but he always smiled rather sadly, and 
checked himself, saying it was all a dreadful business. One wonders, 
if he had been living at this time, whether he would have offered to 
place his " secret " at the service of the French at the crisis of their 
national prostration, and whether Mr. Cardwell would have interposed 
his prohibition in the interest of British experimental war-science. 

It should just be mentioned that although our day on the Thames 
was pronounced a great success, "The Submerged Propeller" was 
not considered to be equally so. Lord Dundonald thought the speed 
insuflicient, as it was barely four knots at best ; the power underneath 
the boat being checked by too much back-water. 

Shipwrecks on the British Coast. 

In that excellent little publication the Life Boat, we find, on 
examining the " Wreck Chart of the British Isles *' and the " Wreck 
Register "for 1869, that no fewer than 2,114 shipwrecks occurred 
during the last year, with the loss of 933 lives. We also find that, 
owing to the brave and admirable services rendered by the National 
Life Boat Institution, the rocket-apparatus of the Board of Trade, and 
other means, 5,121 Hves were saved, most of which may be considered 
under the head of narrow escapes. And all this, be it borne in mind, 
has occurred on the British coast only, and not including those on 
any of the neighbouring coasts, and all during a single year, viz., 
1869. Next to this prodigious number of shipwrecks in so short a 
period of time, that which most strikes one in this too truthful record 
is the shamefully reprehensible fact that, instead of the number of 
wrecks diminishing year by year, with our assumed advances in know- 
ledge and so forth, the number regularly increases with the annual 
increase of the number of vessels built. A table is given, shoeing 
the average wrecks reported since the year 1850, the averages being 
taken for every five years, which show a rising average ; and worst of 
all, the average of the last five years exceeds the averages of all the 
previous years, — as though, instead of growing more vas^ ^.iv^^^v^^ 

prfsi'iil (l.iy, 

■< 1 iy iiihiuM t. 
mur, ami :ire 

insured " 

lar^'c a in'"!ii"'"urt of vetisuls 

to the present age imd tht 
)>ut the n:uitic;tl, cknumtira^ 
I iiuricate nalure. Fiist oa llit 
s of those vessels witicli, wbcn 
known to have every tiluncc in 
!i iirdingty. Among ihc ciuna 
iLcd the well-kDuwn fad tlisl « 
\ try badly " found," thtrir hoDi 

roiien^ — ni.iitSf sjurs, .-uid rigging lo match j anchora duGdan; 
tabk-s surt: 10 "(;o" wilh any ^ajod stnun; coropafses uuiofsll 

\iivx\\\ (mkT; diruLiuuiL- 
iluiu-d by 

luiits ol)solctc, or very ufui 
have witnessed, Udiicrd ud 

gS, COfli^-slDJlS, ()tli(l-s(]Uiltillg^ 

leilcAgt^ that (suna . 

will not work; bid 

deficLL-nt ^^BBshts ; and nuny £dal 

the great flj^iily of which iiiij{ht bt 

of btlls, iTia-st-iicad laatcms, fog-tnimpcis. and 

lii.h ate on Ijuard, or not used when thcyirt 


:, ink, Ui 

;k tilt' cargo, 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow, 437 

calmly terrible statement that, after examining the aggregate losses of 
the last ten years, it is found that no fewer than 3,249 vessels were 
lost during that period from . ^ really preventible causes." In these 
losses we are of course to include an immense number of lives. 

But there is something else worthy of notice and remonstrance. 
The physical world, as well as the moral and political world, is under- 
going changes in different parts of the earth. England, for instance, 
is not generally so cold in winter as it was fifty years ago ; and the 
colony of Victoria, in Australia, is by no means so hot in summer as 
it was twenty years ago. The surface of our globe is changing in 
many places, both on land and sea ; rocks and islets sink here, rise 
there ; and many (juicksands as well as ocean-rocks, whose j)ositions 
were once known and recorded, have shifted their fatal presence, in 
some cases almost abruptly, in others im])ercc[)til)ly. And we now 
come to one of the causes of shii)wreck which has never been duly 
considered. The chief and regular nautical books of our merchant 
navy are substantially what they were thirty or forty years ago. New 
editions from time to time issue from the i)ress, but they are written 
with the scissors, and have few revisions beyond those necessary to 
mark the dates of re-issue. A similar remark may be made with 
regard to the charts in common use by the whole of our merchant 
vessels. Now suppose any old and well-experienced caj)tain in the 
merchant ser\'ice, or carrying trade (for, observe, the wreck of any 
ship of war is, comparatively, of very rare occurrence), and one who 
had proved himself a trustworthy navigator for years, — suppose such 
a man were to " loose his fore-jib " for a sudden turn into Printing 
House Square, on this question of the continual re-issue of old 
nautical books as new editions, revised and corrected, &c., declaring 
that they were full of dangerous errors of commission and omission, 
what would be the consequence? All the best pens, as well as 
scissors, of the "vested interests" would instantly be put in motion, 
to prove, by elaborately confusing figures and irrelative or insignificant 
facts, that the re-issues of nautical books were as correct as possible 
up to the present time, and, indeed, were guardian angels of the 
merchantmen of the whole navigable globe. And the same, with 
equal confidence, might be said of the charts. No new obser\'ations, 
soundings, or calculations were recjuired in either. Pay your money, 
and hold your tongue. If your ship is lost, there's the " insurance " 
ready to heal your owner's wounds, and the sea has buried her dead. 

From the foregoing remarks let us carefully except the " Nautical 
Almanack," the tables of which furnish the best data for seamen. 
But many captains of ships do not study these with due care, or may 

The GaUlcmans Magazine. 

\k incompetent to the task, 
iiiintl, (Jr.lw from thi 

le .T few, of a speciiJati»e 
i conclusions. Dunng odc \A ^t 
present writer's voyiiges across the Pacific an eiuditc skifiper awunsi 
him that the north polar star was not in the s&me [jIacc tbu it 
Gcciipiud lifty years ago. How wrong, and how uncoasciounly rij^l, 
\v:is the n'orthy seaman I The relative positions of what aic called 
the "fixed sLirs" have not, sensilily, changed wiih ihc hisioiial 
pc;rii>d- The co-ordinates of right ascensbn nnd declination h»vt 
undergone very sensihk- changes during the kst fifty yeais— difieinK 
in amount for different stars.* Hut modem astroDonif rei»nl> 
nothing as nlisolutely lixeil in space. The whole unspcakabi)' 
majestic scheme of the star-studded universe is imperceptibly gitdiiig 
onwards — somewhere ; ^m 


With regard to fires in general, and more especially when nccuaing 
in private houses, the late Mr. Braidwood, formerly captain of <im 
excellent Fire Brigade, assured the writer that the greal rnftjoril)''^ 
fires need nut do any mischief beyond the room, or part of the room, 
in which they first break out, if the ioiuates did not instantly 1« 
iill prc-^ence of mind. Inslejd of attacking the fire at once ud 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow. 439 

lie room — all the company being seated in a large circle ; — and not 
nly 'the house, but the drawing-room should not take fire. Mr. 
traidwood said he would have backed such a bet. In all probability 
iere would only have been a large hole burnt in the carpet, and 
nother of much less size in the floor, so that very little of the fire 
'ould fall through upon the centre of the cari)et or dining-room 
ible below. 

Now, the active principle in all fire is flame. The red heat is a 
ibsequent and almost fatal condition ; it is clear, therefore, that 
jmething should always be done at once to destroy the travelling 
nd communicating principle, viz., flames. For this purpose the 
^ent invariably applied is water, both on account of its antagonistic 
lementary nature, and also its weight. It strikes blows as well as 
ours torrents. But there exists something far more potent ; that is 
) say, more rapid and more certain in its effects. In the early 
umbers of Mr. Dickens's Household Words there appeared two 
apers, entitled the " Fire Brigade " and the " Fire Annihilator " (by 
le writer of the present paper), and, in a descriptive account of the 
:tfer, it was related that a wooden house, containing shavings 
aubed with resin and grease, loose papers, straw, and other in- 
immable rubbish, was set on fire ; Mr. Phillips, the inventor of the 
Fire Annihilator," accompanied by the \triter, having mounted 
y wooden stairs to the first floor. The room was presently enveloped 
I smoke, and the flames began to show their contentious tongues as 
ley came up-stairs. A machine in the room below, not larger than 
jar or tin can of about two feet high, was then exploded by a blow 
pon a capsule at the top ; and instantly a dense vapour ascended 
le stairs, and began to spread its ominous clouds. It met and 
tingled with the flames ; a contest visibly ensued, reminding one of 
)me of the Tales of the Genii ; and the flames, rapidly changing 
)lour, turned pale, — drooped, — and succumbed. The victorious 
ipour, it is important to attest, was perfectly innocuous to the 
jman lungs ; and the two salamanders presented themselves, each 
; one of the first floor windows, in attestation of the perfect success 
" the invention. 

It was shortly afterwards offered to the Government. The im- 
Drtance of this discovery and invention, if found to be available in 
1 respects, was imcjuestionable. It was proposed to apply it to all 
le Government warehouses, docks, and public edifices ; all ships 
ere to have it ; museums, public libraries ; all large manufactories ; 

fine, a new blessing of science had been conferred upon society. 

But it too often occurs, and indeed in most cases it occwi^^ -a.^ M 
Vox,. VI., N.S. 1 87 1. ^ G, 

The Genlleman s Magazine. 

by » 

: and ; 

, that first t 

a bqF 

e law of nature a 
scale are failures ; partly because more time is needed for i^lpn>v^ 
tnent and precision of effect, and also that in the great majority of 
instances, the recluse, who dreams and invents, requires a difftraii 
class of man, as a worker rather than a thinker, io order to carry oiii 
the practical result satisfactorily- \Vhilc the " Fire Annihilator " »as 
under the consideration of the Government- — not in general a psr- 
ticularly rapid process — Mr. Phillips, prolwbly needing some re- 
plenishment of his exchequer, in a fatal hour undertook the delivajr 
of a Lecture, with illustrative experiments. Having been singuUilf 
successful as to a house (fortunately for the two who were in it), the 
inventor now proposed to demonstra,te the applicability to ships. He 
therefore had a large model of a ship upon the platform, on a stand 
at one side of his lecture desk. It contained, most conscientJW!^ 
various inflammable articles ; and it was set on fire. White the 
flames took possession of the cabins and hold of the model, and woe 
running merrily up the rigging, the lecturer went on discouisii^ 
calmly and confidently, till he saw there was not another momcoi Io 
lose. He then found that he had " lefl something at home " whid 
was indispensable to the success of his experiment. His intendoi 
demonstration was consequently reversed, and the model ship «as 
hopelessly enveloped in flames. Seeing this, a fireman from the 
Brigade, who had attended the lecture, no doubt as a sceptic^ 
amateur, suddenly darted out, returned with a large bucket of waUt. 
dashed the whole of it at one blow upon the blazing model, and tho 
flung a piece of green baize over it, thus extinguishing and smotha- 
ing the flames. His reticent grim smile on retiring was most pro- 
vocative to behold. 

After this the Government, ignoring, or not having heard of Ibis 
surprising lecture, had a house of two stories high built upon the 
Plumstead Marshes. It was well-nigh filled, by the full corseot of 
Mr. Phillips — indeed, by his express wishes— with resinous shai-iags. 
bundles of dry sticks, several old tar-barrels, heaps of straw, rap 
steeped in turpentine, and broken hurdles. This was surely not fcii; 
but such was the fact. A day was appointed ; and several engiaeo 
and artiUeiy officers of high rank, with a number of aitiUeiynien and 
sappers and miners, attended. The brilliant experiment was jbo 
open to the public, and some hundreds were there. As Mr. Phillips 
himself, on this important occasion, was to be engaged outside near 
the open door to conduct the annihilating process, his complimentary 
proposal to a previous amateur again to lake an inside places was. 
with many thanks, declined. It was difficult to foi^et the leOnK' 

Everj'thing bring declared by Mr. Phillips to be ready, one of the 
artillerymen set fire lo the itiwer room of the house by throwing a 
bunch of lighted oakum llirough the open door. The flames rapidly 
rose, spread, travelled, ascended the stairs, and were soon busily at 
work in the first floor. The old lar-lwrrels took lo it amazinyly. 
The chief engineer officer on the ground lold Mr. Phillips that he 
and his brother officers were quite satisfied with the state of things, 
and requested him lo extinguish the lire. But Mr. Phillips was for a 
more complete demonstration, and he waited till the flames had 
possession of the second floor. Unfortunately it was a very windy 
day. A strong draught was rushing through thu' open door and both 
windows below. AH die officers seeing this, liegged of the exhibitor 
to proceed at once with his annihtlator. This Mr. Phillips now 
began to do, employing only his ordinary machines. But the flamei 
were now raging all over the house, below and above, curling up out 
of the second-floor windows, and licking the already crackling rsAers 
aJid roofing. Mr. Phillips now became aware that he mnst imme- 
diately bring into action his greatest power — his "reserve force" — 
which was an immense machine, six times the si/e of any of the 
others, kept ready for emergencies, and mounted upon wheels, like a 
piece of field artillery, drawn by one horse. The wind, as already 
explained, was most unseasonable. Mr. Phillips seized the horse's 
head, and began to " back him " towards the house, so that he might 
explode his irresistible vapour into the open door and lower floor of 
the roaring structure. But the horse was not a trained horse — not 
one of the artillery horses, or a circus habituf, as he ought to have 
been— but an ordinary " rough " from the roads ; and this animal 
feeling the excessive heat at his dorsal region, veiy naturally insisted 
u|)on turning round his head, and seeing the conflagration, showed 
ihe whites of his eyes — his ears standing up like two horns — and 
absolutely refused to back any nearer. In his sudden despair, Mr. 
Phillips exploded his monster reserve-force machine in front of the 
door only, instead of inside, hopmg it would be carried in by the 
wind ; instead of which the cruel whistling winds bore the great 
vapour of genius clear round one comer of the house, and off it 
rolled its potent but deserting volumes far away over the bleak 
Plumstead marshes. The house was burnt to the ground before 
our eyes. Everybody looked sagacious. 

The military magnates who were present, and had their report to 
make to the Government, behaved like true gentlemen and men of 
science on this very painful occasion. It may not be without a touch 
of the ludicrous in narration, but nobody laughed at the tima. TVut 




The Gmllen. 


oiiiiors iiAsurfd j)oor Mr. Phillips the cause of his &ilure m 
IJtirfcL'tly obvious, and did not really .lUecl tbe que^lion nf tuqoaiy 
Iwr sufcoss ; another irial would, nu di.uht, settle the matter. ITkm 
(iiicouragin;; crjmi»liiin.-nLs, though diplomatically wjuivocal about die 
udges, were rational, kindly, and to the point. In conwijucnccof 
their reports, the (Jovernment agrc-cd to give the invention aaotha 
trial, but stipulated that on this oi(\ision Mr Phillips should Cfta 
the house ai his own cost. Thi:; unexpected but very poidooaUt 
tLlll iifKin his diminished resources ju! a stop to funlier csperimaUK 
CjpiUllisi'^ who had been on the ground, ready to step forwanl b the 
h.iiidsniiie>;t m.inner, and take up the invention (with all jtx iTotiiiji 
now itiiiid ^ilnrif. The Govemmeni could not be expeetcJ to tnakc 
,111 oiler, neither could the pro|)used Company, and there iras do 

I'his ■^iriliiriji evjnijile of Lhc need of a dilTcrcnt class of nun ta 
(Tarry out iind pnicticilly " work" a new invention, did nm tenninue 
iviili wh:i[ iias just been relaifd. Mr. Phillips man:iged to *tart a 
uianufnciory for his annihilators. He had devised an cquiBj 
int;eniiius. efliiieni, and simple means for rendering the inaduia 
■si'll'-aLiinjj, lur ihe pniiection of large warehouses, churches, palia^ 
and ])i)tilie 'ir [irivale buildings of nil kinds. Being self-4ctil)g WU cm- 
iprovemcnt after wha 

Thoughts for To-day and To-morrow, 443 

individual, however, and perhaps no more, believes, in the face of all 
this self-damnatory defeat, that there was truth in the thing that so 
utterly failed, and here records his sympathy. A chemical vapour or 
cloud can be produced, in which no flames will be able to exist. It 
will not be effective when a red-heat has been attained, but it can 
confront and subdue the active principle of all conflagrations — 
flame. These concise remarks cannot be permitted to diverge into 
any technicalities ; but let the reader consult any clever experimental 
chemist, or let him find any good specimen of Lord Macaulay's 
" school boy, who knows," and his sympathies with the ruin of one 
of the martyrs of the fatally-fascinated family of discoverers and 
inventors, mil inevitably be elicited. 

If then this thing, or c