IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No, XIX.DECEMBEII, 1851.VOL. IV. THE BOSTON TEA PARTY.* BY BENSON J. LOSSING. REVOLUTIONS which dismember and over- turn empires, disrupt political systems, and change not only the forms of civil government, but frequently the entire character of society, are often incited by causes so remote, and apparently tnconsiderable and inadequate, that the super- ficial observer would never detect them, or would laugh incredulously if presented to his consider- ation as things of moment. Yet, like the little spring of a watch, coiled unseen within the dark recess of its chamber, the influences of such re- mote causes operating upon certain combinations, give motion, power, and value to latent energies, and form the primum mobile of the whole ma- chinery of wonderful events which produce rev- olutions. As a general rule, revolutions in states are the ~... results of isolated rebellions; and rebellions have their birth in desires to cast off evils inflicted by actual oppressions. These evils generally consist of the interferences of rulers with the physical well-being of the governed; and very few of the political changes in empires which so prominent- ly mark the course of human history, have had B higher incentive to resistance than the mainten- ance of creature comforts. Abridgment of per- sonal liberty in the exercise of natural rights, excessive taxation, and extortion of public officers, whereby individual competence and consequent ease have not been attainable, these have gen- erally been the chief counts in the indictment, when the people have arisen in their might and arraigned their rulers at the bar of the worlds judgment. The American Revolution, which succeeded local rebellions in the various provinces, was an exception to a general rule. History furnishes no parallel example of a people free, prosperous, and happy, rising from the couch of ease to gird on the panoply of war, with a certainty of en- countering perhaps years of privation and dis- tress, to combat the intangible principle of des- potism. The taxes of which the English colo- nies in America complained, and which were the ostensible cause of dissatisfaction, were almost nominal, and only in the smallest degree affected the general prosperity of the, people. But the method employed in levying those slight taxes. and the prerogatives assumed by the king and his ministers, plainly revealed the principles of tyranny, and were the causes which prod~aced CASTING TEA OYEEBOABO IN BOSTON HARBOR. - * The Engravings which illustrate this article (except the frontispiece) are from Lossings Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, now in course of publication by Harper and Brothers. VoL. IV.No. 19.A 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the quarrel. In these assumptions the kernel of despotism was very apparent, and the sagacious Americans, accustomed to vigorous and independ- ent thought, and a free interchange of opinions, foresaw the spe~edy springing of that germ into the bulk and vigor of an umbrageous tree, that would overshadow the land and hear the bitter fruit of tyrannous misrule. Foreseeing this, they reslved xieither to water it kindly, nor generous- ly dig about its roots and open them to the genial influences of the blessed sun and the dews; but, on the contrary, to eradicate it. Tyranny had no abiding-place in America when the quarrel with the imperial government began, and the War of the Revolution, in its inception and pro- gress, was eminently a war of principle. flow little could the wisest political seer have perceived of an elemental cause of a revolution in America, and the dismemberment of the British Empire, in two pounds and two ounces of TEA, which, a little less than two centuries ago, the East India Company sent as a present to Charles the Second of England Little did the merrie monarch think, while sitting with Nell Gwynn, the Earl of Rochester, and a few other favorites, in his private parlor at Whitehall, and that new beverage gave pleasure to his sated taste, that events connected with the use of the herb would shake the throne of England, albeit a Guelph, a wiser and more virtuous monarch than any Stuart, should sit thereon. Yet it was even so; and TEA, within a hundred years after that viceregal cor- poration made its gift to royalty, became one of the causes which led to rebellion and revolu- tion, resulting in the independence of the Anglo- American colonies, and the founding of our Republic. When the first exuberant feelings of joy, which filled the hearts of the Americans when intelli- gence of the repeal of the Stamp Act reached them, had subsided, and sober judgment ana- lyzed the Declaratory act of William Pitt which accompanied the Repeal Bill, they perceived small cause for congratulation. They knew Pitt to be a friendan earnest and sincere friend of the colonists. He had labored shoulder to shoul- der with Barrd, Conway, Burke, and others, to effect the repeal, and had recently declared bold- ly in the House of Commons, I rejoice that America has resisted. Three millions of people, so dead to all the feelings of liberty as voluntari- ly to submit to be slaves, would have been fit in- struments to make slaves of the rest. Yet he saw hesitation; he saw pride standing in the place of righteousness, and he allowed expediency to usurp the place of principle, in order to accom- plish a great good. He introduced the Declar- atory Act, which was a sort of salvo to the na- tional honor, that a majority of votes might be secured for the Repeal Bill. That act affirmed that Parliament possessed the power to hind the colonies in eli cases whatsoever; clearly implying the right to impose taxes to any extent, and in any manner that ministers might think proper. That temporizing measure was unworthy of the great statesman, and had not the colonists pos sessed too many proofs of his friendship to doubt his constancy, they would now have placed him in the category of the enemies of America. They plainly perceived that no actual concession had been made, and that the passage of the Repeal Bill was only a truce in the systematic endeavors of ministers to. hold absolute control over the Americans. The loud acclamstions of joy and the glad expressions t.f loyalty to the king, which rung throughou merica in the spring and early summer of 1Th6, died away into low whispers before autumn, and as wir. ter ap- proached, and other schemes for taxation, such as a new clause in the mutiny act developed, were evolved from the ministerial laboratory, loud murmurings went over the sea from every English colony in the New World. Much good was anticipated by the exercise of the enlightened policy of the Rockingham min- istry, under whose auspices the Stamp Act had been repealed, when it was suddenly dissolved, and William Pitt, who was now elevated to the peerage, became prime minister. Had not physi-. cal infirmities borne heavily upon Lord Chatham, all would have been well; but while he was tor- tured by gout, and lay sw~rthed in flannels at his country-seat at Hayes, weaker heads controlled the affairs of state. Charles Townshend, Pitts Chancellor of the Exchequer, a vain, truckling statesman, coalesced with Grenville, the father of the Stamp Act, in the production of another scheme for deriving a~revenue from America. Too honest to be governed by expediency, Gren- ville had already proposed levying a direct tax upon the Americans of two millions of dollars per annum, allowing them to raise that sum in their own way. Townshend had the sagacity to perceive that such a measure would meet with no favor; but in May, 1767, he attempted to accomplish the same result by introducing a bill providing for the imposition of a duty upon glass, paper, painters colors, and TEA imported from Great Britain into America. This was only another form of taxation, and judicious men in Parliament viewed the proposition with deep concern. Burke and others denounced it in the Commons; and Shelburne in the House of Lords warned ministers to have a care how they pro- ceeded in the matter, for he clearly foresaw in- surrection, perhaps a revolution as a consequence. But the voice of prudence, uttering words of prophecy, was disregarded; Townshends bill was passed, and became a law at the close of June, by receiving the royal signature. Other acts, equally obnoxious to the Americans, soon became laws by the sanction of the king, and the principles of despotism, concealed behind the honest-featured Declaratory Act, were displayed in all their deformity. During the summer and autumn, John Dick- enson sent forth his powerful Letters of a Penn- sylvania Farmer. Written in a simple manner, they were easily understood. They laid bare the evident designs of the ministry; proved the un- constitutionality of the late acts of Parliament, and taught the people the necessity of united THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 3 BOSTON IN resistance to the slow but certain approaches of assemblies spoke out freely, and for the crime oppressi6n. f of being thus independent, royal gevemors dis Boston, the ringleader in rebellion, soon solved them. Delegates returned to their con- took the initiative step in revolutionary move- stituents, each an eloquent crusader against op- ments, and during 1768, tumults occurred, which pression; and in every village and hamlet men caused Governor Bernard to call for troops to awe congregated to consult upon the public good, and the people. General Thomas Gage, then com- to determine upon a remedy for the monster evil mander-in-chief of the British forces in America, now sitting like an incubus upon the peace and ordered two regiments from Halifax. Borne by prosperity of the land. a fleet which blockaded the harbor in September, As a countervailing measure, merchants in the they landed upon Long Wharf, in Boston~ on various coast towns entered into an agreement to sunday morning, and while the people were de- cease importing from Great Britain, every thing siro~is of worshiping quietly in their meeting- but a few articles of common necessity (and es- houses, these soldiers marched to the Common pecially those things enumerated in the impost with charged muskets, fixed bayonets, drums bill); from the first of January, 1769, to the first heating, and colors flying, with all the pomp and i of January, 1770, unless the obnoxious act should insolence of victorious troops entering a van- be sooner repealed. The people every where sec- quished city. It was a great blunder, and Gov- onded this movement by earnest co-operation, and ernor Bernard soon perceived it. Provincial legislatures commended the scheme. A convention of delegates from every town An agreement, presented in the Virginia House but one in Massachusetts was in session, when of Burgesses by Washington, was signed by every the fleet arrived in Nantasket roads. They were member; and in all the colonies the people en- not alarmed by the approach of cannon and bay- tered at once upon a course of self-denial. For onets, but deliberated coolly, and denounced more than a year this powerful engine of retalia- firmly the current measures of government. tion waged war upon British commerce in a con- Guided by their advice, the select-men of Boston stitutional way, before ministers would listen to refused to furnish quarters for the troops, and petitions and remonstrances; and it was not un- they were obliged to encamp on the open Coin- til virtual rebellion in the British capital, born mon, where insults were daily bandied between of commercial distress, menaced the ministry, the military hirelings and the people. The in- that the expostulations of the Americans were habitants of Boston, and of the whole province noticed, except with sneers. felt insulteday, degradedand every feeling In America meetings were frequently held, and of patriotism and manhood rebelled. The alter- men thus encouraged each other by mutual con- native was plain before themsubmission or the ference. Nor did men, alone, preach and prac- .beyonet! tice self-denial; American women, the wives and Great indignation prevailed from the Penob- daughters of patriots, cast their influence into the scot to the St. Marys, and the cause of Boston scale of patriotism, and by cheering voices and became the common cause of all the colonists. noble examples, became efficient co-workers. They resented the insult as if offered to them- And when, in Boston, cupidity overcame patriot- selves; and hatred of royal rule became a fixed ism, and the defection of a few merchants who emotion in tb~ hearts of thousands. Legislative loved gold more than liberty, aroused the friends HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ~ANEUIL HALL. of the non-importation leagues, and assembled honest man, a statesman of good parts, and a si~ them in general council in Faneujl Hall, there to cere friend to English liberty. He doubtless de declare that they would totally abstain from the sired to discharge his duty faithfully, yet in deal- use of TEA, and other proscribed articles, the ing with the Americans, he utterly misunder women of that city, fired with zeal for the gen- stood their character and temper, and could not eral good, spoke out publicly and decidedly upon perceive the justice of their demands. This was the subject. Early in February, 1770, the mis- the minister who mismanaged the affairs of Great tresses of three hnndred families subscribed their Britain throughout the whole of our war for in -~ames to a league, binding themselves not to use dependence, and by his pertinacity in attempts any more TEA until the impost clause in the Rev- to tax the colonies, and in opposing them in theis enue Act should be repealed. Their daughters efforts to maintain their rights, he finally drove speedily followed their patriotic example, and them to rebellion, and protracted the war until three days afterward, a multitude of young la- reconciliation was out of the question. dies in Boston and vicinity, signed the following Early in 1770, the British merchants, the most pledge: influential class in the realm, were driven by thc WE, the daughters of those patriots who have, non-importation agreements to become the friends and do now appear for the public interest, and in of the colonists, and to join with them in peti- that principally regard their posterityas such, tions and remonstrances. The London mer- do with pleasure engage with them in denying chants suffered more from the operations of thc ourselves the drinking of foreign TEA, in hopes new Revenue Laws, than the Americans. They to frustrate a plan which tends to deprive a whole had early foreseen the consequences of an at- community of all that is valuable in life. tempt to tax the colonists; and when Town. From that time, TEA was a proscribed article shends scheme was first proposed, they offered in Boston, and opposition to the form of oppres- to pay an equivalent sum into the Treasury sion was strongly manifested by the unanimity rather than risk the loss of the rapidly-increasing with which the pleasant beverage was discarded. American trade. Now, that anticipated loss was Nor did the ladies of Boston bear this honor actual, and was bearing heavily upon them. II alone, but in Salem, Newport, Norwich, New also affected the national exchequer. In ons York, Philadelphia, Annapolis, Williamsburg, year, exports to America had decreased in amount Wilmington, Charleston, and Savannah, the wo- to the value of almost,four millions of dollars; men sipped the balsamic hyperion, made from and within three years (1767 to 1770), the gov- the dried leaves of the raspberry plant, and dis- eminent revenue from America decreased from carded the poisonous bohea. The newspapers five hundred and fifty thousand dollars per an- of the day abound with notices of social gather- num, to one hundred and fifty thousand. These tngs where foreign tea was entirely discarded. facts awakened the people; these figures alarmed About this time Lord North succeeded Town- the government; and early in March, Lord North shend as Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was an asked leave to bring in a bill, in the House of THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 5 Commons, for repealing the duties upon glass, paper, and painters colors, but retaining the duty of three-pence upon TEA. This impost was very smallavowedly a pepper-corn rent, re- tained to save the national honor, about which ministers prated so loudly. The friends of Amer- icathe true friends of English liberty and na- tional honorasked for a repeal of the whole act; the stubborn king, and the short-sigh ted ministry would not consent to make the conces- sion. Norths bill became a law in April, and he fondly imagined that the insignificant three-pence a pound, upon a single article of luxury, would now be overlooked by tie colonists. How egre- giously he misapprehended their character! When intelligence of this act reached America, the soheme found no admirers. The people had nevei complained of the amount of the taxes levied by impost; it was trifling. They asserted that Great Britain had no right to tax them at all, without their consent. It was tor a great prin- ciple they were contending; and they regarded the retention of the duty of three-pence upon the single article of TEA, as much a violation of the constitutional rights of the colonists, as if there had been laid an impost a hundred-fold greater, upon a score of articles. This was the issue, and no partial concessions would be considered. The non-importation agreements began to be disregarded by many merchants, and six months before this repeal bill became a law, they had agreed, in several places, to import every thing but TEA, and that powerful lever of opposition had now almost ceased to work. TEA being an article of luxury, the resolutions to discard that weie generally adhered to, and concerning TEA, alone, the quarrel was continued. For two years very little occurred to disturb the tranquilli- tyofNewEn- gland. Thom- as Hutchin- son, a man of fair abilities, but possessed of very little prudence or sound judg- ment, suc- ceeded Ber- nard as Gov- ernor of Mas- sac bus e t t s. New men, \ \ zealous and capable, were coming forth from among the people, to do battle for right and freedom. Poor Otis. whose eloquent voice had oft- en stirred up the fires of rebellion in the hearts of the Bostonians, when Writs of Assistance, and the Stamp Act, elicited his denunciations, and who, with prophetic voice, had told his brethren tn Great Britain, Our fathers were a good peo- ple, we have been a free people, and if you will not let us be so any longer, we shall be a great people, was now under a cloud. But his col- leagues, some of them very young, were growing strong and experienced. John Adams, then six- and-thirty, and rapidly rising in public estima- tion, occupied the seat of Otis in the General As- sembly. John Hancock, one of the wealthiest merchants of Boston; Samuel Adams, a Puritan of great experience and tried integrity; Joseph Warren, a young physician, full of energy and hope, who afterward fell on Breeds Hill; Josiah Quincy, a polished orator, though almost a strip- ling; Thomas Cushing, James Warren, Dr. Sam- uel Church, Robert Treat Painethese became the popular leaders, and fostered the child in- dependence, which John Adams said, was born when Otis denounced the Writs of Assistanceand the populace sympathized. These were the men who, at private meetings, concerted plans for pub- lic action; and with them, Hutchinson soon quar- reled. They issued a circular, declaring the rights of the colonies, and enumerating their grievances. Hutchinson denounced it as seditious and trai- torous; and while the public mind was excited by the quarrel, Dr. Franklin, who was agent for the colony in England, transmitted to the Speaker of the Assembly several private letters, written by the governor to members of Parliament, in which he spoke disrespectfully of the Americans, and recommended the adoption of coercive measures to abridge what are called English liberties. These revelations raised a furious storm, and the people were with difficulty restrained from inflicting personal violence upon the governor. All classes, from the men in legislative council, to the plainest citizen, felt a disgust that could not be concealed, and a breach was opened be- tween ruler and people that grew wider every day. The Earl of Hillsborough, who had been Sec- retary of State for the Colonies during the past few years of excitement, was now succeeded by EARL OF DARTIVLOUTiI. S HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Lord Dai tmouth, a personal friend to Dr. Frank- facing the Common, to consult upon the public un, a sagacious statesman, and a man sincerely good, touching the expected tea ships. A public disposed to do justice to the colonies. Had his councils prevailed, the duty upon tea would have been taken off, and all cause for discontent on the part of the colonies, removed. But Norths blindness, countenanced by ignorant or wicked advisers, prevail- ed in the cabinet, and the olive-branch ofpeace and reconciliation, constantly held out by the Americans while de- claring their rights, was spurned. At the beginning of 1773, the East India Company, feeling the effects of the non-importation agreements and the colonial contraband trade, opened the way for reconciliation, while en deavoring to benefit themselves. ready seventeen millions of pounds of tea had accumulated in their ware- houses in England, and the demand for it in HANcOcK S HOUSE. America was daily diminishing. To open anew an extensive market so suddenly closed, the meeting was decided upon, and on the morning Company offered to allow government to retain of the third the following placard was posted in six-pence upon the pound as an exportation ta- many places within the city: riff, if they would take off the duty of three-pence. TO THE FREEMEN OF THIS AND THE NEIGHBOR~ Ministers had now a fair opportunity, not only to INC TOWNS. conciliate the colonies in an honorable way, but ~ to procure, without expense, double the amount Gentlseaen.You are desired to meet at th~ of revenue. But the ministry, deluded by false Liberty Tree this day at twelve oclock at noon, views of national honor, would not listen to the then and there to hear the persons to whom the proposition, but stupidly favored the East India TEA shipped by the East India Company is con Company, while persisting in unrighteousness signed, make a public resignation of their offices toward the Americans. A bill was passed in as consignees, upon oath; and also swear that May, to allow the Company to export tea to they will reship any teas that may be consigned America on their own account, without paying to them by the said Company, by the first vessel export duty, while the impost of three-pence was sailing to London. 0. C. Secy. continued. The mother country thus taught the Bosion, Nov. 3,1773. l~ Show me the man that dare take this colonists to regard her as a voluntary oppressor. down ! While the bill for allowing the East India Company to export tea to America on their own The consignees were summoned at an early account. was under consideration in Parliament, hour in the morning, to appear under Liberty Dr. Franklin, Arthur Lee, and others, apprised Tree (a huge elm, which stood at the present die col nists of the movement; and when, a few junction of Washington and Essex streets), and weeks afterward, several large vessels laden with resign their commissions. They treated the the plant, were out upon the Atlantic, bound for summons with contempt, and refused to comply American ports, the people here were actively At the appointed hour the town-crier proclaimed preparing to prevent the landing of the cargoes. the meeting, and the churtih-bells of the city The Company had appointed consignees in van- also gave the annunciation. Timid men remain- ous seaport towns, and these being generally ed at home, but about five hundred people assem- known to the people, were warned to resign their bled near the tree, from the top of which floated commissions, or hold them at their peril, the New England flag. No definite action was In Boston the most active measures were ta- taken, and at three oclock the meeting had dis- ken to prevent the landing of the tea. The con- persed. signees were all friends of government; two On the 5th, another meeting was held, over of them were Governor Hutchinsons sons, and which John Hancock presided. Several short but a third (Richard Clarke, father-in-law of John vehement speeches were made, in which were Singleton Ccpley, the eminent painter), was uttered many seditious sentiments; eight resist- his nephew. Their neighbors expostulated with ance resolutions adopted by the Philadelphians them, but in vain; and as the time for the ex- were agreed too; and a committee was appointed pected arrival of two or three tea-ships approach- to wait upon the consignees, who. it was known, ed, the public mind became feverish. On the were then at Clarkes store, on King-street, first of November several of the leading Sons and request them to resign. Again those gen- of Liberty, as the patriots were called, met at tlemen refused compliance, and when the com- the house of John Hancock, on Beacon-street, mittee reported to the meeting, it ~vas voted that Friends! Brethren! Countrymen !That worst of plagues, the detested TEA shipped for this port, by the East India Company, is now arrived in the harbor. The hour of destruction, or manly opposition to the machinations of ty- ranny, stares you in the face; every friend to his country, to himself, and to posterity, is now call- ed upon to meet at Faneitil Ball, at nine oclock THIS DAY (at which time the bells will ring), to make united and successful resistance to this last, worst, and moat destructive measure of ad- ministration. Boston, Nov. 29th, 1773. THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 7 Lhe answer of the consignees was unsatisfac- their commissions into the hands of the governor tory and highly aifrontive. This meeting also and his advisers, and praying them to adopt adjourned without deciding upon any definite measures for the safe landing of the teas. The course for future action. council, equally fearful of the popular vengeance, The excitement in Boston now hourly in- refused the prayer of their petition. and the con- creamd. Grave citizens congregated at the cor- signees withdrew, for safety, to Castle William, ners of the streets to interchange sentiments, a strong fortress at the entrance of the harbor, and all seemed to have a presentiment that the then garrisoned by a portion of the troops who sanguinary scenes of the 5th of March, 1770, had been encamped on Boston Common. The when blood flowed in the streets of Boston, were flight of the consignees allayed the excitement about to be reproduced. for a few days. The troops introduced by Bernard had been On Sunday evening, the 28th of November, removed from the city, and there was no legal the Dartmouth, Captain Hall, one of the East power but that of the civil authorities, to sup- India Companys ships, arrived in the harbor. press disorder. On the 12th, the captain-general The next morning the following handbill was of the province issued an order for the Governors posted in every part of the city: Guards, of which John Hancock was colonel, to stand in readiness to assist the civil magistrate in preserving order. This corps, being strongly imbued with the sentiments of their commander, utterly disregarded the requisition. Business was, in a measure, suspended, and general un- easiness prevailed. On the 18th, another meeting was held in Faneuil Hall, and a committee was again ap- pointed to wait upon the consignees and request them to resign. Again they refused, and that evening the house of Richard Clarke, on School- street, was surrounded by an unruly crowd. A pistol was fired from the house, but without serious effect other than exciting the mob to deeds of violence; the windows were demolish- ed, and the family menaced with personal injury. Better counsels than those of anger soon pre ii vailed, and at midnight the town was quiet. The meeting, in the mean while, had received the report of the committee in silence, and adjourned without uttering a word. This silence was omin- ous of evil to the friends of government. The consignees were alarmed, for it was evident that the people were determined to talk only, no more, but henceforth to act. The governor, also, prop- erly interpreted their silence as a calm before a stotm, and he called his council together at the Province House, to consult upon measures for A large concourse assembled in and around Faneuil Hall at the appointed hour, too large to be admitted within its walls, and they adjourned to the Old South Meeting House, on the corner of the present Washington and Milk streets. Hancock, the Adamses, Warren, Quincy, and other popular leaders and influential citizens were there. Firmness marked all the proceedings, and within that sanctuary of religion they made resolves of gravest import. It was agreed that no TEA should be land- ed with- in the pre- cincts oi Boston that no duty should bepaid; and that it should I be sent back in the same bottom. They also voted that Mr. Roch, the owner of the Dartmouth, be directed not to enter the tea at his peril; and that Captain Hall be informed, and at his peril, not to suffer any of the tea to be landed. preserving the peace of the city. During their They ordered the ship to be moored at Griffins session the frightened consignees presented a wharf, near the present Liverpool dock, and ap- petition to the council, asking leave to resign pointed a guard of twenty-five men to watch her. THE OLD SOUTH. PEOTINcE HOu 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When the meeting was about to adjourn, a letter was received from the consignees, offering to store the tea until they could write to England and obtain instructions from the Owners. The people had resolved that not a chest should be landed, and the offer was at once rejected. The sheriff, who was present, then stepped upon the back of a pew, and read a proclamation by the governor, ordering the assembly to dis- perse. It was received with hisses. Another resolution was then adopted, ordering two other tea vessels, then hourly expected, to be moored at Griffins wharf; and, after solemnly pledging themselves to carry their several resolutions into effect at all hazards, and thanking the people in attendance from the neighboring towns for their sympathy, they adjourned. Every thing relating to the TEA movement was now in the hands of the Boston Committee of Correspondence. A large volunteer guard was enrolled, and every necessary preparation was made to support the resistance resolutions of the 29th. A fortnight elapsed without any spe- cial public occurrence, when, on the afternoon of the 13th of December, intelligence went through the town that the Eleunor, Captain James Bruce, and the Beaver, Captain Hezekiah Coffin, ships of the East India Company, laden with tea, had entered the harbor. They were moored at Grif- fins wharf by the volunteer guard, and that night there were many sleepless eyes in Boston. The Sons of Liberty convened at an early hour in the evening, and expresses were sent to the neigh- boring towns with the intelligence. Early the next morning the following placard appeared: Friends! Brethren! Countrymen !The per- fidious arts of your restless enemies to render ineffectual the resolutions of the body of the people, demand your assembling at the Old South Meeting House precisely at two oclock this day, at which time the bells will ring. The Old South was crowded at the appointed hour, yet perfect order prevailed. It was resolved to order Mr. Roch to apply immediately for a clearance for his ship, and send her to sea. The owner was in a dilemma, for the governor had taken measures, since the arrival of the Dart- mouth, to prevent her sailing out of the harbor. Admiral Montague, who happened to be in Bos- ton, was directed to fit out two armed vessels, and station them at the entrance to the harbor, to act in concert with Colonel Leslie, the commander of the garrison at the Castle. Leslie had already received written orders from the governor not to allow any vessel to pass the guns of the fort, out- ward, without a permit, signed by himself. Of course Mr. Roch could do nothing. As no effort had yet been made to land the tea, the meeting adjourned, to assemble again on the 16th, at the same place. These several popular assemblies attracted great attention in the other colonies; and from New York and Philadelphia in particular, letters, expressive of the strongest sympathy and encouragement, were received by the Committee of Correspondence. At the appointed hour on the 16th, the Old South was again crowded, and the streets near were filled with a multitude, eager to participate in the proceedings. They had flocked in from the neighboring towns by hundreds. So great a gathering of people had never before occurred in Boston. Samuel Phillips Savage, of Weston, was chosen Moderator, or Chairman, and around him sat many men who, two years afterward, were the recognized leaders of the Revolution in Massachusetts. When the preliminary business was closed, and the meeting was about to appoint committees for more vigorous action than had hitherto been directed, the youthful Josiah Quin- cy arose, and with words almost of prophecy, uttered with impassioned cadence, he harangued the multitude. It is not, Mr. Moderator, he said, the spirit that vapors within these walls that must stand us in stead. The exertions of this day will call forth events which will make a very different spirit necessary for our salvation. Whoever supposes that shouts and hosannas will terminate the trials of this day, entertains a child- ish fancy. We must be grossly ignorant of the importance and the value of the prize for which we contend: we must be equally ignorant of the power of those who have combined against us; we must be blind to that malice, inveteracy, and insatiable revonge, which actuates our enemies, public and private, abroad and in our bosoms, to hope that we shall end this controversy with- out the sharpest confliotsto flatter ourselves that popular resolves, popular harangues, pop- ular acclamations, and popular vapor will van- quish our foes.. Let us consider the issue. Let us look to the end. Let us weigh and consider before we advance to those measures which must bring on the most trying and terrible struggle this country ever saw. This gifted young patriot dia not live to see the struggle he so confidently an- ticipated; for, when blood was flowing, in the first conflicts at Lexington and Concord, eighteen months afterward, he was dying with consump- tion, on ship-board, almost within sight of his native land. The people, in the Old South, were greatly agitated when Quincy closed his harangue. It was between three and four oclock in the after- noon. The question was immediately proposed to the meeting, Will you abide by your former resolutions with respect to not suffering the TEA to be landed 1 The vast assembly within, as with one voice, replied affirmatively, and when the purport was known without, the multitude there responded in accordance. The meetino now awaited the return of Mr. Roch, who had been to the governor to request a permit for his vessel to leave the harbor. Hutchinson, alarmed at the stormy aspect of affairs, had taken counsel of his fears, and withdrawn from the city to his country-house at Milton, a few miles from Boston. It was sunset when Roch returned and informed the meeting that the governor refused to grant a permit, until a clearance should be exhibited. As a clearance had already been refused by the col- lector of the port, until the cargo should be landed, THE BOSTON TEA PARTY 9 mained unimpeached; the national honor was not compromised, and the Bostonians, having carried their resolutions into effect, were satisfied. The East India Company alone, which was the actual loser, had cause for complaint. It may be asked, Who were the men actively engaged in this high-handed measure l Were they an ignorant rabble, with no higher motives than the gratification of a mobocratic spirit l By no means. While some of them were doubtless governed, in a measure, by such a motive, the greater portion were young men and lads who belonged to the respectable part of the commu- nity, and of the fifty-nine partieipators whose names have been preserved, some of them held honorable stations in after life; some battled nobly in defense of liberty in the Continental Army of the Revolution which speedily followed, and almost all of them, according to traditionary testimony, were entitled to the respect due to good citizens. Only one, of all that band, as far as is known, is yet among the living, and he has survived almost a half century beyond the allotted period of human life. When the present century dawned, he had almost reached the goal of three score and ten years; and now, at the age was evident that government officers had con- certed to resist the demands of the people. Like a sea lashed by a storm, that meeting swayed with excitement, and eagerly demanded from the leaders some indication for immediate action. Night was fast approaching, and as the twilight deepened, a call was made for candles. At that moment, a person in the gallery, disguised in the garb of a Mohawk Indian, gave a war-whoop, which was answered from without. That sig- nal, like the notes of a trumpet before the battle- charge, fired the assemblage, and as another voice in the gallery shouted, Boston harbor a tea-pot to-night! Hurrah for Griffins wharf! a motion to adjourn was carried, and ~he multitude rushed to the street. To Griffins wharf! to Griffins wharf!~~ again shouted several voices, while a dozen men, disguised as Indians, were seen speeding over Fort Hill, in that direction. The populace followed, and in a few minutes the scene of excitement was transferred from the Old South to the water side. No doubt the vigilant patriots had arranged this movement, in anticipation of the refusal of the governor to allow the Dartmouth to depart; for concert of action marked all the operations at the wharf. The number of persons dis ____ ___ guised as Indians, was fifteen or twenty, and these, with others who joined them, appeared to recognize Lendall Pitts, a me- chanic of Boston, as their leader. Under his directions, about sixty persons boarded the three tea-ships, brought the chests upon deck, broke them open, and cast their con- tents into the water. The Dartmouth was boarded first; the Eleanor and Beaver were next entered; and within the space of two hours, the contents of three hundred and forty-two chests of tea were cast into the waters of the harbor. During the occur- rence very little excitement was manifested among the multitude upon the wharf; and as soon as the work of (lestruction was comoleted, the active party marched in perfect order hack into the town, preceded by a drum and fife, dispersed to their homes, and Boston, mintarnished by actual mob or riot, was never more tranquil than on that bright and frosty December night. A British squadron was not more than a quarter of a mile from Griffins wharf, where this event occurred, and British troops were near, yet the whole proceed- ing was uninterrupted. The newspapers ____________ of the day doubtless gave the correct inter- pretation to this apathy. Something far more serious had been anticipated, if an at- tempt should be made to land the tea; and the owners of the vessels, as well as the public authorities, civil and military, doubtless of one hundred and fifteen years, DAVID KINNIsoN, thanked the rioters, in their secret thoughts, for of Chicago, Illinois, holds the eminent position thus extricating them from a serious dilemma. of the last survivor of the Boston Tea Party! They would doubtless have been worsted in an When the writer, in 1848, procured the portrait attempt forcibly to land the tea; now, the vessels and autograph of the aged patriot, he was living were saved from destruction; no blood was spilt; among strangers and ignorant of the earthly ex- the courage of the civil and military officers re- istence of one of all his twenty-two children. A HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. iaughter survives, and having been made ac- quainted of the existence of her father, by the publication of this portrait in the Field-Book, she hastened to him, and is now smoothing the pillow of the patriarch as he is gradually passing into the long and peaceful slumber of the grave. The life of another actor was spared, until within ten years, and his portrait, also, is pre- served. GEORGE ROBERT TWELVES HEWES, was supposed to be the latest survivor, until the name of David Kinnison was made public. Soon not one of all that party will be among the living. Before closing this article let us advert to the effect produced by the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor, for to effects alone are causes indebted for importance. The events of the 16th of December produced a deep sensation throughout the British realm. They struck a sympathetic chord in every colony which afterward rebeled; and even Canada, Hali- fax, and theWest Indies, had no serious voice of censure for the Bostonians. But the ministerial narty here, and the public in England, amazed at the audacity of the Americans in opposing royal authority, and in destroying private prop- erty, called loudly for punishment; and even the friends of the colonists in Parliament were, for a moment, silent, for they could not fully excuse the lawless act. Another and a power- ful party was now made a principal in the quar- rel; the East India Company whose property had been destroyed, was now directly interested in the question of taxation. That huge monop- oly which had controlled the commerce of the Indies for more than a century and a half, was then almost at the zenith of its power. Already it had laid the foundation, broad and deep, of that British-Indian Empire which now comprises the whole of Hindostan, from the Himalaya Mountains to Cape Comorin, with a population of more than one hundred and twenty millions, and its power in the government affairs of Great Britain, was almost vice-regal. Unawed by the fleets and armies of the imperial government, and by the wealth and power of this corporation, the Bostonians justified their acts by the rules of justice and the guarantees of the British consti- tution; and the next vessel to England, after the event was known there, carried out an hon- est proposition to the East India Company, from the people of Boston, to pay for the tea destrDyed. The whole matter rested at once upon its Orig- inal basisthe right of Great Britain to tax the coloniesand this fair proposition of the Bos- tonians disarmed ministers of half their weapons of vituperation. The American party in England saw nothing whereof to be ashamed, and the presses, opposed b the ministry, teemed with grave disquisitions, satires, and lampoons, all fa- vorable to the colonists, while art lent its aid in the production of several caricatures similar to the one here given, in which Lord North is repre- sented as pouring tea down the throat of unwill- ing America, who is held fast by Lord Mansfield (then employed by government in drawing up the various acts so obnoxious to the colonists), while Britannia stands by, weeping at the dis- tress of her daughter. In America, almost every newspaper of the few printed, was filled with ar- guments, epigrams, parables, sonnets, dialogues, and every form of expression favorable to the resistance made in Boston to the arbitrary acts of government; and a voice of approval went forth from pulpits, courts of law, and the pro vincial legislatures Great was the exasperation of the king arid his ministers when intelligence of the proceed- ings in Boston reached them. According to Burke, the House of Lords was like a seething caldronthe House of Commons was as hot as Fanenil Hall or the Old South Meeting House at Boston. Ministers and their supporters charg- ed the colonies with open rebellion, while the opposition denounced, in the strongest language which common coprtesy would allow, the foolish, unjust, and wicked course of government. In cabinet council, the king and his ministers deliberately considered the matter, and the result was a determination to use coercive measures against the colonies. The first of these schemes was a bill brought forward in March, 1774, which provided for the closing of the port of Boston, to GEORGE ROBERT TWELVES HEWE~. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. 11 and the removal of customs, courts of justice, and government offices of every kind from Bos- ton to Salem. This was avowedly a retaliatory measure; and the famous Boston Port Bill, which, more than any other act of the British rovernment, was instrumental in driving the colonies to rebellion, became a law within a hun- dred days after the destruction of the tea. In the debate upon this bill, the most violent lan- guage was used toward the Americans. Lord North justified the measure by asserting that Boston was the centre of rebellious commotion in America; the ring-leader in every riot. Mr. Herbert declared that the Americans deserved no consideration; that they were never actuated by decency or reason, and that they always chose tarring and feathering as an argument ; while Mr. Van, anothei ministerial supporter, denounced the people of Boston as totally un- worthy civilized forbearancedeclared that they ought to have their town knocked about their ears, and destroyed; and concluded his tirade of abuse by quoting the factious cry of the old Roman orators, Delenda est Carthago Car- thage must be destroyed. Edmund Burke, who now commenced his series of splendid orations in favor of America, denounced the whole scheme as essentially wick- ed and unjust, because it punished the innocent with the guilty. You will thus irrevocably alienate the hearts of the colonies from the moth- er country, he exclaimed. The bill is 4njust, since it bears only upon the city of Boston, while it is hotorious that all America is in flames; that the cities of Philadelphia, of New York, and all the maritime towns of the continent, have ex- hibited the same disobedience. You are con- tending for a matter which the Bostonians will not give up quietly. They can not, by such means, be made to bow to the authority of min- isters; on the contrary, you will find their ob- stinacy confirmed and their fury exasperated. The acts of resistance in their city have not been confined to the populace alone, but men of the first rank and opulent fortune in the place have openly countenanced them. One city in pro- scription and the rest in rebellion, can never be a remedial measure for disturbances. Have you considered whether you have troops and ships sufficient to reduce the people of the whole American continent to your devotion ~ From denunciation he passed to appeal, and besought ministers to pause ere they should strike a blow that would forever separate the colonies from Great Britain. But the pleadings of Burke and others, were in vain, and deafto the voice ofjust- ice and of consanguinity, this, and other rigor- ous measures, were put in operation by ministers. The industry and enterprise of Boston was crushed when, on the first of June, the Port Bill went into operation; but her voice of wail, as it went over the land, awakened the noblest ex- pressions and acts of sympathy, and the blow inflicted upon her was resented by all the colo- nies. They all felt that forbearance was no longer a virtue. Ten years they had pleaded, petitioned, remonstrated; they were uniformly answered by insult. There seemed no other al- ternative but abject submission, or open, armed resistance. They chose the latter, and thirteen months after the Boston Port Bill became a law, the battle at Lexington and Concord had been fought, and Boston was beleaguered by an army of patriots. The Battle of Bunker Hill soon followed; a continental armywas organized with Washington at its head, and the war of the Revolution began. Eight long years it contin- ued, when the oppressors, exhausted, gave up the contest. Peace came, and with it, INDEPEND- ENCE; and the Republic of the United States took its place among the nations of the earth. How conspicuous the feeble Chinese plant should appear among these important events let the voice of history determine. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. THE safe return of the Expedition sent out by Mr. Henry Grinnell, an opulent merchant of New York city, in search of Sir John Frank- lin and his companions, is an event of much interest; and the voyage, though not resulting in the discovery of the long-absent mariners, presents many considerations satisfactory to the parties immediately concerned, and to the Amer- ican public in general. In the second volume of the Magazine, on pages 588 to 597 inclusive, we printed some in- teresting extracts from the journal of Mr. W. PARKEE SNow, of the Prince Albert, avessel which sailed from Aberdeen with a crew of Scotchmen, upon the same errand of mercy. That account is illustrated by engravings; and in his narrative, Mr. Snow makes favorable mention of Mr. Grin- nells enterprise, and the character of the officers, crew, and vessels. We now present a more de- tailed account of the American Expedition, its adventures and results, together with several graphic illustrations, engraved from drawings made in the polar seas during the voyage, by Mr. CHARLES BEEEY, a seaman of the Advance, the largest of the two vessels. These drawings, though made with a pencil in hands covered with thick mittens, while the thermometer indi- cated from 200 to 400 below zero, exhibit much artistic skill in correctness of outline and beauty of finish. Mr. Berry is a native of Hamburg, Germany, and was properly educated for the duties of the counting-room and the accomplish- ments of social life. Attracted by the romance of The sea, the sea. the deep blue sea, he abandoned home for the perilous and exciting life of a sailor. Although only thirty years of age, he has been fifteen years upon the ocean. Five years he was in the English service, much of the time in the waters near the Arctic Circle; the remainder has been spent in the service of the United States. He was with the German- town in the Gulf, during the war with Mexico, and accompanied her marines at the siege of Vera Crux. He was in the North Carolina when Lieutenant De Haven went on board seeking volunteers for the Arctic Expedition. He offer-

THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. 11 and the removal of customs, courts of justice, and government offices of every kind from Bos- ton to Salem. This was avowedly a retaliatory measure; and the famous Boston Port Bill, which, more than any other act of the British rovernment, was instrumental in driving the colonies to rebellion, became a law within a hun- dred days after the destruction of the tea. In the debate upon this bill, the most violent lan- guage was used toward the Americans. Lord North justified the measure by asserting that Boston was the centre of rebellious commotion in America; the ring-leader in every riot. Mr. Herbert declared that the Americans deserved no consideration; that they were never actuated by decency or reason, and that they always chose tarring and feathering as an argument ; while Mr. Van, anothei ministerial supporter, denounced the people of Boston as totally un- worthy civilized forbearancedeclared that they ought to have their town knocked about their ears, and destroyed; and concluded his tirade of abuse by quoting the factious cry of the old Roman orators, Delenda est Carthago Car- thage must be destroyed. Edmund Burke, who now commenced his series of splendid orations in favor of America, denounced the whole scheme as essentially wick- ed and unjust, because it punished the innocent with the guilty. You will thus irrevocably alienate the hearts of the colonies from the moth- er country, he exclaimed. The bill is 4njust, since it bears only upon the city of Boston, while it is hotorious that all America is in flames; that the cities of Philadelphia, of New York, and all the maritime towns of the continent, have ex- hibited the same disobedience. You are con- tending for a matter which the Bostonians will not give up quietly. They can not, by such means, be made to bow to the authority of min- isters; on the contrary, you will find their ob- stinacy confirmed and their fury exasperated. The acts of resistance in their city have not been confined to the populace alone, but men of the first rank and opulent fortune in the place have openly countenanced them. One city in pro- scription and the rest in rebellion, can never be a remedial measure for disturbances. Have you considered whether you have troops and ships sufficient to reduce the people of the whole American continent to your devotion ~ From denunciation he passed to appeal, and besought ministers to pause ere they should strike a blow that would forever separate the colonies from Great Britain. But the pleadings of Burke and others, were in vain, and deafto the voice ofjust- ice and of consanguinity, this, and other rigor- ous measures, were put in operation by ministers. The industry and enterprise of Boston was crushed when, on the first of June, the Port Bill went into operation; but her voice of wail, as it went over the land, awakened the noblest ex- pressions and acts of sympathy, and the blow inflicted upon her was resented by all the colo- nies. They all felt that forbearance was no longer a virtue. Ten years they had pleaded, petitioned, remonstrated; they were uniformly answered by insult. There seemed no other al- ternative but abject submission, or open, armed resistance. They chose the latter, and thirteen months after the Boston Port Bill became a law, the battle at Lexington and Concord had been fought, and Boston was beleaguered by an army of patriots. The Battle of Bunker Hill soon followed; a continental armywas organized with Washington at its head, and the war of the Revolution began. Eight long years it contin- ued, when the oppressors, exhausted, gave up the contest. Peace came, and with it, INDEPEND- ENCE; and the Republic of the United States took its place among the nations of the earth. How conspicuous the feeble Chinese plant should appear among these important events let the voice of history determine. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. THE safe return of the Expedition sent out by Mr. Henry Grinnell, an opulent merchant of New York city, in search of Sir John Frank- lin and his companions, is an event of much interest; and the voyage, though not resulting in the discovery of the long-absent mariners, presents many considerations satisfactory to the parties immediately concerned, and to the Amer- ican public in general. In the second volume of the Magazine, on pages 588 to 597 inclusive, we printed some in- teresting extracts from the journal of Mr. W. PARKEE SNow, of the Prince Albert, avessel which sailed from Aberdeen with a crew of Scotchmen, upon the same errand of mercy. That account is illustrated by engravings; and in his narrative, Mr. Snow makes favorable mention of Mr. Grin- nells enterprise, and the character of the officers, crew, and vessels. We now present a more de- tailed account of the American Expedition, its adventures and results, together with several graphic illustrations, engraved from drawings made in the polar seas during the voyage, by Mr. CHARLES BEEEY, a seaman of the Advance, the largest of the two vessels. These drawings, though made with a pencil in hands covered with thick mittens, while the thermometer indi- cated from 200 to 400 below zero, exhibit much artistic skill in correctness of outline and beauty of finish. Mr. Berry is a native of Hamburg, Germany, and was properly educated for the duties of the counting-room and the accomplish- ments of social life. Attracted by the romance of The sea, the sea. the deep blue sea, he abandoned home for the perilous and exciting life of a sailor. Although only thirty years of age, he has been fifteen years upon the ocean. Five years he was in the English service, much of the time in the waters near the Arctic Circle; the remainder has been spent in the service of the United States. He was with the German- town in the Gulf, during the war with Mexico, and accompanied her marines at the siege of Vera Crux. He was in the North Carolina when Lieutenant De Haven went on board seeking volunteers for the Arctic Expedition. He offer- 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed his services; they were acceptt~d, and a more skillful and faithful seaman never went aloft. And it is pleasant to hear with what enthusiasm he speaks of Commander Do Haven, as a skillful navigator and kind-hearted man. He was as kind to me as a brother, he said, and I would go with him to the ends of the earth, if he want- ed me. Although he speaks English somewhat imperfectly, yet we have listened with great pleas- ure to his intelligent narrative of the perils, occu pations, sports, and duties of the voyage. Since his return he has met an uncle, the commander of a merchant vessel, and, for the first time in fifteen years, he received intelligence from his family My mother is dead, said he to us. while the tears gushed involuntarily from his eyes; I have no one to go home to nowI shall stay here. We shall not attempt to give a detailed narra~ tive of the events of the Expedition; we shall AOVANcE AND RESCUE BEATING TO WINDWARD OF AN ICEBERG THREE HILES rE cIRCaHFERENcE. MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE OF THE EXPEDITION. [The solid black Line shows the outward course of the vessels; the dotted line denotes the drift of the vessels, their baffled attempt to reach Lancaster Sound a second time, and their return home.] THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. 13 relate only some of the most noteworthy circum- stances, especially those which the pencil of the sailor-artist has illustrated. By reference to the small map on the preceding page, the relative position of the places named; the track of the vessels in their outward voyage; their ice-drift of more than a thousand miles, and their abortive attempt to penetrate the ice of Baffins Bay a second time, will be more clearly understood. Mr. Grinnells Expedition consisted of only two small brigs, the Advance of 140 tons; the Rescue of only 90 tons. The former had been engaged in the Havana trade; the latter was a new vessel, built for the merchant service. Both were strengthened for the Arctic voyage at a heavy cost. They were then placed under the directions of our Navy board, and subject to naval regulations as if in permanent service. The command was given to Lieutenant E. De Haven, a young naval officer who accompanied the United States Exploring Expedition. The result has proved that a better choice could not have been made. His officers consisted of Mr. Murdoch, sailing-master; Dr. E. K. Kane, Surgeon and Naturalist; and Mr. Lovell, midshipman. The Advance had a crew of twelve men when she sailed; two of them complaining of sickness, and expressing a desire to return home, were left at the Danish settlement at Disko Island, on the coast of Greenland. The Expedition left New York on the 23d of May, 1850, and was absent a little ~nore than sixteen months. They passed the eastern ex- tremity of Newfoundland ten days after leav- ing Sandy Hook, and then sailed east-northeast, directly for Cape Comfort, on the coast of Green- land. The weather was generally fine, and only a single accident occurred on the voyage to that country of frost and snow. Off the coast of Labrador, they met an iceberg making its way toward the tropics. The night was very dark, and as the huge voyager had no light out the Advance could not be censured for running foul. She was punished, however, by the loss of her jib-boom, as she ran against the iceberg at the rate of seven or eight knots an hour. The voyagers did not land at Cape Comfort, but turning northward, sailed along the south- west coast of Greenland, sometimes in an open sea, and sometimes in the midst of broad acres of broken ice (particularly in Daviss Straits), as far as ~Vhale Island. On the way the anni- versary of our national independence occurred; it was observed by the seamen by splicing the main-bracein other words, they were allowed an extra glass of grog on that day. From Whale Island, a boat, with two officers and four seamen, was sent to Disko Island, a dis- tance of about 26 miles, to a Danish settlement there, to procure skin clothing and other articles necessary for use during the rigors of a Polar winter. The officers were entertained at the government house; the seamen were comfortably lodged with the Esquimaux, sleeping in fur bags PERILOUS SITUATION OF THE ADVANCE AND RESCUE IN MELVILLE BAY. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. at night. They returned to the ship the follow- ing day, and the Expedition proceeded on its voy- age. When passing the little Danish settlement of Upernavick, they were boarded by natives for the first time. They were out in government whale-boats, bunting for ducks and seals. These hardy children of the Arctic Circle were not shy,. for through the Danes, the English whalers, and government expeditions, they had become ac- quainted with men of other latitudes. When the Expedition reached Melville Bay, which, on account of its fearful character, is also called the Derils Nip, the voyagers began to witness more of the grandeur and perils of Arctic scenes. Icebergs of all dimensions came bearing down from the Polar seas like vast squadrons, and the roar of their rending came over the wa- ters like the booming of the heavy broadsides of contending navies. They also encountered im- mense floes, with only narrow channels between, and at times their situation was exceedingly per- ilous. On one occasion, after heaving through fields of ice for five consecutive weeks, two im- mense floes, between which they were making their way, gradually approached each other, and for several hours they expected their tiny ves- selstiny when compared with the mighty ob- jects around themwould be crushed. An im- mense calf of ice six or eight feet thick slid under the Rescue, lifting her almost high and dry, and careening her partially upon her beams end. By means of ice-anchors (large iron hooks), they kept her from capsizing. In this positien they remained about sixty hours, when, with saws and axes, they succeeded in relieving her. The ice now opened a little, and they finally warped through into clear water. While they were thus confined, polar bears came around them in abundance, greedy for prey, and the seamen indulged a little in the perilous sports of the chase. The open sea continued but a short time, when they again became entangled among bergs, floes, and hummocks, and encountered the most fear- ful perils.. Sometimes they anchored their ves- sels to icebergs, and sometimes to floes or masses of hummock. On one of these occasions, while the cook, an active Frenchman, was upon a berg, making a place for an anchor, the mass of ice split beneath him, and he was dropped through the yawning fissure into the water, a distance of almost thirty feet. Fortunately the masses, as is often the case, did not close up again, but float- ed apart, and the poor cook was hauled on board more deid than alive, from excessive fright. It was in this fearful region that they first en- countered pack-ice, and there they were locked in from the 7th to the 23d of July. During that TIE ADVANCE, aEscm, ANT) PRINCE ALBERT NEAR TILE DE\ ILS ThUMB. THE AMERICAN AROTO EXPEDITION. 15 time they were joined by the yacht Prince Albert, commanded by Captain Forsyth, of the Royal Navy, and together the three vessels were an- chored, for a while, to an immense field of ice, in sight of the Dcviis Thumb. That high, rocky peak, situated in latitude 740 22 was about thirty miles distant, and with the dark hills adjacent, presented a strange aspect where all was white and glittering. The peak and the hills are masses of rock, with occasionally a lichen or a moss growing upon their otherwise naked surfaces. In the midst of the vast ice-field loomed up many lofty bergs, all of them in motionslow and majestic motion. From the Devils Thumb the American vessels passed onward through the pack toward Sabines Islands,.while the Prince Albert essayed to make a more westerly course. They reached Cape York at the beginning of August. Far across the ice, landward, they discovered, through their glasses, several men, apparently making signals; and for a while they rejoiced in the belief that they saw a portion of Sir John Franklins com- panions. Four men (among whom was our sailor-artist) were dispatched with a whale-boat to reconnoitre. They soon discovered the men to be Esquimaux, who, by signs, professed great friendship, and endeavored to get the voyagers to accompany them to their homes beyond the hills. They declined: and as soon as they re turned to the vessel, the expedition again push- ed forward, and made its way to Cape Dudley Digges, which they reached on the 7th of August. At Cape Dudley Digges they were charmed by the sight of the Crimson Cliffs, spoken of by Cap. tam Parry and other Arctic navigators. These are lofty cliffs of dark brown stone, covered with snow of a rich crimson color. It was a magnifi- cent sight in that cold region, to see such an apparently warm object standing out in bold re- lief against the dark blue back-ground of a polai sky. This was the most northern point to which the expedition penetrated. The whole coast which they had passed from Disko to this cape is high, rugged, and barren, only some of the low points, stretching into the sea, bearing a species of dwarf fir. Northeast from the cape rise the Arctic Highlands, to an unknown altitude; and stretching away northward is the unexplored Smiths Sound, filled with impenetrable ice. From Cape Dudley Digges, the Advance and Rescue, beating against wind and tide in the midst of the ice-fields, made Wolstenholme Sound, and then changing their course to the southwest, emerged from the fields into the open waters of Lancaster Sound. Here, on the 18th of August, they encountered a tremendous gale, which lasted about twenty-four hours. The two vessels parted company during the storm, and remained separate several days. Across Lan- THE ADVANCE LEADING THE PRINCE ALBERT, NEAR LEOPOLD ISLAND. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. caster Sound, the Advance made her way to Bar- rows Straits, and on the 22d discovered the Prince Albert on the southern shore of the straits, near Leopold Island, a mass of lofty, precipitous rocks, dark arid barren, and hooded and draped with snow. The weather was fine, and soon the officers and crews of the two vessels met in friendly greeting. Those of the Prince Albert were much astonished, f6r they (heing towed by a steamer) left the Americans in Melville Bay on the 6th, pressing northward through the pack, and could not conceive how they so soon and safely penetrated it. Captain Forsyth had attempted to reach a particular point, where he intended to remain through the winter, but f~iding the pas- sage thereto completely blocked up with ice, he had resolved, on the very day when the Ameri- cans appeared, to bout ship, and return home. This fact, and the disappointment felt by Mr. Snow, are mentioned in our former article. The two vessels remained together a day or two, when they parted company, the Prince Al- bert to return home, and the Advance to make further explorations. It was off Leopold Island, on the 23d of August, that the mad Yankee took the lead through the vast masses of float- ing ice, so vividly described by Mr. Snow, and so graphically portrayed by the sailor-artist. The way was before them, says Mr. Snow, who stood upon the deck of the Advance; the stream of ice had to be either gone through boldly, or a long detour made; and, despite the heaviness of the stream, they pushed the vessel through in her proper course. Two or three shocks, as she came in contact with some large pieces, were un- heeded; and the moment the last block was past the bow, the officer sung out, So: steady as goes on her course; and came aft as if nothing more than ordinary sailing had been going on. I observed our own little bark nobly following in the Americans wake; and as I afterward learned, she got through it pretty well, though not without much doubt of the propriety of keep- ing on in such procedure after the mad Yankee, as he was called by our mate. From Leopold Island the Advance proceeded to the northwest, and on the 25th reached Cape Riley, another amorphous mass, not so regular and precipitate as Leopold Island, but more lofty. Here a strong tide, setting in to the shore, drifted the Advance toward the beach, where she strand- ed. Aroundher were small bergs and large masses of floatinu ice all under the influence of the strong current. It was about two oclock in the after- noon when she struck. By diligent labor in re- moving every thing from her deck to a smallftoe, she was so lightened, that at four oclock the next morning she floated, and soon every thing was properly replaced. Near Cape Riley the Americans fell in with a portion of an English Expedition, and there also the Rescue, left behind in the gale in Lan- caster Sound, overtook the Advance. There was Captain Penny with the & phia and Lady Franklin; the veteran Sir John Ross, with the Felix, and Commodore Austin, with the Resolute steamer. Together the navigators of both na- tions explored the coast at and near Cape Riley, and on the 27th they saw in a cove on the shore of Beechy Island, or Beechy Cape, on the east side of the entrance to Wellington Channel, unmistakable evidence that Sir John Franklin and his companions were there in April, 1846. Th~~ they found many articles known to be- THE ADvANcE STRANDED AT CAPE RILEY. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. I1 long to the British Navy, and some that were of JOHN HAETNELL, A. B, of her Majestys ship the property of the Erebus and Terror, the ships Erebus; died, January 4th, 1846, aged 25 years. under the command of Sir John. There lay, Thus saith the Lord of Hosts, Consider your bleached to the whiteness of the surrounding ways: Haggai, chap. i. v. 7. snow, a piece of canvas, with the name of the Ter- On the right Sacred to the memory of W. -or, marked upon it with indestructible charcoal BRAINE, R.M., of her Majestys ship Erebus, who [t was very faint, yet perfectly legiblo Near it died April 3d, 1846, aged 32 years. Choose you vas a guide board, this day whom you will serve: Joshua, chap. lying flat upon its xxiv., part of the 15th verse. face, having beeii i prostrated by the wind. It had evi- L dently been used to -. ~ .-- 1 direct exploringpar ~ ties to the vessels W or. rather, to the en- campment on shore. The board was pine. thirteen inches in length and six and a half in breadth, and nailed to a boarding pike eight feet in length. It is sup- posed that the sud- den opening of the ANVIL BLOflK. tiUtIJE BOARD. ice, caused Sir John to depart hastily, and that in so doing, this pike and its board were left behind. They also found a. large number of tin canisters, such as are used for packing meats for a sea voyage; an anvil block; remnants of clothing, which evinced, by numerous patches and their threadbare character, that they had been worn as long as the owners could keep them on; the re- mains of an India rubber glove, lined with wool; some old sacks; a cask, or tub, partly filled with charcoal, and an unfirished rope-mat, which, like other fibrous fabrics, was bleached white. But the most interesting, and at the same time most melancholy traces of the navigators, were ihree graves, in a little sheltered cove, each with a board at the head, bearing the name of the sleeper below. These inscriptions testify posi- tively when Sir John and his companions were .here. The board at the head of the grave on the left has the following inscription: Sacred to the memory of JOHN ToRRINCToN, who departed this life, January 1st, A.n., 1846, on ooard her Majestys ship Terror, aged 20 years. On the centre one Sacred to the memory VOL. JV.No. 19.B THREE CRAVES AT BEECHY.* How much later than April 3(1 (the date upon the last-named hea d-board), Sir John remained at Beechy, can not be determined. They saw evi- dences of his having gone northward, for sledge tracks in that direction were very visible. It is the opinion of Dr. Kane that, on the breaking up of the ice, in the spring, Sir John passed north- ward with his ships through Wellington Channel, into the great Polar basin, and that he did not return. This, too, is the opinion of Captain Penny, and he zealously urges the British gov- ernment to send a powerful screw steamer to pass through that channel, and explore the theoreti- cally more hospitable coasts beyond. This will doubtless be undertaken another season, it being the opinions of Captains Parry, Beechy, Sir John Ross, and others, expressed at a conference with the Board of Admiralty, in September, that the season was too far advanced to attempt it the present year. Dr. Kane, in a letter to Mr. Grin- nell, since the return of the expedition, thus ex- presses his opinion concerning the safety of Sir John and his companions. After saying, I should think that he is now to be sought for north and west of Cornwallis Island, he adds, as to the chance of the destruction of his party by the casualties of ice, the return of our own party after something more than the usual share of them, is the only fact that I can add to what we knew when we set out. The hazards from cold and privation of food may be almost looked upon as subordinate The snow-hut, the fire and light from the moss- lamp fed with blubber, the seal, the narwhal, the white whale, and occasionally abundant stores of migratory birds, would sustain vigorous life. The scurvy, the worst visitation of explorers deprived of permanent quarters, is more rare in the depths of a Polar winter, than in the milder weather of * This and the picture of the guide-board and anvil block are copied from sketches made by Captain Austin of the English Expedition. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the moist summer; and our two little vessels en- narrowly escaped being frozen in for the winter. countered both seasons without losing a man. They endeavored to enter the Inlet, for the pur- Leaving Beechy Cape, our expedition forced its pose of making it their winter quarters, but were way through the ice to Barlows Inlet, where they prevented by the mass of pack-we at its entranco It was on the 4th of September, 1850, when they arrived there, and after remaining seven or eight days, they abandoned the attempt to enter. On the right and left of the above picture, are seen the dark rocks at the entrance of the Inlet, and in the centre the frozen waters and the range of hills beyond. There was much smooth ice with- in the Inlet, and while the vessels lay anchored to the field, officers and crew exercised and amused themselves by skating. On the left of the Inlet, (indicated by the dark conical object,) they discovered a Cairn (a heap of stones with a cavity) eight or ten feet in height, which was erected by Captain Ommanny of the English Ex- pedition then in the Polar waters. Within it he had placed two letters, for whom it might con- cern. Commander De Haven also deposited a letter there. It is believed to be the only post- office in the world, free for the use of all nations. The rocks, here, presented vast fissures made by the frost; and at the foot of the cliff on the right, that powerful agent had cast down vast heaps of debris. From Barlows Inlet, our Expedition moved slowly westward, battling with the ice every rood of the way, until they reached Griffins Island, ~t about 960 west longitude from Green- wich. This was attained on the 11th, and was the extreme westing made by the expedition. All beyond seemed impenetrable ice; and, de spairing of making any further discoveries before the winter should set in, they resolved to return home. Turning eastward, they hoped to reach Daviss Straits by the southern route, before the cold and darkness came on, but they were doomed to disappointment. Near the entrance to Wellington Channel they became completely locked in by hummock-ice, and soon found them- selves drifting with an irresistible tide up that channel toward the pole. Now began the most perilous adventures of the navigators. The summer day was drawing to a close; the diurnal visits of the pale sun were rapidly shortening, and soon the long polar night, with all its darkness and horrors, would fall upon them. Slowly they drifted in those vast fields of ice, whither, or to what result, they knew not. Locked in the moving yet compact mass; liable every moment to be crushed; far away from land; the mercury sinking daily lower and lower from the zero figure, toward the point where that metal freezes, they felt small hope of ever reaching home again. Yet they prepared for winter comforts and winter sports, as cheerfully as if lying safe in Barlows Inlet. As the winter advanced, the crews of both vessels went on board the larger one. They unshipped the rndders of each to prevent their being injured by the ice, covered the deck of the Advance with felt, prepared their stores. and made arrangements THE ADVANCE AND RESCUE AT BARLOWs INLET. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. 19 for enduring the long winter, now upon them. Physical and mental activity being necessary for the preservation of health, they daily exer- cised in the open air for several hours They built ice huts, hunted the huge white bears and the little polar foxes, and when the darkness of the winter night had spread over them, they arranged in-door amusements and employments. Before the end of October, the sun made its appearance for the last time, and the awful polar night closed in. Early in November they wholly abandoned the Rescue, and both crews made the Advance their permanent winter home. The cold soon became intense; the mercury con- gealed, and the spirit thermometer indicated 460 below zero! Its average range was 3O~ to 350 They had drifted helplessly up Wellington Chan- nel as high as the point 4. on the map, almost to the latitude from whence Captain Penny saw an open sea, and which all believe to be the great ~olar basin, where there is a more genial clime than that which intervenes between the Arctic Circle and the 75th degree. Here, when almost in sight of the open ocean, that mighty polar tide, with its vast masses of ice, suddenly ebbed, and our little vessels were carried back as resist- lessly as before, through Barrows Straits into Lancaster Sound! All this while the immense fields of hummock-ice were moving, and the vessels were in hourly danger of being crushed and destroyed. At length, while drifting through Barrows Straits, the congealed mass, as if crush- ed together by the opposite shores, became more compact, and the Advance was elevated almost seven feet by the stem, and keeled two feet eight inches, starboard, as seen in the engraving. In this position she remained, with very little alter- ation, for five consecutive months; for, soon after entering Baffins Bay in the midst of the winter, the ice became frozen in one immense tract, covering millions of acres. Thus frozen in, sometimes more than a hundred miles from land, they drifted slowly along the southwest coast of Baffins Bay, a distance of more than a thousand miles from Wellington Channel. For eleven weeks that dreary night continued, and during that time the disc of the sun was never seen above the horizon. Yet nature was not wholly forbidding in aspect. Sometimes the Aurora Borealis would flash up still further northward; and sometimes Aurora Parhelia mock suns and mock moonswould appear in varied beauty in the starry sky. Brilliant, too, were the northern constellations; and when the real moon was at its full, it made its stately circuit in the heavens without descending below the horizon, and lighted up the vast piles of ice with a pale lustre, almost as great as the morn- ing twilights of more genial skies. Around the vessels the crews built a wall of ice; and in ice huts they stowed away their cordage and stores to make room for exercise om~ the decks. They organized a theatrical com ~~0~jG.SARRI ADVANCE AND RESCUE DRIFTING IN WELLINGTON SOUND. sITU4TION OF THE ADVANCE IN I3AR1cOW5 STRAITS HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pany and amused themselves and the officers below zero, and actors and audience highly en- with comedy well performed. Behind the pieces joyed the fun. They also went out in parties of hummock each actor learned his part, and by during that long night, fully armed, to hunt the means of calico they transformed themselves into polar bear, the grim monarch of the frozen North, female characters, as occasion required. These on which occasions they often encountered peril- dramas were acted upon the deck of the Advance, ous adventures. They played at foot-ball, and sometimes while the thermometer indicated 300 exercised themselves in drawing sledges, heavily THE ADVANCE IN DAVIS S STRAITS, JUNE 5, 1851. ~1 - / 11/ 1 ADvANCE AND RESCUE DURiNG THE WINTER OF 1850-51. THE AMERICAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION. 21 laden with provisions. Five hours of each twen- ty-four, they thus exercised in the open air, and once a week each man washed his whole body in cold snow water. Serious sickness was conse- quently avoided, and the scurvy which attacked them soon yielded to remedies. Often during that fearful night, they expected the disaster of having their vessels crushed. All through November and December, before the ice became fast, they slept in their clothes, with knapsacks on their backs, and sledges upon the ice, laden with stores, not knowing at what moment the vessels might be demolished, and themselves forced to leave them and make their way toward land. On the 8th of December, and the 23d of January, they actually lowered their boats and stood upon the ice, for the crushing masses were making the timbers of the gallant vessel creak and its decks to rise in the centre. They were then ninety miles from land, and hope hardly whispered an encouraging idea of life being sustained. On the latter occasion, when officers and crew stood upon the ice, with the ropes of their provision sledges in their hands, a terrible snow-drift came from the north- east, and intense darkness shrouded them. Had the vessel then been crushed, all must have perished. But God, who ruled the storm, also put forth his protecting arm and saved them. Early in February the northern horizon began to be streaked with gorgeous twilight, the herald through Daviss Straits, and the ice gave indica- of the approaching king of day; and on the 18th tions of breaking up, the voyagers made prepara- the disc of the sun first appeared above the hon- tions for sailint~. The Rescue was re-occupied. zon. As its golden rim rose above the glittering (May 13th 1851), and her stern-post, which had snow-drifts and piles of ice, three hearty cheers been broken by the ice in Barrows Straits, was went up from those hardy mariners, and they welcomed their deliverer from the chains of frost as cordially as those of old who chanted, See! the conquering hero comes Sound the trumpet, heat ths drums. Day after day it rose higher and higher, and while the pallid faces of the voyagers, bleached during that long night, darkened by its beams, the vast masses of ice began to yield to its fervid influences. The scurvy disappeared, and from that time, until their arrival home, not a man suffered from sickness. As they slowly drift& THE AD.ANcE AMONO HUMMOCKS N in. STERN OF THE RESCUE IN THE ICE. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. repaired. To accomplish this, they were obliged to dig away the ice which was from 12 to 14 feet thick around her, as represented in the engraving. They re-shipped their rudders; removed the felt covering; placed their stores on deck, and then patiently awaited the disruption of the ice. This event was very sudden and appalling. It began to give way on the 5th of June, and in the space of twenty minutes the whole mass, as far as the eye could reach became one vast field of moving floes. On the 10th of June they emerged into open water (7, on the map) a little south of the Arctic Circle, in latitude 65~ 30. They imme- diately repaired to Godhaven, on the coast of Greenland, where they re-fitted, and, unappall- ed by the perils through which they had just passed, they once more turned their prows north- ward to encounter anew the ice squadrons of Baffins Bay. Again they traversed the coast of Greenland to about the 73d degree, when they bore to the westward, and on the 7th and 8th of July passed the English whaling fleet near the Dutch Islands. Onward they pressed through the accumulating ice to Baffins Island, where, on the 11th, they were joined by the Prince Al- bert, then out upon another cruise. They con- tinued in company until the 3d of August, when the Albert departed for the westward, determined ~o try the more southern passage. Here again (8,) our expedition encountered vast fields of hum- mock-ice, and were subjected to the most immi- nent perils. The floating ice, as if moved by adverse currents, tumbled in huge masses, and reared upon the sides of the sturdy little vessels like monsters of the deep intent upon destruction. These masses broke in the bulwarks, and some- times fell over upon the decks with terrible force, like rocks rolled over a plain by mountain tor- rents. The noise was fearful; so deafening that the mariners could scarcely hear each others voices. The sounds of these rolling masses, to- gether with the rending of the icebergs floating near, and the vast floes, produced a din like the discharge of a thousand pieces of ordnance upon a field of battle. Finding the north and west closed against fur- ther progress, by impenetrable ice, the brave De Haven was balked, and turning his vessels home- ward, they came out into an open sea, somewhat crippled, but not a plank seriously started. Dur- ing a storm off the banks of Newfoundland, a thousand miles from NewYork, the vessels parted company. The Advance arrived safely at the Navy Yard at Brooklyn on the 30th of September, and the Rescue joined her there a few days after- ward. Toward the close of October the govern- ment resigned the vessels into the hands of Mr. Grinnell, to be used in other service, but with the stipulation that they are to be subject to the order of the Secretary of the Navy in the spring, if required for another expedition in search of Sir John Franklin. We have thus given a very brief account of the principal events of interest the American Arctic Expedition; the officers of which will doubtless publish a more detailed nar rative. Aside from the success which attended our little vessels in encountering the perils of the polar seas, there are associations which must forever hallow the effort as one of the noblest exhibitions of the true glory of nations. The navies of America and England have before met upon the ocean, but they met for deadly strife. Now, too, they met for strife, equally determined, but not with each other. They met in the holy cause of benevolence and human sympathy, to battle with the elements beneath the Arctic Cir cle; and the chivalric heroism which the few stout hearts of the two nations displayed in that terrible conflict, r~dounds a thousand-fold more to the glory of the actors, their governments, and the race, than if four-score ships, with ten thou- sand armed men had fought for the mastery of each other upon the broad ocean, and battered hulks and marred corpses had gone down to the coral caves of the sea, a dreadful offering to the demon of Discord. In the latter event, troops of widows and orphan children would have sent up a cry of wail; now, the heroes advanced manfully to rescue husbands and fathers to restore them to their wives and children. How glorious the thought! and how suggestive of the beauty of that fast approaching day, when the nations shall sit down in peace as united children of one household. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.* BY JOhN S. C. ABBOTT. CONCLU5iON OF THE Fiit5T ITALIAN cAMPAICN. M ANTUA had now fallen. The Austrians were driven from Italy. The Pope, with the humility of a child, had implored the clem- ency of the conqueror. Still Austria refused to make peace with republican France, and with indomitable perseverance gathered her resources for another conflict. Napoleon resolved to march directly upon Vienna. His object was peace, not conquest. In no other possible way could peace be attained. It was a bold enterprise. Leaving the whole breadth of Italy between his armies and France, he prepared to cross the rug- ged summits of the Carnic Alps, and to plunge, with an army of but fifty thousand men, into the very heart of one of the most proud and power- ful empires upon the globe, numbering twenty millions of inhabitants. Napoleon wished to make an ally of Venice. To her government he said, Your whole territory is imbued with revolutionary principles. One single word from me will excite a blaze of insurrection through all your provinces. Ally yourself with France, make a few modifications in your government such as are indispensable for the welfare of the people, and we will pacify public opinion and will sustain your authority. Advice more pru- dent and humane could not have been given. The haughty aristocracy of Venice refused the alliance, raised an army of sixty thousand men, ready at any moment to fall upon Napoleons rear, and demanded neutrality. Be neutral, * Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York.

22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. repaired. To accomplish this, they were obliged to dig away the ice which was from 12 to 14 feet thick around her, as represented in the engraving. They re-shipped their rudders; removed the felt covering; placed their stores on deck, and then patiently awaited the disruption of the ice. This event was very sudden and appalling. It began to give way on the 5th of June, and in the space of twenty minutes the whole mass, as far as the eye could reach became one vast field of moving floes. On the 10th of June they emerged into open water (7, on the map) a little south of the Arctic Circle, in latitude 65~ 30. They imme- diately repaired to Godhaven, on the coast of Greenland, where they re-fitted, and, unappall- ed by the perils through which they had just passed, they once more turned their prows north- ward to encounter anew the ice squadrons of Baffins Bay. Again they traversed the coast of Greenland to about the 73d degree, when they bore to the westward, and on the 7th and 8th of July passed the English whaling fleet near the Dutch Islands. Onward they pressed through the accumulating ice to Baffins Island, where, on the 11th, they were joined by the Prince Al- bert, then out upon another cruise. They con- tinued in company until the 3d of August, when the Albert departed for the westward, determined ~o try the more southern passage. Here again (8,) our expedition encountered vast fields of hum- mock-ice, and were subjected to the most immi- nent perils. The floating ice, as if moved by adverse currents, tumbled in huge masses, and reared upon the sides of the sturdy little vessels like monsters of the deep intent upon destruction. These masses broke in the bulwarks, and some- times fell over upon the decks with terrible force, like rocks rolled over a plain by mountain tor- rents. The noise was fearful; so deafening that the mariners could scarcely hear each others voices. The sounds of these rolling masses, to- gether with the rending of the icebergs floating near, and the vast floes, produced a din like the discharge of a thousand pieces of ordnance upon a field of battle. Finding the north and west closed against fur- ther progress, by impenetrable ice, the brave De Haven was balked, and turning his vessels home- ward, they came out into an open sea, somewhat crippled, but not a plank seriously started. Dur- ing a storm off the banks of Newfoundland, a thousand miles from NewYork, the vessels parted company. The Advance arrived safely at the Navy Yard at Brooklyn on the 30th of September, and the Rescue joined her there a few days after- ward. Toward the close of October the govern- ment resigned the vessels into the hands of Mr. Grinnell, to be used in other service, but with the stipulation that they are to be subject to the order of the Secretary of the Navy in the spring, if required for another expedition in search of Sir John Franklin. We have thus given a very brief account of the principal events of interest the American Arctic Expedition; the officers of which will doubtless publish a more detailed nar rative. Aside from the success which attended our little vessels in encountering the perils of the polar seas, there are associations which must forever hallow the effort as one of the noblest exhibitions of the true glory of nations. The navies of America and England have before met upon the ocean, but they met for deadly strife. Now, too, they met for strife, equally determined, but not with each other. They met in the holy cause of benevolence and human sympathy, to battle with the elements beneath the Arctic Cir cle; and the chivalric heroism which the few stout hearts of the two nations displayed in that terrible conflict, r~dounds a thousand-fold more to the glory of the actors, their governments, and the race, than if four-score ships, with ten thou- sand armed men had fought for the mastery of each other upon the broad ocean, and battered hulks and marred corpses had gone down to the coral caves of the sea, a dreadful offering to the demon of Discord. In the latter event, troops of widows and orphan children would have sent up a cry of wail; now, the heroes advanced manfully to rescue husbands and fathers to restore them to their wives and children. How glorious the thought! and how suggestive of the beauty of that fast approaching day, when the nations shall sit down in peace as united children of one household. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.* BY JOhN S. C. ABBOTT. CONCLU5iON OF THE Fiit5T ITALIAN cAMPAICN. M ANTUA had now fallen. The Austrians were driven from Italy. The Pope, with the humility of a child, had implored the clem- ency of the conqueror. Still Austria refused to make peace with republican France, and with indomitable perseverance gathered her resources for another conflict. Napoleon resolved to march directly upon Vienna. His object was peace, not conquest. In no other possible way could peace be attained. It was a bold enterprise. Leaving the whole breadth of Italy between his armies and France, he prepared to cross the rug- ged summits of the Carnic Alps, and to plunge, with an army of but fifty thousand men, into the very heart of one of the most proud and power- ful empires upon the globe, numbering twenty millions of inhabitants. Napoleon wished to make an ally of Venice. To her government he said, Your whole territory is imbued with revolutionary principles. One single word from me will excite a blaze of insurrection through all your provinces. Ally yourself with France, make a few modifications in your government such as are indispensable for the welfare of the people, and we will pacify public opinion and will sustain your authority. Advice more pru- dent and humane could not have been given. The haughty aristocracy of Venice refused the alliance, raised an army of sixty thousand men, ready at any moment to fall upon Napoleons rear, and demanded neutrality. Be neutral, * Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 23 then, said Napoleon, but rem~mber, if you violate your neutrality, if you harass my troops, if you cut off my supplies, I will take ample vengeance. I march upon Vienna. Conduct which could be forgiven were I in Italy, will be unpardonable when I am in Austria. The hour that witnesses the treachery of Venice, shall terminate her independence. Mautna was the birth-place of Virgil. During centuries of wealth and luxurious ease neither Italy nor Austria had found time to rear any monument in honor of the illustrious Mantuan bard. But hardly had the cannon of Napoleon ceased to resound around the beleaguered city, and the smoke of the conflict had hardly passed away, ere the young conqueror, ever more inter- ested in the refinements of peace than in the desolations of war, in the midst of the din of arms, and contending against the intrigues of hostile nations, reared a mausoleum and arrang- ed a gorgeous festival in honor of the immortal poet. Thus he endeavored to shed renown upon intellectual greatness, and to rouse the degener- ate Italians to appreciate and to emulate the glory of their fathers. From these congenial pursuits of peace he again turned, with undiminished en- ergy, to pursue the unrelenting assailants of his country. Leaving ten thousand men in garrison to watch the neutrality of the Italian governments, Napo- leon, early in March, removed his head-quarters to Bassano. He then issued to his troops the following martial proclamation, which, like bugle notes of defiance, reverberated over the hostile and astonished monarchies of Europe. Sol- diers! the campaign just ended has given you imperishable renown. You have been victorious in fourteen pitched battles and seventy actions. You have taken more than a hundred thousand prisoners, five hundred fiel4-pieces, two thousand heavy guns, and four pontoon trains. You have maintained the army during the whole campaign. In addition to this you have sent six millions of dollars to the public treasury, and have enriched the National Museum with three hundred master- pieces of the arts of ancient and modern Italy, which it has required thirty centuries to produce. You have conquered the finest countries in Eu- rope. The French flag waves for the first time upon the Adriatic opposite to Macedon, the na- tive country of Alexander. Still higher destinies await you. I know that you will not prove un- worthy of them. Of all the foes that conspired to stifle the Republic in its birth, the Austrian Emperor alone remains before you. To obtain peace we must seek it in the heart of his hered- itary state. You will there find a brave people, whose religion and customs you will respect, and whose property you will hold sacred. Remem- ber that it is liberty you carry to the brave Hun- garian nation. The Archduke Charles, brother of the king,~ was now intrusted with the command of th~ Austrian army. His character can not be better described than in the language of his magnani- mous antagonist. Prince Charles, said Na- poleon, is a man whose conduct can never at- tract blame. His soul belongs to the heroic age, but his heart to that of gold. More than all he is a good man, and that includes every thing, when said of a prince. Early in March, Charles, a young man of about Napoleons age, who had already obtained renown upon the Rhine, was in command of an army of 50,000 men stationed upon the banks of the Piave. From different parts of the empire 40,000 men were on the march to join him. This would give him 90,000 troops to array against the French. Napoleon, with the recruits which he had obtained from France and Italy, had now a force of fifty thousand men with which to under- take this apparently desperate enterprise. The eyes of all Europe were upon the two combat- ants. It was the almost universal sentinment, that, intoxicated with success, Napoleon was rushing to irretrievable ruin. But Napoleon never allowed enthusiasm to run away with his judgment. His plans were deeply laid, and all the combinations of chance carefully calculated. The storms of winter were still howling around the snow-clad summits of the Alps, and it was not thought possible that thus early in the season he would attempt the passage of so formidable a barrier. A dreadful tempest of wind and rain swept earth and sky when Napoleon gave the order to march. The troops, with their accus- tomed celerity, reached the banks of the Piave. The Austrians, astonished at the sudden appar- ition of the French in the midst of the elemental warfare, and unprepared to resist them, hastily retired some forty miles to the eastern banks of the Tagliamento. Napoleon closely followed the retreating foe. At nine oclock in the morn- ing of the 10th of March, the French army ar- rived upon the banks of the river. Here they found a wide stream, rippling over a gravelly bed, with difficulty fordable. The imperial troops; in most magnificent array, were drawn up upon an extended plain on the opposite shore. Parks of artillery were arranged to sweep with grape-shot the whole surface of the water. In long lines the infantry, with bristling bayonets and prepared to rain down upon their foes a storm of bullets, presented apparently an invincible fron. Upon the two wings of this imposing army vast squad- rons of cavalry awaited the moment, with rest- less steeds, when they might charge upon the foe, should he effect a landing. The French army had been marching all night over miry roads, and through mountain defiles With the gloom of the night the storm had pass- ed away, and the cloudless sun of a warm spring morning dawned upon the valley, as the French troops arrived upon the banks of the river. Their clothes were torn, and drenched with rain, and soiled with mud. And yet it was an imposing array as forty thousand men, with plumes and banners and proud steeds, and the music of a hundred bands, marched down, in that bright sun- shine, upon the verdant meadows which skirted the Tagliamento. But it was a fearful barrier which presented itself before them. The rapid 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. river, the vast masses of the enemy in their strong intrenchments, the frowning batteries, loaded to the muzzle with grape-shot, to sweep the advancing ranks, the xvell fed war-horses in countless numbers, prancing for the charge, ap- parently presented an obstacle which no human energy could surmount. Napoleon, seeing the ample preparations made to oppose him, ordered his troops to withdraw beyond the reach of the enemies fire, and to pre- pare for breakfast. As by magic the martial ar- ray was at once transformed into a peaceful pic- nic scene. Arms were laid aside. The soldiers threw themselves upon the green grass, just sprouting in the valley, beneath the rays of tbe son of early spring. Fires were kindled, kettles boiling, knapsacks opened, and groups, in care- lessness and joviality, gathered around fragments of bread and meat. The Archduke Charles, seeing that Napoleon declined the attempt to pass the river until he had refreshed his exhausted troops, withdrew his forces also into the rear to their encampments. When all was quiet, and the Austrians were thrown completely off their guard, suddenly the trumpets sounded the preconcerted signal. The French troops, disciplined to prompt movements, sprang to their arms, instantly formed in battle array, plunged into the stream, and, before the Austrians had recovered from their astonishment, were half across the river. This movement was executed with such inconceivable rapidity, as to THE PASSAGE OF THE TAGLIAMENTO. excite the admiration as well as the consternation I feats of the most romantic valor, and in the dis- if their enemies. With the precision and beauty play of the most perfect contempt of life. In of the parade ground, the several divisions of the every fortress, at every mountain pass, upon every army gained the opposite shore. The Austrians I rapid stream, the Austrians made a stand to arrest rallied as speedily as possible. But it was too I the march of the conqueror. But with the foot- late. A terrible battle ensued. Napoleon was steps of a giant, Napoleon crowded upon them, victor at every point. The Imperial army, with pouring an incessant storm of destruction upon their ranks sadly thinned, and leaving the ground their fugitive ranks. He drove the Austrians to gory with the blood of the slain, retreated in con- the foot of the mountains. He pursued them up fusion to await the arrival of the reinforcements the steep acclivities. He charged the tempests coming to their aid. Napoleon pressed upon their of wind and smothering snow with the sound of rear, every hour attacking them, and not alloxying the trumpet, and his troops exulted in waging them one moment to recover from their panic. war with combined man and the elements. Soon Ihe Austrian troops, thus suddenly and unex- both pursuers and pursued stood upon the sum- ~ectedly defeated, were thrown into the extreme mit of the Carnic Alps. They were in the region of dejection. The exultant French, convinced of of almost perpetual snow. The vast glaciers, the absolute invincibility of their beloved chief, which seemed memorials of eternity, spread bleak ambitiously sought out points of peril and adven- and cold around them. The clouds floated beneath tures of desperation, and with shouts of laughter, their feet. The eagle wheeled and screamed as and jokes, and making the welkin ring with songs loared over the sombre firs and pines far below of liberty, plunged into the densest masses of their I on the mountain sides. Here the Austrians made foes. The different divisions of the anny vied a desperate stand. On the stonn-washed cra~rs with each other in their endeavor to perform , of granite, behind fields of ice and drifts of snow NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 25 which ~e French cavalry could not traverse, they sought to intrench themselves against their tire- less pursuer. To retreat down the long and nar- row defiles of the mountains, with the French in hot pursuit behind, hurling upon them every mis- sile of destruction, bullets, and balls, and craggy fragments of the cliffs, was a calamity to be avoid- ed at every hazard. Upon the summit of Mount farwis, the battle, decisive of this fearful question, was to be fought. It was an appropriate arena for the fell deeds of war. Wintry winds swept the bleak and icy eminence, and a clear, cold, cloudless sky canopied the two armies as, with fiend-like ferocity, they hurled themselves upon each other. The thunder of artillery reverberated above the clouds. The shout of onset and the shrieks of the wounded were heard upon emi- nences which even the wing of the eagle had rarely attained. Squadrons of cavalry fell upon fields of ice, and men and horses were precipi- tated into fathomless depths below. The snow drifts of Mount Tarwis were soon crimsoned with blood, and the warm current from human hearts congealed with the eternal glacier, and there, em- balmed in ice, it long and mournfully testified of mans inhumanity to man. The Archduke Charles, having exhausted his last reserve, was compelled to retreat. Many of the soldiers threw away their arms, and escaped over the crags of the mountains; thousands were taken prisoners; multitudes were left dead upon the ice, and half-buried in the drifts of snow. But Charles, brave and energetic, still kept the mass of his army together, and with great skill con- ducted his precipitate retreat. With merciless vigor the French troops pursued, pouring down upon the retreating masses a perfect storm of bullets, and rolling over the precipitous sides of the mountains huge rocks, which swept away whole companies at once. The bleeding, breath- less fugitives at last arrived in the valley below. Napoleon followed close in their rear. The Alps were now passed. The French were in Austria. They heard a new language. The scenery, the houses, the customs of the inhabitants, all testi- fied that they were no longer in Italy. They had with unparalleled audacity entered the very heart of the Austrian empire, and with unflinching resolution were marching upon the capital of twenty millions of people, behind whose ramparts, strengthened by the labor of ages, Maria Theresa had bidden defiance to the invading Turks. Twenty days had now passed since the open- ing of the campaign, and the Austrians were already driven over the Alps, and having lost a fourth of their numbers in the various conflicts which had occurred, dispirited by disaster, were retreating to intrench themselves for a final strug- gle within the walls of Vienna. Napoleon, with 45,000 men, flushed with victory, was rapidly de- scending the fertile steams which flow into the Danube. Under these triumphant circumstances Napo- leon showed his humanity, and his earnest desire for peace, in dictating the following most noble letter, so characteristic of his strong and glowing intellect. It was addressed to his illustrious ad- versary, the Archduke Charles. General-in-chief. Brave soldiers, while they make war, desire peace. Has not this war al- ready continued six years Have we not slain enough of our fellow-men? Have we not in- flicted a sufficiency of woes upon suffering hu- inanity? It demands repose upon all sides. Europe, which took up arms against the French Republic, has laid them aside. Your nation alone remains hostile, and blood is about to flow more copiously than ever. This sixth campaign has commenced with sinister omens. Whatever may be its issue, many thousand men, on the one side and the other, must perish. And after all we must come to an accommodation, for every thing has an end, not even excepting the passion of hatred. You, general, who by birth approach so near the throne, and are above all the little pas- sions which too often influence ministers and gov- ernments, are you resolved to deserve the title of benefactor of humanity, and of the real saviour of Austria. Do not imagine that I deny the pos- sibility of saving Austria by the force of arms. But even in such an event your country will not be the less ravaged. As for myself, if the over- ture which I have the honor to make, shall be the means of saving a single life, I shall be more proud of the civic crown which I shall be con- scious of having deserved, than of all the melan- choly glory which military success can confer. To these magnanimous overtures the Archduke replied In the duty assigned to me there is no power either to scrutinize the causes or to terminate the duration of the war, I am not in- vested with any authorityin that respect, and there- fore can not enter into any negotiation for peace. In this most interesting correspondence, Napo- leon, the plebeian general, speaks with the dignity and the authority of a sovereign; with a natural, unaffected tone of command, as if accustomed from infancy to homage and empire. The brother of the king is compelled to look upward to the pinnacle upon which transcendent abilities have placed his antagonist. The conquering Napo- leon pleads for peace; but Austria hates repub- lican liberty even more than war. Upon the re- jection of these proposals the thunders of Napo- leons artillery were again heard, and over the hills and through the valleys, onward he rushed with his impetuous troops, allowing his foe no repose. At every mountain gorge, at everyrapid river, the Austrians stood, and were slain. Each walled town was the scene of a sanguinary con- flict, and the Austrians were often driven in the wildest confusion pell-mell with the victors through the streets. At last they approached another mountain range called the Stipian Alps. Here, at the frightful gorge of Neumarkt, a defile so gloomy and terrific that even the peaceful tour- ist can not pass through it unawed, Charles again made a desperate effort to arrest his pursuers. It was of no avail. Blood flowed in torrents, thou- sands were slain. The Austrians, encumbered with baggage-wagons and artillery, choked the narrow passages, and a scene of indescribable HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. horror ensued. The French cavalry made most overrun. He assured the people that he was their destructive charges upon the dense masses. Can- friend, that he was fighting not for conquest but non balls plowed their way through the confused for peace; that the Austrian government, bribed ranks, and the Austrian rear and the French van by British gold, was waging an unjust war against struggled, hand to hand, in the blood-red gorge., France: that the pcople of Austria should find in But the Austrians were swept along like withered him a protector, who would respect their religion leaves before the mountain gales. Napoleon was and defend them in all their rights. His deeds now at Leoben. From the eminences around the were in accordance with his words. The French city, with the telescope, the distant spires of Vi- soldiers, inspired by the example of their beloved enna could be discerned. Here the victorious chief, treated the unarmed Austrians as friends, general halted for a day, to collect his scattered and nothing was taken from them without ample forces. Charles hurried along the great road to remuneration. the capital, with the fragments of his army, striv- I The people of Austria now began to clamor ing to conceatrate all the strength of the empire loudly for peace. Charles, seeing the desperate within those venerable and hitherto impregnable posture of affairs, earnestly urged it upon his fortifications. brother, the Emperor, declaring that the empire All was consternation in Vienna. The king, could no longer be saved by arms. Embassadors dukes, nobles, fled like deer before approaching were immediately dispatched from the imperial hounds, seeking refuge in the distant wilds of court authorized to settle the basis of peace. Hungary. The Danube was covered with boats They implored a suspension of arms for five days, conveying the riches of the city and the terrified to settle the preliminaries. Napoleon nobly re families out of the reach of danger. Among the plied, In the present posture of our military at- illustrious fugitives was Maria Louisa, then a fairs, a suspension of hostilities must be very child but six years of age, flying from that dreaded seriously adverse to the interests of the French Napoleon whose bride she afterward became. All army. But if by such a sacrifice, that peace, the military resources of Austria were immedi- which is so desirable and so essential to the hap- ately called into requisition; the fortifications piness of the people, can be secured, I shall nor were repaired; the militia organized and drilled; regret consenting to your desires. A garden in and in the extremity of mortification and despair the vicinity of Leoben was declared neutral all the energies of the empire were roused for ground, and here, in the midst of the bivouacs final resistance. Charles, to gain time, sent a of the French army, the negotiations were con- flag of truce requesting a suspension of arms for ducted. The Austrian commissioners, in the twenty-four hours. Napoleon, too wary to be treaty which they proposed, had set down as the zaught in a trap which he had recently sprung first article, that the Emperor recognized the apon his foes, replied that moments were pre- French Republic. Strike that out, said Na cious, and that they might fight and negotiate at poleon, proudly. The Republic is like the the same time. Napoleon also issued to the sun; none but the blind can fail to see it. We Austrian people one of his glowing proclamations are our own masters, and shall establish any which was scattered all over the region he had government we prefer. This exclamation was ~..GE OF NEUMARKT. 27 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. not merely a burst of romantic enthusiasm, but it was dictated by a deep insight into the possi- bilities of the future. If one day the French people, he afterward remarked, should wish to create a monarchy, the Emperor might object that he had recognized a republic. Both par- ties being now desirous of terminating the war, the preliminaries were soon settled. Napoleon, as if he were already the Emperor of France, waited not for the plenipotentiaries from Paris, but signed the treaty in his own name. He thus placed himself upon an equal footing with the Emperor of Austria. The equality was unhesi- tatingly recognized by the Imperial government. In the settlement of the difficulties between these two majestic powers, neither of them manifested much regard for the minor states. Napoleon al- lowed Austria to take under her protection many of the states of Venice, for Venice had proved treacherous to her professed neutrality, and mer- ited no protection from his hands. Napoleon, having thus conquered peace, turned to lay the rod upon trembling Venice. Richly (lid Venice deserve his chastising blows. In those days, when railroads and telegraphs were unknown, the transmission of intelligence was slow. The little army ofNapoleon had traversed weary leagues of mountains and vales, and hay- at an apology, heard tbeir humble submission, and even endured in silence their offer of millions of gold to purchase his pardon. Then in tones of firmness which sent paleness to their cheeks and palpitation to their hearts, he exclaimed, If you could proffer me the treasures of Peru, could you strew your whole country with gold, it would not atone for the blood which has been treacherously spilt. You have murdered my Thildren. The lion of St. Mark* must lick the * The armorial bearing of Venice ing paved beyond the snow-clad summits of the Alps, were lost to Italian observation, far away upon the tributaries of the Danube. Rumor, with her thousand voices filled the air. It was reported that Napoleon was defeatedthat he was a captivethat his army was destroyed. The Venetian oligarchy, proud, cowardly, and revengeful, now raised the cry, Death to the French. The priests incited the peasants to frenzy. They attacked unarmed Frenchmen in the streets and murdered them. They assailed the troops in garrison with overwhelming num- bers. The infuriated populace even burst into the hospitals, and poniarded the wounded and the dying in their beds. Napoleon, who was by no means distinguished for meekness and long- suffering, turned sternly to inflict upon them punishment which should long be remembered. The haughty oligarchy was thrown into a parox- ysm of terror, when it was announced, that Napo- leon was victor instead of vanquished, and that, having humbled the pride of Austria, he was now returning with an indignant and triumphant army burning for vengeance. The Venetian Senate, bewildered with fright, dispatched agents to deprecate his wrath. Napoleon, with a pale and marble face, received them. Without utter- ing a word he listened to their awkward attempts dust. Go. The Venetians in their terror sent enormous sums to Paris, and succeeded in bribing the Directory, ever open to such appeals. Orders were accordingly transmitted to Napoleon, to spare the ancient Senate and aristocracy of Venice. But Napoleon, who despised the Di- rectory, and who was probably already dreaming of its overthrow, conscious that he possessed powers which they could not shake, paid nc attention to their orders. He marched resist- lessly into the dominions of the doge The VENETIAN ENVOYS. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thunders of Napoleons cannon were reverberating across the lagoons which surround the Queen of thc Adriatic. The doge, pallid with consterna- tion, assembled the Grand Council, and proposed the surrender of their institutions to Napoleon, to be remodeled according to his pleasure. While they were deliberating, the uproar of insurrection was heard in the streets. The aristocrats and the republicans fell furiously upon each other. The discharge of fire-arms was heard under the very windows of the council-house. Opposing shouts of Liberty forever, and Long live St. Mark, resounded through the streets. The city was threatened with fire and pillage. Amid this horrible confusion three thousand French soldiers crossed the lagoons in boats and entered the city. They were received with long shouts of welcome by the populace, hungering for republican liberty. Resistance was hopeless. An unconditional sur- renrier was made to Napoleon, and thus fell one of the most execrable tyrannies this world has ever known. The course Napoleon then pursued was so magnanimous as to extort praise from his bitterest foes. He immediately threw open the prison doors to all who were suffering for polit- ical opinions. He pardoned all offenses against himself. He abolished aristocracy, and estab- lished a popular government, which should fairly represent all classes of the community. The public debt was regarded as sacred, and even the pensions continued to the poor nobles. It was a glorious reform for the Venetian nation. It was a terrible downfall for the Venetian aristoc- racy. The banner of the new republic now floated from the windows of the palace, and as it waved exultingly in the breeze, it was greeted with the most enthusiastic acclamations, by the people who had been trampled under the foot of oppression for fifteen hundred years. All Italy was now virtually at the feet of Napoleon. Not a year had yet elapsed since he, a nameless young man of twenty-five years of age, with thirty thousand ragged and half starved troops, had crept along the shores of the Medi- terranean, hoping to surprise his powerful foes. He had now traversed the whole exten.t of Italy, compelled all its hostile states to respect repub- lican France, and had humbled the Emperor of Austria as emperor had rarely been humbled be- fore. The Italians, recognizing him as a coun- tryman, and proud of his world-wide renown, re- garded him, not as a conqoeror, but as a libera- tor. His popularity was boundless. Wherever he appeared the most enthusiastic acclamations welcomed him. Bonfires blazed upon every hill in honor of his movements. The bells rang their merriest peals, wherever he appeared. Long lines of maidens strewed roses in his path. The reverberations of artillery and the huzzas of the populace saluted his footsteps. Europe was at peace; and Napoleon was the great pacificator. For this object he had contended against the most formidable coalitions. He had sheathed his victorious sword, the very moment his ene- nies were willing to retire from the strife. Still the position of Napoleon required the most consummate firmness and wisdom. All the states of Italy, Piedmont, Genoa, Naples, the States of the Church, Parma, Tuscany, were agi- tated with the intense desire for liberty. Napo- leon was unwilling to encourage insurrection. He could not lend his arms to oppose those who were struggling for popular rights. In Genoa, the patriots rose. The haughty aristocracy fell in revenge upon the French, who chanced to be in the territory. Napoleon was thus compelled to interfere. The Genoese aristocracy were forced to abdicate, and the patriot party, as in Venice, assumed the government. But the Genoese democracy began now in their turn, to tram- ple upon the rights of their former oppressors. The revolutionary scenes which had disgraced Paris, began to be re-enacted in the streets of Genoa. They excluded the priests and the no- bles from participating in the government, as the nobles and priests had formerly excluded them. Acts of lawless violence passed unpunished. The religion of the Catholic priests was treate(l with derision. Napoleon, earnestly and elo- quently, thus urged upon them a more humane policy. I will respond, citizens, to the confi- dence you have reposed in me. It is not enough that you refrain from hostility to religion. You should do nothing which can cause inquietude to tender consciences. To exclude the nobles from any public office, is an act of extreme in- justice. You thus repeat the wrong which you condemn in them. Why are the people of Genoa so changed Their first impulses of fraternal kindness have been succeeded by fear and terror. Remember that the priests were the first who rallied around the tree of liberty. They first told you that the morality of the gospel is dern- ocratic. Men have taken advantage of the faults. perhaps of the crimes of individual priests. to unite against Christianity. You have pro- scribed without discrimination. When a state becomes accustomed to condemn without hearing, to applaud a discourse because it impassioned; when exaggeration and madness are called virtue, moderation and equity designated as crimes, that state is nearits ruin. Believe me, I shall consider that one of the happiest moments of my life in which I hear that the people of Genoa are united among themselves and live happily. This advice, thusgiven to Genoa, was intended to re-act upon France, for the Directory then hail under discussion a motion for banishing all the nobles from the Republic. The voice of Napo- leon was thus delicately and efficiently intro- duced into the debate, and the extreme and ter- rible measure was at once abandoned. Napoleon performed another act at this time, which drew down upon him a very heavy load of obloquy from the despotic governments of Europe, but which must secure the approval of every generous mind. There was a small state in Italy called the Valteline, eighteen miles wide, and fifty-four miles long, containing one hundred and sixty thousand inhabitants. These unfortu. nate people had become subjects to a German state called the Grisons, and, deprived of all NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 29 political privileges, were ground down by the most humiliating oppression. The inhabitants of the Valteline, catching the spirit of liberty, re- volted and addressed a manifesto to all Europe, setting forth their wrongs, and declaring their determination to recover those rights, of which they had been defrauded. Both parties sent deputies to Napoleon, soliciting his interference, virtually agreeing to abide by his decision. Na- poleon, to promote conciliation and peace, pro- posed that the Valtelines should remain with the Grisons as one people, and that the Grisons should confer upon them equal political privi- leges with themselves. Counsel more moderate and judicious could not have been given. But the proud Grisons, accustomed to trample upon their victims, with scorn refused to share with them the rights of humanity. Napoleon then is- sued a decree, saying, It is not lust that one people should be subject to another people. Since the Grisons have refused equal rights to the in- habitants of the Valteline, the latter are at liber- ty to unite themselves with the Cisalpine Repub- lic. This decision was received with bursts of enthusiastic joy by the liberated people, and they were immediately embraced within the borders of the new republic. The great results we have thus far narrated in this chapter were accomplished in six weeks. In the face of powerful armies, Napoleon had traversed hundreds of miles of territory. He had forded rivers, with the storm of lead and iron falling pitilessly around him. He had crossed the Alps, dragging his artillery through snow three feet in depth, scattered the armies of Aus- tria to the winds, imposed peace upon that proud and powerful empire, recrossed the Alps. laid low the haughty despotism of Venice, established a popular government in the emancipated prov- nces, and revolutionized Genoa. Josephine was now with him in the palace of Milan. From every state in Italy couriers were coming and ~oing, deprecating his anger, soliciting his coun- sel, imploring his protection. The destiny of Europe seemed to be suspended upon his decis- ions. His power transcended that of all the potentates in Europe. A brilliant court of beau- tiful ladies surrounded Josephine, and all vied to do homage to the illustrious conqueror. The enthusiastic Italians thronged his gates, and waited for hours to catch a glance of the youth- fril hero. The feminine delicacy of his physical frame, so disproportionate with his mighty renown, (lid but add to the enthusiasm which his presence ever inspired. His strong arm had won for France peace with all the world, England alone excepted. The indomitable islanders, protected by the ocean from the march of invading armies, still continued the unrelenting warfare. Wher- ever her navy could penetrate she assailed the French, and as the horrors of war could not reach ner shores, she refused to live on any terms of peace with Republican France. Napoleon now established his residence, or rather his court, at Montebello, a beautiful pal- ace in the vicinity of Milan. His frame was emaciate in the extreme from the prodigious toils which he had endured. Yet he scarcely allowed himself an hour of reIn ,tation. Questions of vast moment, relative to the settlement of political affairs in Italy, were yet to be adjusted, and Na- poleon, exhausted as he was in body, devoted the tireless energies of his mind to the work. His labors were now numerous. He was treating with the plenipotentiaries of Austria, organizing the Italian Republic, creating a navy in the Adri- atic, and forming the most magnificent projects relative to the Mediterranean. These were the works in which he delighted, constructing canals, and roads, improving harbors, erecting bridges, churches, naval and military dip6ts, calling cities and navies into existence, awaking every where the hum of prosperous industry. All the states of Italy were imbued with local prejudices and petty jealousies of each other. To break down these jealousies, he endeavored to consolidate the Republicans into one single state, with Milan for the capital. He strove in multiplied ways to rouse martial energy among the effeminate Italians. Conscious that the new republic could not long stand alive in the midst of the surround- men monarchies so hostile to its existence, that it could only be strong by the alliance of France, he conceived the design of a high road, broad, safe, and magnificent, from Paris to Geneva, thence across the Simplon through the plains of Lombardy to Milan. He was in treaty with the government of Switzerland, for the construction of the road through its territories; and had sent engineers to explore the route and make an esti- mate of the expense. He himself arranged all the details with the greatest pret ision. Ho con- templated also, at the same time, with the deep- est interest and solicitude, the empire which En- gland had gained on the seas. To cripple the power of this formidable foe, he formed the de- sign of taking possession of the islands of the Mediterranean. From these different posts, he wrote to the Directory, we shall command the Mediteranean, we shall keep an eye upon the Ottoman empire, which is crumbling to pieces, and we shall have it in our power to render the dominion of the ocean almost useless to the En- glish. They have possession of the Cape of Good Hope. We can do without it. Let us occupy Egypt. We shall be in the direct road for India. It will be easy for us to found there one of the finest colonies in the world. It is in Egypt that we must attack England. It was in this way that Napoleon rested after the toils of the most arduous campaigns mortal man had ever passed through. The Austrians were rapidly recruiting their forces from their vast empire, and now began to throw many difli- culties in the way of a final adjustment. The last conference between the negotiating parties was held at Campo Formio, a small village about ten miles east of the Tagliamento. The com- missioners were seated at an oblong table, the four Austrian negotiators upon one side, Napo leon by himself upon the other. The Austrians demanded terms to which Napoleon could not 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. accede, threatening at the same time that if Na- condemn the negotiator who sacrifices the inter- poleon did not accept these terms, the armies of est and repose of his country to military ambi- Russia would be united with those of Austria, tion. Napoleon. cool and collected, sat in si- and France should be compelled to adopt those lence while these sentiments were uttered. Then less favorable. One of the Austrian commission- rising from the table he took from the sideboard ers concluded an insulting apostrophe, by saying, a beautiful porcelain vase. Gentlemen, said Austria desires peace, and she will severely he, the truce is broken; war is declared. But remember, in three months I will demolish your monarchy as I now shatter this porcelain. With these words he dashed the vase into fragments upon the floor, and bowing to the astounded ne- gotiators, abruptly withdrew. With his accus- tomed promptness of action he instant!y dispatch- ed an officer to the Archduke, to inform him that hostilities would be re-commenced in twenty-four hours; and entering his carriage, urged his horses with the speed of the wind, toward the head-quarters of the army. One of the conditions of this treaty upon which Napoleon insisted, was the release of La Fayette, then imprisoned for his republican sentiments, in the dungeons of Olmutz. The Austrian plenipotentiaries were thunder- struck by this decision, and immediately agreed to the terms which Napoleon demanded. The next day at five oclock the treaty of Campo For- mio was signed. The terms which Napoleon offered the Aus- trians in this treaty, though highly advantageous to France, were far more lenient to Austria, than that government had any right to expect. The Directory in Paris, anxious to strengthen itself against the monarchical governments of Europe by revolutionizing the whole of Italy and found- ing there republican governments, positively for- bade Napoleon to make peace with Austria, un- less the freedom of the Republic of Venice was recognized. Napoleon wrote to the Directory that if they insisted upon that ultimatum, the renewal of the war would be inevitable. The Directory replied, Austria has long desiicd to swallow up Italy, and to acquire maritime power. It is the interest of France to prevent both of these designs. Itis evident that if the Emperoracquires Venice, with its territorial possessions, he will secure an entrance into the whole of Lombardy. We should be treating as if we had been con- quered. What would posterity say of us if we surrender that great city with its naval arsen- als to the Emperor. The whole question comes to this: Shall we give up Italy to the Austri- ans The French government neither can nor will do so. It would prefer all the hazards of war. Napoleon wished for peace. He could only obtain it by disobeying the orders of his govern- ment. The middle of October had now arrived. One morning, at daybreak, he was informed that the mountains were covered with snow. Leap- ing from his bed, he ran to the window, and saw that the storms of winter had really commenced on the bleak heights. What! before the mid- dle of October ! he exclaimed: what a coun- try is this! Well, we must make peace. He shut himself up in his cabinet for an hour, and carefully reviewed the returns of the army. I can not have, said he to Bourrienne, more than sixty thousand men in the field. Even if victorious I must lose twenty thousand in killed and wounded. And how, with forty thousand, can I withstand the whole force of the Austrian monarchy, who will hasten to the relief of Vi- THE CONFERET~ICE DISSOLVED. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 31 enna The armies of the Rhine could not ad- vance to my succor before the middle of Novem- ber, and before that time arrives the Alps will be impassable from snow. It is all over. I will sign the peace. The government and the law- yers may say what they choose. This treaty, extended France to the Rhine, .ecognized the Cisalpine Republic, composed of the Cispadane Republic and Lombardy, and al- lowed the Emperor of Austria to extend his sway over several of the states of Venice. Na- poleon was very desirous of securing republican liberty in Venice. Most illustriously did he ex- hibit his anxiety for peace in consenting to sac- rifice that desire, and to disobey the positive com- mands of his government, rather than renew the horrors of battle. He did not think it his duty to keep Europe involved in war, that he might secure republican liberty for Venice, when it was very doubtful whether the Venetians were sufficiently enlightened to govern themselves, and when, per- haps, one half of the nation were so ignorant as to prefer despotism. The whole glory of this peace redounds to his honor. His persistence in that demand which the Directory enjoined, would but have kindled anew the flames of war. During these discussions at Campo Formio, While at Montebello, transacting the affairs of his victorious army, Josephine presided with most admirable propriety and grace, over the gay circle of Milan. Napoleon. who well understood the imposing influence of courtly pomp and splendor, while extremely simple in his personal habili- nients, dazzled the eyes of the Milanese with all the pageantry of a court. The destinies of Eu- rope were even then suspended upon his nod. He was tracing out the lines of empire, and dukes, and princes, and kings were soliciting his friendship. Josephine, by her surpassing loveli every possible endeavor was made which the most delicate ingenuity could devise, to influence Napoleon in his decisions by personal considera- tions. The wealth of Europe was literally laid at his feet. Millions upon millions in gold were proffered him. But his proud spirit could not be thus tarnished. When some one alluded to the different course pursued by the Directors, he re- plied, You are not then aware, citizen, that there is not one of those Directors whom I could not bring, for four thousand dollars, to kiss my boot. The Venetians offered him a present of one million five hundred thousand dollars. He smiled, aud declined the offer. The Emperor of Austria, professing the most profound admiration of his heroic character, entreated him to accept a principality, to consi~t of at least two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, for himself and his heirs. This was indeed an alluring offer to a young man but twenty-five years of age, and who had but just emerged from obscurity and poverty. The young general transmitted his thanks to the Emperor for this proof of his good-will, but add- ed, that he could accept of no honors but such as were conferred upon him by the French people, and that he should always be satisfied with what- ever they might be disposed to offer. ness of person and ot character, won universal admiration. Her wonderful tact, her genius, and her amiability vastly strengthened the influence of her husband. I conquer provinces, said Napoleon, but Josephine wins hearts. She frequently, in after years, reverted to this as the happiest period of her life. To them both it must have been as a bewildering dream. But a few months before, Josephine was in prison, awaiting her execution; and her children were literally begging bread in the streets. Hardly a year had elapsed since Napoleon, a penniless Corsi mE coua~ AT MILAN. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. can soldier, was studying in a garret in Paris, hardly knowing where to obtain a single franc. Now the name of Napoleon was emblazoned through Europe. He had become more power- ful than the government of his own country. He was overthrowing and uprearing dynasties. The question of peace or war was suspended upon his lips. The proudest potentates of Europe were ready, at any price, to purchase his favor. Joseph- ine reveled in the exuberance of her dreamlike prosperity and exaltation. Her benevolent heart was gratified with the vast power she now pos- sessed of conferring happiness. She was beloved, adored. She had long cherished the desire of visiting this land, so illustrious in the most lofty reminiscences. Even Italy can hardly present a more delightful excursion than the ride from Milan to the romantic, mountain-embowered lakes of Como and Maggiore. It was a bright and sun- ny Italian morning when Napoleon, with his bliss- ful bride, drove along the luxuriant valleys and the vine-clad hill-sides to Lake Maggiore. They were accompanied by a numerous and glittering retinue. Here they embarked upon this beauti- ful sheet of water, in a boat with silken awnings and gay banners, and the rowers beat time to the most voluptuous music. They landed upon Beau- tiful Island, which, like another Eden, emerges from the bosom of the lake. This became the favorite retreat of Napoleon. Its monastic pal- ace, so sombre in its antique architecture, was in peculiar accordance with that strange melancholy which, with but now and then a ray of sunshine, ever overshadowed his spirit. On one of these occasions Josephine was standing upon a terrace with several ladies, under a large orange-tree, l)rofusely laden with its golden treasures. As their attention was all absorbed in admiring the beautiful landscape, Napoleon slipped up unper- ceived, and, by a sudden shake, brought down a shower of the rich fruit upon their heads. Joseph- ines companions screamed with fright and ran; hut she remained unmoved. Napoleon laughed heartily and said: Why, Josephine, you stand fire like one of my veterans. And why should I not 3 she promptly replied, am I not the wife of their general 2 Every conceivable temptation was at this time presented to entice Napoleon into habits of licen- tiousness. Purity was a virtue then and there al- most unknown. Some one speaking of Napoleons universal talents, compared him with Solomon. Poh, exclaimed another, What do you mean by calling him wiser than Solomon. The Jewish king had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, while Napoleon is contented with one wife, and she older than himself. The corrup- tion of those days of infidelity was sucb, that the ladies were jealous of Josephines exclusive in- fluence over her illustrious spouse, and they ex- erted all their powers of fascination to lead him astray. The loftiness of Napoleons ambition, and those principles instilled so early by a moth- ers lips as to be almost instincts, were his safe- guard. Josephine was exceedingly gratified, some of the ladies said, insufferably vain, that Napoleon clung so faithfully and confidingly to her. Truly, he said, I have something else to think of than love. No man wins tri- umphs in that way, without forfeiting some palms of glory. I have traced out my plan, and the finest eyes in the world, and there are some very fine eyes here, shall not make me deviate a hairs breadth from it. A lady of rank, after wearying him one day with a string of the most fulsome compliments, exclaimed, among other things, What is life worth, if one can not be General Bonaparte, Napoleon fixed his eyes coldly upon her, and said, Madame! one may be a dutiful wife, and the good mother of a family. The jealousy which the Directory entertained of Napoleons vast accession of power induced them to fill his court with spies, who watched all his movements and reported his words. Joseph- ine, frank and candid and a stranger to all arti- fice, could not easily conceal her knowledge or her thoughts. Napoleon consequently seldom in- trusted to her any plans which he was unwilling to have made known. A secret, he once ob. served, is burdensome to Josephine. He wa~ careful that she should not be thus encumbered. He would be indeed a shrewd man who could extort any secret from the bosom of Napoleon. He could impress a marble-like immovableness upon his features, which no scrutiny could pene- trate. Said Josephine in subsequent years, I never once beheld Napoleon for a moment per- fectly at easenot even with myself. He is constantly on the alert. If at any time he am pears to show a little confidence, it is merely a feint to throw the person with whom he con- verses, off his guard, and to draw forth his sen- timents; but never does he himself disclose his real thoughts. The French Government remonstrated bitter- ly against the surrender of Venice to Austria. Napoleon replied. It costs nothing for a hand- ful of declaimers to rave about the establishment of republics every where. I wish these gentlemen would make a winter campaign. You little know the people. of Italy. You are laboring under a great delusion. You suppose that liberty can do great things to a base, cowardly, and superstitious people. Yo~ wish me to perform miracles. I have not the art of doing so. Since coming into Italy I have derived little, if any, support from the love of the Italian people for liberty and equality. The treaty of peace signed at Campo Formio, Napoleon immediately sent to Paris. Thougb be had disobeyed the positive commands of the Directory, in thus making peace, the Directors did not dare to refuse its ratification. The vic- torious young general was greatly applauded by the people, for refusing the glory of a new cam- paign, in which they doubted not that he would have obtained fresh laurels, that he might secure peace for bleeding Europe. On the 17th of No. vember Napoleon left Milan for the Congress at Rastadt, to which he was appointed, with pleni- potentiary powers. At the moment of leaving NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 33 .~e addressed the following proclamation to the vided and bowed down by ages of tyranny, you Cisalpine Republic: We have given you liberty, could not alone have achieved your independence. Take care to preserve it. To be worthy of your In a few years, if true to yourselves, no nation destiny make only discreet and honorable laws, will be strong enough to wrest liberty from you. and cause them to be executed with energy. Till then the great nation will protect you. Favor the diffusion of knowledge, and respect Napoleon, leaving Josephine at Milan, traveled religion. Compose your battalions not of dis- rapidly through Piedmont, intending to proceed reputable men, but of citizens imbued with the by the way of Switzerland to Rastadt. His jour- principles of the Republic, and closely linked ney was an uninterrupted scene of triumph. Jllu- with its prosperity. You have need to impress minations, processions, bonfires, the ringing 01 yourselves with the feeling of your strength, and bells the explosions of artillery, the huzzas of with the dignity which befits the free man. Di- the populace, and above all the most cordial and warm-hearted acclamations of ladies, accompani- ed him all the way. The enthusiasm was inde- scribable. Napoleon had no fondness for such displays. He but slightly regarded the applause of the populace. It must he delightful, said Bourrienne, to be greeted with such demonstrations of enthusi- astic admiration. Bah ! Napoleon replied; this same unthinking crowd, under a slight change of circumstances, would follow me just as eagerly to the scaffold. Traveling with great rapidity, he appeared and vanished like a meteor, ever retaining the same calm, pensive, thoughtful aspect. A per- son, who saw him upon this occasion, thus de- scribed his appearance: I beheld with deep in- terest and extreme attention that extraordinary man, who has performed such great deeds, and about whom there is something which seems to indicate that his career is not yet terminated. I found him much like his portraits, small in stature thin, pale, with an air of fatigue, but not as has been reported in ill-health. He appeared to me to listen with more abstraction than interest, as if occupied rather with what he was thinking of, than with what was said to him. There is great intelligence in his countenance, along VOL. IYNo. 19.C with an expression of habitual meditation, which reveals nothing of what is passing within. In that thinking head, in that daring mind, it is im- possible not to suppose that some designs are engendering, which will have their influence on the destinies of Europe. Napoleon did not re- main long at Rastadt, for all the questions of great political importance were already settled, and he had no liking for those discussions of minor points which engrossed the attention of the petty German princes, who were assembled at that Congress. He accordingly prepared for his departure. In taking leave of the army he thus bade adieu to his troops. Soldiers I leave you to-mor- row. In separating myself from the army I am consoled with the thought that I shall soon meet you again, and engage with you in new enterprises. Soldiers! when conversing among yourselves of the kings you have vanquished, of the people upon whom you have conferred lib- erty, of the victories you have won in two cam- paigns, say, In the next two we will eccomplish still more. Napoleons attention was already eagerly di- rected to the gorgeous East. These vast king- doms, enveloped in mystery, presented just the ijiie TRIUMPHAL JOURNRY. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. realm for his exuberant imagination to range. It was the theatre, as lie eloquently said, of mighty empires, where all the great revolutions of the earth have arisen, where mind had its birth, and all religions their cradle, and where six hun- dred millions of men still have their dwelling- place. Napoleon left Rastadt, and traveling incognito through France, arrived in Paris the 7th of De- cember, 1797, having been absent but about eighteen months. His arrival had been awaited with the most intense impatience. The enthu- siasm of that most enthusiastic capital had been excited to the highest pitch. The whole popu- lation were burning with the desire to see the youthful hero whose achievements seemed to The Directory, very jealous of Napoleons pop- ularity, yet impelled. by the voice of the people, now prepared a triumphal festival for the de- livery of the treaty of Campo Formio. The ruainificent court of the Luxembourg was ar- ranged and decorated for this gorgeous show. At the further end of the court a large platform was raised, where the five Directors were seated, dressed in the costume of the Roman Senate, at the foot of the altar of their country. Embas- sadors, ministers, magistrates, and the members of the two councils were assembled on seats ranged amphitheatrically around. Vast galleries were crowded with all that was illustrious in rank, beauty, and character in the metropolis. Mag- nificent trophies, composed of the banners taken from the enemy, embellished the court, while the surrounding walls were draped with festoons of tri-colored tapestry. Bands of music filled the air with marLial sounds, while the very walls of Paris were shaken by the thunders of exploding artillery and by the acclamations of the count- less thousands who thronged the court. surpass the fictions of romance. But Napoleon was nowhere visible. A strange mystery seemed to envelop him. He studiously avoided observ- ation; very seldom made his appearance at any place of public amusement; dressed like the most unobtrusive private citizen, and glided un- known through the crowd, whose enthusiasm was roused to the highest pitch to get a sight of the hero. He took a small house in the Rue Chanteraine, which street immediately received the name of Rue de la Victoire, in honor of Na- poleon. He sought only the society of men of high intellectual and scientific attainments. In this course he displayed a profound knowledge of human nature, and vastly enhanced public curi- osity by avoiding its gratification. It was the 10th of December, 1797. A bright sun shone through cloudless skies upon the re- splendent scene. Napoleon had been in Paris but five days. Few of the citizens had as yet been favored with a sight of the hero, whom all were impatient to behold. At last a great flour. ish of trumpets announced his approach. He ascended the platform dressed in the utmost sim- plicity of a civilians costume, accompanied b3 Talleyrand, and his aids-de-camp, all gorgeously dressed, and much taller men than himself, but evidently regarding him with the most profound homage. The contrast was most striking. Every eye was riveted upon Napoleon. The thunder of the cannon was drowned in the still louder thunder of enthusiastic acelamations which sim- ultaneously arose from the whole assemblage. The fountains of human emotion were never more deeply moved. The graceful delicacy of his fra- gile figure, his remarkably youthful appearance, his pale and wasted cheeks, the classic outline of his finely moulded features, the indescribable air of pensiveness and self-forgetfulness which THE DELiVERY OF THE TREATy. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 35 he ever carried with him, and all associated with his most extraordinary achievements, aroused an intensity of enthusiastic emotion which has per- haps never been surpassed. No one who wit- nessed the scenes of that day ever forgot them. Talleyrand introduced the hero in a brief and eloquent speech. For a moment, said he, in conclusion, I did feel on his account that dis- quietude which, in an infant republic, arises from every thing which seems to destroy the equality of the citizens. But I was wrong. Individual grandeur, far from being dangerous to equality, is its highest triumph. And on this occasion every Frenchman must feel himself elevated by the hero of his country. And when I reflect upon all which he has done to shroud from envy that light of glory; on that ancient love of simplicity which distinguishes him in his favorite studies; his love for the abstract sciences; his admiration for that sublime Ossian which seems to detach him from the world; on his well known con- tempt for luxury, for pomp, for all that consti- tutes the pride of ignoble minds, I am convinced that, far from dreading his ambition, we shall one day have occasion to rouse it anew to allure him from the sweets of studious retirement. Napoleon, apparently quite unmoved by this un- bounded applause, and as calm and unembar- rassed as if speaking to an under-officer in his tent, thus briefly replied: Citizens! The French people, in order to be free, had kings to combat. To obtain a constitution founded on reason it had the prejudices of eighteen centuries to overcome. Priestcraft, feudalism, despotism, have succes- sively, for two thousand years, governed Europe. From the peace you have just concluded dates the era of representative governments You have succeeded in organizing the great nation, whose vast territory is circumscribed only be- cause nature herself has fixed its limits. You have done more. The two finest countries in Europe, formerly so renowned for the arts, the sciences, and the illustrious men whose cradle they were, see with the greatest hopes genius and freedom issuing from the tomb of their an- cestors. I have the honor to deliver to you the treaty signed at Campo Formio, and ratified by the emperor. Peace secures the liberty, the prosperity, and the glory of the Republic. As soon as the happiness of France is secured by I he best organic laws, the whole of Europe will be free. The moment Napoleon began to speak the most profound silence reigned throughout the~ assembly. The desire to hear his voice was so intense, that hardly did the audience venture to move a limb or to breathe, while in tones, calm and clear, he addressed them. The moment he ceased speaking, a wild burst of enthusiasm filled the air. The most unimpassioned lost their self- control. Shouts of Live Napoleon the conquer- or of Italy, the pacificator of Europe, the saviour of France, resounded loud and long. Barras, in the name of the Directory, replied, Nature, exclaimed the orator in his enthusiasm, has ex- haucted her energies in the production of a Bona parte. Go, said he turning to Napoleon, crown a life, so illustrious, by a conquest which the great nation owes to its outraged dignity. Go, and by the punishment of the cabinet of London, strike terror into the hearts of all who would miscalculate the powers of a free people. Let the conquerors of the Po, the Rhine, and the Ti- her, march under your banners. The ocean will be proud to bear them. It is a slave still indig- nant who blushes for his fetters. Hardly will the tn-colored standard wave on the blood-stain- ed shores of the Thames, ere an unanimous cry will bless your arrival, and that generous nation will receive you as its liberator. Cheniers fa- mous Hymn to Liberty was then sung in full chorus, accompanied by a magnificent orchestra. In the ungovernable enthusiasm of the moment the five Directors arose and encircled Napoleon in their arms. The blast of trnmpets, the peal of martial bands, the thunder of cannon, and the acclamations of the countless multitude rent the air. Says Thiers, All heads were overcome with the intoxication. Thus it was that France threw herself into the hands of an extraordinary man. Let us not censure the weakness of our fathers. That glory reaches us only through the clouds of time and adversity, and yet it trans- ports us! Let us say with .LEschylus, How would it have been had we seen the monster him- self! Napoleons powers of conversation were in- imitable. There was a peculiarity in every phrase he uttered which bore the impress of originality and genius. He fascinated every one who ap- proached him. He never spoke of his own achievements, but in most lucid and dramatic recitals often portrayed the bravery of the army and the heroic exploits of his generals. He was now elected a member of the cele- brated Institute, a society composed of the most illustrious literary and scientific men in France. He eagerly accepted the invitation, and returned the following answer. The suifrages of the distinguished men who compose the Institute honor me. I feel sensiblythat before I can be- come their equal I must long be their pupil. The only true conqueststhose which .~aken no re- gretare those obtained over ignorance. The most honorable, as the most useful pursuit of nations, is that which contributes to the exten- sion of human intellect. The real greatness of the French Republic ought henceforth to consist in the acquisition of the whole sum of human knowledge, and in not allowing a single new idea to exist, which does not owe its birth to their exertions. He laid aside entirely the dress of a soldier, and, constantly attending the meet- ings of the Institute, as a philosopher and a schol- ar became one of its brightest ornaments. His comprehensive mind enabled him at once to grasp any subject to which he turned his atten- tion. In one hour he would make himself mas- ter of the accumulated learning to which others had devoted the labor of years. He immediately, as a literary man, assumed almost as marked a pre-eminence among these distinguished scholars, 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as he had already acquired as a general on fields of blood. Apparently forgetting the renown he had already attained, with boundless ambition he pressed on to still greater achievements, deeming nothing accomplished while any thing remained to be done. Subsequently he referred to his course at this time and remarked, Mankind are in the end always governed by superiority of in- tellectual qualities, and none are more sensible of this than the military profession. When, on my return from Italy, I assumed the dress of the Institute, and associated with men of science, I knew what I was doing, I was sure of not being misunderstood by the lowest drummer in the army. A strong effort was made at this time, by the royalists, for the restoration of the Bourbons. Napoleon, while he despised the inefficient gov- ernment of the Directory, was by no means will- ing that the despotic Bourbons should crush the spirit of liberty in France. Napoleon was not ad- verse to a monarchy. But he wished for a mon- arch who would consult the interests of the peo- ple, and not merely pamper the luxury and pride of the nobles. He formed the plan and guided the energies which discomfited the royalists, and sustained the Directors. Thus twice had the strong arm of this young man protected the government. The Directors, in their multiplied perplexities, often urged his presence in their councils, to advise with them on difficult ques- tions. Quiet and reserved he would take his seat at their table, and by that superiority of tact which ever distinguished him, and by that intel- lectual pre-eminence which could not be ques- tioned, he assumed a moral position far above them all, and guided those gray-haired diplomat- ists, as a father guides his children. Whenever he entered their presence, he instinctively as- sumed the supremacy, and it was instinctively recognized. The altars of religion) overthrown by revolu- tionary violence, still remained prostrate. The churches were closed, the Sabbath abolished, the sacraments were unknown, the priests were in exile. A whole generation had grown up in France without any knowledge of Christianity. Corruption was universal. A new sect sprang up called Theophilanthropists, who gleaned, as the basis of their system, some of the moral pre- cepts of the gospel, divested of the sublime sanc- tions of Christianity. They soon, however, found that it is not by flowers of rhetoric, and smooth- flowing verses, and poetic. rhapsodies upon the beauty of love and charity, of rivulets and skies, that the stern heart of man can be controlled. Leviathan is not so tamed. Man, exposed to temptations which rive his soul, trembling upon the brink of fearful calamities, and glowing with irrepressible desires, can only be allured and overawed when the voice of love and mercy, blends with Sinais thunders. There was fre- quently, says the Duchess of Abrantes, so much truth in the moral virtues which this new sect inculcated, that if the Evangelists had not said the same things much better, eighteen hun- dred years before them, one might have been tempted to embrace their opinions. Napoleon took a correct view of these enthu- siasts. They can accomplish nothing, said he, they are merely actors. How ! it was replied, do you thus stigmatize those whose tenets inculcate universal benevolence and the moral virtues ~ All systems of morality, Napoleon rejoined, are fine. The gospel alone has exhibited a complete assemblage of the prin- ciples of morality, divested of all absurdity. It is not composed, like your creed, of a few com- mon-place sentences put into bad verse. Do you wish to see that which is really sublime Repeat the Lords Prayer. Such enthusiasts are only to be encountered by the weapons of ridicule. All their efforts will prove ineffect- ual. Republican France was now at peace with all the world, England alone excepted. The English government still waged unrelenting war against the Republic, and strained every nerve to rouse the monarchies of Europe again to combine to force a detested dynasty upon the French people. The British navy, in its invincibility, had almost annihilated the commerce of France. In their ocean-guarded isle, safe from the ravages of war themselves, their fleet could extend those ravages to all shores. The Directory raised an army for the invasion of England, and gave to Napoleon the command. Drawing the sword, not of ag- gression but of defense, he immediately proceeded to a survey of the French coast, opposite to En- gland, and to form his judgment respecting the feasibility of the majestic enterprise. Taking three of his generals in his carriage, he passed eight days in this tour of observation. With great energy and tact he immediately made him- self familiar with every thing which could aid him in coming to a decision. He surveyed the coast, examined the ships and the fortifications, selected the best points for embarkation, and examined until midnight sailors, pilots, smugglers, and fishermen. He made objections, and carefully weighed their answers. Upon his return to Paris his friend Bourrienne said to him, Well, gen eral! what do you think of the enterprise Is it feasible ~ No ! he promptly replied, shak- ing his head. It is too hazardous. I will not undertake it. I will not risk on such a stake the fate of our beautiful France. At the same tune that he was making this survey of the coast, with his accustomed energy of mind, he was also stu- dying another plan for resisting the assaults of the British government. The idea of attacking England, by the way of Egypt in her East Indian acquisitions, had taken full possession of his im- agination. He filled his carriage with all the books he could find in the libraries of Paris, relating to Egypt. With almost miraculous rapidity he explored the pages, treasuring up, in his capacious and retentive memory, every idea of importance. Interlineations and com- ments on the margin of these books, in his own hand-writing, testify to the indefatigable energy of his mind. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 37 Napoleon was now almost adored by the re- publicans all over Europe, as the great champion of popular rights. The people looked to him as their friend and advocate. In England, in par- ticular, there was a large, influential, and increas- ing party, dissatisfied with the prerogatives of the crown, and with the exclusive privileges of the nobility, who were never weary of proclaiming the praises of this champion of liberty and equal- ity. The brilliance of his intellect; the purity of his morals, the stoical firmness of his self-endur- ance, his untiring energy, the glowing eloquence of every sentence which fell from his lips, his youth and feminine stature, and his wondrous achievements, all combined to invest him with a fascination such as no mortal man ever exerted before. The command of the army for the inva- sion of England was now assigned to Napoleon. He became the prominent and dreaded foe of that great empire. And yet the common people who were to fight the battles almost to a man loved him. The throne trembled. The nobles were in consternation. If we deal fairly and justly with France, Lord Chatham is reported frankly to have avowed, the English government will not exist for four-and-twenty hours. It was necessary to change public sentiment and to rouse feelings of personal animosity against this power- ful antagonist. To render Napoleon unpopular, all the wealth and energies of the government were called into requisition, opening upon him the batteries of ceaseless invective. The English press teemed with the most atrocious and absurd abuse. It is truly amusing, in glancing over the pamphlets of that day, to contemplate the enorm- ity of the vices attributed to him, and their con- tradictory nature. He was represented as a per- fect demon in human form. He was a robber and a miser, plundering the treasuries of nations that he might hoard his countless millions, and he was also a profligate and a spendthrift, squandering upon his lusts the wealth of empires. He was wallowing in licentiousness, his camp a harem of pollution, ridding himself by poison of his concubines as his vagrant desires wandered from them; at the same time he was physically an im- becilea monsterwhom God in his displeasure had deprived of the passions and the powers of healthy manhood. He was an idol whom the entranced people bowed down before and wor- shiped, with more than Oriental servility. He was also a sanguinary heartless, merciless butch- er, exulting in carnage, grinding the bones of his own wounded soldiers into the dust beneath his chariot wheels, and finding congenial music for his depraved and malignant spirit in the shrieks of the mangled and the groans of the dying. To Catholic Ireland he was represented as seixing the venerable Pope by his gray hairs, and thus dragging him over the marble floor of his palace. To Protestant England, on the contrary, he was exhibited as in league with the Pope, whom he treated with the utmost adulation, endeavoring to strengthen the despotism of the sword with the energies of superstition. The philosophical composure with which Na- poleon regarded this incessant flow of invective was strikingly grand. Of all the libels and pamphlets, said Napoleon subsequently, with which the English ministers have inundated Eu- rope, there is not one which will reach posterity. When I have been asked to cause answers to be written to them, I have uniformly replied, My victories and my works of public improvement are the only response which it becomes me to make. When there shall not be a trace of these libels to be found, the great monuments of utility which I have reared, and the code of laws that I have formed, will descend to the most remote ages, and future historians will avenge the wrongs done me by my contemporaries. There was a time, said he again, when all crimes seemed to belong to me of right; thus I poisoned Hoche,* I stran- gled Pichegrut in his cell, I caused Kleber$ to be assassinated in Egypt, I blew out Desaixs ~ brains at Marengo, I cut the throats of persons who were confined in prison, I dragged the Pope by the hair of his head, and a hundred similar absurdities. As yet, he again said, I have not seen one of those libels which is worthy of an answer. Would you have me sit down and reply to Goldsmith, Pichon, or the Quarterly Review. They are so contemptible and so absurdly false, that they do not merit any other notice, than to write false, false, on every page. The only truth I have seen in them is, that I one day met an officer, General Rapp, I believe, on the field of battle, with his face begrimed with smoke and covered with blood, and that I exclaimed, Oh, comme il est beau! 0, bow beautiful the sight! This is true enough. And of it they have made a crime. My commendation of the gallantry ol a brave soldier, is construed into a proof of my delighting in blood. The revolutionary government were in the habit of celebrating the 21st of January with great public rejoicing, as the anniversary of the execution of the king. They urged Napoleon to honor the festival by his presence, and to take a conspicuous part in the festivities. He peremp torily declined. This fhte, said he, com- memorates a melancholy event, a tragedy; and can be agreeable to but few people. It is proper * Lazare belie, a very distinguished young general, who died very suddenly in the army. Hoche, said Bonaparte, was one of the first generals that ever France produced. He was brave, intelligent, abounding in talent, decisive, and penetrating. 1 Charles Pichegru, a celebrated French general, who entered into a conspiracy to overthrow the consular gov. eminent and restore the Bourbons. He was arrested and conducted to the Temple, where he was one morning found dead in his bed. The physicians, who met on the occasion, asserted that he had strangled himself with his cravat. Pichegru, said Napoleon, instructed me in mathemat- ics at Brienne when I was shoot ten years old. As a general he was a man of no ordinary taleiit. After be had united himself with the Bourbons, he sacrificed the lives of upward of twenty thousand of his soldiers by throwing theni lurposely in the enemies hands, whom he had informed beforehand of his intentions. General Kleher fell beneath the poinard of an assassis in Egypt, when Napoleon was in Paris. 4 General Desaix fell, pierced by a bullet, en the field of Marengo. Napoleon deeply deplored his loss, as that of one of his most faithful and devoted friends 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to celel)rate victories; but victims left upon the field of battle are to be lamented. To celebrate the anniversary of a mans death is an act un- worthy of a government; it creates more enemies than friendsit estranges instead of conciliating; it irritates instead of calming; it shakes the foundations of government instead of adding to their strength. The ministry urged that it was the custom with all nations to celebrate the down- fall of tyrants; and that Napoleons influence over the public mind was so powerful, that his absence would be regarded as indicative of hos- tility to the government, and would be highly prejudicial to the interests of the Republic. At last Napoleon consented to attend, as a private member of the Institute, taking no active part in the ceremonies, but merely walking with the members of the class to which he belonged. As soon as the procession entered the Church of St. Sulpice, all eyes were searching for Napoleon. He was soon descried, and every one else was immediately eclipsed. At the close of the cere- mony, the air was rent with the shouts, Long live Napoleon ! The Directory were made ex- ceedingly uneasy by ominous exclamations in the streets, We will drive away these lawyers, and make the Little Corporal king. These cries wonderfully accelerated the zeal of the Directors, in sending Napoleon to Egypt. And most de- voutly did they hope that from that distant land he would never return. AN INDIAN PET. HE ichneumon, called in India the neulah, en ee, or mungoos, is known all over that country. I have seen it on the banks of the Ganges, and among the old walls of Jaunpore, Sirhind, and at Loodianah; for, like others of the weasel kind, this little animal delights in places where it can lurk and peepsuch as heaps of stones and ruins; and there is no lack of these in old Indian cities. That the neulah is a fierce, terrible, blood- thirsty, destructive little creature, I experienced to my cost; but notwithstanding all the prov- ocation I received, I was led to become his friend and protector, and so finding him out to be the most charming and amiable pet in the world. In my military career (for I was for a long time attached to th~ army) I was stationed at Jauii- pore, and having a house with many conveniences, I took pleasure in rearing poultry; but scarcely a single chicken could be magnified to a hen: the rapacious neulabs, fond of tender meat, way- laying all my young broods, sucking their blood, and feasting on their brains. But such devasta- tions could not be allowed to pass with impunity; so we watched the enemy, and succeeded in shooting several of the offenders, prowling among the hennah or mehendy hedges, where the cluck- ing-hens used to repose in the shade, surrounded by their progeny. After one of these battues, my little daughter happened to go to the fowl-house, in the evening in search of eggs, and was greatly startled by a melancholy squeaking which seemed to proceed from an old rat-hole in one corner. Upork propei investigation this was suspected to be the nest of one of the neulabs which had suffered the last sentence of the law; hut how to get at the young we did not know, unless by digging up the floor, and of this I did not approve. So the little young ones would have perished but for a childish freak of my young daughter. She seated herself before the nest, and imitated the cry of the famished little animals so well, that three wee, hairless, blind creatures crept out, like newly-born rab- bits, but with long tails, in the hope of meeting with their lost mamma. Our hearts immediately warmed toward the lit- tle helpless ones, and no one wished to wreak the sins of the parents upon the orphans; and know- ing that rreulahs were reared as pets, I proposed to my daughter that she should select one for herself, and give the others to two of my serv- ants. My daughters prot6g6e, however, was the only one that survived under its new r~gime; and Jumnie, as she called her nursling, throve well, and soon attained its full size, knowing its name, and endearing itself to every body by its gambols and tricks. She was like the most blithesome of little kittens, and played with our fingers, and frolicked on the sofas, sleeping occasionally be- hind one of the cushions, and at other times coiling herself up in her own little flannel bed. In the course of time, however, Jumnie grew up to maturity, being one year old, and formed an attachment for one of her own racea wild, roving bandit of a neulah, who committed such deeds of atrocity in the fowl-house as to compel us to take up arms again. If she had only made her mistress the confidante of her love !but, alas! little did we suspect our neulah of a com- panionship with thieves and assassins; and so leaving her, we thought, to her customary frolics, we marched upon the stronghold of the enemy. Two neulahs appeared, we fired, and one fell, the other running off unscathed. We all hast- ened to the wounded and bleeding victim, and my little daughter first of all; but how shall I describe her grief when she saw her little Jum- nie writhing at her feet in the agonies of death! If I had had the least idea of Jumnies having formed such an attachment, I should have spared the guilty for the sake of the innocent, and Jum- nie might long have lived a favorite pet; but the deed was done. The neulahs, like other of the weasel kind and like some animals I know of a loftier species are very rapacious, slaying without reference to their wants; and Jumnie, although fond of milk, used to delight in livers and brains of fowls, which she relished even after they were dressed for our table. The natives of India never molest the neulah. They like to see it about their dwellings, on ac- count of its snake and rat-killing propensities; and on a similar account it must have been that this creature was deified by the Egyptians, whose

38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to celel)rate victories; but victims left upon the field of battle are to be lamented. To celebrate the anniversary of a mans death is an act un- worthy of a government; it creates more enemies than friendsit estranges instead of conciliating; it irritates instead of calming; it shakes the foundations of government instead of adding to their strength. The ministry urged that it was the custom with all nations to celebrate the down- fall of tyrants; and that Napoleons influence over the public mind was so powerful, that his absence would be regarded as indicative of hos- tility to the government, and would be highly prejudicial to the interests of the Republic. At last Napoleon consented to attend, as a private member of the Institute, taking no active part in the ceremonies, but merely walking with the members of the class to which he belonged. As soon as the procession entered the Church of St. Sulpice, all eyes were searching for Napoleon. He was soon descried, and every one else was immediately eclipsed. At the close of the cere- mony, the air was rent with the shouts, Long live Napoleon ! The Directory were made ex- ceedingly uneasy by ominous exclamations in the streets, We will drive away these lawyers, and make the Little Corporal king. These cries wonderfully accelerated the zeal of the Directors, in sending Napoleon to Egypt. And most de- voutly did they hope that from that distant land he would never return. AN INDIAN PET. HE ichneumon, called in India the neulah, en ee, or mungoos, is known all over that country. I have seen it on the banks of the Ganges, and among the old walls of Jaunpore, Sirhind, and at Loodianah; for, like others of the weasel kind, this little animal delights in places where it can lurk and peepsuch as heaps of stones and ruins; and there is no lack of these in old Indian cities. That the neulah is a fierce, terrible, blood- thirsty, destructive little creature, I experienced to my cost; but notwithstanding all the prov- ocation I received, I was led to become his friend and protector, and so finding him out to be the most charming and amiable pet in the world. In my military career (for I was for a long time attached to th~ army) I was stationed at Jauii- pore, and having a house with many conveniences, I took pleasure in rearing poultry; but scarcely a single chicken could be magnified to a hen: the rapacious neulabs, fond of tender meat, way- laying all my young broods, sucking their blood, and feasting on their brains. But such devasta- tions could not be allowed to pass with impunity; so we watched the enemy, and succeeded in shooting several of the offenders, prowling among the hennah or mehendy hedges, where the cluck- ing-hens used to repose in the shade, surrounded by their progeny. After one of these battues, my little daughter happened to go to the fowl-house, in the evening in search of eggs, and was greatly startled by a melancholy squeaking which seemed to proceed from an old rat-hole in one corner. Upork propei investigation this was suspected to be the nest of one of the neulabs which had suffered the last sentence of the law; hut how to get at the young we did not know, unless by digging up the floor, and of this I did not approve. So the little young ones would have perished but for a childish freak of my young daughter. She seated herself before the nest, and imitated the cry of the famished little animals so well, that three wee, hairless, blind creatures crept out, like newly-born rab- bits, but with long tails, in the hope of meeting with their lost mamma. Our hearts immediately warmed toward the lit- tle helpless ones, and no one wished to wreak the sins of the parents upon the orphans; and know- ing that rreulahs were reared as pets, I proposed to my daughter that she should select one for herself, and give the others to two of my serv- ants. My daughters prot6g6e, however, was the only one that survived under its new r~gime; and Jumnie, as she called her nursling, throve well, and soon attained its full size, knowing its name, and endearing itself to every body by its gambols and tricks. She was like the most blithesome of little kittens, and played with our fingers, and frolicked on the sofas, sleeping occasionally be- hind one of the cushions, and at other times coiling herself up in her own little flannel bed. In the course of time, however, Jumnie grew up to maturity, being one year old, and formed an attachment for one of her own racea wild, roving bandit of a neulah, who committed such deeds of atrocity in the fowl-house as to compel us to take up arms again. If she had only made her mistress the confidante of her love !but, alas! little did we suspect our neulah of a com- panionship with thieves and assassins; and so leaving her, we thought, to her customary frolics, we marched upon the stronghold of the enemy. Two neulahs appeared, we fired, and one fell, the other running off unscathed. We all hast- ened to the wounded and bleeding victim, and my little daughter first of all; but how shall I describe her grief when she saw her little Jum- nie writhing at her feet in the agonies of death! If I had had the least idea of Jumnies having formed such an attachment, I should have spared the guilty for the sake of the innocent, and Jum- nie might long have lived a favorite pet; but the deed was done. The neulahs, like other of the weasel kind and like some animals I know of a loftier species are very rapacious, slaying without reference to their wants; and Jumnie, although fond of milk, used to delight in livers and brains of fowls, which she relished even after they were dressed for our table. The natives of India never molest the neulah. They like to see it about their dwellings, on ac- count of its snake and rat-killing propensities; and on a similar account it must have been that this creature was deified by the Egyptians, whose AN INDIAN PET. 39 country abounded with reptiles, and would have been absolutely alive with crocodiles but for the havoc it made among the numerous eggs, Which it delighted to suck. For this reason the ichnen- mons were embalmed as public benefactors, and their bodies are still found lying in state in some of the pyramids. Among the Hindoos, however, the neulah does not obtain quite such high honors, although the elephant, monkey, lion, snake, rat, goose, & c., play a prominent part in the religious myths, and are styled the Bfihons, or vehicles of the gods. In Hindoostan the ichneuinon is not supposed to kill the crocodile, though it is in the mouth of every old woman that it possesses the knowledge of a remedy against the bite of a poisonous snake, ~vhich its instinct leads it to dig out of the ground; but this on dit has never been ascertained to be true, and my belief is that it is only based on the great agility and dexterity of the neulab. Eye- witnesses say that his battles with mans great- est enemy end generally in the death of the snake which the neulah seizes by the back of the neck and after frequent onsets at last kills and eats, rejecting nothing but the head. The color of the Indian neulah is a grayish- brown; but its chief beauty lies in its splendid squirrel-like tail, and lively, prominent, dark- brown eyes. Like most of the weasel kind, how- ever, it has rather a disagreeable odor; and if it were not for this there would not be a sweeter pet in existence. So far the experience of an Old Indian; and we now turn to another authority on the highly- curious subject just glanced atthe knowledge of the ichneumon of a specific against the poison of the snake. Calder Campbell, in his recent senes of tales, Winter Nightsand capital amusement for such nights they aredescribes in almost a painfully truthful manner the adven- ture of an officer in India, who was an eye-wit- ness, under very extraordinary circumstances, to the feat of the ichneumon. The officer, through some accident, was wandering on foot, and at night, throu,,h a desolate part of the country, and at length, overcome with fatigue, threw him- self down on the dry, crisp spear-grass, and just as the faint edge of the dawn appeared, fell asleep. No doubt of it! I slept soundly, sweetly no doubt of it! I have never since then slept in the open air either soundly or sweetly, for my awaking was full of horror! Before I was frilly awake, however, I had a strange perception of danger, which tied me down to the earth, warn- ing me against all motion. I knew that there was a shadow creeping over me, beneath which to lie in dumb inaction was the wisest resource. I felt that my lower extremities were hem,, in- vaded by the heavy coils of a living chain; but as if a providential opiate had been infused into my system, preventing all movement of thew or sinew, I knew not till I was wide awake that an. enormous serpent covered the whole of my nether limbs, up to the knees! My God! I am lost! was the mental ex- clamation I made, as every drop of blood in my veins seemed turned to ice; and anon I shook like an aspen leaf, until the very fear that my sudden palsy might rouse the reptile, occasion- ed a revulsion of feeling, and I again lay para- lyzed. It slept, or at all events remained stirless; and how long it so remained I know not, for time to the fear-struck is as the ring of eternity. All at once the sky cleared upthe moon shone outthe stars glanced over me; I could see them all, as I lay stretched on my side, one hand under my head, whence I dared not remove it; neither dared I looked downward at the loathsome bed- fellow which my evil stars had sent me. Unexpectedly, a new object of terror super- vened a curious purring sound behind me, fol- lowed by two smart taps on the ground, put the snake on the alert, for it moved, and I felt that it was crawling upward to my breast. At that moment, when I was almost maddened by in- supportable apprehension into starting up to meet, perhaps, certain destruction, something sprang upon my shoulderupon the reptile! There was a shrill cry from the new assailant, a loud, appall- ing hiss from the serpent. For an instant I could feel them wrestling, as it were, on my body; in the next, they were beside me on the turf; in another, a few paces off, struggling, twisting round each other, fighting furiously, I beheld thema mungoos or ichneumon and a cobra eh capello! I started up; I watched that most singular combat, for all was now clear as day. I saw them stand aloof for a momentthe deep, venom- ous fascination of the snaky glance powerless against the keen, quick, restless orbs of its op- ponent: I saw this duel of the eye exchange once more for closer conflict: I saw that the mungoos was bitten; that it darted away, doubt- less in search of that still unknown plant whose juices are its alleged antidote against snake-bite; that it returned with fresh vigor to the attack; and then, glad sight! I saw the cobra di capello, maimed from hooded head to scaly tail, fall life- less from its hitherto demi-erect position with a baffled hiss; while the wonderful victor, indulg- ing itself in a series of leaps upon the body of its antagonist, danced and bounded about, pur- ring and spitting like an enraged cat! Little graceful creature! I have ever since kept a pet mungoosthe most attached, the most playful, and the most frog-devouring of all ani- mals. Many other authors refer to the alleged anti- dote against a snake-bite, known only to the ich- neumon, and there are about as many different opinions as there are authors; but, on the whole, our Old Indian appears to us to be on the strong- est side. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. KOSSUTH, AS GOVERNOR OF HUNGARY L OUJ ~ KOSSUTH * was born at Monok, in which gave promise of future eminence, could he Zemplin, one of the northern counties of but break the bonds imposed by low birth and Hungary, on the 27th of April, 1806. His family iron fortune. A young clergyman was attracted was ancient, but impoverished; his father served by the character of the boy, and voluntarily took in the Austrian army during the wars against upon himself the office of his tutor, and thus first Napoleon; his mother, who still survives to ex- opened before his mind visions of a broader world ult in the glory of her son, is represented to be than that of the miserable village of his residence. a woman of extraordinary force of mind and char-, But these serene days of powers expanding under acter. Kossuth thus adds another to the long genial guidance soon passed away. His father list of great men who seem to have inherited died, his tutor was translated to another post, their genius from their mothers. As a boy he and the walls of his prison-house seemed again was remarkable for the winning gentleness of to close upon the boy. But by the aid of mem- his disposition, and for an earnest enthusiasm, hers of his family, themselves in humble circum * Pronounced as though written Kes-sheot, with the faith], married. He is of middle height, strong, thin; the accent on the last syllable. The Magyar equivalent for the face oval, complexion pale, the forehead high and open, French Louts and the German Luowie is LAjos. We hair chestnut, eyes blue, eyebrows dark and very thick, have given the date of his birth, which seems best authen- mouth very small and well-formed, teeth fine, chin round ticated. The notice of the Austrian police, quoted below, He wears a mustache and imperial, and his curled hair makes him to have been born in 1804; still another at- does not entirely cover the upper part of the head. He has count gives 1801 as the year of his birth. The portrait a white and delicate hand, the fingers long. He speaks which we furnish is from a picture taken a little more German, 1Jun~arian, Latin, Slovack, a little French and than two years since in Hungary. for Messrs. GOUPIL, Italian. His bearing when calm, is solemn, full of a cer- the well-known picture-dealers of Paris and New York, tam dignity; his movements elegant, his voice agreeable, and is undoubtedly an authentic likeness of him at that softly penetrating, and very distinct, even when he speaks time. The following is a pen-and-ink portrait of Rossuth, low. He produces, in general, the effect of an enthusiast; drawn by those capital artists, the Police authorities of his looks often fixed on the heavens; and the expression Vienna Leui.e Kessuth, an ex-advocate, journalist, of his eyes, which are fine, contributes to give him the Minister of Finance, President of the Committee of De- air of a dreamer. His exterior does not announce the fense, Governor of the Hungarian Republic, born in Hun- energy of his charattel ~ Photography could hardly pro gary. Catholic [this is an error, Kossuth is of the Lutheran duce a picture more minutely accurate IN 1849.

40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. KOSSUTH, AS GOVERNOR OF HUNGARY L OUJ ~ KOSSUTH * was born at Monok, in which gave promise of future eminence, could he Zemplin, one of the northern counties of but break the bonds imposed by low birth and Hungary, on the 27th of April, 1806. His family iron fortune. A young clergyman was attracted was ancient, but impoverished; his father served by the character of the boy, and voluntarily took in the Austrian army during the wars against upon himself the office of his tutor, and thus first Napoleon; his mother, who still survives to ex- opened before his mind visions of a broader world ult in the glory of her son, is represented to be than that of the miserable village of his residence. a woman of extraordinary force of mind and char-, But these serene days of powers expanding under acter. Kossuth thus adds another to the long genial guidance soon passed away. His father list of great men who seem to have inherited died, his tutor was translated to another post, their genius from their mothers. As a boy he and the walls of his prison-house seemed again was remarkable for the winning gentleness of to close upon the boy. But by the aid of mem- his disposition, and for an earnest enthusiasm, hers of his family, themselves in humble circum * Pronounced as though written Kes-sheot, with the faith], married. He is of middle height, strong, thin; the accent on the last syllable. The Magyar equivalent for the face oval, complexion pale, the forehead high and open, French Louts and the German Luowie is LAjos. We hair chestnut, eyes blue, eyebrows dark and very thick, have given the date of his birth, which seems best authen- mouth very small and well-formed, teeth fine, chin round ticated. The notice of the Austrian police, quoted below, He wears a mustache and imperial, and his curled hair makes him to have been born in 1804; still another at- does not entirely cover the upper part of the head. He has count gives 1801 as the year of his birth. The portrait a white and delicate hand, the fingers long. He speaks which we furnish is from a picture taken a little more German, 1Jun~arian, Latin, Slovack, a little French and than two years since in Hungary. for Messrs. GOUPIL, Italian. His bearing when calm, is solemn, full of a cer- the well-known picture-dealers of Paris and New York, tam dignity; his movements elegant, his voice agreeable, and is undoubtedly an authentic likeness of him at that softly penetrating, and very distinct, even when he speaks time. The following is a pen-and-ink portrait of Rossuth, low. He produces, in general, the effect of an enthusiast; drawn by those capital artists, the Police authorities of his looks often fixed on the heavens; and the expression Vienna Leui.e Kessuth, an ex-advocate, journalist, of his eyes, which are fine, contributes to give him the Minister of Finance, President of the Committee of De- air of a dreamer. His exterior does not announce the fense, Governor of the Hungarian Republic, born in Hun- energy of his charattel ~ Photography could hardly pro gary. Catholic [this is an error, Kossuth is of the Lutheran duce a picture more minutely accurate IN 1849. KOSSUTH. 41 utances, he was enabled to attend such schools ~s the district furnished. Little worth knowing was taught there; but among that little was the Latin language; and through that door the young Ireamer was introduced into the broad domains )f history, where, abandoning the mean present, he could range at will through the immortal past. History relates nothing so spirit-stirring as the struggles of some bold patriot to overthrow or resist arbitrary power. Hence the young student of history is always a republican; but, unlike many others, Kossuth never changed from that faith. The annals of Hungary contain nothing so brilliant as the series of desperate conflicts which were waged at intervals for more than two cen- turies to maintain the elective character of the Hungarian monarchy, in opposition to the at- tempts of the House of Austria to make the crown hereditary in the Hapsburg line. In these wars, from 1527 to 1715, seventeen of the family of Kossuth had been attainted for high treason against Austria. The last, most desperate, and decisively unsuccessful struggle was that waged by Rakozky, at the beginning of the last century. Kossuth pored over the chronicles and annals which narrate the incidents of this contest, till he was master of all the minutest details. It might then have been predicted that he would one day write the history of that fruitless strug- gle, and the biography of its hero; but no one would have dared to prophesy that he would so closely reproduce it in deeds. In times of peace, the law offers to an aspiring youth the readiest means of ascent from a low degree to lofty stations. Kossuth, therefore, when just entering upon manhood, made his way to Pesth, the capital, to study the legal profession. Here he entered the office of a notary, and began gradually to make himself known by his liberal opinions, and the fervid eloquence with which he set forth and maintained them; and men began to see in him the promise of a powerful public writer, orator, and debater. The man and the hour were alike preparing. In 1825, the year before Kossuth arrived at Pesth, the critical state of her Italian possessions com- pelled Austria to provide extraordinary revenues. The Hungarian Diet was then assembled, after an interval of thirteen years. This Diet at once demanded certain measures of reform before they would make the desired pecuniary grants. The court was obliged to concede these demands Kossuth, having completed his legal studies, and finding no favorable opening in the capital, re- turneJ, in 1830, to his native district, and com- menced the practice of the law, with marked success. He also began to make his way toward public life by his assiduous attendance and intel- ligent action in the local assemblies. A new Diet was assembled in 1832, and he received a com- mission as the representative, in the Diet, of a magnate who was absent. As proxy for an ab- sentee, he was only charged, by the Hungarian Constitution, with a very subordinate part, his functions being more those of a counsel than of a delegate. This, however, was a post much sought for by young and aspiring lawyers, as giving them an opportunity of mastering legal forms, displaying their abilities, and forming ad- vantageous connections. This Diet renewed the Liberal struggle with increased vigor. By far the best talent of Hun- gary was ranged upon the Liberal side. Kossuth early made himself known as a debater, and gradually won his way upward, and became associated with the leading men of the Liberal party, many of whom were among the proudest and richest of the Hungarian magnates. He soon undertook to publish a report of the debates and proceedings of the Diet. This attempt was opposed by the Palatine, and a law hunted up which forbade the printing and publishing of these reports. He for a while evaded the law by having his sheet lithographed. It increased in its development of democratic tendencies, and in popularity, until finally the lithographic press was seized by Government. Kossuth, determined not to be baffled, still issued his journal, every copy being written out by scribes, of whom he employed a large number. To avoid seizure at the post-office, they were circulated through the local authorities, who were almost invariably on the Liberal side. This was a period of intense activity on the part of Kossuth. He attended the meetings of the Diet, and the conferences of the deputies, edited his paper, read almost all new works on politics and political economy, and studied French and English for the sake of read- ing the debates in the French Chambers and the British Parliament; allowing himself, we are told, but three hours sleep in the twenty-four. His periodical penetrated into every part of the kingdom, and men saw with wonder a young and almost unknown public writer boldly pitting him- self against Metternich and the whole Austriar Cabinet. Kossuth might well, at this period declare that he felt within himself something nameless. In the succeeding Diets the Opposition grew still more determined. Kossuth, though twice admonished by Government, still continued his journal; and no longer confined himself to sim- ple reports of the proceedings of the Diet, but added political remarks of the keenest satire and most bitter denunciation. He was aware that his course was a perilous one. He was once found by a friend walking in deep reverie in the fortress of Buda, and in reply to a question as to the subject of his meditations, he said, I was looking at the casemates, for I fear that I shall soon be quartered there. Government finally determined to use arguments more cogent than discussion could furnish. Baron Wesselenyi, the leader of the Liberal party, and the most prominent advocate of the removal of urbarial burdens, was arrested, together with a number of his adherents. Kossuth was of course a per- son of too much note to be overlooked, and on the 4th of May, 1837, to use the words of an Austrian partisan, it happened that as he was promenading in the vicinity of Buda, he was seized by the myrmidons of the law, and confined 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the lower walls of the fortress, there to con- sider, in darkness and solitude, how dangerous it is to defy a powerful government, and to swerve from the path of law and of prudence. Kossuth became at once sanctified in the pop- ulai mind as a martyr. Liberal subscriptions were raised through the country for the benefit of his mother and sisters, whom he had supported by his exertions, and who were now left without protection. Wesselenyi became blind in prison; Lovassi, an intimate friend of Kossuth, lost his reason; and Kossuth himself, as was certified by his physicians, was in imminent risk of falling a victim to a serious disease. The rigor of his confinement was mitigated; he was allowed books, newspapers, and writing materials, and suffered to walk daily upon the bastions of the fortress, in charge of an officer. Among those who were inspired with admiration for his politi- cal efforts, and with sympathy for his fate, was Teresa Mezlenyi, the young daughter of a noble- man. She sent him books, and corresponded with him during his imprisonment; and they were married in 1841, soon after his liberation. The action of the drama went on, though Kos- suth was for a while withdrawn from the stage. His connection with Wesse,lenyi procured for him a degree of influence among the higher magnates which he could probably in no other way have attained. Their aid was as essential to the early success of the Liberals, as was the support of Essex and Manchester to the Parliament of En- gland at the commencement of the contest with Charles I. In the second year of Kossuths imprisonment, Austria again needed Hungarian assistance. The threatening aspect of affairs in the East, growing out of the relations between Turkey and Egypt, determined all the great powers to increase their armaments. A demand was made upon the Hungarian Diet for an additional levy of 18000 troops. A large body of delegates was chosen pledged to oppose this grant except upon condition of certain concessions, among which was a general amnesty, with a special reference to the cases of Wesselenyi and Kossuth. The most sagacious of the Conservative party advised Government to liberate all the prisoners, with the exception of Kossuth; and to do this before the meeting of the Diet, in order that their liberation might not be made a condition of granting the levy; which must be the occasion of great ex- citement. The Cabinet temporized, and did no- thing. The Diet was opened, and the contest was waged during six months. The Opposition had a majority of two in the Chamber of Depu- ties, but were in a meagre minority in the Cham- ber of Magnates. But Metternich and the Cab- inet grew alarmed at the struggle, and were eager to obtain the grant of men, and to close the re- fractory Diet. In 1840 a royal rescript suddenly made its appearance granting the amnesty, ac- companied also with conciliatory remarks, and the demands of the Government for men and money were at once complied with. This action of Government weakened the ranks of its sup- porters among the Hungarian magnates, who thus found themselves exposed to the charge of being more despotic than the Cabinet of Metter- nich itself Kossuth issued from prison in 1840, after an imprisonment of three years, bearing in his de bilitated frame, his pallid face, and glassy eyes, traces of severe sufferings, both of mind and body. He repaired for a time to a watering- place among the mountains to recruit his shat- tered health. His imprisonment had done more for his influence than he could have effected if at liberty. The visitors at the watering-place treated with silent respect the man who moved about among them in dressing-gown and slip- pers, and whose slow steps, and languid features disfigured with yellow spots, proclaimed him an invalid. Abundant subscriptions had been made for his benefit and that of his family, and he now stood on an equality with the proudest magnates. These had so often used the name of the Mar- tyr of the liberty of the press in pointing their speeches, that they now had no choice but to ac- cept the popular verdict as their own. Kossuth, in the meanwhile mingled little with the society at the watering-place; but preferred, as his health improved, to wander among the forest- clad hills and lonely valleys, where, says one who there became acquainted with him, and was his frequent companion, the song of birds, a group of trees, and even the most insignificant phenomena of nature furnished occasions for conversation. But now and then flashes would burst forth which showed that he was revolving other things in his mind. Sometimes a chord would be casually struck which awoke deeper feelings, then his rare eloquence would burst forth with the fearful earnestness of conviction, and he hurled forth sentences instinct with life and passion. The wife of the Lord-Lieutenant, the daughter of a great magnate, was attracted by his appearance, and desired this companion of Kossuth to introduce him to her house. When this desire was made known to Kossuth, the mysterious and nervous expression passed over his face, which characterizes it when excited. No, he exclaimed, I will not go to that wo- mans house; her father subscribed four-pence to buy a rope to hang me with Soon after his liberation, he came forward as the prificipal editor of the Pesth Gazette (Pesthi Hirlap), which a bookseller, who enjoyed the protection of the Government, had received permission to establish. The name of the editor was now sufficient to electrify the country; and Kossuth at once stood forth as the advocate of the rights of the lower and middle classes against the inordinate privileges and immunities enjoyed by the magnates. But when he went to the ex- tent of demanding that the house-tax should be paid by all classes in the community, not even excepting the highest nobility, a party was raised up against him among the nobles, who estab- lished a paper to combat so disorganizing a doc- trine. This party, backed by the influence of Government, succeeded in defeating the electiop KOSSUTH. 43 of Kossuth as member from Pesth for the Diet of 1843. He was, however, very active in the local Assembly of the capital. Kossuth was not altogether without support among the higher nobles. The blind old Wes- selenyi traversed the country, advocating rural freedom and the abolition of the urbarial bur- dens. Among his supporters at this period also, was Count Louis Batthyanyi, one of the most considerable of the Maygar magnates, subse- quently President of the Hungarian Ministry, and the most illustrious martyr of the Hungarian cause. Aided by his powerful support, Kossuth was again brought forward, in 1847, as one of the two candidates from Pesth. The Government party, aware that they were in a decided minority. limited their efforts to an attempt to defeat the election of Kossuth. This they endeavored to effect by stratagem. The Liberal party nomi- nated Szentkiraly and Kossuth. The Govern- ment party also named the former. The Royal Administrator, who presided at the election, de- cided that Szentkiraly was chosen by acclama- tion; but that a poll must be held for the other member. Before the intention of Kossuth to present himself as a candidate was known, the Liberals had proposed M. Balla as second dele- gate. He at once resigned in favor of Kossuth. The Government party cast their votes for him, in hopes of drawing off a portion of the Liberal party from the support of Kossuth. M. Balla loudly but unavailingly protested against this stratagem; and when after a scrutiny of twelve hours, Kossuth was declared elected, Balla was the first to applaud. That night Kossuth, Balla, and Szentkiraly were serenaded by the citizens of Pesth; they descended together to the street and walked arm-in-arm among the crowd. The Royal Administrator was severely reprimanded for not having found means to prevent the elec- tion of Kossuth. Kossuth no sooner took his seat in the Diet than the foremost place was at once conceded to him. At the opening of the session he moved an address to the king, concluding with the pe- tition that liberal institutions, similar to those of the Hungarian Constitution, might be accord- ed to all the hereditary states, that thus might be created a united Austrian monarchy, based upon broad and constitutional principles. Dur- ing the early months of the session Kossuth showed himself a most accomplished parliament- ary orator and debater; and carried on a series of attacks upon the policy of the Austrian Cabi- net, which for skill and power have few parallels in the annals of parliamentary warfare. Those * We have not space to present any portion of this ad mirable speech. It is given at length in PuLszKva In- form a very inadequate conception of its scope troduction to ScHazsamNeaaa War in Hungary, which and power, whose ideas of the eloquence of Kos- has been republished in this country; in a different, and suth are derived solely from the impassioned and somewhat indifferent translation, in the anonymous which he flung out during I Louis Kossut/z and Hungary, published in London, exclamatory harangues written strongly in the Austrian interest. In this latter, the war. These were addressed to men wrought however, the Address to the Throne, by far the most up to the utmost tension, and can be judged fair- imljortant and weighty portion of the speech, is omitted. ly only by men in a state of high excitement. A portion of the speech, taken from this latter source, He adapted his matter and manner to the occa- and of course not embracing the Address, is given in Dr and the audience. Some of his speeches TEFFT5 recent valuable work, Hungary and Keseuth. ~mon The whole speech constitutes a historical docunment ol are niarked by a stringency of logic worthy of great mniportance Webster or Calhoun :but it was what all elo- quence of a high order must ever be Logic red-hot. Now came the French Revolution of February, 1848. The news of it reached Vienna on the 1st of March, and was received at Pressburg on the 2d. On the following day Kossuth delivered his famous speech on the finances and the state of the monarchy generally, concluding with a pro- posed Address to the Throne, urging a series of reformatory measures. Among the foremost of these was the emancipation of the country from feudal burdensthe proprietors of the soil to be indemnified by the state; equalizing taxa- tion; a faithful administration of the revenue to be satisfactorily guaranteed; the further develop- ment of the representative system; and the estab- lishment of a government representing the voice of, and responsible to the nation.* The speech produced an effect almost without parallel in the annals of debate. Not a word was uttered in reply, and the motion was unanimously carried. On the 13th of March took place the revolution in Vienna which overthrew the Metternich Cabi- net. On the 15th, the Constitution granted by the Emperor to all the nations within the Em- pire was solemnly proclaimed, amidst the wild- est transports of joy. Henceforth there were to be no more Germans or Sclavonians, Magyars or Italians; strangers embraced and kissed each other in the streets, for all the heterogeneous races of the Empire were now brothers :as like- wise were all the nations of the earth at Acia- charsis Klootzs Feast of Pikes in Paris, on that 14th day of July in the year of grace 1790 and yet, notwithstanding, came the Reign of Terror. Among the demands made by the Hungarian Diet was that of a separate and responsible Min- istry for Hungary. The Palatine, Archduke Stephen, to whom the conduct of affairs in Hun- gary had been intrusted, persuaded the Emperor to accede to this demand, and on the following day Batthyanyi, who with Kossuth and a depu- tation of delegates of the Diet was in Vienna, was named President of the Hungarian Ministry. It was, however, understood that Kossuth was the life and soul of the new Ministry. Kossuth assumed the department of Finance, then, as long before and now, the post of diffi- culty under Austrian administration. The Diet meanwhile went on to consummate the series of reforms which Kossuth had so long and ~tead- fastly advocated. The remnants of feudalism 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were swept awaythe landed proprietors being indemnified by the state for the loss they sus- tained. The civil and political rights which had hetetofore been in the exclusive possession of the nobles, were extended to the burghers and the peasants. A new electoral law was framed, according the right of suffrage to every possessor of property to the amount of about one hundred and fifty dollars. The whole series of bills re- ceived the royal signature on the 11th of April; the Diet having previously adjourned to meet on the 2d of July. Up to this time there had been indeed a vigor- ous and decided opposition, but no insurrection. The true cause of the Hungarian war was the hostility of the Austrian Government to the whole series of reformatory measures which had been effected through the instrumentality of Kossuth; but its immediate occasion was the jealousy which sprung up among the Servian and Croa- tian dependencies of Hungary against the Hun- garian Ministry. This soon broke out into an open revolt, headed by Baron Jellachich, who had just been appointed Ban or Lord of Croatia. How far the Serbs and Croats had occasion for jea- lousy, is of little consequence to our present purpose to inquire; though we may say, in pass- ing, that the proceedings of the Magyars toward the other Hungarian races was marked by a far more just and generous feeling and conduct than could have been possibly expected; and that the whole ground of hostility was sheer misrepre- sentation; and this, if we may credit the latest and best authorities, is now admitted by the Sclavic races themselves. But however the case may have been as between the Magyars and Croats, as between the Hungarians and Austria, the hostile course of the latter is without excuse or palliation. The Emperor had solemnly sanc- tioned the action of the Diet, and did as solemnly denounce the proceedings of Jellachich. On the 29th of May the Ban was summoned to present himself at Innspruck, to answer for his conduct; and as he did not make his appearance, an Impe- rial manifesto was issued on the 10th ofJune, de- priving him of all his dignities, and commanding the authorities at once to break off all intercourse with him. He, however, still continued his op- erations, and levied an army for the invasion of Hungary, and a fierce and bloody war of races broke out, marked on both sides by the most fearful atrocities. The Hungarian Diet was opened on the 5th of July, when the Palatine, Archduke Stephen, in the name of the king, solemnly denounced the conduct of the insurgent Croats. A few days after, Kossuth, in a speech in the Diet, set forth the perilous state of affairs, and concluded by ask- ing for authority to raise an army of 200,000 men, and a large amount of money. These proposals were adopted by acclamation, the enthusiasm in the Diet rendering any debate impossible and superfluous. The Imperial forces having been victorious in Italy, and one pressing danger being thus avert- ed from the Empire, the Austrian Cabinet began openly to display its hostility to the Hungarian movement. Jellachich repaired to Innspruck, and was openly acknowledged by the court, and the decree of deposition was revoked. Early in September Hungary and Austria stood in an at- titude of undisguised hostility. On the 5th of that month, Kossuth, though enfeebled by illness, was carried to the hall of the Diet where he de- livered a speech, declaring that so formidable were the dangers that surrounded the nation, that the Ministers might soon be forced to cal~ upon the Diet to name a Dictator, clothed witl. unlimited powers, to save the country; but be fore taking this final step they would recommend a last appeal to the Imperial government. A large deputation was thereupon dispatched t~ the Emperor, to lay before him the demands of the Hungarian nation. No satisfactory answer was returned, and the deputation left the Impe- rial presence in silence. On their return, they plucked from their caps the plumes of the united colors of Austria and Hungary, and replaceo them with red feathers, and hoisted a flag of the same color on the steamer which conveyed them to Pesth. Their report produced the most in- tense agitation in the Diet, and at the capital, but it was finally resolved to make one more attempt for a pacific settlement of the question. In order that no obstacle might be interposed by their presence, Kossuth and his colleagues resigned, and a new Ministry was appointed. A deputa- tion was sent to the National Assembly at Vi- enna, which refused to receive it. Jellachich had in the mean time entered Hungary with a large army, not as yet, however, openly sanc- tioned by Imperial authority. The Diet seeing the imminent peril of the country, conferred dic- tatorial powers upon Kossuth. The Palatine resigned his post, and left the kingdom. The Emperor appointed Count Lemherg to take the entire command of the Hungarian army. Tne Diet declared the appointment illegal, and the Count, arriving at Pesth without escort, was slain in the streets of the capital by the popu- lace, in a sudden outbreak. The Emperor forth- with placed the kingdom under martial law, giving the supreme civil and military power to Jellachich. The Diet at once revolted; declared itself permanent, and appointed Kossuth Gov- ernor, and President of the Committee of Safety. There was now but one course left for the Hungarians: to maintain by force of arms the position they had assumed. We can not detail the events of the war which followed, but merely touch upon the most salient points. Jellachich was speedily driven out of Hungary, toward Vienna. In October, the Austrian forces were concentrated under command of Windischgratz, to the number of 120,000 veterans, and were put on the march for Hungary. To oppose them, the only forces under the command of the new Gov- ernment of Hungary, were 20,000 regular in- fantry, 7000 cavalry, and 14,000 recruits, who received the name of Honveds, or protectors of home. Of all the movements that followed, Kossuth was the soul and chief. His burning KOSSUTH. 4ti ~nd passionate appeals stirred up the souls of the peasants, and sent them by thousands to the camp. He kindled enthusiasm, he organized that enthusiasm, and transformed those raw re- cruits into soldiers more than a match for the veteran troops of Austria. Though himself not a soldier, he discovered and drew about him soldiers and generals of a high order. The re- suIt was that Windischgratz was driven back from Hungary, and of the 120,000 troops which lie led into that kingdom in October, one half were killed, disabled, or taken prisoners at the end of April. The state of the war on the 1st cf May, may be gathered from the Imperial man- ifesto of that date, which announced that the insurrection in Hungary had grown to such an extent, that the Imperial Government had been indnced to appeal to the assistance of his Majesty the Czar of all the Russias, who gener- ously and readily granted it to a most satisfactory extent. The issue of the contest could no long- er be doubtful, when the immense weight of Rus- sia was thrown into the scale. Had all power, eivil and military been concentrated in one per- son, and had he displayed the brilliant general- ship and desperate courage which Napoleon manifested in 1814, when the overwhelming forces of the allies were marching upon Paris, the fall of Hungary might have been delayed for a few weeks, perhaps to another campaign; but it could not have been averted. In modern war- fare there is a limit beyond which devotion and enthusiasm can not supply the place of numbers and material force. And that limit was over- passed when Russia and Austria were pitted against Hungary. The chronology of the Hungarian struggle may be thus stated: On the 9th of September, 1848, Jellachich crossed the Drave and invaded Hungary; and was driven back at the close of that month toward Vienna. In October, Win- dischgratz advanced into Hungary, and took possession of Pesth, the capital. On the 14th of April, 1849, the Declaration of Hungarian Independence was promulgated. At the close of that month, the Austrians were driven out at every point, and the issue of the contest, as be- tween Hungary and Austria, was settled. On the 1st of May the Russian intervention was announced. On the 11th of August Kossuth resigned his dictatorship into the hands of Gor- gey who, two days after, in effect closed the war by surrendering to the Russians. The Hungarian war thus lasted a little more than eleven months; during which time there was but one ruling and directing spirit ; and that was Kossuth, to whose immediate career we now return. Early in January it was found advisable to remove the seat of government from Pesth to the town of Debreczin, situated in the interior. Pesth was altogether indefensible, and the Aus- trian army were close upon it; but here the Hun- garians had collected a vast amount of stores and ammunition, the preservation of which was of the utmost importance. In saving these the adrain- VOL IV.No I 9.D istrative power of Kossuth was strikingly mani- fested. For three days and three nights he la- bored uninterruptedly in superintending the re- moval, which was successfully effected. From the heaviest locomotive engine down to a shot- belt, all the stores were packed up and carried away, so that when the Austrians took posses- sion of Pesth, they only gained the eclat of occu- pying the Hungarian capital, without acquiring the least solid advantage. Debreczin was the scene where Kossuth dis- played his transcendent abilities as an adminis- trator, a statesman, and an orator. The popula- tion of the town was about 50,000, which was at once almost doubled, so that every one was forced to put up with such accommodations as he could find, and occupy the least possible amount of space. Kossuth himself occupied the Town Hall On the first floor was a spacious ante-room, con- stantly filled with persons waiting for an inter- view, which was, necessarily, a matter of delay, as each one was admitted in his turn; the only exception being in cases where public business required an immediate audience. This ante-room opened into two spacious apart- ments, in one of which the secretaries of the Gov- ernor were always at work. Here Kossuth re- ceived strangers. At these audiences he spoke but little, but listened attentively, occasionally taking notes of any thing that seemed of import- ance. His secretaries were continually coming to him to receive directions, to present a report, ox some document to receive his signature. These he never omitted to examine carefully, before af- fixing his signature, even amidst the greatest pressure of business; at the same time listening to the speaker. Be brief, he used to say, but for that very reason forget nothing. These hours of audience were also his hours of work, and here it was that he wrote those stirring ap- peals which aroused and kept alive the spirit of his countrymen. It was only when he had some document of extraordinary importance to prepare, that he retired to his closet. These audiences usually continued until far into the night, the an te-room being often as full at midnight as in the morning. Although of a delicate constitution, broken also by his imprisonment, the excitement bore him up under the immense mental and bod ily exertion, and while there was work to do he~ was never ill. He usually allowed himself an hour for rest or relaxation, from two till three oclock, when he was accustomed to take a drive with his wife and children to a little wood at a short distance, where he would seek out some retired spot, and play upon the grass with his children, and for a mo ment forget the pressing cares of state. At three oclock he dined; and at the conclu- sion of his simple meal, was again at his post. This round of audiences was frequently inter rupted by a council of war, a conference of mm isters, or the review of a regiment just on the point of setting out for the seat of hostilities New battalions seemed to spring from the earth at his command, and he made a point of review- 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing each, and delivering to them a brief address, which was always received with a burst of cijens. At Debreczin the sittings of the House of As- sembly were held in what had been the chapel of the Protestant College. Kossuth attended these sittings only when he had some import- ant communications to make. Then he always walked over from the Town Hall. Entering the Assembly, he ascended the rostrum, if it was not occupied; if it was, he took his place in any va- cant seat, none being specially set apart for the Governor. He was a monarch, but with an in- visible throne, the hearts of his subjects. When the rostrum was vacant, he would ascend it, and lay before the Assembly his propositions, or sway all hearts by his burning and fervent eloquence. Such was the daily life of Kossuth at the tem- porary seat of government, bearing upon his shoulders the affairs of state, calling up, as if by magic, regiment after regiment, providing for their arming, equipment, and maintenance, while the Hungarian generals were contending on the field, with various fortunes; triumphantly against the Austrians, desperately and hopelessly when Russia was added to the enemy. The defeat of Bem at Temesvar, on the 9th of August gave the death-blow to the cause. Two days afterward, Kossuth and Gorgey stood alone in the bow-window of a small chamber in the fortress of Arad. What passed between them no man knows; but from that room Gorgey went forth Dictator of Hungary; and Kossuth followed him to set out on his journey of exile. On the same day the new Dictator announced to the Russians his intention to surrender the forces under his command. The following day he marched to the place designated, where the Rus- sian General Rudiger arrived on the 13th, and Gorgeys army, numbering 24,000 men, with 144 pieces of artillery, laid down their arms. Nothing remained for Kossuth and his com- panions but flight. They gained the Turkish frontier, and threw themselves on the hospitality of the Sultan, who promised them a safe asylum. Russia and Austria demanded that the fugitives should be given up; and for some months it was uncertain whetherthe Turkish Government would dare to refuse. At first a decided negative was returned; then the Porte wavered; and it was officially announced to Kossuth and his compan- ions that the only means for them to avoid surrendry would be to abjure the faith of their fathers; and thus take advantage of the funda- mental Moslem law, that any fugitive embracing the Mohammedan faith can claim the protection of the Government. Kossuth refused to pur- chase his life at such a price. And finally Aus- tria and Russia were induced to modify their demand, and merely to insist upon the detention f the fugitives. On the other hand, the Turk- ish Government was, urged to allow them to de- part. Early in the present year, Mr. Webster, as Secretary of State, directed our Minister at Constantinople to urge the Porte to suffer the exiles to come to the United States. A similar course was pursued by the British Government. It was promised that these representations should be complied with; but so late as in March of the present year, Kossuth addressed a letter to our Charg6 at Constantinople, despairing of his re- lease being granted. But happily his fears were groundless; and our Government was notified that on the 1st of September, the day on whicl? terminated the period of detention agreed upon by the Sultan, Kossuth and his companions would be free to depart to any part of the world. The United States steam-frigate Mississippi, was at once placed at his disposal. The offer was ac- cepted. On the 12th of September the steamer reached Smyrna, with the illustrious exile and his family and suite on board, bound to our shores, after a short visit in England. The Government of France., in the meanwhile, denied him the pri v~ ilege of passing through their territory. While this sheet is passing through the press, we are in daily expectation of the arrival of Kossuth in our country, where a welcome awaits him warm- er and more enthusiastic than has greeted any man who has ever approached our shores, saving only the time when LA FAYETTE was our nations honored guest. It is right and fitting that it should be so. When a monarch is dethroned it is appropriate that neighboring monarchies should accord a hearty and hospitable reception to him, as the representative of the monarchical principle, even though his own personal character should present no claims upon esteem or regard. Kossuth comes to us as the exiled representative of those funda- mental principles upon which our political insti- tutions are based. He is the representative of these principles, not by the accident of birth, bu by deliberate choice. He has maintained them at a fearful hazard. It is therefore our duty and our privilege to greet him with a hearty, Well done Kossuth occupies a position peculiarly his own, whether we regard the circumstances of his rise, or the feelings which have followed him in his fall. Born in the middle ranks of life, he raised himself by sheer force of intellect to the loftiest place among the proudest nobles on earth, with- out ever deserting orteing deserted by the class from which he sprung. He effected a sweeping reform without appealing to any sordid or san- guinary motive. No soldier himself, he trans- formed a country into a camp, and a nation into an army. He transmuted his words into batte- nes, and his thoughts into soldiers. Without ever having looked upon a stricken field, he or- ganized the most complete system of resistance to despotism that the history of revolutions has furnished. It failed, but only failed where no- thing could have succeeded. Not less peculiar are the feelings which have followed him in his fall. Men who have saved a state have received the unbounded love and gratitude of their countrymen. Those who have fallen in the lost battle for popular rights, or who have sealed their devotion on the scaffold or in the dungeon, are reverenced as martyrs forever- THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WEll. 47 more. But Kossuths endeavors have been sanc- tified and hallowed neither by success nor by martyrdom. He is the living leader of a lost cause. His country is ruined, its nationality de- stroyed, and through his efforts. Yet no Hun- garian lays this ruin to his charge; and the first lesson taught the infant Magyar is a blessing upon his name. Yet whatever the future may have in store, his efforts have not been lost efforts. The tree which be planted in blood and agony and tears, though its tender shoots have been trampled down by the Russian bear, will vet spring up again to gladden, if not his heart, yet those of his children or his childrens chil- (Iren. The man may perish, but the cause en- dures. THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WELL. IN ancient times there existed in the desert that lies to the west of Egyptsomewhere between the sun at its setting and the city of Siouta tribe of Arabs that called themselves Waled Allah, or The Children of God They ~rofessed Mohammedanism, but were in every fther respect different from their neighbors to the north and south, and from the inhabitants of the land of Egypt. It was their custom during the months of summer to draw near to the con- fines of the cultivated country and hold inter- course with its people, selling camels and wool, and other desert productions; but when winter came they drew off toward the interior of the wilderness, and it was not known where they abode. They were by no means great in num- bers; but such was their skill in arms, and their reputation for courage, that no tribe ever ven- tured to trespass on their limits, and all caravans eagerly paid to them the tribute of safe-conduct. Such was the case for many years; but at length it came to pass that the Waled Allah, after departing as usual for the winter, returned in great disorder and distress toward the neigh- borhood of the Nile. Those who saw them on that occasion reported that their sufferings must have been tremendous. More than two-thirds of their cattle, a great number of the women and children, and several of the less hardy men, were missing; but they would not at first confess what had happened to them. When, however, they asked pennission to settle temporarily on some onoccupied lands, the curious and inquisitive went among them, and by degrees the truth came out. It appeared that many centuries ago one of cheir tribe, following the track of some camels that had strayed, had ventured to a great dis- tance in the desert, and had discovered a pass in the mountains leading into a spacious valley, in the midst of which was a well of the purest water, that overflowed and fertilized the land around. A.s the man at once understood the importance of his discovery, he devoted himself for his tribe, and returned slowly, piling up stones here and there that the way might not again be lost. When he arrived at the station he had only sufficient strength to relate what he had reen before he died of fatigue and thirst. So they called the well after him Bir Hassan. It was found that the valley was only habita- ble during the winter; for being surrounded with perpendicular rocks it became like a fur- iiace in the hot seasonthe vegetation withered into dust, and the waters hid themselves within the bowels of the earth. They resolved, there- fore, to spend one half of their time in that spot, where they built a city; and during the other half of their time they dwelt, as I have said, on the confines of the land of Egypt. But it was found that only by a miracle had the well of Hassan been discovered. Those who tried without the aid of the road-marks to make their way to it invariably failed. So it became an institution of the tribe that two men should be left, with a sufficient supply of water and food, in a large cave overlooking the desert near the entrance of the valley; and that they should watch for the coming of the tribe, and when a great fire was lighted on a certain hill, should answer by another fire, and thus guide their people. This being settled, the piles of stones were dispersed, lest the greedy Egyptians, hear- ing by chauice of this valley, should make their way to it. How long rnat.tei s continued in this state is not recorded, but at length, when the tribe set out to return to their winter quarters, and reach- ed the accustomed station and lighted the fire, no answering fire appeared. They passed the first night in expectation, and the next day, and the next night, saying: Probably the men are negligent; but at length they began to despair. They had brought but just sufficient water with them for the journey, and death began to menace them. In vain they endeavored to find the road. A retreat became necessary; and, as I have said, they returned and settled on the borders of the land of Eygpt. Many men, however, went back many times year after year to endeavor to find the lost well; but some were never heard of more, and some returned, saying that the search was in vain. Nearly a hundred years passed away, and the well became forgotten, and the condition of the tribe had undergone a sad change. It never re- covered its great disaster: wealth and courage disappeared; and the governors of Eygpt, seeing the people dependent and humble-spirited, began, as is their wont, to oppress them, and lay on taxes and insults. Many times a bold man of their number would propose that they Enould go and join some of the other tribes of Arabs, and solicit to be incorporated with them; but the idea was laughed at as extravagant, and they con- tinued to live on in misery and degradation. It happened that the chief of the tribe at the time of which I now speak was a man of gentle character and meek disposition, named Abdallab the Good, and that he had a son, like one of the olden time, stout, and brave as a lion, named Ali. This youth could not brook the subjection in which his people were kept, nor the wrongs daily heaped upon them, an-I was constantly

THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WEll. 47 more. But Kossuths endeavors have been sanc- tified and hallowed neither by success nor by martyrdom. He is the living leader of a lost cause. His country is ruined, its nationality de- stroyed, and through his efforts. Yet no Hun- garian lays this ruin to his charge; and the first lesson taught the infant Magyar is a blessing upon his name. Yet whatever the future may have in store, his efforts have not been lost efforts. The tree which be planted in blood and agony and tears, though its tender shoots have been trampled down by the Russian bear, will vet spring up again to gladden, if not his heart, yet those of his children or his childrens chil- (Iren. The man may perish, but the cause en- dures. THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WELL. IN ancient times there existed in the desert that lies to the west of Egyptsomewhere between the sun at its setting and the city of Siouta tribe of Arabs that called themselves Waled Allah, or The Children of God They ~rofessed Mohammedanism, but were in every fther respect different from their neighbors to the north and south, and from the inhabitants of the land of Egypt. It was their custom during the months of summer to draw near to the con- fines of the cultivated country and hold inter- course with its people, selling camels and wool, and other desert productions; but when winter came they drew off toward the interior of the wilderness, and it was not known where they abode. They were by no means great in num- bers; but such was their skill in arms, and their reputation for courage, that no tribe ever ven- tured to trespass on their limits, and all caravans eagerly paid to them the tribute of safe-conduct. Such was the case for many years; but at length it came to pass that the Waled Allah, after departing as usual for the winter, returned in great disorder and distress toward the neigh- borhood of the Nile. Those who saw them on that occasion reported that their sufferings must have been tremendous. More than two-thirds of their cattle, a great number of the women and children, and several of the less hardy men, were missing; but they would not at first confess what had happened to them. When, however, they asked pennission to settle temporarily on some onoccupied lands, the curious and inquisitive went among them, and by degrees the truth came out. It appeared that many centuries ago one of cheir tribe, following the track of some camels that had strayed, had ventured to a great dis- tance in the desert, and had discovered a pass in the mountains leading into a spacious valley, in the midst of which was a well of the purest water, that overflowed and fertilized the land around. A.s the man at once understood the importance of his discovery, he devoted himself for his tribe, and returned slowly, piling up stones here and there that the way might not again be lost. When he arrived at the station he had only sufficient strength to relate what he had reen before he died of fatigue and thirst. So they called the well after him Bir Hassan. It was found that the valley was only habita- ble during the winter; for being surrounded with perpendicular rocks it became like a fur- iiace in the hot seasonthe vegetation withered into dust, and the waters hid themselves within the bowels of the earth. They resolved, there- fore, to spend one half of their time in that spot, where they built a city; and during the other half of their time they dwelt, as I have said, on the confines of the land of Egypt. But it was found that only by a miracle had the well of Hassan been discovered. Those who tried without the aid of the road-marks to make their way to it invariably failed. So it became an institution of the tribe that two men should be left, with a sufficient supply of water and food, in a large cave overlooking the desert near the entrance of the valley; and that they should watch for the coming of the tribe, and when a great fire was lighted on a certain hill, should answer by another fire, and thus guide their people. This being settled, the piles of stones were dispersed, lest the greedy Egyptians, hear- ing by chauice of this valley, should make their way to it. How long rnat.tei s continued in this state is not recorded, but at length, when the tribe set out to return to their winter quarters, and reach- ed the accustomed station and lighted the fire, no answering fire appeared. They passed the first night in expectation, and the next day, and the next night, saying: Probably the men are negligent; but at length they began to despair. They had brought but just sufficient water with them for the journey, and death began to menace them. In vain they endeavored to find the road. A retreat became necessary; and, as I have said, they returned and settled on the borders of the land of Eygpt. Many men, however, went back many times year after year to endeavor to find the lost well; but some were never heard of more, and some returned, saying that the search was in vain. Nearly a hundred years passed away, and the well became forgotten, and the condition of the tribe had undergone a sad change. It never re- covered its great disaster: wealth and courage disappeared; and the governors of Eygpt, seeing the people dependent and humble-spirited, began, as is their wont, to oppress them, and lay on taxes and insults. Many times a bold man of their number would propose that they Enould go and join some of the other tribes of Arabs, and solicit to be incorporated with them; but the idea was laughed at as extravagant, and they con- tinued to live on in misery and degradation. It happened that the chief of the tribe at the time of which I now speak was a man of gentle character and meek disposition, named Abdallab the Good, and that he had a son, like one of the olden time, stout, and brave as a lion, named Ali. This youth could not brook the subjection in which his people were kept, nor the wrongs daily heaped upon them, an-I was constantly 48 HARPER S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. revolving in his mind the means of escape and reve~ige. When he gave utterance to these sen- timents, however, his father, Abdallali, severely rebuked him; for he feared the power of the lords of Egypt, ~nd dreaded lest mischief might befall his family or his tribe. Now contemporary with Abdallah the Good there was a governor of Siout named Omar the Evil. He had gained a great reputation in the country by his cruelties and oppressions, and was feared by high and low. Several times had lie treated the Waled Allah with violence and indignity, bestowing upon them the name of Waled Sheitan, or Children of the Devil, and otherwise vexing and annoying them, besides levying heavy tribute, and punishing with ex- treme severity the slightest offense. One day he happened to be riding along in the neighbor- hood of their encampment when he observed Ali trying the paces of a handsome horse which he had purchased. Covetousness entered his mind, and calling to the youth, he said What is the price of thy horseP It is not for sale, was the reply No sooner were the words uttered than Omar made a signal to his men, who rushed forward, threw the young man to the ground in spite of his resistance, and leaving him there, returned leading the horse. Omar commanded them to bring it with them, and rode away, laughing heartily at his exploit. But Ali was not the man to submit tamely to such injustice. He endeavored at first to rouse the passions of his tribe, but not succeeding, re- solved to revenge himself or die in the attempt. One night, therefore, he took a sharp dagger, disguised himself, and lurking about the govern- ors palace, contrived to introduce himself with- out being seen, and to reach the garden, where he had heard it was the custom of Omar to re- pose awhile as he waited for his supper. A light guided him to the kiosque where the tyrant slept alone, not knowing that vengeance was nigh. Ali paused a moment, doubting whether it was just to strike an unprepared foe; but he remembered all his tribe had suffered as well as himsdf, and raising his dagger, advanced stealth- ily toward the couch where the huge form of the governor lay. A slight figure suddenly interposed between him and the sleeping man. It was that of a young girl, who, with terror in her looks, waved him back. What wouldst thou, youthV she inquired. I come to slay that enemy, replied Ali, endeavoring to pass her and effect his purpose while there was yet time. It is my father. said she, still standing in the way and awing him by the power of her beauty. Thy father is a tyrant, and deserves to die. If he be a tyrant he is still my father; and thou, why shouldst thou condemn him ~ He has injured me and my tribe. Let injuries be forgiven, as we are command- ed. I will speak for thee and thy tribe. Is not thy life valuable to thee Retire ere it be too late; and by my mother, who is dead, I swear to thee that I will cause justice to be done. Not from any hopes of justice, but as a homage to God for having created such marvel- ous beauty, do I retire and spare the life of that man which I hold in my hands. So saying Ali sprang away, and effected his escape. No sooner was he out of sight than Omar, who had been awakened by the sound of voices, but who had feigned sleep when he heard what turn affairs were taking, arose and laughed, saying: Well done, Amina! thou art worthy of thy father. How thou didst cajole that son of a dog by false promises ~ Nay, father; what I have promised must be performed. Ay, ay. Thou didst promise justice, and, by the beards of my ancestors, justice shall as- suredly be done ! Next day Ali was seized and conducted to the prison adjoining the governors palace. Ami- na, when she heard of this, in vain sought to obtain his release. Her father laughed at her scruples, and avowed his intention of putting the young man to death in the cruelest possible. manner. He had him brought before him, bound and manacled, and amused himself by reviling and taunting himcalling him a fool for having yielded to the persuasions of a foolish girl! Ali, in spite of all, did not reply; for he now thought more of Amina than of the indignities to which he was subjected; and instead of replying with imprudent courage, as under other circumstances he might have done, he took care not to exasper- ate the tyrant, and meanwhile revolved in his mind the means of escape. If he expected that his mildness would disarm the fury of Omar, never was mistake greater; for almost in thy same breath with the order for his being con ducted back to prison was given that for public proclamation of his execution to take place on the next day. There caine, however, a saviour during the night: it was the young Amina, who, partly moved by generous indignation that her word should have been given in vain, partly by another feeling, bribed the jailers, and leading forth the young man, placed him by the side of his trusty steed which had been stolen from him, and bade him fly for his life. He lingered to thank her and enjoy her society. They talked long and more and more confidentially. At length the first streaks of dawn began to show themselves; and Amina, as she urged him to begone, clung to the skirts of his garments. He hesitated a moment, a few hurried words passed, and pres- ently she was behind him on the horse, clasping his waist, and away they went toward the mount- ains, into the midst of which they soon pene- trated by a rugged defile. Amina had been prudent enough to prepare a small supply of provisions, and Ali knew wherc at that season water was to be found in small quantities. His intention was to penetrate to a THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WELL 49 certain distance in the desert, and then turning south, to seek the encampment of a tribe with some of whose members he was acquainted. Their prospects were not very discouraging; for even if pursuit were attempted, Au justly con- fided in his superior knowledge of the desert: he expected in five days to reach the tents to- ward which he directed his course, and he cal- culated that the small bag of fiQur which Amina had provided would prevent them at least from dying of hunger during that time. The first stage was a long one. For seven hours he proceeded in a direct line from the rising sun, the uncomplaining Amina clinging still to him; but at length the horse began to exhibit symptoms of fatigue, and its male rider of anxiety. They had traversed an almost un- interrupted succession of rocky valleys, but now reached an elevated undulating plain covered with huge black boulders that seemed to stretch like a petrified sea to the distant horizon. Now and then they had seen during their mornings ride, in certain little sheltered nooks, small patches of a stunted vegetation; but now all was bleak and oarren, and grim like the crater of a volcano. A.nd yet it was here that Ali expected evidently to find watermost necessary to them; for all three were feeling the symptoms of burning thirst. He paused every now and then, check- ing his steed, and rising in his stirrups to gaze ahead or on one side; but each time his search was in vain. At length he said: Possibly I have, in the hurry of my thoughts, taken the wrong defile, in which case nothing but death awaits us. We shall not have strength to re- trace our footsteps, and must die here in this hor- rible place. Stand upon the saddlebow, Amina, while I support thee: if thou seest any thing like a white shining cloud upon the ground, we are saved. Amina did as she was told, and gazed for a few moments around. Suddenly she cried: I see, as it were a mist of silver far, far away to the left. It is the first well, replied Ali; and he urged his stumbling steed in that direction. It soon appeared that they were approaching a mound of dazzling whiteness. Close by was a little hollow, apparently dry. But Ali soon scraped away a quantity of the clayey earth, and presently the water began to collect, trickling in from the sides. In a couple of hours they pro- cured enough for themselves and for the horse, and ate some flour diluted in a wooden bowl; after which they lay down to rest beneath a ledge of rock that threw a little shade. Toward evening, after Ali had carefully choked up the well, lest it might be dried by the sun, they re- sumed their journey, and arrived about midnight at a lofty rock in the midst of the plain, visible at a distance of many hours in the moonlight. In a crevice near the summit of this they found i fair supply of water, and having refreshed themselves, reposed until dawn. Then Amina prepared their simple meal, and soon afterward off they went again over the burning plain. This time, as Ali knew beforehand, there was no prospect of well or water for twenty-four hours; and unfortunately they had not been able to procure a skin However, they carried some flour well moistened in their wooden bowl, which they covered with a large piece of wet linen, and studied to keep from the sun. They traveled almost without interntission the whole of that day and a great part of the night. Ali now saw that it was necessary to rest, and they remained where they were until near morning. Dearest Amina, said he, returning to the young girl after having climbed to the top of a lofty rock and gazed anxiously ahead, I think I see the mountain where the next water is to be found. If thou art strong enough, we will push on at once Though faint and weary, Amina said: Let us be going ; and now it was necessary for Ali to walk, the horse refusing to carry any longer a double burden. They advanced, however, rapid- ly; . and at length reached the foot of a lofty range of mountains, all white, and shining in the sun like silver. In one of the gorges near the sum~ mit Ali knew there was usually a small reservoir of water; but he had only been there once in his boyhood, when on his way to visit the tribe with which he now expected to find a shelter. How- ever, he thought he recognized various land- marks, and began to ascend with confidence.~ The sun beat furiously down on the barren and glistering ground; and the horse exhausted, more than once refused to proceed. He bad not eaten once since their departure, and Ali knew that he must perish ere the journey was concluded. As they neared the summit of the ridge, the young man recognized with joy a rock in the shape of a couching camel that had formerly been pointed out to him as indicating the neigh- borhood of the reservoir, and pressed on with re- newed confidence. What was his horror, how- ever, on reaching the place he sought, at behold- ing it quite dry! dry, and hot as an oven! The water had all escaped by a crevice recently form- ed. Ali now believed that death was inevitable; and folding the fainting Amina in hi. arms, sat down and bewailed his lot in a loud voice. Suddenly a strange sight presented itself. A small caravan appeared coming down the ravine not of camels, nor of horses, nor asses, but of goats and a species of wild antelope. They moved slowly, and behind them walked with tot- tering steps a man of great age with a vast white beard, supporting himself with a long stick. Ali rushed forward to a goat which bore a water-skin. seized it, and without asking permission carried it to Amina. Both drank with eagerness; and it was not until they were well satisfied that they noticed the strange old man looking at them with interest and curiosity. Then they told their story; and the owner of the caravan in his turn told his, which w.~s equally wonderful. And what was the old mans story ~ inquired the listeners in one breath. It shall be related to-morrow The time for sleep has come HAIX PER S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I was not fortunate enough to he t: the con- clusion of this legend, told in the sir~~!e matter- of-fact words of Wahsa; but one of our attend- ants gave me the substance. 1 ~ie old man c f the caravan was stated to be the younger of the two watchers left behind more than a hundred years before at Bir Hassan. His companion had been killed, and he himself wounded by some wild beast, which had prevented the necessary signals from being made. He understood that some ter- rible disaster had occurred, and dared not brave the vengeance which he thought menaced him from the survivors. So he resolved to stay in the valley, and had accordingly remained for a hundred years, at the expiration of which period he had resolved to set out on a pilgrimage to the Nile, in order to ascertain if any members of the tribes still remained, that he might communicate the secret of the valley before he perished. Like the first discoverer, he had marked the way by Reaps of stones, and died when his narrative was roncluded. Ali and Amina made their way to the valley, where, according to the narrative, they found a large city, scarcely if at all ruined, and took up their abode in one of the imalaces. Shortly afterward Ali returned to Egypt, and led off his father, Abdallah the Good, and the remnants of his tribe in secret. Omar was furious, and fol- lowing them, endeavored to discover the valley, of which the tradition was well known. Not succeeding, he resolved to wait for the summer; but the tribe never reappeared in Egypt, and is said to have passed the hot months in the oasis of Farafreh, to which they subsequently removed on the destruction of their favorite valley by an earthquake. This tradition, though containing some improb- able incidents, may nevertheless be founded on fact, and may contain, under a legendary form, the history of the peopling of the oases of the desert. It is, however, chiefly interesting from the manner in which it illustrates the important influence which the discovery or destruction of a copious well of pure water may exercise on the fortunes of a people. It may sometimes, in fact, as represented in this instance, be a matter of life and death; and no doubt the Waled Allah are not the only tribe who have been raised to an enviable prosperity, or sunk into the depths of misery, by the fluctuating supply of water in the desert. THE BOW-WIND )W AN ENGLISH TALE q ~HERE is something so English, 5) redolent J. of home, of flowers in large antique stands, abaut a bow-window, that we are always pleased when we catch a glimpse of one, even if it be when but forming the front of an~ inn. It gives a picturesque look too, to a home, that is quite refreshing to gaze on, and when journeying in foreign lands, fond recollections of dear England come flooding oer us, if we happen, in some out- of-the-way village, on such a memory of the land from whence we came. I have not, from absence from my country, seen such a thing t~e years; but there is one fresh in my memory, with its green short Venetian blinds, its large chintz curtains, its comfortable view up and down the terrace where we lived, to say nothing of its associations in connection with my childhood. But it is not of this bow-window that I would speak, it is of one connected with the fortunes of my friend Maria Walker, and which had a considerable influence on her happiness. Maria Walker was usually allowed to be thc beauty of one of the small towns round Londoe in the direction of Greenwich, of *hieh ancient place she was a native. Her father had origin ally practiced as a physician in that place, bu~ circumstances had caused his removal to anothe~ locality, which promised more profitable returns The house they occupied was an ancient red brick mansion in the centre of the town, with large bow-window, always celebrated for its ge. raniums, myrtles, and roses that, with a couph of small orange-trees, were the admiration of thE neighborhood. Not that Thomas Walker, Esq. had any horticultural tasteson the contrary, ht was very severe on our sex for devoting theL minds to such trifles as music, flowers, and fan cy work; but then blue-eyed Maria Walker dif fered with him in opinion, and plainly told hint sosaucy, pert girl, as even I thought her, though several years my senior. Not that sh neglected any more serious duties for those light. er amusements; the poorer patients of her fathem ever found in her a friend. Mr. Walker strongly objected to giving any thing away, it was a bad example, he said, and people never valued what they got for nothing; but many was the box of pills and vial of medicine which Maria smug gled under her fathers very nose, to poor people who could not afford to pay; of course he knew nothing about it, good, easy man, though it would have puzzled a philosopher to have told how the girl could have prepared them. She was an act- ive member, too, of a charitable coal club, made flannel for the poor, and even distributed tracts upon occasion. When this was done, then she would turn to her pleasures, which were her lit- tle world. She was twenty, and I was not six- teen at the time of which I speak, but yet we were the best friends in the world. I used to go and sit in the bow-window; while she would play the piano for hours together, I had some fancy-work on my lap; but my chief amusement was to watch the passers-by. I dont think that I am changed by half-a-dozen more years of ex- perience, for I still like a lively street, and dis- like nothing more than a look out upon a square French court in this great city of Paris, where houses are more like prisons than pleasant resi- dences. But to return to my bow-window. In front of the house of the Walkers, had been, a few years before, an open space, but which now, thanks to the rapid march of improvement, was being changed into a row of very good houses. There were a dozen of them, and they were dignified with the name of Beauchamp Ter- race. They were, about the time I speak of, all the last finishing touch had been put te some fe~v to let;

HAIX PER S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I was not fortunate enough to he t: the con- clusion of this legend, told in the sir~~!e matter- of-fact words of Wahsa; but one of our attend- ants gave me the substance. 1 ~ie old man c f the caravan was stated to be the younger of the two watchers left behind more than a hundred years before at Bir Hassan. His companion had been killed, and he himself wounded by some wild beast, which had prevented the necessary signals from being made. He understood that some ter- rible disaster had occurred, and dared not brave the vengeance which he thought menaced him from the survivors. So he resolved to stay in the valley, and had accordingly remained for a hundred years, at the expiration of which period he had resolved to set out on a pilgrimage to the Nile, in order to ascertain if any members of the tribes still remained, that he might communicate the secret of the valley before he perished. Like the first discoverer, he had marked the way by Reaps of stones, and died when his narrative was roncluded. Ali and Amina made their way to the valley, where, according to the narrative, they found a large city, scarcely if at all ruined, and took up their abode in one of the imalaces. Shortly afterward Ali returned to Egypt, and led off his father, Abdallah the Good, and the remnants of his tribe in secret. Omar was furious, and fol- lowing them, endeavored to discover the valley, of which the tradition was well known. Not succeeding, he resolved to wait for the summer; but the tribe never reappeared in Egypt, and is said to have passed the hot months in the oasis of Farafreh, to which they subsequently removed on the destruction of their favorite valley by an earthquake. This tradition, though containing some improb- able incidents, may nevertheless be founded on fact, and may contain, under a legendary form, the history of the peopling of the oases of the desert. It is, however, chiefly interesting from the manner in which it illustrates the important influence which the discovery or destruction of a copious well of pure water may exercise on the fortunes of a people. It may sometimes, in fact, as represented in this instance, be a matter of life and death; and no doubt the Waled Allah are not the only tribe who have been raised to an enviable prosperity, or sunk into the depths of misery, by the fluctuating supply of water in the desert. THE BOW-WIND )W AN ENGLISH TALE q ~HERE is something so English, 5) redolent J. of home, of flowers in large antique stands, abaut a bow-window, that we are always pleased when we catch a glimpse of one, even if it be when but forming the front of an~ inn. It gives a picturesque look too, to a home, that is quite refreshing to gaze on, and when journeying in foreign lands, fond recollections of dear England come flooding oer us, if we happen, in some out- of-the-way village, on such a memory of the land from whence we came. I have not, from absence from my country, seen such a thing t~e years; but there is one fresh in my memory, with its green short Venetian blinds, its large chintz curtains, its comfortable view up and down the terrace where we lived, to say nothing of its associations in connection with my childhood. But it is not of this bow-window that I would speak, it is of one connected with the fortunes of my friend Maria Walker, and which had a considerable influence on her happiness. Maria Walker was usually allowed to be thc beauty of one of the small towns round Londoe in the direction of Greenwich, of *hieh ancient place she was a native. Her father had origin ally practiced as a physician in that place, bu~ circumstances had caused his removal to anothe~ locality, which promised more profitable returns The house they occupied was an ancient red brick mansion in the centre of the town, with large bow-window, always celebrated for its ge. raniums, myrtles, and roses that, with a couph of small orange-trees, were the admiration of thE neighborhood. Not that Thomas Walker, Esq. had any horticultural tasteson the contrary, ht was very severe on our sex for devoting theL minds to such trifles as music, flowers, and fan cy work; but then blue-eyed Maria Walker dif fered with him in opinion, and plainly told hint sosaucy, pert girl, as even I thought her, though several years my senior. Not that sh neglected any more serious duties for those light. er amusements; the poorer patients of her fathem ever found in her a friend. Mr. Walker strongly objected to giving any thing away, it was a bad example, he said, and people never valued what they got for nothing; but many was the box of pills and vial of medicine which Maria smug gled under her fathers very nose, to poor people who could not afford to pay; of course he knew nothing about it, good, easy man, though it would have puzzled a philosopher to have told how the girl could have prepared them. She was an act- ive member, too, of a charitable coal club, made flannel for the poor, and even distributed tracts upon occasion. When this was done, then she would turn to her pleasures, which were her lit- tle world. She was twenty, and I was not six- teen at the time of which I speak, but yet we were the best friends in the world. I used to go and sit in the bow-window; while she would play the piano for hours together, I had some fancy-work on my lap; but my chief amusement was to watch the passers-by. I dont think that I am changed by half-a-dozen more years of ex- perience, for I still like a lively street, and dis- like nothing more than a look out upon a square French court in this great city of Paris, where houses are more like prisons than pleasant resi- dences. But to return to my bow-window. In front of the house of the Walkers, had been, a few years before, an open space, but which now, thanks to the rapid march of improvement, was being changed into a row of very good houses. There were a dozen of them, and they were dignified with the name of Beauchamp Ter- race. They were, about the time I speak of, all the last finishing touch had been put te some fe~v to let; THE BOW-WINDOW. them, the railings had been painted, the rubbish all removed, and they wanted nothing, save fur- niture and human beings to make them assume a civilized and respectable appearance. I called one morning on Maria Walker, her father was out, she had been playing the piano till she was tired, so we sat down in the bow-window and talked. So the houses are letting P said I, who took an interest in the terrace which I had seen grow under my eyes. Two are let, replied she, and both to pri- vate families; papa is pleased, he looks upon these twelve houses as twelve new patients. But, said I, laughing, have you not read the advertisement: Healthy and airy situation, rising neighborhood, and yet only one medical man. Oh! yes, smiled Maria; but sickness, I am sorry to say, is very apt to run about at some time or other, even in airy situations. But, Maria, you are mistaken, there are three hou~es let, said I, suddenly, the bill is taken down opposite, it has been let since yesterday. Oh, yes, I recollect a very nice young man driving up there yesterday, and looking over the house for an hour; I suppose he has taken it. Anice young man, said I, that is very inter- estingI suppose a young couple just married. Very likely, replied Maria Walker, laugh- ing; but whether at the fact of my making up my mind to its being an interesting case of mat- rimony, or what else, I know not. It was a week before I saw Maria again, and when I did, she caught me by the hand, drew ne rapidly to the window, and with a semi-tragic ~xpression, pointed to the house over the way. looked. What was my astonishment when, on he door in large letters, I read these words, Mr. Edward Radstock, M.D. A rival, cried I, clapping my hands, thought- less girl that I was; another feud of Montague and Capulet. Maria, could not a Romeo and Juliet be found to terminate it! Dont laugh, replied Maria, gravely; papa is quite ill with vexation; imagine, in a small town like this, two doctors! its all the fault of that advertisement. Some scheming young man has seen it, and finding no hope of practice else- where, has come here. I suppose he is as poor as a rat. At this instant the sound of horses footsteps was heard, and then three vans full of furniture ~ppeared in sight. They were coming our way. We looked anxiously to see before which house -ey stopped. I must confess that what Maria said interested me in the young doctor, and I !Udly hoped all this was for him. Maria said nzthing, but, with a frown on her brow, she waited the progress of events. As I expected, the vans stopped before the young doctors house, and in a few minutes the men began to unload. My friend turned pale as she saw that the vehi- cles were full of elegant furniture. The wretch has got a young wife, too, she exclaime~, as a piano and harp came to view. and then she added, rising, this will never do; they must be put down at once; they are strangers in the neighborhood, we are well known Sit down at that desk, my dear girl, and help me to make out a list of all the pers~ ~s we can in- vite to a ball and evening party. I look upon them as impertinent interlopers, ai A they must be crushed. I laughingly acquiesced, and aided by her, soon wrote out a list of invitations to be given. But now, said Miss Walker, after a few moments of deep reflection, one name more must be added, they must be invited. Who V exclaimed I, in a tone of genuine surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Radstock, replied Maria, triumphantly, while I could scarcely speak from astonishment. The rest of my narrative I collected from if e lips of my friend, a little more than a year later. The ball took place to the admiration of all C. It was a splendid affair: a select band came down from London, in which two foreign- ers, with dreadfully un-euphonic names, played upon two unknown instruments, that deafened nearly every sensitive person in the room, and would have driven every body away, had not they been removed into the drawing-room bal- cony; then there was a noble Italian, reduced to a tenor-singer, who astonished the company, equally by the extraordinary number of st~inge songs that he sang, and the number of ices and jellies which he ate; then there were one or two literary men, who wrote anonymously, but might have been celebrated, only they scorned to put their names forward among the common herd, the ot ~rottoi already known to the public; there was a young poet too, who thought Alfred Ten- nyson infinitely superior to Shakspeare, and by the air with which he read a poem, seemed to insinuate that he himself was greater than either; and then there was a funny gentleman, who could imitate Henry Russell, John Parry, Buckstone, or any body, only he had a cold and could not get beyond a negro recitation, which might have been Chinese poetry for all the company under- stood of it. In fact it was the greatest affair of the kind which C. had seen for many a long day. Mr. and Miss Radstock came, and were received with cold politeness by both father and daughter. The young man was good-looking, with an intelligent eye, a pleasing address, and none of that pertness of manner which usually belongs to those who have just thrown off the medical student to become the doctor. Miss Radstock, his sister, who kept house for him, until he found a wife, was a charming girl of about twenty. She smiled at the manner of both Mr. and Miss Walker, but said nothing. Young Radstocks only revenge for the lady of the houses coldness and stateliness of tone, was asking her to dance at the first opportunity, which certainly was vexatious, for his tone was so pleasing, his manner so courteous, that my friend Maria could not but feel pleasedwhen she wanted to be irate. distant, and haughty. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAMNE. They danced together several times, and to the astonishment of many friends of the young lady, of myself in particular, they went down to supper the best friends in the world, laughing and joking like old acquaintances. Next day, however, she resumed her original coldness of manner when the brother and sister called to pay their respects. She was simply polite, and no more, and after two or three words they retircd, Emily Radstock becoming as stiff and formal as her new acquaintance. From that day Maria became very miserable. She was not avaricious, and did not fear her father losing his practice from any pecuniary motives, but it was pride that influenced her. Her father had for some years monopolized the parish, as his pre- decessor had for forty years before him; and now to behold a young unfledged physician set- ting up exactly opposite, and threatening to di- vide in time the business of the town, was dread- ful. The physician of the town, sounded better, too, than one of the doctors, and altogether it was a most unpleasant affair. Marias place was now always the bow-win- ilew. She had no amusement but to watch the opposite house, to see if patients came, or if Edward Radstock made any attempt to call about and introduce himself. But for some time she had the satisfaction of remarking, that not a soul called at the house, save the butcher, the baker, and other contributors to the interior comforts of man, and Maria began to feel the hope that Edward Radstock would totally fail in his en- deavors to introduce himself. She remarked, however, that the young man took it very quiet- ly; he sat by his sisters side while she played the piano, or with a book and a cigar at the open window, or took Emily a drive in his gig; al- ways, when he remarked Maria at the open win- dow, bowing with provoking courtesy, nothing daunted by her coldness of manner, or her pre- tense of not noticing his politeness. One day Mr. Walker was out, he had been called to a distance to see a patient, who was very seriously ill, when Maria sat at the bow- window looking up the street. Suddenly she saw a boy come running down on their side of the way; she knew him by his bright buttons, light jacket, and gold lace. It was the page of the Perkinses, a family with a host of little chil- dren, who, from constant colds, indigestions, and fits of illness, caused by too great a liking for the pleasures of the table, which a fond mother had not the heart to restrain, were continually on Mr. Walkers books. The boy rang violently at the bell, and Maria opened the parlor-door and listened. Is Mr. Walker at home P said the boy, scarcely able to speak from want of breath. No, replied the maid whohad opened the door. He will be home directly, said Maria, ad- vancing. Oh! but missus cant wait, theres little Peter been and swallowed a marble, and the babys took with fits, and away rushed the boy across the road to the hated rivals house Maria retreated into her room and sank down upon a sofa. The enemy had gained an entrance into the camp, it was quite clear. In a moment more she rose, just in time to see Mr. Edward Radstock hurrying down the street beside the little page, without waiting to order his gig. This was a severe blow to the doctors daughter. The Perkinses were a leading family in the town, and one to whom her father was called almost every day in the year. They had a large circle of acquaintances, and if young Radstock became their medical adviser, others would surely follow. In about an hour, the young man returned and joined his sister in the drawing-room, as if no- thing had happened. This was more provoking than his success. If he had assumed an air of importance and bustle, and had hurried up to inform his sister with an air of joy and triumph of what had happened, she might have been tempted to pity him, but he did every thing in such a quiet, gentlemanly way, that she felt con- siderable alarm for the future. Maria was in the habit of spending most of her evenings from home, her father being gen- erally out, and that large house in consequence lonely. The town of C was famous for its tea and whist-parties, and though Maria was not of an age to play cards, except to please others, she, however, sometimes condescended to do so. One evening she was invited to the house of a Mrs. Brunton, who announced her intention of receiving company every Thursday. She went, and found the circle very pleasant and agreeable, but, horror of horrorsthere was Mr. Edward Radstock and his sister Emily; and worse than that, when a lady present volunteered to play a quadrille, and the ladies accepted eagerly, up he came, of all others, to invite her to dance! Mrs. Brunton the instant before had asked her to play at whist, to oblige three regular players, who could not find a fourth. I am afraid, she said, quietly, but in rather distant tones, I am engagedthe young man looked surprised, even hurt, for no gentleman had spoken to her since she had entered the room to make a fourth at the whist-table, but Oh, go and dance, Miss Walker, exclaimed Mrs. Brunton, I did not know dancing was going to begin, when I asked you to make up a rubber. Maria offered her hand to the young man, and walked away to the dancing-room. Despite her- self, that evening she was very much pleased with him. He was well informed, had traveled, was full of taste and feeling, and conversed with animation and originality; he sought every op- portunity of addressing himself to her, and found these opportunities without much difficulty. For several Thursdays the same thing occurred. The young man began to find a little practice. He was popular wherever he went, and whenever he was called in was quite sure of keeping up the connection. He was asked out to all the principal parties in the town; and had Mr Walker been not very much liked, would have proved a very serious rival. THE BOW-WINDOW. 53 One morning the father and daughter were at breakfast. Maria, who began to like her bow- window better than ever, sat near it to scent the fragrance of her flowers. When the young doc- tor came out, she always now returned his bow, and a young lady opposite declared in confidence to her dressmaker that she had even kissed her hand to him once. However this may be, Maria sat at the bow-window, pouring out tea for her father in a very abstracted mood. Mr. Walker had been called out at an early hour, and re- turned late. He was not in the best of humors, having waited four hours beyond his time for his tea. I shall die in the workhouse, said he, as he buttered his toast with an irritability of man- ner quite alarming. This Radstock is getting all the practice. I heard of two new patients yesterday. Oh, papa, replied Maria, gently. I dont think he has got a dozen altogether. A dozenbut thats a dozen lost to me, miss. Its a proof that people think me oldworn out useless. Nonsense, papa; C is increasing in population every day, and 1~r every one he gets, you get two. My dear, replied Mr. Walker, with consider- able animation, I think you are beginning to side with my rival. A loud knocking came this instant to the door, and the man-servant immediately after announced Dr. Radstock. Mr. Walker had no time to make any remark, ere the young man entered the room, bowing most politely to the old gentleman and his daughter; both looked confused, and the father much surprised. He was in elegant morning costume, and looked both handsome and happy the old doctor thought, triumphant. Pardon me, sir, said he, for disturbing you at this early hour; but your numerous calls take you so much out, that one must take you when one can find you. My errand will doubt- less surprise you, but I am very frank and open; my object in visiting you is to ask permission to pay my addresses to your daughter. To do what, sir ~ thundered the old doctor in a towering passion. Are you not satisfied with trying to take from me my practice, but you must ask me for my child I tell you, sir, no- thing on earth would make me consent to your marriage with my daughter. But, sir, said Edward Radstock, turning to Maria, I have your daughters permission to make this request. I told her of my intentions last night, and she authorized me to say that she approved of them. Maria, exclaimed the father, almost ch.k- ing with rage, is this true ~ My dear papa, I am in no hurry to get mar- ried, but if I did, I must say, that I should never think of marrying any one but Edward Radstock. I will not get married against your will, but I will never marry any one else; nothing will make me. Ungrateful girl, muttered Mr. Thomas Walker, and next minute he sank back in his chair in a fit of apoplexy. Open the window, raise the blinds, said the young man, preparing with promptitude and earnestness to take the necessary remedies, be not alarmed. It is not a dangerous attack. Maria quietly obeyed her lover, quite aware of the necessity of self-possession and presence of mind in a case like the present.. In half an hour Mr. Walker was lying in a large, airy bed- room, and the young man had left, at the request of Maria, to attend a patient of her fathers. It was late at night before Edward was able to take a moments rest. What with his own patients, and those of his rival, he was overwhelmed with business; but at eleven oclock he approached the bedside of the father of Maria, who, with her dear Emily now by her side, sat watching. He sleeps soundly, said Maria in a low t~~ne, as Edward entered. Yes, and is doing viell, replied Radstock. I answer for his being up and stirring to-mor- row, if he desires it. But it will be better for him to rest some days, said Maria. But, my dear Miss Walker, continued the young doctor, what will his patients do ~ You can attend to them as you have done to-day, replied Maria. My dear Miss Walker, you, who know me, could trust me with your fathers patients; you know, that when he was able to go about, I would hand them all back to him without hesita- tion. But you must be aware, that for your father to discover me attending to his patients, would retard his recovery. If I do as you ask me, I must retire from C immediately on his convalescence. No, sir, said Dr. Walker, in a faint voice, I shall nor be about for a month; after making me take to my bed, the least you can do is to at- tend to my patients. If you wish it, sir? I insist upon it; and to prevent any opposi- tion, you can say we are going into partnership. But said Edward. If you want my daughter, continued Dr. Walker, gruffly, you must do as I tell you. If you wish to be my son-in-law, you must be my partner, work like a horse, slave day and night, while I smoke my pipe and drink my grog. My dear sir, exclaimed the young man, you overwhelm me. Dear papa ! said Maria. Yes, dear papa ! muttered old Walker; pretty girl you are; give a party to crush the interloper; faint when he gets his first patient; watch him from your bow-window like a cat watches a mouse, and thenmarry him. But, my dear papa, is not this the surest way to destroy the opposition ~ said happy Maria. Yes! because we can not crush him, we take him as a partner, grumbled old Walker; never heard of such a thing; nice thing it is 1,4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to have children who take part with your ene- mies. Nobody made any reply, and after a little more faint attempts at fault-finding, the old doc- tor fell asleep. About six months later, after a journey to Scotland, which made me lose sight of Maria, I drove up the streets of C , after my return to my native Greenwich, which, with its b,auti- ful park, its Blackheath, its splendid and glori- ous monument of English greatness, its historic associations, I dearly love, and eager to see the dear girl, never stopped until I was in her arms. How you have grown, said she, with a sweet and happy smile. Grown! indeed; do you take me for a child ~ cried I, laughing. And you! how well and pleased you look; always at the bow-window, too; I saw you as I came up. I am very seldom there now, said she, with a strange smile. \Vhy ~ Because I live over the way, replied she, still smiling. Over the way I said I. Yes, my dear girl; alas! for the mutability of human thingsMaria Walker is now Mrs. Radstock. I could not help it; I laughed heartily. I was very glad. I had been interested in the young man, and the dinoz~ement was delightful. The firm of Walker and Radstock prospered remarkably without rivalry, despite a great in- crease in the neighborhood; but the experience of the old man, and the perseverance of the young, frightened away all opposition. They proved satisfactorilythat union is indeed strength. Young Radstock was a very good husband. He told me privately that he had fallen in love with Maria the very first day he saw her; and every time I hear from them I am told of a fresh ac- cession to the number of faces that stare across for grandpapa, who generally, when about to pay them a visit, shows himself first at the Bow- window. THE FRENCH FLOWER GIRL. I WAS lingering listlessly over a cup of coffee on the Boulevard des Italiens, in June. At that moment I had neither profound nor useful resources of thought. I sate simply conscious of the cool air, the blue sky, the white houses, the lights, and the lions, which combine to render that universally pleasant period known as after dinner, so peculiarly agreeable in Paris. In this mood my eyes fell upon a pair of orbs fix~ intently upon me. Whether the process was effected by the eyes, or by some pretty little tingers, simply, I can not say; but, at the same moment, a rose was insinuated into my button- hole, a gentle voice addressed me, and I beheld, in connection with the eyes, the fingers, and the voice, a girl. She carried on her arm a basket of flowers, and was, literally, nothing more nor less than one of the Bouquetiires who fly along ~be Boulevards like butterflies, with the difference that they turn their favorite flowers to a more practical account. Following the example of some other distract- ed d~coris, who I found were sharing my honors, I placed a piece of moneyI believe, in my case, it was silverin the hand of the girl; and, re- ceiving about five hundred times its value, in the shape of a smile and a Merci Idea, monsieur ! was again left alone-.-( desolate, a Frenchman would have said)in the crowded and carousing Boulevard. To meet a perambulating and persuasive Bouquetiire, who places a flower in your coat and waits for a pecuniary acknowledgment, is scarce- ly a rare adventure in Paris; but I was interest- edunaccountably soin this young girl: her whole manner and bearing was so different and distinct from all others of her calling. Without any of that appearance which, in England, we are accustomed to call theatrical, she was such a being as we can scarcely believe in out of a ballet. Not, however, that her attire departed except, perhaps, in a certain coquetish simplicity from the conventional mode: its only decora- tions seemed to be ribbons, which also gave s character to the little cap that perched itself with such apparent insecurity upon her head. Living a life that seemed one long summers day~one floralfitewith a means of existence that seemed so frail and immaterialshe conveyed an inipres- sion of unreality. She might be likened to a Nymph, or a Naiad, but for the certain something that brought you back to the theatre, intoxicating the senses, at once, with the strange, indescriba- ble fascinations of hot chandeliersclose and perfumed airfoot-lights, and fiddlers. Evening after evening I saw the same girl- generally at the same placeand, it may be readily imagined, became one of the most con- stant of her clientelle. I learned, too, as many facts relating to her as could be learned where most was mystery. Her peculiar and persuasive mode of disposing of her flowers (a mode which has since become worse than vulgarized by bad imitators) was originally her own graceful instinct or whim, if you will. It was something new and natural, and amused many, while it displeased none. The sternest of stockbrokers, even, could not choose but be decorated. Accordingly, this new Nydia of Thessaly went out with her bisket one day, awoke next morning, and found hersell famous. Meantime there was much discussion, and more mystification, as to who this Queen of Flowers could bewhere she livedand so forth. Nothing was known of her except her name Hermance. More than one adventurous student you may guess I am stating the number within boundstraced her steps for hour after hour, till night set inin vain. Her flowers disposed of, she was generally joined by an old man, re- spectably clad, whose arm she took with a cer. tam confidence, that sufficiently marked him as a parent or protector; and the two always con- trived sooner or later, in some mysterious man ner, to disappear.

1,4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to have children who take part with your ene- mies. Nobody made any reply, and after a little more faint attempts at fault-finding, the old doc- tor fell asleep. About six months later, after a journey to Scotland, which made me lose sight of Maria, I drove up the streets of C , after my return to my native Greenwich, which, with its b,auti- ful park, its Blackheath, its splendid and glori- ous monument of English greatness, its historic associations, I dearly love, and eager to see the dear girl, never stopped until I was in her arms. How you have grown, said she, with a sweet and happy smile. Grown! indeed; do you take me for a child ~ cried I, laughing. And you! how well and pleased you look; always at the bow-window, too; I saw you as I came up. I am very seldom there now, said she, with a strange smile. \Vhy ~ Because I live over the way, replied she, still smiling. Over the way I said I. Yes, my dear girl; alas! for the mutability of human thingsMaria Walker is now Mrs. Radstock. I could not help it; I laughed heartily. I was very glad. I had been interested in the young man, and the dinoz~ement was delightful. The firm of Walker and Radstock prospered remarkably without rivalry, despite a great in- crease in the neighborhood; but the experience of the old man, and the perseverance of the young, frightened away all opposition. They proved satisfactorilythat union is indeed strength. Young Radstock was a very good husband. He told me privately that he had fallen in love with Maria the very first day he saw her; and every time I hear from them I am told of a fresh ac- cession to the number of faces that stare across for grandpapa, who generally, when about to pay them a visit, shows himself first at the Bow- window. THE FRENCH FLOWER GIRL. I WAS lingering listlessly over a cup of coffee on the Boulevard des Italiens, in June. At that moment I had neither profound nor useful resources of thought. I sate simply conscious of the cool air, the blue sky, the white houses, the lights, and the lions, which combine to render that universally pleasant period known as after dinner, so peculiarly agreeable in Paris. In this mood my eyes fell upon a pair of orbs fix~ intently upon me. Whether the process was effected by the eyes, or by some pretty little tingers, simply, I can not say; but, at the same moment, a rose was insinuated into my button- hole, a gentle voice addressed me, and I beheld, in connection with the eyes, the fingers, and the voice, a girl. She carried on her arm a basket of flowers, and was, literally, nothing more nor less than one of the Bouquetiires who fly along ~be Boulevards like butterflies, with the difference that they turn their favorite flowers to a more practical account. Following the example of some other distract- ed d~coris, who I found were sharing my honors, I placed a piece of moneyI believe, in my case, it was silverin the hand of the girl; and, re- ceiving about five hundred times its value, in the shape of a smile and a Merci Idea, monsieur ! was again left alone-.-( desolate, a Frenchman would have said)in the crowded and carousing Boulevard. To meet a perambulating and persuasive Bouquetiire, who places a flower in your coat and waits for a pecuniary acknowledgment, is scarce- ly a rare adventure in Paris; but I was interest- edunaccountably soin this young girl: her whole manner and bearing was so different and distinct from all others of her calling. Without any of that appearance which, in England, we are accustomed to call theatrical, she was such a being as we can scarcely believe in out of a ballet. Not, however, that her attire departed except, perhaps, in a certain coquetish simplicity from the conventional mode: its only decora- tions seemed to be ribbons, which also gave s character to the little cap that perched itself with such apparent insecurity upon her head. Living a life that seemed one long summers day~one floralfitewith a means of existence that seemed so frail and immaterialshe conveyed an inipres- sion of unreality. She might be likened to a Nymph, or a Naiad, but for the certain something that brought you back to the theatre, intoxicating the senses, at once, with the strange, indescriba- ble fascinations of hot chandeliersclose and perfumed airfoot-lights, and fiddlers. Evening after evening I saw the same girl- generally at the same placeand, it may be readily imagined, became one of the most con- stant of her clientelle. I learned, too, as many facts relating to her as could be learned where most was mystery. Her peculiar and persuasive mode of disposing of her flowers (a mode which has since become worse than vulgarized by bad imitators) was originally her own graceful instinct or whim, if you will. It was something new and natural, and amused many, while it displeased none. The sternest of stockbrokers, even, could not choose but be decorated. Accordingly, this new Nydia of Thessaly went out with her bisket one day, awoke next morning, and found hersell famous. Meantime there was much discussion, and more mystification, as to who this Queen of Flowers could bewhere she livedand so forth. Nothing was known of her except her name Hermance. More than one adventurous student you may guess I am stating the number within boundstraced her steps for hour after hour, till night set inin vain. Her flowers disposed of, she was generally joined by an old man, re- spectably clad, whose arm she took with a cer. tam confidence, that sufficiently marked him as a parent or protector; and the two always con- trived sooner or later, in some mysterious man ner, to disappear. THE FRENCH FLCWER GIRL. After all stratagems have failed, it generally occurs to people to ask a direct question. But this in the present case was impossible. Her- inance was never seen except in very public placesoften in crowdsand to exchange twen- ty consecutive words with her, was considered a most fortunate feat. Notwithstanding, too, her strange, wild way of gaining her livelihood, there was a certain dignity in her manner which sufficed to cool the too curious. As for the directors of the theatres, they ex- nibited a most appropriate amount of madness on her account; and I believe that at several of the theatres, Hermance might have commanded her t)wn terms. But only one of these miserable men succeeded iamaking a tangible proposal, and he was treated with most glorious contempt. There was, indeed, something doubly dramatic in the Bouqueti& es disdain of the drama. She who lired a romance could never descend to act one. She would rather be Rosalind than Rachel. She refused the part of Cerito, and chose to be an Alma on her own account. It may be supposed that where there was so much mystery, imagination would not be idle. To have believed all the conflicting stories about Hermance, would be to come to the conclusion that she was the stolen child of noble parents, brought up by an ouvrier: but that somehow her father was a tailor of dissolute habits, who lived a contented life of continual drunkenness, on the profits of his daughters industry ;that her mother was a deceased duchessbut, on the ther hand, was alive, and carried on the flourish- ing business of a blanchisscu8e. As for the pri- vate life of the young lady herself, it was reflect- ed in such a magic mirror of such contradictory inpossibilities, in the delicate discussions held ~pon the subject, that one had no choice but to .~sbelieve every thing. One day a new impulse was given to this gos- ~p by the appearance of the Bouquctieire in a 5tartling hat of some expensive straw, and of a make bordering on the ostentatious. It could not be doubted that the profits of her light labors were sufficient to enable her to multiply such Inery to almost any extent, had she chosen; but in Paris the adoption of a bonnet or a hat, in contradistinction to the little cap of the grisette, ~s considered an assumption of a superior grade, and unless warranted by the position of the wearer, is resented as an impertinence. In Paris, indeed, there are only two classes of women those with bonnets, and those without; and these stand in the same relation to one another, as the two great classes into which the world may be dividedthe powers that be, and the powers that want to be. Under these circumstances, it may be supposed that the surmises were many and marvelous. The little Bouqueti~re was becoming proudbecoming a lady ;but how why and above allwhere Curiosity was never more rampant, and scandal never more inventive. For my part, I saw nothing in any of these appearances worthy, in themselves, of a second thought; nothing could have destroyed the strong and strange interest which I had taken in the girl; and it would have required something more potent than a straw hathowever coquettish in crown, and audacious in brimto have shaken my belief in her truth and goodness. Her pres- ence, for the accustomed few minutes, in the afternoon or evening, became to meI will not say a necessity, but certainly a habit ;and a habit is sufficiently despotic when A fair face and a tender voice have made me I will not say mad and blind, as the remain- der of the line would insinuatebut most de- liciously in my senses, and most luxuriously wide awake! But to come to the catastrophe- One morn we missed her in the accustomed spot Not only, indeed, from accustomed and pro- bable spots, but from unaccustomed, improbable, and even impossible spotsall of which were duly searchedwas she missed. In short, she was not to be found at all. All was amazement on the Boulevards. Hardened old fianeurs turn- ed pale under their rouge, and some of the young- er ones went about with drooping mustaches, which, for want of the cire, had fallen into the yellow leaf. A few days sufficed, however, for the cure of these sentimentalities. A clever little monkey at the Hippodrome, and a gentleman who stood on his head while he ate his dinner, became the immediate objects of interest, and Hermance seemed to be forgotten. I was one of the few who retained any hope of finding her, and my wanderings for that purpose, without any guide, clew, information, or indication, seem to me now something absurd. In the course of my walks, I met an old man, who was pointed out to me as her fathermet him frequently, alone. The ex- pression of his face was quite sufficient to assure me that he was on the same missionand with about as much chance of success as myself. Once I tried to speak to him; but he turned aside, and avoided me with a manner that there could be no mistaking. This surprised me, for I had no reason to suppose that he had ever seen my face before. A paragraph in one of the newspapers at last threw some light on the matter. The Bouquetiire had never been so friendless or unprotected as people had supposed. In all her wanderings she was accompanied, or rather followed, by her fa- ther; whenever she stopped, then he stopped also; and never was he distant more than a dozen yards, I wonder that he was not recog- nized by hundreds, but I conclude he made some change in his attire or appearance, from time to time. One morning this strange pair were pro- ceeding on their ramble as usual, when, passing through a rather secluded street, the Bouquetii~re made a sudden bound from the pavement, sprung into a post-chaise, the door of which stood open, and was immediately whirled away, as fast as four horses could tearleaving the old man alone with his despair, and the basket of flowers. Three months have passed away since the dis appearance of the Bouqueti.sre; but only a HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. days since I found myself one evening very dull at one of those brilliant receptions, for which Paris is so famous. I was making for the door, with a view to an early departure, when my host- ess detained me, for the purpose of presenting me to a lady who was monopolizing all the ad- miration of the eveningshe was the newly- married bride of a young German baron of great wealth, and noted for a certain wild kind of genius, and utter scorn of conventionalities. The next instant I found myself introduced to a pair of eyes that could never be mistaken. I dropped into a vacant chair by their side, and entered into conversation. The baronne observed that she had met me before, but could not remember where, and in the same breath asked me if I was a lover of flowers. I muttered something about loving beauty in any shape, and admired a bouquet which she held in her hand. The baronne selected a flower, and asked me if it was not a peculiarly fine specimen. I as- sented; and the flower, not being re-demanded, I did not return it. The conversation changed to other subjects, and, shortly afterward the ba- ronne took her leave with her husband. They left Paris next day for the barons family estate, and I have never seen them since. I learned subsequently that some strange sto- ries had obtained circulation respecting the pre- vious life of the baronne. Whatever they were, it is very certain that this or some other reason has made the profession of Bouqueti~re most in- conveniently popular in Paris. Young ladies of all ages that can, with any degree of courtesy, be included in that category, and of all degrees of beauty short of the hunch-back, may be seen in all directions intruding their flowers with fatal pertinacity upon inoffensive loungers, and mak- ing war upon button-holes that never did them ny harm. The youngest of young girls, I find, dre being trained to the calling, who are all des- tined, I suppose, to marry distinguished foreign- ers from some distant and facetious country. I should have mentioned before, that a friend calling upon me the morning after my meeting with the baronne, saw the flower which she had placed in my hand standing in a glass of water on the table. An idea struck me: Do you know any thing of the language of flowers 3 I asked. Something, was the reply. What, then, is the meaning of this 3 SEcREcy. DIFFICULTY. THERE is an aim which all Nature seeks; the flower that opens from the budthe light that breaks the cloud into a thousand forms of beautyis calmly striving to assume the per- fect glory of its power; and the child, whose proud laugh heralds the mastery of a new les- son, unconsciously develops the same life-im- pulse seeking to prove the power it has felt its own. Tbis is the real goal of life shining dimly from afar; for as our fullest power was never yet at- tained, it is a treasure which must be sought, its extent and distance being unknown. No man can tell what he can do, or suffer, until tried; his path of action broadens out before him; and, while a path appears, there is power to traverse it. It is like the fabled hill of Genius, that ever presented a loftier elevation above the one at- tained. It is like the glory of the stars, which shine by borrowed light, each seeming source of which is tributary to one more distant, until the view is lost to us; yet we inly know there must be a life-giving centre, and, to the steady mind, though the goal of life be dim and distant, its light is fixed and certain, while all lesser aims are but reflections of this glory in myriad-de- scending shades, which must be passed, one by one, as the steps of the ladder on which he mounts to Heaven. Man has an unfortunate predilection to per- vert whatever God throws in his way to aid him, and thus turn good to evil. The minor hopes which spur to action are mistaken for the final one; and we often look no higher than some mean wish, allowing that to rule us which should have been our servant. From this false view rises little exertion, for it is impossible for man to believe in something better and be content with worse. We all aim at self-control and in- dependence while in the shadow of a power which controls us, whispering innerly, Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther ; but how apt is self- indulgence to suit this limit to its own measure, and suffer veneration and doubt to overgrow and suppress the rising hope of independent thought. I am not permitted to know this, or to do this, is the excuse of the weak and trivial; but the question should be, Can I know or do this 3 for what is not permitted we can not do. We may not know the events of the future, or the period of a thought, or the Great First Cause, but we may hope to see and c~mbine the atoms of thingspierce the realms of spacemake the wilderness a gardenattain perfection of soul and body; and for this our end we may master all things needful. There is nothing possible that faith and striv- ing can not do; take the road, and it must lead you to the goal, though strewn with difficulties, and cast through pain and shade. If each would strain his energies to gain what he has dared to hope for, he would succeed, for since that which we love and honor is in our nature, it is to be drawn forth, and what is not there we can not wish. Our greatest drawback is, not that we expect too much, but that we do too little; we set our worship low, and let our higher powers lie dor- mant; thus are we never masters, but blind men stumbling in each others way. As maturity means self-controlling power, so he who gains not this is childish, and must submit, infant-like, to be controlled by others. This guidance we must feel in our upward course, and be grateful for the check; but as we have each a work tc do, we must look beyond h~mlp to independence

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. days since I found myself one evening very dull at one of those brilliant receptions, for which Paris is so famous. I was making for the door, with a view to an early departure, when my host- ess detained me, for the purpose of presenting me to a lady who was monopolizing all the ad- miration of the eveningshe was the newly- married bride of a young German baron of great wealth, and noted for a certain wild kind of genius, and utter scorn of conventionalities. The next instant I found myself introduced to a pair of eyes that could never be mistaken. I dropped into a vacant chair by their side, and entered into conversation. The baronne observed that she had met me before, but could not remember where, and in the same breath asked me if I was a lover of flowers. I muttered something about loving beauty in any shape, and admired a bouquet which she held in her hand. The baronne selected a flower, and asked me if it was not a peculiarly fine specimen. I as- sented; and the flower, not being re-demanded, I did not return it. The conversation changed to other subjects, and, shortly afterward the ba- ronne took her leave with her husband. They left Paris next day for the barons family estate, and I have never seen them since. I learned subsequently that some strange sto- ries had obtained circulation respecting the pre- vious life of the baronne. Whatever they were, it is very certain that this or some other reason has made the profession of Bouqueti~re most in- conveniently popular in Paris. Young ladies of all ages that can, with any degree of courtesy, be included in that category, and of all degrees of beauty short of the hunch-back, may be seen in all directions intruding their flowers with fatal pertinacity upon inoffensive loungers, and mak- ing war upon button-holes that never did them ny harm. The youngest of young girls, I find, dre being trained to the calling, who are all des- tined, I suppose, to marry distinguished foreign- ers from some distant and facetious country. I should have mentioned before, that a friend calling upon me the morning after my meeting with the baronne, saw the flower which she had placed in my hand standing in a glass of water on the table. An idea struck me: Do you know any thing of the language of flowers 3 I asked. Something, was the reply. What, then, is the meaning of this 3 SEcREcy. DIFFICULTY. THERE is an aim which all Nature seeks; the flower that opens from the budthe light that breaks the cloud into a thousand forms of beautyis calmly striving to assume the per- fect glory of its power; and the child, whose proud laugh heralds the mastery of a new les- son, unconsciously develops the same life-im- pulse seeking to prove the power it has felt its own. Tbis is the real goal of life shining dimly from afar; for as our fullest power was never yet at- tained, it is a treasure which must be sought, its extent and distance being unknown. No man can tell what he can do, or suffer, until tried; his path of action broadens out before him; and, while a path appears, there is power to traverse it. It is like the fabled hill of Genius, that ever presented a loftier elevation above the one at- tained. It is like the glory of the stars, which shine by borrowed light, each seeming source of which is tributary to one more distant, until the view is lost to us; yet we inly know there must be a life-giving centre, and, to the steady mind, though the goal of life be dim and distant, its light is fixed and certain, while all lesser aims are but reflections of this glory in myriad-de- scending shades, which must be passed, one by one, as the steps of the ladder on which he mounts to Heaven. Man has an unfortunate predilection to per- vert whatever God throws in his way to aid him, and thus turn good to evil. The minor hopes which spur to action are mistaken for the final one; and we often look no higher than some mean wish, allowing that to rule us which should have been our servant. From this false view rises little exertion, for it is impossible for man to believe in something better and be content with worse. We all aim at self-control and in- dependence while in the shadow of a power which controls us, whispering innerly, Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther ; but how apt is self- indulgence to suit this limit to its own measure, and suffer veneration and doubt to overgrow and suppress the rising hope of independent thought. I am not permitted to know this, or to do this, is the excuse of the weak and trivial; but the question should be, Can I know or do this 3 for what is not permitted we can not do. We may not know the events of the future, or the period of a thought, or the Great First Cause, but we may hope to see and c~mbine the atoms of thingspierce the realms of spacemake the wilderness a gardenattain perfection of soul and body; and for this our end we may master all things needful. There is nothing possible that faith and striv- ing can not do; take the road, and it must lead you to the goal, though strewn with difficulties, and cast through pain and shade. If each would strain his energies to gain what he has dared to hope for, he would succeed, for since that which we love and honor is in our nature, it is to be drawn forth, and what is not there we can not wish. Our greatest drawback is, not that we expect too much, but that we do too little; we set our worship low, and let our higher powers lie dor- mant; thus are we never masters, but blind men stumbling in each others way. As maturity means self-controlling power, so he who gains not this is childish, and must submit, infant-like, to be controlled by others. This guidance we must feel in our upward course, and be grateful for the check; but as we have each a work tc do, we must look beyond h~mlp to independence MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 57 The school-boy receives aid in learning that he may one day strive with his own power, for if he always depends on help he can never be a useful man. He who seeks for himself no path, but merely follows where others have been before, covering his own want with anothers industry, may find the road not long or thickly set, but he does and gains nothing. He who bows to difficulty, set- tling at the foot of the hill instead of struggling to its top, may get a sheltered placea snug re- treat, but the world in its glory he can never see, and the pestilence from the low ground he must imbibe. We may rest in perfect comfort, but the health that comes of labor will fade away. The trees of the forest were not planted that man might pass round and live between them, but that he might cut them down and use them. The savage has little toil before him, but the civilized man has greater power of happiness. Would a man be powerful, and bid his genius rule his fellow-men he must toil to gain means; while his thought reads the hearts that he would sway, he must be led into temptation, and pass through pain and danger, ere he can know what another may endure. Would he pour golden truth upon the page of life he must seek it from every source, weigh the relations of life, and con- cede to its taste, that he may best apply it, fur the proverb must be written in fair round hand, that common men may read it. Would he pic- ture the life of man or nature he must go forth with heart and eye alive, nor turn from the sorest notes of human woe, or the coarsest tones of vice; he must watch the finest ray of light, and mark the falling of the last withered leaf. Would he be actively benevolent~ winter cold, nor summer lassitude must not appall him; in season and out of season he must be ready; injured pride, wounded feeling must not unstring his energy, while stooping to learn from the simplest lips the nature of those wants to which he would minister. In all accomplishment there is difficulty; the greater the work, the greater the pains. There is no such thing as sudden inspiration or grace, for the steps of life are slow, and what is not thus attained is nothing worth. In darkness the eyes must be accustomed to the gloom when ob- jects appear, one by one, until the most distant is perceived; but, in a sudden light the eyes are pained, and blinded, and left weak. At school, we found that when one difficulty was surmounted another was presented; mas- terinr Addition would not dowe must learn Subtraction ; so it is in life. A finished work is a glory won, but a mind content with one ac- complishment is childish, and its weakness ren- ders it incapable of applying that From him that hath not shall be taken away even that he hath ; his one talent shall rise up to him as a shame. A little sphere insures but little happi- ness. There is a time of youth for all; but youth has a sphere of hope that, embracing the whole aim which man must work for, gives unbounded happiness. Thus God would equalize the lot of all where necessity would create difference; it is only when states are forced unnaturally that misery ensues. When those who would seem to be men are children in endeavor, we see that Gods will is not done, but a falsehood. The greatest of us have asked and taken guidance in their rising course, and owned inferiority with- out shame; but his is a poor heart that looks to be inferior ever; and shameful indeed it is, when those who are thus poor imagine or assume a right to respect as self-supporting men. How painfully ridiculous it is to se,~ the lazy man look down on his struggling wife as the weaker ves- sel, or the idle sinecurist hold contempt for the tradesman who is working his way to higher wealth by honest toil. Were the aims of living truly seen, no man would be dishonored because useful. But wait awhile; the world is drawing near the real point, and we shall find that the self- denying, fearless energy, that works its will in spite of pettiness, must gain its end, and becme richest; that the man who begins with a penny in the hope of thousands will grow wealthier than his aimless brother of the snug annuity; for while the largest wealth that is not earned is limited, the result of ceaseless toil is incalcula- ble, since the progress of the soul is infinite! MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.* CHAPTER XLVI. A GLANCE AT THE PREFECTURE DE POLICE. POOR Mahons melancholy story made a deep impression upon me, and I returned to Paris execrating the whole race of spies and Mou- chards, and despising, with a most hearty con- tempt, a government compelled to use such agencies for its existence. It seemed to me so utterly impossible to escape the snares of a sys- tem so artfully interwoven, and so vain to rely on innocence as a protection, that I felt a kind of reckless hardihood as to whatever might betide me, and rode into the Cour of the Prefecture with a bold indifference as to my fate that I have often wondered at since. The horse on which I was mounted was im- mediately recognized as I entered; and the obse- quious salutations that met me showed that 1 was regarded as one of the trusty followers of the Minister; and in this capacity was I ushered into a large waiting-room, where a considerable number of persons were assembled, whose air and appearance, now that necessity for disguise was over, unmistakably pronounced them to be spies of the police. Some, indeed, were occu- pied in taking off their false whiskers and mustaches; others were removing shades from their eyes; and one was carefully opening what had been the hump on his back, in search of a paper he was anxious to discover. I had very little difficulty in ascertaining that these were all the very lowest order of Mou- chards, whose sphere of duty rarely led beyond the Fauxbourg or the Battyriolles, and indeed * Continued from the November Numb r

MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 57 The school-boy receives aid in learning that he may one day strive with his own power, for if he always depends on help he can never be a useful man. He who seeks for himself no path, but merely follows where others have been before, covering his own want with anothers industry, may find the road not long or thickly set, but he does and gains nothing. He who bows to difficulty, set- tling at the foot of the hill instead of struggling to its top, may get a sheltered placea snug re- treat, but the world in its glory he can never see, and the pestilence from the low ground he must imbibe. We may rest in perfect comfort, but the health that comes of labor will fade away. The trees of the forest were not planted that man might pass round and live between them, but that he might cut them down and use them. The savage has little toil before him, but the civilized man has greater power of happiness. Would a man be powerful, and bid his genius rule his fellow-men he must toil to gain means; while his thought reads the hearts that he would sway, he must be led into temptation, and pass through pain and danger, ere he can know what another may endure. Would he pour golden truth upon the page of life he must seek it from every source, weigh the relations of life, and con- cede to its taste, that he may best apply it, fur the proverb must be written in fair round hand, that common men may read it. Would he pic- ture the life of man or nature he must go forth with heart and eye alive, nor turn from the sorest notes of human woe, or the coarsest tones of vice; he must watch the finest ray of light, and mark the falling of the last withered leaf. Would he be actively benevolent~ winter cold, nor summer lassitude must not appall him; in season and out of season he must be ready; injured pride, wounded feeling must not unstring his energy, while stooping to learn from the simplest lips the nature of those wants to which he would minister. In all accomplishment there is difficulty; the greater the work, the greater the pains. There is no such thing as sudden inspiration or grace, for the steps of life are slow, and what is not thus attained is nothing worth. In darkness the eyes must be accustomed to the gloom when ob- jects appear, one by one, until the most distant is perceived; but, in a sudden light the eyes are pained, and blinded, and left weak. At school, we found that when one difficulty was surmounted another was presented; mas- terinr Addition would not dowe must learn Subtraction ; so it is in life. A finished work is a glory won, but a mind content with one ac- complishment is childish, and its weakness ren- ders it incapable of applying that From him that hath not shall be taken away even that he hath ; his one talent shall rise up to him as a shame. A little sphere insures but little happi- ness. There is a time of youth for all; but youth has a sphere of hope that, embracing the whole aim which man must work for, gives unbounded happiness. Thus God would equalize the lot of all where necessity would create difference; it is only when states are forced unnaturally that misery ensues. When those who would seem to be men are children in endeavor, we see that Gods will is not done, but a falsehood. The greatest of us have asked and taken guidance in their rising course, and owned inferiority with- out shame; but his is a poor heart that looks to be inferior ever; and shameful indeed it is, when those who are thus poor imagine or assume a right to respect as self-supporting men. How painfully ridiculous it is to se,~ the lazy man look down on his struggling wife as the weaker ves- sel, or the idle sinecurist hold contempt for the tradesman who is working his way to higher wealth by honest toil. Were the aims of living truly seen, no man would be dishonored because useful. But wait awhile; the world is drawing near the real point, and we shall find that the self- denying, fearless energy, that works its will in spite of pettiness, must gain its end, and becme richest; that the man who begins with a penny in the hope of thousands will grow wealthier than his aimless brother of the snug annuity; for while the largest wealth that is not earned is limited, the result of ceaseless toil is incalcula- ble, since the progress of the soul is infinite! MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.* CHAPTER XLVI. A GLANCE AT THE PREFECTURE DE POLICE. POOR Mahons melancholy story made a deep impression upon me, and I returned to Paris execrating the whole race of spies and Mou- chards, and despising, with a most hearty con- tempt, a government compelled to use such agencies for its existence. It seemed to me so utterly impossible to escape the snares of a sys- tem so artfully interwoven, and so vain to rely on innocence as a protection, that I felt a kind of reckless hardihood as to whatever might betide me, and rode into the Cour of the Prefecture with a bold indifference as to my fate that I have often wondered at since. The horse on which I was mounted was im- mediately recognized as I entered; and the obse- quious salutations that met me showed that 1 was regarded as one of the trusty followers of the Minister; and in this capacity was I ushered into a large waiting-room, where a considerable number of persons were assembled, whose air and appearance, now that necessity for disguise was over, unmistakably pronounced them to be spies of the police. Some, indeed, were occu- pied in taking off their false whiskers and mustaches; others were removing shades from their eyes; and one was carefully opening what had been the hump on his back, in search of a paper he was anxious to discover. I had very little difficulty in ascertaining that these were all the very lowest order of Mou- chards, whose sphere of duty rarely led beyond the Fauxbourg or the Battyriolles, and indeed * Continued from the November Numb r b8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. soon saw that my own appearance among them led to no little surprise and astonishment. You are looking for Nicquard, monsieur ! said one, but he has not come yet. No; monsieur wants to see Boule-de-Fer, said another. Heres Jos~i can fetch him, cried a third. Hell have to carry him, then, growled out an- other, for I saw him in the Morgue this morning! What! de~id V exclaimed several together. As dead as four stabs in the heart and lungs can make a man! He must have been meddling where he had no business, for there was a piece of a lace ruffle found in his fingers. Ah, voila ! cried another, that comes of mixing in high society. I did not wait for the discussion that followed, but stole quietly away, as the disputants were waxing warm. Instead of turning into the Cour again, however, I passed out into a corridor, at the end of which was a door of green cloth. Pushing open this, I found myself in a chamber, where a single clerk was writing at a table. Youre late to-day, and hes not in a good humor, said he, scarcely looking up from his paper, go in ! Resolving to see my adventure to the end, I asked no further questions, but passed on to the room beyond. A person who stood within the door-way withdrew as I entered, and I found myself standing face to face with the Marquis de Maurepas, or, to speak more properly, the Minis- ter Fouch6. He was standing at the fire-place as I came in, reading a newspaper, but no sooner had he caught sight of me than he laid it down, and, with his hands crossed behind his back, con- tinued steadily staring at me. Diable ! exclaimed he, at last, how came you here? Nothing more naturally, sir, than from the wish to restore what you were so good as to lend me, and express my sincere gratitude for a most hospitable reception. But who admitted you ~ I fancy your saddle-cloth was my introduc- tion, sir, for it was speedily recognized. Geslers cap was never held in greater honor. You are a very courageous young gentleman, I must sayvery courageous, indeed, said he, with a sardonic grin that was any thing but en- couraging. The better chance that I may find favor with Monsieur de Fouch6, replied I. That remains to be seen, sir, said he, seat- ing himself in his chair, and motioning me to a spot in front of it. Who are you? A lieutenant of the 9th Hussars, sir; by name Maurice Tiernay. I dont care for that, said he, impatiently; whats your occupation ?how do you live ? with whom do you associate ? I have neither means nor associates. I have been liberated from the Temple but a few days back; and what is to be my future, and where, are facts of which I know as little as does Mon- sieur de Fouchd of my past histery. It would seem that every adventurer, every fellow destitute of home, family, fortune, and position, thinks that his natural refuge lies in this Ministry, and that I must be his guardian. I never thought so, sir. Then why are you here What other than personal reasons procures me the honor of this visit ? As Monsieur de Fouch6 will not believe in my sense of gratitude, perhaps he may put some faith in my curiosity, and excuse the natural anxiety I feel to know if Monsieur de Maurepas has reallybenefited by the pleasure of my society. Hardi, monsieur, bien hardi, said the Minis- ter, with a peculiar expression of irony about the mouth that made me almost shudder. He rang a little hand-bell as he spoke, and a servant made his appearance. You have forgotten to leave me my snuffi box, Geoffroy, said he, mildly, to the valet, who at once left the room, and speedily returned with a magnificently-chased gold box, on which the initials of the First Consul were embossed in diamonds. Arrange those papers, and place those books on the shelves, said the Minister. And then turning to me, as if resuming a previous conver- sation, went on As to that memoir of which we were speak- ing tother night, monsieur, it would be exceed- ingly interesting just now; and I have no doubt that you will see the propriety of confiding to me what you already promised to Monsieur de Maurepas. That will do, Geoffiroy; leave us. The servant retired, and we were once more alone. I possess no secrets, sir, worthy the notice of the Minister of Police, said I boldly. Of that I may presume to be the better judge, said Fouch6 calmly. But waving this question, there is another of some importance. You have, partly by accident, partly by a boldness not devoid of peril, obtained some little insight into the habits and details of this Ministry; at least, you have seen enough to suspect more, and misrepresent what you can not comprehend. Now, sir, there is an almost universal custom in all secret societies, of making those who intrude surreptitiously within their limits, to take every oath and pledge of that society, and to assume every responsibility that attaches to its voluntary members Excuse my interrupting you, sir; but my intrusion was purely involuntary; I was made the dupe of a police spy. Having ascertained which, resumed he, coldly, your wisest policy would have been to have kept the whole incident for yourself alone, and neither have uttered one syllable about it, nor ventured to come here, as you have done, tc display what you fancy to be your power oves the Minister of Police. You are a very young man, and the lesson may possibly be of service to you; and never forget that to attempt a con- test of address with those whose habits have taught them every wile and subtlety of their MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. fellow-men, will always be a failure. This Ministry would be a sorry engine of government if men of your stamp could out-wit it. I stood abashed and confused under a rebuke which, at the same time, I felt to be but half de- served. Do you understand Spanish i asked he sud- denly. No, sir, not a word. Im sorry for it; you should learn that lan- guage without loss of time. Leave your address with my secretary, and call here by Monday or Tuesday next. If I may presume so far, sir, said I, with a great effort to seem collected, I would infer that your intention is to employ me in some capacity or other. It is, therefore, better I should say at once, I have neither the ability nor the desire for such occupation. I have always been a soldier. Whatever reverses of fortune I may meet with, I would wish still to continue in the same career. At all events, I could never aecome aa Spy. Say the word out; its meaning con- veys nothing offensive to my ears, young man. I may grieve over the corruption that requires such a system; but I do not confound the remedy with the disease. My sentiments are different, sir, said I res- olutely, as I moved toward the door. I have the honor to wish you a good morning. Stay a moment, Tiernay, said he, looking for something among his papers; there are, probably, situations where all your scruples could find accommodation, and even be serviceable, too. I would rather not place them in peril, Mons. Le Ministre. There are people in this city of Paris who would not despise my protection, young man; some of them to the full as well supplied with the gifts of fortune as Mons. Tiernay. And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it ! said I, sarcastically; for every moment now ren- dered me more courageous. And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it, repeated he after me, with a wave of the hand in token of adieu. I bowed respectfully, and was retiring, when he called out in a low and gentle voice Before you go, Mons. de Tiernay, I will thank you to restore my snuff-box. Your snuff-box, sir ! cried I, indignantly, what do I know of itP In a moment of inadvertence, you may, prob- ably, have placed it in your pocket, said he, smiling; do me the favor to search there. This is unnecessary insult, sir, said I fiercely; and you forget that I am a French officer ! It is of more consequence that you should remember it, said he calmly; and now, sir, do as I have told you. It is well, sir, that this scene has no witness, said I, boiling over with passion, or, by Heaven, all the dignity of yourstation shouldnot save you. Your observation is most just, said he, with b9 the same coolness. It is as well that we are quite alone; and for this reason I beg to repeat my request. If you persist in a refusal, and force me to ring that bell You would not dare to offer me such an in- dignity, said I, trembling with rage. You leave me no alternative, sir, said he, rising, and taking the bell in his hand. My honor is also engaged in this question. I have preferred a charge You have, cried I, interrupting, and for whose falsehood I am resolved to hold you re- sponsible. To prove which, you must show your inno- cence. There, thenthere are my pockets; here are the few things I possess. ibis is my pocket- bookmy purse. Oh, heavens, what is this ~ cried I, as I drew forth the gold box, along with the other contents of my pocket; and then stag- gering back, I fell, overwhelmed with shame and sickness, against the wall. For some seconds I neither saw nor heard any thing; a vague sense of ineffable disgraceof some ignominy that made life a misery, was over me, and I closed my eyes with the wish never to open them more. The box has a peculiar value in my eyes, sir, said he; it was a present from the First Consul, otherwise I might have hesitated Oh, sir, you can not, you dare not, suppose me guilty of a theft. You seem bent on being my ruin; but, for mercys sake, let your hatred of me take some other shape than this. Involve me in what snares, what conspiracies you will, give me what share you please in any guilt, but spare me the degradation of such a shame. He seemed to enjoy the torments I was suffer- ing, and actually revel in the contemplation of my misery; for he never spoke a word, but continued steadily to stare me in the face. Sit down here, monsieur, said he, at lengtn, while he pointed to a chair near him; I wish to say a few words to you, in all seriousness, and in good faith, also. I seated myself, and he went on. The events of the last two days must have made such an impression on your mind that even the most remarkable incidents of your life could not compete with. You fancied yourself a great discoverer, and that, by the happy conjuncture of intelligence and accident, you had actually fathomed the depths of that wonderful system of police, which, more powerful than armies or councils, is the real government of France! I will not stop now to convince you that you have not wandtired out of the very shallowest channels of this system. It is enough that you have been admitted to an audience with me, to suggest an opposite conviction, and give to your recital, when you repeat the tale, a species of importance. Now, sir, my counsel to you is, never to repeat it, and for this reason; nobody possessed of com- mon powers of judgment will ever believe you! not one, sir! No one would ever believe that Monsieur Fcuch6 had made so grave a mistake, no more than he would believe that a man of 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. good name and birth, a French officer, could have stolen a snuff-box. You see, Monsieur de Tier- nay, that I acquit you of this shameful act. Imitate my generosity, sir, and forget all that you have witnessed since Tuesday last. I have given you good advice, sir; if I find that you profit by it, we may see more of each other. Scarcely appreciating the force of his parable, and thinking of nothing save the vindication of my honor, I muttered a few unmeaning words, and withdrew, glad to escape a presence which had assumed, to my terrified senses, all the diabolical subtlety of satanic influence. Trust- ing that no future accident of my life should ever bring me within such precincts, I hurried from the place as though it were contaminated and plague-stricken. CHAPTER XL VII. THE VILLAGE OF scHwARTz-AcE. I w~s destitute enough when I quitted the Temple, a few days back; but my condition now was sadder still, for in addition to my poverty and friendlessness, I had imbibed a de- gree of distrust and suspicion that made me shun my fellow-men, and actually shrink from the contact of a stranger. The commonest show of courtesy, the most ordinary exercise ofpoliteness, struck me as the secret wiles of that police, whose machinations, I fancied, were still spread around me. I had conceived a most intense hatred of civilization, or, at least, of what I rashly supposed to be the inherent vices of civil- ized life. I longed for what I deemed must be the glorious independence of a savage. If I could but discover this Paradise beyond seas, of which the marquise raved so much; if I only could find out that glorious land which neither knew secret intrigues nor conspiracies, I should leave France forever, taking any condition, or braving any mischances fate might have in store for me. There was something peculiarly offensive in the treatment I had met with. Imprisoned on suspicion, I was liberated without any amende ; neither punished like a guilty man, nor absolved as an innocent one. I was sent out upon the world as though the state would not own nor icknowledge me; a dangerous practice, as I often thought, if only adopted on a large scale. It was some days before I could summon resolution to ascertain exactly my position: at last I did mus- ter up courage, and under pretense of wishing to address a letter to myself, I applied at the Minis- try of War for the address of Lieutenant Tierr.ay, of the 9th Hussars. I was one of a large crowd similarly engaged, some inquiring for sons that had fallen in battle, or husbands or fathers in far away countries. The office was only open each morning for two hours, and consequently, as the expiration of the time drew nigh, the eagerness of the inquirers became far greater, and the con- irast with the cold apathy of the clerks the more strongly marked. I had given way to many, who were weaker than myself, and less able to buffet with the crowd about them; and at last, when, wearied by waiting, I was drawing nigh the table, my attention was struck by an old, a very old man, who, with a beard white as snow, and long mustaches of the same color, was making great efforts to gain the front rank. I stretched out my hand, and caught his, and by considerable ex- ertion, at last succeeded in placing him in front of me. He thanked me fervently, in a strange kind of German, a patois I had never heard before, and kissed my hand three or four times over isa his gratitude; indeed, so absorbed was he for the time in his desire to thank me, that I had to recall him to the more pressing reason of his presence, and warn him that but a few irunutes more of the hour remained free. Speak up, cried the clerk, as the old man muttered something in a low and very indistinct voice; speak up; and remember, my friend, that we do not profess to give information fur- ther back than the times of Louis Quatorze. This allusion to the years of the old man was loudly applauded by his colleagues, who drew nigh to stare at the cause of it. Sacre bleu! he is talking Hebrew, said another, and asking for a friend who fell at Ramoth Gilead. He is speaking German, said I, peremp- torily, and asking for a relative whom he be- lieves to have embarked with the expedition to Egypt. Are you a sworu interpreter, young man asked an older and more consequential-looking personage. I was about to return a hasty reply to this im- pertinence, but I thought of the old man, and the few seconds that still remained for his inquiry, and I smothered my anger, and was silent. What rank did he hold ~ inquired one of the clerks, who had listened with rather more patience to the old man. I translated the ques- tion for the peasant, who, in reply, confessed that he could not tell. The youth was his only son, and had left home many years before, and never written. A neighbor, however, who had traveled in foreign parts, had brought tidings that he had gone with the expedition to Egypt, and was already high in the French army. You are not quite certain that he did not command the army of Egypt ~ said one of the clerks in mockery of the old mans story. It is not unlikely, said the peasant gravely, he was a brave and bold youth, and could have lifted two such as you with one hand and hurled you out of that window. Let us hear his name once more, said the elder clerk; it is worth remembering. 1 have told you already. It was Karl Kle- her. The GeneralGeneral Kleber ! cried three or four in a breath. Mayhap, was all the reply. And are you the father of the great general of Egypt ~ asked the elder, with an air of deep respect. Kleber is my son; and so that he is aliVe MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 61 an d well, I care little if a general or simple behind him. The peasant saw in the soldie~ soldier. but one who hired out his courage and his blood, Not a word was said in answer to this speech, ~nd deemed the calling a low and unworthy one. and each seemed to feel reluctant to tell the sad I suppose I was not the first who, in the effort tidings. At last the elder clerk said, You to convince another, found himself shaken in his tiave lost ~. good son, and France one of her own convictions; for I own before I lay down greatest captains. The General Kleber is dead. that night many of the old mans arguments Dead ! said the old man, slowly, assumed a force and power that I could not re- In the very moment of his greatest glory, sist, and held possession of my mind even after oo, when he had won the country of the Pyra- I fell asleep. In my dreams I was once more mids, and made Egypt a colony of France. beside the American lake, and that little colony When did he die ~ said the peasant. of simple people, where I had seen all that was The last accounts from the East brought the best of my life, and learned the few lessons I had news; and this very day the Council of State ever received of charity and good-nature. has accorded a pension to his family of ten thou- From what the peasant said, the primitive sand livres. habits of the Lech Thal must be almost like They may keep their money. I am all that those of that little colony, and I willingly assent- remains, and have no want of it; and I should ed to his offer to accompany him in his journey be poorer still before Id take it. homeward. He seemed to feel a kind of satis- These words he uttered in a low, harsh tone, faction in turning my thoughts away from a and pushed his way back though the crowd. career that he held so cheaply, and talked en- One moment more was enough for my inquiry. thusiastically of the tranquil life of the Bregen- Maurice Tiernay, of the 9thdestitu~, was zer-wald. the short and stunning answer I received. We left Paris the following morning, and, Is there any reason allegedis there any partly by diligence, partly on foot, reached Strass- charge imputed to him ~ asked I, timidly. burg in a few days; thence we proceeded by Ma foi! you must go to the Minister of Kehel to Freyburg, and, crossing the Lake of War with that question. Perhaps he was pay- Constance at Rorsbach, we entered the Bregen- master, and embezzled the funds of the regiment; zer-wald on the twelfth morning of our journey. perhaps he liked royalist gold better than repub- I suppose that most men preserve fresher mem- lican silver; or perhaps he preferred the com- ory of the stirring and turbulent scenes of their pany of the baggage-train and the ambulances, lives than of the more peaceful and tranquil when he should have been at the head of his ones, and I shall not be deemed singular when squadron. I say, that some years passed over me in this I did not care to listen longer to this imperti- quiet spot nnd seemed as but a few weeks. The nence, and making my way out I gained the old peasant was the Vorsteher, or ruler of the street. The old peasant was still standing there, village, by whom all disputes were settled, and like one stunned and overwhelmed by some all litigation of an humble kind decideda spe- great shock, and neither heeding the crowd that cies of voluntary jurisdiction maintained to this passed, nor the groups that halted occasionally very day in that primitive region. My occupa- to stare at him. tion there was as a species of secretary to the Come along with me, said I, taking his court, an office quite new to the villagers, but hand in mine. Your calamity is a heavy one, which served to impress them more reverentially but mine is harder to bear up against. than ever in favor of this rude justice. My legal He suffered himself to be led away like a duties over, I became a vine-dresser, a wood- child, and never spoke a word as we walked cutter, or a deer-stalker, as season and weather along toward the barriere, beyond which, at dictated. My evenings being always devoted to a short distance, was a little ordinary, where I the task of a schoolmaster. A curious seminary: used to dine. There we had our dinner togeth- was it, too, embracing every class from child- er, and as the evening wore on the old man ral- hood to advanced age, all eager for knowledge, lied enough to tell me of his sons early life, and and all submitting to the most patient discipline his departure for the army. Of his great career to attain it. There was much to make me hap- I could speak freely, for Klebers name was, in py in that humble lot. I had the love and es-- soldier esteem, scarcely second to that of Bona- teem of all around me; there was neither a har- parte himself. Not all the praises I could be- assing doubt for the future, nor the rich mans stow, however, were sufficient to turn the old contumely to oppress me; my life was made up man from his stern conviction, that a peasant in of occupations which alternately engaged mind the Lech Thai was a more noble and inde- and body, and, above all and worth all besides, pendent man than the greatest general that ever I had a sense of duty, a feeling that I was doing marched to victory, that which was useful to my fellow-men; and We have been some centuries there, said however great may be a mans station in life, if he, and none of our name has incurred a it want this element, the humblest peasant that. shadow of disgrace. Why should not Karl have rises to his daily toil has a nobler and a better part. lived like his ancestcrs ~ As I trace these lines how many memories of It was useless to appeal to the glory his son the spot are rising before me! Scenes I had hai gainedthe noble reputation he had left long forgottenfaces I had ceased to remember! V~.IV-No.I9 E 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. now I see the little wooden bridgea giant tree) guarded by a single rail, that crossed the torrent in front of our cottage; and I behold once more the little waxen image of the Virgin over the door, in whose glass shrine at nightfall a can- dle ever burned! and I hear the low hum of the villagers prayer as the Angelus is singing, and see on every crag or cliff the homebound hunter kneeling in his deep devotion! Happy people, and not less good than happy! Your bold and barren mountains have been the safeguard of your virtue and your innocence! Long may they prove so, and long may the waves of the worlds ambition be staid at their rocky feet! I was beginning to forget all that I had seen of life, or, if not forget, at least to regard it as a wild and troubled dream, when an accident, one of those things we always regard as the merest chances, once more opened the flood-gates of memory, and sent the whole past in a strong current through my brain. In this mountain region the transition from winter to summer is effected in a few days. Some hours of a scorching sun and south wind swell the torrents with melted snow; the ice- bergs fall thundering from cliff and crag, and the sporting waterfall once more dashes over the precipice. The trees burst into leaf, and the grass springs up green and fresh from its wintry covering; and from the dreary aspect of snow- capped hills and leaden clouds, nature changes to fertile plains and hills, and a sky of almost unbroken blue. It was on a glorious evening in April, when all these changes were passing, that I was de- scending the mountain above our village after a hard days chamois hunting. Anxious to reach the plain before nightfall, I could not, however, help stopping from time to time to watch the golden and ruby tints of the sun upon the snow, or see the turquoise blue which occasionally marked the course of a rivulet through the gla- ciers. The Alp-horn was sounding from every cliff and height, and the lowing of the cattle swelled into a rich and mellow chorns. It was a beautiful picture, realizing in every tint and hue, in every sound and cadence, all that one can fancy of romantic simplicity, and I surveyed it with a swelling and a grateful heart. As I turned to resume my way, I was struck by the sound of voices speaking, as I fan6ied, in French, and before I could settle the doubt with myself, I saw in front of me a party of some six or seven soldiers, who, with their muskets slung behind them, were descending the steep path by the aid of sticks. Weary-looking and foot-sore as they were, their dress, their bearing, and their soldier-like air, struck me forcibly, and sent into my heart a thrill I had not known for many a day before. I came up quickly behind them, and could over- hear their complaints at having mistaken the road, and their maledictions, muttered in no gen- tle spirit, on the stupid mountaineers who could not understand French. Here cmes ancth~r fellow, let us try Aim, said one, as he turned and saw me near. Schwartz-Ach, Schwartz-Acb, added he, ad- drelsing me, and reading the name from a slip of paper in his hand. I am going to the village, said I, in French, and will show the way with pleasure. How! what! are you a Frenchman, then ~ cried the corporal, in amazement. Even so, said I. Then by what chance are you living in this wild spot How, in the name of wonder, can you exist here P With venison like this, said I, pointing to a chamois buck on my shoulder, and the red wine of the Lech Thal, a man may manage t forget Verays and the Dragon Vert, particu- larly as they are not associated with a bill and a waiter ! And perhaps you are a royalist, cried an- other, and dont like how matters are going on a?t home ~ I have not that excuse for my exile, said I, coldly. Have you served, then ~ I nodded. Ah, I see, said the corporal, you grew weary of parade and guard mounting. If you mean that I deserted, said I, you are wrong there also; and now let it be myturn to ask a few questions. What is France about~ Is the Republic still as great and victorious as ever Sacre bleu, man, what are you thinking of We are an Empire some years back, and Napo- leon has made as many kings as he has got brothers and cousins to crown. And the army, where is it ~ Ask for some half dozen armies, and youl still be short of the mark. We have one in Ham. burg, and another in the far North, holding the Russians in check; we have garrisons in every fortress of Prussia and the Rhine Land ; we have some eighty thousand fellows in Poland and Gallicia; double as many more in Spain; Italy is our own, and so will be Austria ere many days go over. Boastfully as all this was spoken, I found it to be not far from truth, and learned, as we walked along, that the emperor was, at that very moment. on the march to meet the Archduke ChaTles, who, with a numerous army, was advancing on Ratisbon, the little party of soldiers being por- tion of a force dispatched to explore the passes of the Voralberg, and report on how far they might be practicable for the transmission of troops to act on the left flank and rear of the Austrian army. Their success had up to this time been very slight, and the corporal was making for Schwartz-Ach, as a spot where he hoped to ren- dezvous with some of his comrades. They were much disappointed on my telling them that I had quitted the village that morning, and that not a soldier had been seen there. There was, how- ever, no other spot to pass the night in, and they willingly accepted the offer I made them of a shelter and a supper in our cottage. (To BE CONTINUED.) VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION. 63 VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION. ANCY it burgundy, said Boniface of his F ale, only fancy it, and it is worth a guinea a quart ! Boniface was a philosopher: fancy can do much more than that. Those who fancy themselves laboring under an affection of the heart are not slow in verifying the apprehension: the uneasy and constant watching of its pulsa- tions soon disturbs the circulation, and malady may ensue beyond the power of medicine. Some physicians believe that inflammation can be in- duced in any part of the body by a fearful atten- tion being continually directed toward it; indeed it has been a question with some whether the sti0mata (the marks of the wounds of our Saviour) may not have been produced on the devotee by the influences of an excited imagination. The hypochondriac has been known to expire when forced to pass through a door which he fancied too narrow to admit his person. The story of the criminal who, unconscious of the arrival of the reprieve, died under the stroke of a wet hand- kerchief; believing it to be the ax, is well known. Paracelsus held, that there is in man an imag- ination which really effects and brings to pass the things that did not before exist; for a man by imagination willing to move his body moves it in fact, and by his imagination and the com- merce of invisible powers he may also move an- other body. Paracelsus would not have been surprised at the feats of electro-biology. He ex- horts his patients to have a good faith, a strong imagination, and they shall find the effects. All doubt, he says, destroys work, and leaves it imperfect in the wise designs of nature; it is from faith that imagination draws its strength, it is by faith it becomes complete andrealized; he who believeth in nature will obtain from nature to the extent of his faith, and let the object of this faith he real or imaginary, he nevertheless reaps similar resultsand hence the cause of superstition. So early as 1462, Pomponatus of Mantua came to the conclusion, in his work on incantation, that all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft were the result of natural operations. He conceived that it was not improbable that external means, called into action by the soul, might relieve our sufferings, and that there did, moreover, exist in- dividuals endowed with salutary properties; so it might, therefore, be easily conceived that marvel- ous effects should be produced by the imagination and by confidence, more especially when these are reciprocal between the patient and the person who assists his recovery. Two years after, the same opinion was advanced by Agrippa in Go-. logne. The soul, he said, if inflamed by a fervent imagination, could dispense health and disease, not only in the individual himself, but in other bodies. However absurd these opinions may have been considered, or looked on as en- thusiastic, the time has come when they will be gravely examined. That medical professoi s have at all times be- lieved the imagination to possess a strange and powerful influence over mind and body is proved by their writings, by some of their prescriptions, and by their oft-repeated direction in the sick. chamber to divert the patients mind from dwell- ing on his own state and from attending to the symptoms of his complaint. They consider the reading of medical books which accurately de- scribe the symptoms of various complaints as likely to have an injurious effect, not only on the delicate but on persons in full health; and they are conscious how many died during the time of the plague and cholera, not only of these diseases but from the dread of them, which brought on all the fatal symptoms So evident was the effect produced by the detailed accounts of the cholera in the public papers in the year 1849, that it wa~ found absolutely necessary to restrain the publica- tions on the subject. The illusions under which vast numbers acted and suffered have gone, in- deed, to the most extravagant extent: individuals, not merely singly but in communities, have ac- tually believed in their own transformation. A nobleman of the court of Louis XIV. fancied himself a dog, and would pop his head out of the window to bark at the passengers; while the barking disease at the camp-meetings of the Methodists of North America has been described as extravagant beyond belief. Rollin. and Hecquet have recorded a malady by which the inmates of an extensive convent near Paris were attacked simultaneously every day at the same hour, when they believed themselves transformed into cats, and a universal mewing was kept up throughout the convent for some hours. But of all dreadful forms which this strange halluci- nation took, none was so terrible as that of the lycanthropy, which at one period spreac~ through Europe; in which the unhappy sufferers, believ- ing themselves wolves, went prowling about the forests, uttering the most terrific howlings, car- rying off lambs from the flocks, and gnawing dead hodies in their graves. While every days experience adds some new proof of the influence possessed by the imagina- tion over the body, the supposed effect of con- tagion has become a question of doubt. Lately, at a meeting in Edinburgh, Professor Dick gave it as his opinion that there was no such thing as hydrophobia in the lower animals: what went properly by that hame was simply an inflamma- tion of the brain; and the disease, in the case of human beings, was caused by an over-excited im- agination, worked upon by the popular delusion on the effects of a bite by rabid animals. The fol- lowing paragraph from the Curiosities of Medi- cine appears to justify this now common enough opinion : Several persons had been bitten by a rabid dog in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and three of them had died in our hospital. A report, however, was prevalent that we kept a mixture which would effectually prevent the fatal term ination; and no less than six applicants who had been bitten were served with a draught of colored water, and in no one instance did hydro- phobia ensue. A remarkable cure through a similar aid of the imagination took place in a patient of Dr. Beul

VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION. 63 VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION. ANCY it burgundy, said Boniface of his F ale, only fancy it, and it is worth a guinea a quart ! Boniface was a philosopher: fancy can do much more than that. Those who fancy themselves laboring under an affection of the heart are not slow in verifying the apprehension: the uneasy and constant watching of its pulsa- tions soon disturbs the circulation, and malady may ensue beyond the power of medicine. Some physicians believe that inflammation can be in- duced in any part of the body by a fearful atten- tion being continually directed toward it; indeed it has been a question with some whether the sti0mata (the marks of the wounds of our Saviour) may not have been produced on the devotee by the influences of an excited imagination. The hypochondriac has been known to expire when forced to pass through a door which he fancied too narrow to admit his person. The story of the criminal who, unconscious of the arrival of the reprieve, died under the stroke of a wet hand- kerchief; believing it to be the ax, is well known. Paracelsus held, that there is in man an imag- ination which really effects and brings to pass the things that did not before exist; for a man by imagination willing to move his body moves it in fact, and by his imagination and the com- merce of invisible powers he may also move an- other body. Paracelsus would not have been surprised at the feats of electro-biology. He ex- horts his patients to have a good faith, a strong imagination, and they shall find the effects. All doubt, he says, destroys work, and leaves it imperfect in the wise designs of nature; it is from faith that imagination draws its strength, it is by faith it becomes complete andrealized; he who believeth in nature will obtain from nature to the extent of his faith, and let the object of this faith he real or imaginary, he nevertheless reaps similar resultsand hence the cause of superstition. So early as 1462, Pomponatus of Mantua came to the conclusion, in his work on incantation, that all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft were the result of natural operations. He conceived that it was not improbable that external means, called into action by the soul, might relieve our sufferings, and that there did, moreover, exist in- dividuals endowed with salutary properties; so it might, therefore, be easily conceived that marvel- ous effects should be produced by the imagination and by confidence, more especially when these are reciprocal between the patient and the person who assists his recovery. Two years after, the same opinion was advanced by Agrippa in Go-. logne. The soul, he said, if inflamed by a fervent imagination, could dispense health and disease, not only in the individual himself, but in other bodies. However absurd these opinions may have been considered, or looked on as en- thusiastic, the time has come when they will be gravely examined. That medical professoi s have at all times be- lieved the imagination to possess a strange and powerful influence over mind and body is proved by their writings, by some of their prescriptions, and by their oft-repeated direction in the sick. chamber to divert the patients mind from dwell- ing on his own state and from attending to the symptoms of his complaint. They consider the reading of medical books which accurately de- scribe the symptoms of various complaints as likely to have an injurious effect, not only on the delicate but on persons in full health; and they are conscious how many died during the time of the plague and cholera, not only of these diseases but from the dread of them, which brought on all the fatal symptoms So evident was the effect produced by the detailed accounts of the cholera in the public papers in the year 1849, that it wa~ found absolutely necessary to restrain the publica- tions on the subject. The illusions under which vast numbers acted and suffered have gone, in- deed, to the most extravagant extent: individuals, not merely singly but in communities, have ac- tually believed in their own transformation. A nobleman of the court of Louis XIV. fancied himself a dog, and would pop his head out of the window to bark at the passengers; while the barking disease at the camp-meetings of the Methodists of North America has been described as extravagant beyond belief. Rollin. and Hecquet have recorded a malady by which the inmates of an extensive convent near Paris were attacked simultaneously every day at the same hour, when they believed themselves transformed into cats, and a universal mewing was kept up throughout the convent for some hours. But of all dreadful forms which this strange halluci- nation took, none was so terrible as that of the lycanthropy, which at one period spreac~ through Europe; in which the unhappy sufferers, believ- ing themselves wolves, went prowling about the forests, uttering the most terrific howlings, car- rying off lambs from the flocks, and gnawing dead hodies in their graves. While every days experience adds some new proof of the influence possessed by the imagina- tion over the body, the supposed effect of con- tagion has become a question of doubt. Lately, at a meeting in Edinburgh, Professor Dick gave it as his opinion that there was no such thing as hydrophobia in the lower animals: what went properly by that hame was simply an inflamma- tion of the brain; and the disease, in the case of human beings, was caused by an over-excited im- agination, worked upon by the popular delusion on the effects of a bite by rabid animals. The fol- lowing paragraph from the Curiosities of Medi- cine appears to justify this now common enough opinion : Several persons had been bitten by a rabid dog in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and three of them had died in our hospital. A report, however, was prevalent that we kept a mixture which would effectually prevent the fatal term ination; and no less than six applicants who had been bitten were served with a draught of colored water, and in no one instance did hydro- phobia ensue. A remarkable cure through a similar aid of the imagination took place in a patient of Dr. Beul HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 64 does, who was at the time very sanguine about the effect of nitrous acid gas in paralytic cases. Anxious that it should be imbibed by one of his patients, he seat an invalid to Sir Humphry Davy, with a request that he would administer the gas. Sir Humphry put the bulb of the thermometer under the tongue of the paralytic, to ascertain the temperature of the body, that he might be sure whether it would be affected at all by the inhalation of the gas. The patient, full of faith from what the enthusiastic physician had assured him would be the result, and believing that the thermometer was what was to effect the cure, exclaimed at once that he felt better. Sir Hum- phry, anxious to see what imagination would do in such a case, did not attempt to undeceive the man, but saying that he had done enough for him that day, desired him to be with him the next morning. The thermometer was then ap- plied as it had been the day before, and for every day during a fortnightat the end of which time the patient was perfectly cured. Perhaps there is nothing on record more curious of this kind than the cures unwittingly performed by Chief-justice Holt. It seems that for a youth- ful frolic he and his companions had put up at a cou~itry inn; they, however, found themselves without the means of defraying their expenses, and were at a loss to know what they should do in such an emergency. Holt, however, perceived that the innkeepers daughter looked very ill, and on inquiring what was the matter, learned that she had the ague; when, passing himself off for a medical student, he said that he had an infalli- ble cure for the complaint. He then collected a number of plants, mixed them up with various ceremonies, and incloseQ them in parchment, on which he scrawled divers cabalistic characters. When allwas completed, he suspended the amulet round the neck of the young woman, and, strastge to say, the ague left her and never returned: The landlord, grateful for the restoration of his daugh- ter, not only declined receiving any payment from the youths, but pressed them to remain as long as they pleased. Many years after, when Holt was on the bench, a woman was brought before him, charged with witchcraft: she was accused of curing the ague by charms. All she said in defense was, that she did possess a ball which was a sovereign remedy in the complaint. The charm was produced and handed to the judg9, who recognized the very ball which he had him- self compounded in his boyish days, when out of mere fun he had assumed the character of a medical practitioner. Many distinguished physicians have candidly confessed that they preferred confidence to art. Faith in the remedy is often not only half the cure, but the whole cure. Madame de Genlis tells of a girl who had lost the use of her leg for five years, and could only move with the help of crutches, while her back had to be supported: she was in such a pitiable state of weakness, the physicians had pronounced her case incurable. She, however, took it into her head that if she was taken to Notre Dame de Liesse she would certainly recover. It was fifteen leagues from Carlepont where she lived. She was placed in a cart which her father drove, while her sister sat by her supporting her back. The moment the steeple of Notre Dame de Liesse was in sight she uttered an exclamation, and said that her leg was getting well. She alighted from the car without assistance, and no longer requiring the help of her crutches, she ran into the church. When she returned home the villagers gathered about her, scarcely believing that it was indeed the girl who had left them in such a wretched state, now ehey saw her running and bounding along, no longer a cripple, but as active as any among them. Not less extraordinary are the cures which are effected by some sudden agitation. An alarm of fire has been known to restore a patient entirely or for a time, from a tedious illness: it is no un- common thing to hear of the victim of a severe fit of the gout, whose feet have been utterly power- less, running nimbly away from some approach- ing danger. Poor Grimaldi in bis declining years had almost quite lost the use of his limbs owing to the most hopeless debility. As he sat one day by the bed side of his wife, who was ill, word was brought to him that a friend waited below to see him. He got down to the parlor with ex- treme difficulty. His friend was the hearer of heavy news which he dreaded to communicate: it was the death of Grimaldis son, who, though reckless and worthless, was fondly loved by the poor father. The intelligence was broken as gently as such a sad event could be: but in an instant Grimaldi sprung from his chairhis las- situde and debility were gone, his breathing, which had for a long time been difficult, became perfectly easyhe was hardly a moment in bound- ing up the stairs which but a quarter of an hour before he had passed with extreme difficulty in ten minutes; he reached the bed-side, and told his wife that their son was dead; and as she burst into an agony of grief he flung himself intc a chair, and became again instantaneously, as it has been touchingly described, an enfeebled and crippled old man. The imagination, which is remarkable for its ungovernable influence, comes into action on some occasions periodically with the most precise regularity. A friend once told us of a young relation who was subject to nervous attacks: she was spending some time at the sea-side for change of air, but the evening-gun, fired from the vessel in the bay at eight oclock, was always the signal for a nervous attack: the instant the report was heard she fell back insensible, as if she had been shot. Those about her endeavored if possible to withdraw her thoughts from the expected mo- meat: at length one evening they succeeded, and while she was engaged in an interesting conver sation the evening-gun was unnoticed. By-and- by she asked the hour, and appeared uneasy when she found the time had passed.. The next even- ing it was evident that she would riot let hes attention be withdrawn: the gun fired, and she swooned away: and when revived, another faint. MYSTERIES. 65 ing fit succeeded, as if it were to make up for the omission of the preceding evening! It is told of the great tragic actress Clairon, who had been the innocent cause of the suicide of a man who destroyed himself by a pistol-shot, that ever after, at the exact moment when the fatal deed had been perpetratedone oclock in the morning she heard the shot. If asleep, it awakened her; if engaged in conversation, it interrupted her; in solitude or in company, at home or traveling, in the midst of revelry or at her devotions, she was sure to hear it to the very moment. The same indelible impression has been made in hundreds of cases, and on persons of every variety oftemperament and every pursuit, whether engaged in business, science, or art, or rapt in holy contemplation. On one occasion Pascal had been thrown down on a bridge which had no parapet, and his imagination was so haunted for- ever after by the danger, that he always fancied himself on the brink of a steep precipice over- hanging an abyss ready to engulf him. This illusion had taken such possession of his mind that the friends who came to converse with him were obliged to place the chairs on which they seated themselves between him and the fancied danger. But the effects of terror are the best known of all the vagaries of imagination. A very remarkable case of the influence of im- agination occurred between sixty and seventy years since in Dublin. connected with the cele- brated frolics of Dalkey Island. It is said Curran and his gay companions delighted to spend a day there, and that with them originated the frolic of electing a king of Dalkey and the adjacent islands, and appointing his chancellor and all the officers of state. A man in the middle rank of life, universally respected, and remarkable alike for kindly and generous feelings and a con- vivial spirit, was unanimously elected to fill the throne. He entered with his whole heart into all the humors of the pastime, in which the citi- zens of Dublin so long delighted. A journal was kept, called the Dalkey Gazette, in which all public proceedings were inserted, and it afforded great amusement to its conductors. But the mock pageantry, the affected loyalty, and the pretended homage of his subjects, at length began to excite the imagination of King John, as he was called. Fiction at length became with him reality, and he fancied himself every inch a king. His family and friends perceived with dismay and deep sor- row the strange delusion which nothing could shake: he would speak on no subject save the kingdom of Dalkey and its government, and he loved to dwell on the various projects he had in contemplation for the benefit of his people, and boasted of his high prerogative: he never could conceive himself divested for one moment of his royal powers, and exacted the most profound deference to his kingly authority. The last year and a half of his life were spent in Swifts hos- pital foy lunatics. He felt his last hours ap- proaching, but no gleam of returning reason marked the parting scene: to the very last in- stant he believed himself a king, and all his cares and anxieties were for his people. He spoke in high terms of his chancellor, his attorney-general, and all his officers of state, and of the dignitaries of the church: he recommended them to his king- dom, and trusted they might all retain the high offices which they now held. He spoke on the subject with a dignified calmness well becoming the solemn leave-taking of a monarch; but when he came to speak of the crown he was about to relinquish forever his feelings were quite over- come, and the tears rolled down his cheeks: I leave it, said he, to my people, and to him whom they may elect as my successor ! This remarkable scene is recorded in some of the notices of deaths for the year 1788. The delu- sion, though most painful to his friends, was far from an unhappy one to its victim: his feelings were gratified to the last while thinking he was occupied with the good of his fellow-creatures an occupation best suited to his benevolent dis- position. MYSTERIES! J BELIEVE nothing that I do not under- I stand, is the favorite saying of Mr. Pet- tipo Dapperling, a gentleman who very much prides himself on his intellectual perspicacity. Yet ask Mr. Pettipo if he understands how it is that he wags his little finger, and he can give you no reasonable account of it. He will tell you (for he has ~ead books and studied anat- omy), that the little finger consists of so many jointed bones, that there are tendons attached to them before and behind, which belong to cer- tain muscles, and that when these muscles are made to contract, the finger wags. And this is nearly all that Mr. Pettipo knows about it! How it is that the volition acts on the muscles, what volition is, what the will isMr. Pettipo knows not. He knows quite as little about the Sensa- tion which resides in the skin of that little finger how it is that it feels and appreciates forms and surfaceswhy it detects heat and coldin what way its papilln erect themselves, and its pores open and closeabout all this he is en- tirely in the dark. And yet Mr. Pettipo is under the necessity of believing that his little finger wags, and that it is endowed with the gift of sensation, though he in fact knows nothing what- ever of the why or the wherefore. We must believe a thousand things that we can not understand. Matter and its combinations are a grand mysteryhow much more so, Life and its manifestations. Look at those far-off worlds majestically wheeling in their appointed orbits, millions of miles off: or, look at this earth on which we live, performing its diurnal motion upon its own axis, and its annual circle round the sun! What do we understand of tim causes of such motions what can we ever know about them, beyond the facts that such things are so To discover and apprehend facts is much, and it is nearly our limit. To ultimate causes we can never ascend. But to have an eye open to receive facts and apprehend their relative valuethat is a great dealthat is our

MYSTERIES. 65 ing fit succeeded, as if it were to make up for the omission of the preceding evening! It is told of the great tragic actress Clairon, who had been the innocent cause of the suicide of a man who destroyed himself by a pistol-shot, that ever after, at the exact moment when the fatal deed had been perpetratedone oclock in the morning she heard the shot. If asleep, it awakened her; if engaged in conversation, it interrupted her; in solitude or in company, at home or traveling, in the midst of revelry or at her devotions, she was sure to hear it to the very moment. The same indelible impression has been made in hundreds of cases, and on persons of every variety oftemperament and every pursuit, whether engaged in business, science, or art, or rapt in holy contemplation. On one occasion Pascal had been thrown down on a bridge which had no parapet, and his imagination was so haunted for- ever after by the danger, that he always fancied himself on the brink of a steep precipice over- hanging an abyss ready to engulf him. This illusion had taken such possession of his mind that the friends who came to converse with him were obliged to place the chairs on which they seated themselves between him and the fancied danger. But the effects of terror are the best known of all the vagaries of imagination. A very remarkable case of the influence of im- agination occurred between sixty and seventy years since in Dublin. connected with the cele- brated frolics of Dalkey Island. It is said Curran and his gay companions delighted to spend a day there, and that with them originated the frolic of electing a king of Dalkey and the adjacent islands, and appointing his chancellor and all the officers of state. A man in the middle rank of life, universally respected, and remarkable alike for kindly and generous feelings and a con- vivial spirit, was unanimously elected to fill the throne. He entered with his whole heart into all the humors of the pastime, in which the citi- zens of Dublin so long delighted. A journal was kept, called the Dalkey Gazette, in which all public proceedings were inserted, and it afforded great amusement to its conductors. But the mock pageantry, the affected loyalty, and the pretended homage of his subjects, at length began to excite the imagination of King John, as he was called. Fiction at length became with him reality, and he fancied himself every inch a king. His family and friends perceived with dismay and deep sor- row the strange delusion which nothing could shake: he would speak on no subject save the kingdom of Dalkey and its government, and he loved to dwell on the various projects he had in contemplation for the benefit of his people, and boasted of his high prerogative: he never could conceive himself divested for one moment of his royal powers, and exacted the most profound deference to his kingly authority. The last year and a half of his life were spent in Swifts hos- pital foy lunatics. He felt his last hours ap- proaching, but no gleam of returning reason marked the parting scene: to the very last in- stant he believed himself a king, and all his cares and anxieties were for his people. He spoke in high terms of his chancellor, his attorney-general, and all his officers of state, and of the dignitaries of the church: he recommended them to his king- dom, and trusted they might all retain the high offices which they now held. He spoke on the subject with a dignified calmness well becoming the solemn leave-taking of a monarch; but when he came to speak of the crown he was about to relinquish forever his feelings were quite over- come, and the tears rolled down his cheeks: I leave it, said he, to my people, and to him whom they may elect as my successor ! This remarkable scene is recorded in some of the notices of deaths for the year 1788. The delu- sion, though most painful to his friends, was far from an unhappy one to its victim: his feelings were gratified to the last while thinking he was occupied with the good of his fellow-creatures an occupation best suited to his benevolent dis- position. MYSTERIES! J BELIEVE nothing that I do not under- I stand, is the favorite saying of Mr. Pet- tipo Dapperling, a gentleman who very much prides himself on his intellectual perspicacity. Yet ask Mr. Pettipo if he understands how it is that he wags his little finger, and he can give you no reasonable account of it. He will tell you (for he has ~ead books and studied anat- omy), that the little finger consists of so many jointed bones, that there are tendons attached to them before and behind, which belong to cer- tain muscles, and that when these muscles are made to contract, the finger wags. And this is nearly all that Mr. Pettipo knows about it! How it is that the volition acts on the muscles, what volition is, what the will isMr. Pettipo knows not. He knows quite as little about the Sensa- tion which resides in the skin of that little finger how it is that it feels and appreciates forms and surfaceswhy it detects heat and coldin what way its papilln erect themselves, and its pores open and closeabout all this he is en- tirely in the dark. And yet Mr. Pettipo is under the necessity of believing that his little finger wags, and that it is endowed with the gift of sensation, though he in fact knows nothing what- ever of the why or the wherefore. We must believe a thousand things that we can not understand. Matter and its combinations are a grand mysteryhow much more so, Life and its manifestations. Look at those far-off worlds majestically wheeling in their appointed orbits, millions of miles off: or, look at this earth on which we live, performing its diurnal motion upon its own axis, and its annual circle round the sun! What do we understand of tim causes of such motions what can we ever know about them, beyond the facts that such things are so To discover and apprehend facts is much, and it is nearly our limit. To ultimate causes we can never ascend. But to have an eye open to receive facts and apprehend their relative valuethat is a great dealthat is our 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZiNE. duty ; and not to reject, suspect, or refuse to ~- cept them, because they happen to clash with our preconceived notions, or, like Mr. Pettipo Dap- perling, because we can not understand them. 0, my dear Kepler ! writes Galileo to his friend, how I wish that we could have one hearty laugh together! Here at Padua is the principal Professor of Philosophy, whom I have repeatedly and urgently requested to look at the moon and planets through my glass, which he pertinaciously refuses to do. Why are you not here What shouts of laughter we should have at this glorious folly! And to hear the Profes- sor of Philosophy at Pisa lecturing before the Grand Duke with logical arguments, as if with magical incantations to charm the new planets out of the sky ! Rub a stick of wax against your coat-sleeve, and it emits sparks: hold it near to light, fleecy particles of wool or cotton, and it first attracts, then it repels them. What do you understand about that, Mr. Pettipo, except merely that it is so Stroke the cats back before the fire, and you will observe the same phenomena. Your own body will, in like manner, emit sparks in certain states, but you know nothing about why it is so. Pour a solution of muriate of lime into one of sulphate of potashboth clear fluids; but no sooner are they mixed together than they become nearly solid. How is that Y~u tell me that an inirredient of the one solution combines with an ingredient of the other, and an insoluble sul- phate of lime is produced. Well! you tell me a fact; but you do not account for it by saying that the lime has a greater attraction for the sul- phuric acid than the potash has: you do not understand how it isyou merely see that it is so. You must believe it. But when you come to Life, and its wonderful manifestations, you are more in the dark than ever. You understand less about this than you do even of dead matter. Take an ordinary every- day fact: you drop two seeds, whose component parts are the same, into the same soil. They grow up so close together that their roots mingle and their stalks intertwine. The one plant pro- (luces a long slender leaf, the other a short flat leafthe one brings forth a beautiful flower, the other an ugly scruffthe one sheds abroad a de- licious fragrance, the other is entirely inodorous. The hemlock, the wheatstalk, and the rose-tree, out of the same chemical ingredients contained in the soil, educe, the one deadly poison, the oth- er wholesome food, the third a bright consum- mate flower. Can you tell me, Mr. Pettipo, how is this Do you understand the secret by which the roots of these plants accomplish so much more than all your science can do, and so infin- itely excel the most skillful combinations of the philosopher You can only recognize the fact but you can not unravel the mystery. Your say- ing that it is the nature of the plants, does not in the slightest degree clear up the difficulty. You can not get at the ultimate factonly the proximate one is seen by you. But lo! here is a wonderful little planttouch it, and the leaves shrink on the instant: one leaf seeming to be in intimate sympathy with the rest, and the whole leaves in its neighborhood shrink- ing up at the touch of a foreign object. Or, take the simple pimpernel, which closes its eye as the sun goes down, and opens as be rises again shrinks at the approach of rain, and expands in fair weather. The hop twines round the pole ii the direction of the sun, and The sunflower turns on her god when he sets, The same look that sheturned when he rose. Do we know any thing about these things, further than they are so A partridge chick breaks its shell and steps forth into its new world. Instantly it runs about and picks up the seeds lying about on the ground. It had never learned to run, or to see, or to se- lect its food; but it does all these on the instant. The lamb of a few hours old frisks aboLt full of life, and sucks its dams teat with as much accu- racy as if it had studied the principle of the air- pump. Instinct comes full-grown into the world at once, and we know nothing about it, neithes does the Mr. Dapperling above named. When we ascend to the higher orders of ani- mated beingto man himselfwe are as much in the dark as beforeperhaps more so. Here we have matter arranged in its most highly-or- ganized formsmoving, feeling, and thinking. In man the animal powers are concentrated; and the thinking powers are brought to their highest point. How, by the various arrangements of matter in mans body, one portion of the nervous system should convey volitions from the brain to the limbs and the outer organshow another part should convey sensations with the sudden- ness of lightningand how, finally, a third por- tion should collect these sensations, react upon them, store them up by a process called Memory, reproduce them in thought, compare them, phi- losophize upon them, embody them in booksis a great and unfathomable mystery! Life itself! how wonderful it is! Who caa understand it, or unravel its secret! From a tiny vesicle, at first almost imperceptible to the eye, but gradually growing and accumulating about it fresh materials, which are in turns or~ ganized and laid down, each in their set places, at length a body is formed, becomes developed passing through various inferior stages of being those of polype, fish, frog, and animaluntil, at length, the human being rises above all these forms, and the law of the human animal life is fulfilled. First, he is merely instinctive, then sensitive, then reflectivethe last the greatest, the crowning work of mans development. But what do we know of it all Do we not merely see that it is so, and turn aside from the great mystery in despair of ever unraveling it l The body sleeps Volition, sensation, and thought, become suspended for a time, while the animal powers live on; capillary arteries work- ing, heart beating, lungs playing, all without an effort voluntarily and spontaneously. The shadow of some recent thought agitates the MYSTERIES 67 brain, and the sleeper dreams. Or, his volition may awake, while sensation is still profoundly asleep, and then we have the somnambule, walk- ing in his sleep. Or, volition may be profoundly asleep, while the senses are preternaturally ex- cited, as in the abnormal mesmeric state. Here we have a new class of phenomena, more won- derful because less usual, but not a whit more mysterious than the most ordinary manifestations of life. We are astonished to hear men refusing to credit the evidence of their senses as to mesmer- ic phenomena, on the ground that they can not understand~ them. When they can not under- stand the commonest manifestations of lifethe causation of volition, sensation, or thoughtwhy should they refuse belief on such a ground Are the facts real Are these things so This should be the chief consideration with us. Mysteries they may be; but all life, all matter, all that is, are mysteries too. Do we refuse to believe in the electric telegraph. becr use the instantaneous transmission of intelliger~ce between points a thousand miles apart seems at first sight fabu- bus, and, to the uninitiated, profoundly myste- rious Why should not thoughtthe most won- derful and subtle of known agenciesmanifest itself in equally extraordinary ways We do not know that what the mesmerists call clairvoyance is yet to be held as established by sufficient evidence. Numerous strongly authen- ticated cases have certainly been adduced by per- sons whose evidence is above suspicionas, for instance, by Swedenborg (attested by many ire- partial witnesses), by Goethe, by Zschokke, by Townshend, by Martineau, and others; but the evidence seems still to want confirmation. Only, we say, let us not prejudge the caselet us wait patiently for all sorts of evidence. We can not argue & priori that clairvoyance is not true, any more than the Professor at Padua could argue, with justice, that the worlds which Galileos telescope revealed irk the depths of space, were all a sham. That truth was established by ex- tended observation. Let us wait and see xvheth- er this may not yet be established, too, by similar means. Some of the things which the mesmerists, who go the length of clairvoyance, tell us, certainly have a very mysterious look; and were not sen- sation, thought, and all the manifestations of Life (not yet half investigated) all alike mysterious, we might be disposed to shut our eyes with the rest, and say we refused to believe, because we did not understand. But equally extraordinary relations to the same effect have been made by men who were neither mesmerists nor clairvoyantes. For instance, Kant, the German writer, relates that Sweden- borg once, when living at Gottenburg, some three hundred miles from Stockholm, suddenly rose ~up and went out, when at the house of one Kostel, in the company of fifteen persons. After a few minutes he returned, pale and alarmed, and in- formed the party that a dangerous fire had just broken ut in Stockholm, in Sude~malm, and that the fire was spreading fast. He was restless, and went out often; he said that the house of one of his friends, whom he named, was already in ashes, and that his own was in danger. AU eight oclock, after he had been out again, he joyfully exclaimed, Thank God, the fire is extinguished the third door from my house. This statement of Swedenborgs spread through the town, and occasioned consternation and wonder. The gov- ernor heard of it, and seat for Swedenborg, who described the particulars of the firewhere and how it had begun, in what manner it had ceased, and how long it had continued. On the Monday evening, two days after the fire, a messenger ar- rived from Gottenburg, who had been dispatched during the time of the fire, and the intelligence he brought confirmed all that S wedenborg had said as to its commencement: and on the follow- ing morning the royal courier arrived at the gov- ernors with full intelligence of the calamity, which did not differ in the least from the rela- tion which Swedenborg had given immediately after the fire had ceased on the Saturday even- ing. A circumstance has occurred while the writer was engaged in the preparation of this paper, which is of an equally curious character, to say the least of it. The lady who is the subject of it is a relation of the writer, and is no believer in the Mysteries of Mesmerism. It may be re- marked, however, that she is of a very sensitive and excitable nervous temperament. It happen- ed, that on the night of the 30th of April, a frightful accident occurred on the Birkenhead, Lancashire, and Cheshire Railway, in conse- quence of first one train, and then another, run- ning into the trains preceding. A frightful scene of tumult, mutilation, and death ensued. It happened that the husband of the lady in question was a passenger in the first train though she did not know that he intended to go to the Chester races, having been in Liverpool that day on other business. But she had scarce- ly fallen asleep, ere, half-dozing, half-awake, she saw the accident occurthe terror, the alarm, and the death. She walked up and down her chamber in terror and alarm the whole night, and imparted her fears to others in the morning. Her husband was not injured, though greatly shaken by the collision, and much alarmed; and when he returned home in the course of the fol- lowing day, he could scarcely believe his wife when she informed him of the circumstances which had been so mysteriously revealed to her in connection with his journey of the preceding day! Zschokke, an estimable man, well known as a philosopher, statesman, and author, possessed. according to his own and contemporary accounts. the most extraordinary power of divination of the characters and lives of other men with whom he came in contact. He called it his inward sight, and at first he was himself quite as much astonished at it as others were. Writing of this feature himself, he says: It has happened to me, sometimes, on my first meeting with stran HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gers, as I listened silently to their discourse, that their former life, with many trifling circumstances therewith connected, or frequently some particu- lar scene in that life, has passed quite involun- tarily, and, as it were, dream-like, yet perfectly distinct, before me. During this time, I usually feel so entirely absorbed in the contemplation of the stranger life, that at last I no longer see clearly the face of the unknown, wherein I un- designedly read, nor distinctly hear the voices of the speakers, which before served in some meas- ure as a commentary to the text of their features. For a long time I held such visions as delusions of the fancy, and the more so as they showed me even the dress and motions of the actors, rooms, furniture, and other accessories. By way of jest, I once, in a family circle at Kirchberg, re- lated the secret history of a seamstress who had just left the room anl the house. I had never seen her before in my life; people were aston- ished and laughed, but were not to be persuaded that I did not previously know the relations of which I spoke, for what I had uttered was the literal truth; I, on my part, was no less aston- ished that my dream-pictures were confirmed by the reality. I became more attentive to the sub- jc~ct, and when propriety admitted it, I would re- late to those whose life thus passed before me, the subject of my vision, that I might thereby ob- tain confirmation or refutation of it. It was in- variably ratified, not without consideration on their part. I myself had less confidence than any one in this mental jugglery. So often as I revealed my visionary gifts to any new person, I regularly expected to hear the answer: It was not so. I felt a secret shudder when my audit- ors replied that it was true, or when their as- tonishment betrayed my accuracy before they spoke. * Zschokke gives numerous instances of this extraordinary power of divination or wak- ing clairvoyance, and mentions other persons whom he met, who possessed the same marvel- ous power. The Posthumous Memoirs of La Harpe con- tain equally extraordinary revelations, lookingfor- ward, instead of backward, as in Zschokkes case, into the frightful events of the great French Rev- olution, the sightseer being Cazove, a well-known novel writer, who lived previous to the frightful outbreak. Mary Howitt, in her account of the extraordinary Preaching Epidemic of Sweden, recites circumstances of the same kind, equally wonderful; and the Rev. Mr. Sandy and Mr. Townshends books on mesmerism are full of similar marvels. Among the various statements, the grand point is, how much of them is true What are the facts of mesmerism To quote the great Bacon: He who hath not first, and before all, intimately explained the movements of the human mind, and therein most accurately distinguished the course of knowledge and the seats of error, shall find all things masked, and, as it were, enchanted; and, until he undo the chann, shall be unable to interpret. How few of us have yet arrived at this enviable position. * Autobiograph) of Zschokke, p. 119170. CLARA CORSINI.A TALE OF NAPLES. A YOUNG French traveler, named Ernest Le- roy, on arriving at Naples, found himself dur- ing the first few days quite confused by the mul- titude of his impressions. Now as it was in search of impressions that he had left his be- loved Paris, there was nothing, it should seem, very grievous in this; and yet in the midst of his excitement there occurred intervals of intolerable weariness of spiritmoments when he looked upon the Strada Toledo with disgust, wished himself any where but in San Carlos, sneered at Posilippo, pooh-poohed Vesuvius, and was gen erally skeptical as to the superiority of the Bay over the Bosphorus, which he had not seen. All this came to pass because he had set out on the principle of traveling in a hurry, or, as he ex- pressed it, making the most of his time. Every night before going to bed he made out and wrotE down a programme of next days dutiesassign ing so many hours to each sight, and so many minutes to each meal, but forgetting altogethex to allow himself any opportunity for repose or digestion. Thus he had come from Paris vid Milan, Flor- ence, and Rome, to Naplesthe whole in thb space of three weeks, during which, as will be easily imagined, he had visited an incredible num- ber of churches, galleries, temples, and ruins of every description. In order to profit as much as possible by his travels he had arranged before- hand five or six series of ideas, or meditations as he called them: one on the assistance afforded by the fine arts to the progress of civilization, another consisting of a string of sublime common- places on the fall of empires and the moral value of monumental history; and so on. Each of these meditations he endeavored to recall on ap- propriate occasions; and he never had leisure to reflect, that for any instruction he was deriving from what he saw he might as well have stopped at home. 1-lowever, having some imagination and talent, he frequently found himself carried away by thoughts born of the occasion, and so irresistibly, that once or twice he went through a whole gallery or church before he had done with the train of ideas suggested by some previous sight, and was only made aware that he had seen some unique painting or celebrated windows of stained-glass by the guide claiming payment for his trouble, and asking him to sign a testimonial doing justice to his civility and great store of val- uable informntion. It is only just to state that M. Ernest never failed to comply with either of these demands. When, however, as we have said, he had been two or three days in Naples, and had rushed over the ground generally traversed by tourists, our young traveler began to feel weary and disgusted. For some time he did not understand what wa. the matter, and upbraided himself with the lack of industry and decline of enthusiasm, which made him look forward with horror to the sum mons of Giacomo, his guide, to be up and doing. At length, however, during one sleepless night

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gers, as I listened silently to their discourse, that their former life, with many trifling circumstances therewith connected, or frequently some particu- lar scene in that life, has passed quite involun- tarily, and, as it were, dream-like, yet perfectly distinct, before me. During this time, I usually feel so entirely absorbed in the contemplation of the stranger life, that at last I no longer see clearly the face of the unknown, wherein I un- designedly read, nor distinctly hear the voices of the speakers, which before served in some meas- ure as a commentary to the text of their features. For a long time I held such visions as delusions of the fancy, and the more so as they showed me even the dress and motions of the actors, rooms, furniture, and other accessories. By way of jest, I once, in a family circle at Kirchberg, re- lated the secret history of a seamstress who had just left the room anl the house. I had never seen her before in my life; people were aston- ished and laughed, but were not to be persuaded that I did not previously know the relations of which I spoke, for what I had uttered was the literal truth; I, on my part, was no less aston- ished that my dream-pictures were confirmed by the reality. I became more attentive to the sub- jc~ct, and when propriety admitted it, I would re- late to those whose life thus passed before me, the subject of my vision, that I might thereby ob- tain confirmation or refutation of it. It was in- variably ratified, not without consideration on their part. I myself had less confidence than any one in this mental jugglery. So often as I revealed my visionary gifts to any new person, I regularly expected to hear the answer: It was not so. I felt a secret shudder when my audit- ors replied that it was true, or when their as- tonishment betrayed my accuracy before they spoke. * Zschokke gives numerous instances of this extraordinary power of divination or wak- ing clairvoyance, and mentions other persons whom he met, who possessed the same marvel- ous power. The Posthumous Memoirs of La Harpe con- tain equally extraordinary revelations, lookingfor- ward, instead of backward, as in Zschokkes case, into the frightful events of the great French Rev- olution, the sightseer being Cazove, a well-known novel writer, who lived previous to the frightful outbreak. Mary Howitt, in her account of the extraordinary Preaching Epidemic of Sweden, recites circumstances of the same kind, equally wonderful; and the Rev. Mr. Sandy and Mr. Townshends books on mesmerism are full of similar marvels. Among the various statements, the grand point is, how much of them is true What are the facts of mesmerism To quote the great Bacon: He who hath not first, and before all, intimately explained the movements of the human mind, and therein most accurately distinguished the course of knowledge and the seats of error, shall find all things masked, and, as it were, enchanted; and, until he undo the chann, shall be unable to interpret. How few of us have yet arrived at this enviable position. * Autobiograph) of Zschokke, p. 119170. CLARA CORSINI.A TALE OF NAPLES. A YOUNG French traveler, named Ernest Le- roy, on arriving at Naples, found himself dur- ing the first few days quite confused by the mul- titude of his impressions. Now as it was in search of impressions that he had left his be- loved Paris, there was nothing, it should seem, very grievous in this; and yet in the midst of his excitement there occurred intervals of intolerable weariness of spiritmoments when he looked upon the Strada Toledo with disgust, wished himself any where but in San Carlos, sneered at Posilippo, pooh-poohed Vesuvius, and was gen erally skeptical as to the superiority of the Bay over the Bosphorus, which he had not seen. All this came to pass because he had set out on the principle of traveling in a hurry, or, as he ex- pressed it, making the most of his time. Every night before going to bed he made out and wrotE down a programme of next days dutiesassign ing so many hours to each sight, and so many minutes to each meal, but forgetting altogethex to allow himself any opportunity for repose or digestion. Thus he had come from Paris vid Milan, Flor- ence, and Rome, to Naplesthe whole in thb space of three weeks, during which, as will be easily imagined, he had visited an incredible num- ber of churches, galleries, temples, and ruins of every description. In order to profit as much as possible by his travels he had arranged before- hand five or six series of ideas, or meditations as he called them: one on the assistance afforded by the fine arts to the progress of civilization, another consisting of a string of sublime common- places on the fall of empires and the moral value of monumental history; and so on. Each of these meditations he endeavored to recall on ap- propriate occasions; and he never had leisure to reflect, that for any instruction he was deriving from what he saw he might as well have stopped at home. 1-lowever, having some imagination and talent, he frequently found himself carried away by thoughts born of the occasion, and so irresistibly, that once or twice he went through a whole gallery or church before he had done with the train of ideas suggested by some previous sight, and was only made aware that he had seen some unique painting or celebrated windows of stained-glass by the guide claiming payment for his trouble, and asking him to sign a testimonial doing justice to his civility and great store of val- uable informntion. It is only just to state that M. Ernest never failed to comply with either of these demands. When, however, as we have said, he had been two or three days in Naples, and had rushed over the ground generally traversed by tourists, our young traveler began to feel weary and disgusted. For some time he did not understand what wa. the matter, and upbraided himself with the lack of industry and decline of enthusiasm, which made him look forward with horror to the sum mons of Giacomo, his guide, to be up and doing. At length, however, during one sleepless night CLARA CORSINI. 69 the truth flashed upon him, and in the morning, followed by an elderly serving-man in plair. livery, to his own surprise and delight, he mustered up carrying a couple of mass-books. They passed courage to dismiss Giacomo with a handsome him rather hurriedly, but not before he had time present, and to declare that that day at least he to set them down as mother and daughter, and to was resolved to see nothing. be struck with the great beauty and grace of the What a delightful stroll he took along the sea- latter. Indeed, so susceptible in that idle mood shore that morning with his eyes half-closed lest was he of new impressions, that before the young he might be tempted to look around for informa- lady had gone on more than twenty paces he de- tion! He went toward Portici, but he saw no- termined that he was in love with her, and by an thing except the sand and pebbles at his feet, and instinctive impulse rose to follow. At this mo- the white-headed surf that broke near at hand. ment the serving-man turned round, and threw For the first time since his departure from Paris a calm but inquisitive glance toward him. He he felt light-minded and at ease; and the only checked himself, and affected to look the other incident that occurred to disturb his equanimity way for a while, then prepared to carry out his was, when his eyes rested for half a second on original intention. To his great surprise, how- a broken pillar in a vine-garden, and he was ever, both ladies and follower had disappeared. obliged to make an effort to pass by without as- An ordinary man would have guessed at once certaining whether it was of Roman date. But that they had gone into one of the houses previ- this feat once accomplished, he threw up his cap ously supposed to be uninhabited, but M. Ernest for joy, shouted Victoire ! and really felt inde- Leroy must needs fancy, first, that he had seen a pendent. vision, and then that the objects of his interest He was much mistaken, however, if he sup- had been snatched away by some evil spirit. Me- posed it to be possible to remain long in the en- chanically, however, he hurried to the end of the joyment of that dolce far niente, the first savor of street, which he found terminated in an open which so captivated him. One day, two days piece of ground, which there had not been time passed, at the end of which he found that while for any one to traverse. At length the rational he had supposed himself to be doing nothing, he explanation of the matter occurred to him, and had in reality made the great and only discovery he felt for a moment inclined to knock at the door of his travelsnamely, that the new country in of the house that was in best preservation, and which he found himself was inhabited, and that, complain of what he persisted in considering a too, by people who, though not quite so different mysterious disappearance. However, not being from his countrymen as the savages of the South quite mad, he checked himself, and returning to Sea Islands, possessed yet a very marked char- his wooden bench, sat down, and endeavored to acter of their own, worthy of study and observa- be very miserable. tion. Thenceforward his journal began to be But this would have been out of character filled with notes on costume, manners, & c.; and Instead thereof he began to feel a new interest in three weeks, with wonderful modesty, after in life, and to look back with some contempt on combining the results of all his researches, he the two previous phases of his travels. With came to the conclusion that he understood no- youthful romance and French confidence he re- thing at all of the character of the Italians. solved to follow up this adventure, never doubt- In this humble state of mind he wandered ing for a moment of the possibility of ultimate forth one morning in the direction of the Castle success, nor of the excellence of the object of his of St. Elmo, to enjoy the cool breeze that came hopes. What means to adopt did not, it is true, wafting from the sea, and mingled with and tem- immediately suggest themselves; and he re- pered the early sunbeams as they streamed over mained sitting for more than an hour gazing at the eastern hills. Having reached a broad, silent the great silent house opposite, until the unpleas street, bordered only by a few houses and gar- ant consciousness that he had not breakfasted dens, he resolved not to extend his wmrk further, forced him to beat a retreat. but sat down on an old wooden bench under the We have not space to developluckily it is shade of a platane-tree that drooped over a lofty not necessaryall the wild imaginings that flut- wall. Here he remained some time watching tered through the brain of our susceptible traveler the few passengers that occasionally turned a on his return to his lodgings, and especially after distant corner and advanced toward him. He a nourishing breakfast had imparted to him new noticed that they all stopped at some one of the strength and vivacity. Under their influence he re houses further down the street, and that none paired again to his post on the old wooden l~ench reached as far as where he sat; which led him under the platane-tree, and even had the persever- first to observe that beyond his position were only ance to make a third visit in the evening; for two large houses, both apparently uninhabited, probably, because he expected the adventure to One, indeed, was quite ruinedmany of the win- drawl out to a considerable lengthlie did not dows were built up or covered with old boards; imitate the foolish fantasy of some lovers, and but the other showed fewer symptoms of decay, deprive himself of his regular meals. He saw and might be imagined to belong to some family nothing that day; but next morning he had the at that time absent in the country. inexpressible satisfaction of again beholding the He had just come to this very important con- two ladies approach, followed by their respecta- clusion when his attention was diverted by the ble-looking servant. They passed without cast- near approach of two ladies elegantly dressed, ing a glance toward him; but their attmdant this 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZIM. time not only turned round, but stopped, and gazed at him in a manner he would have thought impertinent on another occasion. For the mo- ment, however, this was precisely what he want- ed, and without thinking much of the conse- quences that might ensue, he hastily made a sign requesting an interview. The man only starcd the more, and then turning on his heel, gravely followed the two ladies, who had just arrived at the gateway of their house. I do not know what to make of that rascally valet, thought Ernest. He seems at once respectable and hypocritical. Probably my ap- pearance does not strike him as representing sufficient wealth, otherwise the hopes of a fair bribe would have induced him at any rate to come out and ask me what I meant. He was, of course, once more at his post in the afternoon; and this time he had the satisfac- tion of seeing the door open, and the elderly serving-man saunter slowly out, as if disposed to enjoy the air. First he stopped on the steps, cracking pistachio-nuts, and jerking the shells into the road with his thumb; then took two or three steps gently toward the other end of the street; and at last, just as Ernest was about ~o follow him, veered round and began to stroll quietly across the road, still cracking his nuts, in the direction of the old wooden bench. The villain has at length made up his mind, soliloquized our lover. He pretends to come out quite by accident, and will express great sur- prise when I accost him in the way I intend. The elderly serving-man still came on, seem- ingly not at all in a hurry to arrive, and gave am- ple time for an examination of his person. His face was handsome, though lined by age and care, and was adorned by a short grizzled beard. There was something very remarkable in the keenness of his large gray eyes, as there was indeed about his whole demeanor. His dress was a plain suit of black, that might have suited a gentleman; and if Ernest had been less occupied ~vith one idea he would not have failed to see in this respectable domestic a prince reduced by misfortune to live on wages, or a hero who had never had an opportunity of exhibiting his worth. When this interesting person had reached the corner of the bench he set himself down with a slight nod of apology or recognitionit was diffi- cult to say whichand went on eating his nuts quite unconcernedly. As often happens in such cases, Ernest felt rather puzzled how to enter up- on business, and was trying to muster up an ap- pearance of condescending familiaritysuitable, he thbught, to the occasionwhen the old man, very affably holding out his paper-bag that he might take some nuts, saved him the trouble by observing: You are a stranger, sir, I believe? Yes, my good fellow, was the reply of Er- nest, in academical Italian; and I have come to this county I thought so, interrupted the serving-man, persisting in his offer of nuts, but showing very little interest about Ernests views in visiting Italy by your behavior. My behavior ! exclaimed the young man, a little nettled. Precisely. But your quality of stranger has hitherto protected you from any disagreeable con- sequences. This was said so quietly, so amiably, that the warning or menace wrapped up in the words lost much of its bitter savor; yet our traveler could not refrain from a haughty glance toward this audacious domestic, on whom, however, it was lost, for he was deeply intent on his pistachios. After a moment Ernest recovered his self-pos- session, remembered his schemes, and drawing a little nearer the serving-man~ laid his hand con- fidentially on the sleeve of his coat, and said My good man, I have a word or two for your private ear. Not ezpressing the least surprise or interest, the other replied: I am ready to hear what you have to say, provided you will not call me any more your good man. I am no~a good man, nor am I your man, without offense be it spoken. My name is Alfonso. Well, Alfonso, you are an original person, and I will not call you a good man, though hon- esty and candor be written on your countenance. (Alfonso smiled, but said nothing). But listen to me attentively, remembering that though nei- ther am I a good man, yet am I a generous one. I passionately love your mistress. Ah ! said Alfonso, with any thing but a benevolent expression of countenance. Ernest, who was no physiognomist, noticed nothing; and being mounted on his new hobby-horse, pro- ceeded at once to give a history of his impres- sions since the previous morning. When he had concluded, the old man, who seemed all benev- olence again, simply observed: Then it is the younger of the two ladies that captivated your affections in this unaccountable manner. Of course, cried Ernest; and I beseech you, my amiable Alfonso, to put me in the way of declaring what I experience. You are an extraordinary young man, was the grave reply; an extraordinary, an impru- dent, and, I will add, a reckless person. You fall in love with a person of whom you know nothing not eve~ the name. This, however, is, I be- lieve, according to rule among a certain class ol minds. Not satisfied with this, you can find no better way of introducing yourself to her notice than endeavoring to corrupt one whom you must have divined to be a confidential servant. Oth- ers would have sought an introduction to the family; you dream at once of a clandestine in- tercourse I assure you interrupted Ernest, feeling both ashamed and indignant at these remarks proceeding from one so inferior in station. Assure me nothing, sir, as to your intentions, for you do not know them yourself I under. stand you perfectly, because I was once young and thoughtless like you. Now listen to me: in that house dwells the Ccntessa Corsini, with her daughter Clara; and if these two persons had no one to protect them but themselves and a foolish CLARA CORSINI. 71 old servitor, whom the first corner judges capa- ble of corruption, they would ere this have been much molested; but it happens that the Count Corsini is not dead, and inhabiteth with them, although seldom coming forth into the public streets. What say you, young man, does not this a little disturb your plans l In the first place, replied Ernest, I am of- ?ended that you will persist in implyingmore~ it is true, by your manner than your wordsthat my views are not perfectly avowable. Then why, in the name of Heaven, do you not make yourself known to the count, stating your object, and asking formally for his daugh- ters hand ~ Not so fast, Alfonso. It was necessary for me to learn, as a beginning, that there was a count in the case. And what do you know now Perhaps those women are two adventurers, and I a rascal play- ing a virtuous part, in order the better to deceive you ~ou do not look like a rascal, said Ernest, quite innocently. At which observation the old man c3ndescended to laugh heartily, and seemed from that moment to take quite a liking to his new acquaintance. After a little while, indeed, he began to give some information about the young Clara, who, he said, was only sixteen years of age, though quite a woman in appear- ance, and not unaccomplished. As to her dow- ryErnest interrupted him by saying, that he wished for no information on that point, being himself rich. The old man smiled amiably, and ended the conversation by requesting another in- terview next day at the same hour, by which time, he said, he might have some news to tell. Ernest returned home in high spirits, which sank by degrees, however, when he reflected that as Alfonso declined favoring any clandestine cor- respondence, there was little in reality to be ex- pected from him. True, he had given him some information, and he might now, by means of his letters of introduction, contrive to make acquaint- ance with the count. But though he spent the whole evening and next morning in making in- quiries, he could not meet with any one who had ever even heard of such a person. Possibly, he thought, the old sinner may have been laugh- ing at me all the time, and entered into conversa- tion simply with the object of getting up a story to divert the other domestics of the house. If such be the case, he may be sure I shall wreak vengeance upon him. In spite of these reflections, he was at his post at the hour appointed, and felt quite overjoyed when Alfonso made his appearance. The old man said that a plan had suggested itself by which he might be introduced into the house namely, that he should pretend to be a professor of drawing, and offer his services. Ernest did not inquire how Alfonso came to know that he was an amateur artist, but eagerly complied with the plan, and was instructed to call on the follow- ing morning, and to say that he had heard that a drawing-master was wanted. He went accordingly, not very boldly, it is true, and looking very much in reality like a poor pro- fessor anxious to obtain employment. The con- tessa, who was yet young and beautiful, received him politely, listened to his proposals, and made no difficulty in accepting them. The prelimin- aries arranged, Clam was called, and, to Ernests astonishment, came bouncing into the room like a great school-girl, looked him very hard in the face, and among the first things she said, asked him if he was not the man she had seen two mornings following sitting opposite the house on the bench under the platane tree. Now Ernest had imagined to himself some- thing so refined, so delicate, so fairy-like, instead of this plain reality, that he all at once began to feel disgusted, and to wish he had acted more prudently. And yet there was Clara, exactly as he had seen her, except that she had exchanged the demure, conventional step adopted by ladies in the street for the free motions of youth; and except that, instead of casting her eyes to the earth, or glancing at him sideways, she now look- ed toward him with a frank and free gaze, and spoke what came uppermost in her mind. Certes, most men would have chosen that moment to fall in love with so charming a creature; for charm- ing she was beyond all doubt, with large, rich, black eyes, pouting ruby lips, fine oval cheeks, and a mass of ebony hair; but Ernests first im- pression was disappointment, and he began to criticise both her and every thing by which she was surrounded. He saw at once that there was poverty in the house. The furniture was neat, but scanty; and the door had been opened by a female servant, who had evidently been disturbed from some do- mestic avocations. The contessa and her daugh- ter were dressed very plainlyfar differently from what they had been in the street; and it was an easy matter to see that this plainness was not adopted from choice but from necessity. Had Clara come into the room with a slow, creeping step, keeping her eyes modestly fixed on tho chipped marble floor, not one of these observ- ations would have been made: the large, dreary house would have been a palace in Ernests eyes; but his taste was a morbid one, and in five min- utes after he had begun to give his lesson, he began to fear that the conquest he had so ardent- ly desired would be only too easy. There was something, however, so cheerful and fascinating in Claras manner that he could not but soon learn to feel pleasure in her society; and when he went away he determined, instead of starting off for Sicily, as he had at first thought of doing, to pay at least one more visit to the house in the character of drawing master. Al- fonso joined him as he walked slowly homeward, and asked him how things had passed. He re- lated frankly his first impressions, to which the old man listened very attentively without making any remark. At parting, however, he shook his head, saying that young men were of all animals the most difficult to content. Next day, when Ernest went to give his le~ 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. son, he was told by Alfonso that the contessa, being indisposed, had remained in bed, but that he should find Clara in the garden. There was something r& mantic in the sound of this, so he hurried to the spot indicated, impatient to have the commoiiplace impressions of the previous day effaced. This time his disgust was complete. He found Clara eugaged in assisting the servant maid to wring and hang out some clothes they had just finished washing. She seemed not at all put out by being caught thus humbly em- ployed; but begging him to wait a little, finished her work, ran away, dressed somewhat carefully, and returning begged he would return to the house. He followed with cheeks burning with shame: he felt the utmost contempt for himself because he had fallen in love with this little house- wife, and the greatest indignation against her for having presumed, very innocently, to excite so poetical a sentiment; and, in the stupidity of his offended self-love, resolved to avenge himself by making some spiteful remark ere he escaped from a house into which he considered that he had been regularly entrapped. Accordingly, when she took the pencil in hand, he observed that probably she imagined that contact with soap-suds would im- prove the delicacy of her touch. Clara did not re- ply, but began to sketch in a manner that proved she had listened to the pedantic rules he had laid down on occasion of the previous lesson more from modesty than because she was in want of them. Then suddenly rising without attending to some cavil he thought it his duty to make, she went to the piano, and beginning to play, drew forth such ravishing notes, that Ernest, who was himself no contemptible musician, could not re- frain from applauding enthusiastically. She re- ceived his compliments with a slight shrug of the shoulders, and commenced a song that enabled her to display with full effect the capabilities of her magnificent voice. The soap-suds were for- gotten; and Ernests romance was coming back upon him: he began to chide himself for his fool- ish prejudices; and thought that, after all, with a little training, Clara might be made quite a lady. Suddenly, however, she broke off her song, and turning toward him with an ironical smile, said: Not bad for a housemaid, Mr. Professor is itV He attempted to excuse himself, but he was evidently judged; and, what was morenot as an obscure drawing-master, but as M. Ernest Leroy. His identity was evidently no secret; and she even called him by his name. He en- deavored in vain to make a fine speech to apolo- gize for his ill-behavior; but she interrupted him keenly, though good-humoredly, and the entrance of Alfonso was fatal to a fine scene of despair he was about to enact. Clara upon this retired with a profound salute; and Alfonso spoke with more of dignity than usual in his manner, and said: My young friend, you must excuse a little de- ception which has been practiced on you, or rather which you have practiced upon yourself. I am going to be very free and frank with you to-day. I am not what you take me for. I am the Count o orsini, a Roman; and because I have not the means of keeping a man-servant, when the women of my family go to church I follow them, as you saw. This is not unusual among my country- men. It is a foolish pride I know; but so it is. However, the matter interests you not. You saw my daughter Clara, and thought you loved her. I was willing, as on inquiry I found you to be a respectable person, to see how you could migree together; but your prideI managed and over- heard allhas destroyed your chance. My daugh- ter will seek another husband. There was a cold friendliness in Alfonsos tone which roused the pride of Ernest. He affected to laugh, called himself a foolish madcap, but hinted that a splendid marriage awaited him, if he chose, on his return to Paris; and went away endeavoring to look unconcerned. The follow- ing morning he was on board a vessel bound for Palermo, very sea-sick it is true, but thinking at the same time a great deal more of Clara than he could have thought possible had it been predicted. Some few years afterward Ernest Leroy was in one of the salons of the Fauxbourg St. Germain. Still a bachelor, he no longer felt those sudden emotions to which he had been subject in his ear- lier youth. He was beginning to talk less of sen- timents present and more of sentiments passed. In confidential moods he would lay his hand upon his waistcoatcurved out at its lower extremity, by the by, by a notable increase of substance and allude to a certain divine Clara who had illuminated a moment of his existence. But he was too discreet to enter into details. Well, being in that salon, as we have said, pretending to amuse himself, his attention was suddenly drawn by the announcement of Lady D. He turned round, probably to quiz la belle Anglaise he expected to behold. What was his astonishment on recognizing in the superb woman who leaned on the arm of a tall, military- looking Englishman, the identical Clara Corsini of his youthful memories. He felt at first sick at heart; but, taking courage, soon went up and spoke to her. She remembered him with some little difficulty, smiled, and holding out her ala- baster hand, said gently: Do you see any trace of the soap-sudsV She never imagined he had any feeling in him, and only knew the truth when a large, round tear fell on the diamond of her ring. Charles, said Ernest awhile afterward to a friend, it is stuffing hot and dreadfully stupid here. Let us go and have a game of billiards. OUR SCHOOL. av CHARLE5 DICKENS. WE went to look at it, only this last Midsum- mer, and found that the Railway had cut it up root and branch. A great trnnk-line had swal- lowed the play-ground, sliced away the setmool- room, and pared off the corner of the house: which, thus curtailed of its proportions, presented itself, in a green stage of stucco, profile-wise to- ward the road, like a forlorn flat-iron without a handle, standing on end. OUR SCHOOL. 73 It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. We have faint recollectiofis of a Preparatory Day-School, which we have sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a new street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a belief, that it was over a dyers shop. We know that you went up steps to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you gener- ally gct your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the mud off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the Establishment holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in an eternal entry, long and narrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal animosity toward us, who triumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a certain radiating way he had of snapping at our undefended legs, the ghastly grinning of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the insolence of his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of him with a fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name Fidde. He be- longed to some femitle, chiefly inhabiting a back- parlor, whose life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and in wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance cake upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been counted. To the best of our belief, we were once called in to witness this performance; when, unable, even in his milder moments, to endure our presence, he instantly made at us, cake and all. Why a something in mourning, called Miss Frost, should still connect itself with our pre- paratory school, we are unable to say. We re- tain no impression of the beauty of Miss Frost if she were beautiful; or of the mental fascinations of Miss Frostif she were accomplished; yet her name and her black dress hold an enduring place in our remembrance. An equally impersonal boy, whose name has long since shaped itself unalter- ably into Master Mawls, is not to be dislodged from our brain. Retaining no vindictive feeling toward Mawlsno feeling whatever, indeedwe infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost. Our first impression of Death and Burial is associated with this fonnless pair. We all three nestled awfully in a corner one wintry day, when the wind was blowing shrill, with Miss Frosts pinafore over our heads; and Miss Frost told us in a Whisper about somebody being screwed down. It is the only distinct recollection we preserve of these impalpable creatures, except a suspicion that the manners of Master Mawls were susceptible of much improvement. Generally speaking, we may observe that whenever we see a child intently occupied with its nose, to the ex- clusion of all other subjects of interest, our mind reverts in a flash to Master Mawls. But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and overthrew it, was quite an- other sort of place. We were old enough to be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get Prizes for a variety of polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It was a School of some celebrity in its neighborhoodnobody could have said whyand we had the honor to attain and hold the eminent position of first boy. The mas- ter was supposed among us to know nothing, and one of the ushers was supposed to know every thing. We are still inclined to think the first- named supposition perfectly correct. We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather trade, and had bought us meaning our Schoolof another proprietor, who was immensely learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we are not likely ever to know now. The only branches of education with which he showed the least acquaintance, were, ruling, and corporally punishing. He was always ruling ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or smiting the palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, or viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large hands, and caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever that this occupation was the principal solace of his exist- ence. A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, of course, derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic, goggle-eyed boy, with a big head and half-crowns without end, who suddenly appeared as a parlor-boarder, and was rumored to have come by sea from some mysterious part of the earth where his parents rolled in gold. He was usually called Mr. by the Chief, and was said to feed in the parlor on steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant wine. And he openly stated that if rolls and coffee were ever denied him at breakfast, he would write home to that unknown part of the globe from which he had come, and cause him- self to be recalled to thc regions of gold. He was put into no form or class, but learnt alone, as little as he likedand he liked very little and there was a belief among us that this was because he was too wealthy to be taken down. His special treatment, and our vague association of him with the sea, and with storms, and sharks, and coral reefs, occasioned the wildest legends to be circulated as his history. A tragedy in blank verse was written on the subjectif our memory does not deceive us, by the hand that now chronicles these recollectionsin which his father figured as a Pirate, and was shot for a voluminous catalogue of atrocities: first impart- ing to his wife the secret of the cave in which his wealth was stored, and from which his only sons half-crowns now issued. Dumbledon (the boys name) was represented as yet unborn, when his brave fathur met his fate; and the de spair and grief~of Mrs. Dumbledon at that ca lamity was movingly shadowed forth as having weakened the parlor-boarders mind. This pro- duction was received with great favor, and was twice performed with closed doors in the dining- room. But, it got wind, and was seized as libel- ous, and brought the unlucky poet into severe affliction. Some two years afterward, all of a sudden one day, Dumbledon vanished. h was 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. whispered that the Chief himself had taken him down to the Docks, and reshipped him for the Spanish Main; but nothing certain was ever known about his disappearance. At this hour, we can not thoroughly disconnect him from Cal- ifornia. Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. There was anothera heavy young nan, with a large double-cased silver watch, and a fat l~nife, the handle of which was a perfect tool-boxwho unaccountably appeared one day at a special desk of his own, erected close to that of the Chief, with whom he held familiar con- verse. He lived in the parlor, and went out for walks, and never took the least notice of us even of us, the first boyunless to give us a de- preciatory kick, or grimly to take our hat off and throw it away, when he encountered us out of doors: which unpleasant ceremony he always performed as he passednot even condescending to stop for the purpose. Some of us believed that the classical attainments of this phenomenon were terrific, but that his penmanship and arith- metic were defective, and he had come there to mend them; others, that he was going to set up a school, and had paid the Chief twenty-five pound down, for leave to see Our School at work. The gloomier spirits even said that he ~vas going to buy us; against which contingen- cy conspiracies were set on foot for a general defection and running away. However, he never did that. After staying for a quarter, during which period, though closely observed, he was never seen to do any thing but make pens out of quills, write small-hand in a secret portfolio, and punch the point of the sharpest blade in his knife into his desk, all over it, he, too, disappeared, and his place knew him no more. There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate complexion and rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought we found out (we have no idea now, and probably had none then, on what grounds, but it was confidentially revealed from mouth to mouth), was the son of a Viscount who had deserted his lovely mother. It was un- derstood that if he had his rights, he would be worth twenty thousand a year. And that if his mother ever met his father, she would shoot him with a silver pistol which she carried, always loaded to the muzzle, for that purpose. He was a very suggestive topic. So was a young Mu- latto, who was always believed (though very ami- able) to have a dagger about him somewhere. But, we think they were both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy who claimed to have been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to have only one birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a fictionbut he lived upon it all the time he was at Our School. The principal currency of Our School was slate-pencil. It had some inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never reduced to a standard. To have a great hoard of it, was some- how to be rich. We used to bestow it in charity, and confer it as a precious boon upon our chosen frierds. When the ~olidays were coming, con- tributions were solicited for certain boys whon relatives were in India, and who were appealed for under the generic name of Holiday-stop persappropriate marks of remembrance that should enliven and cheer them in their homeless state. Personally, we always contributed thess tokens of sympathy in the form of slate-pencil. and always felt that it would be a comfort and a treasure to them. Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, linnets, and even canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other strange refuges for birds; but white mice were the fa- vorite stock. The boys trained the mice, much better than the masters trained the boys. We recall one white mouse, who lived in the covei of a Latin dictionary, who ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned wheels, and even made a very creditable appear- ance on the stage as the Dog of Montargis. He might have achieved greater things, but for hav- ing the misfortune to mistake his way in a tri- umphal procession to the Capitol, when he fell into a deep inkstand, and was dyed black, and drowned. The mice were the occasion of some most ingenious engineering, in the construction of their houses and instruments of performance. The famous one belonged to a Company of pro. prietors, some of whom have since made Rail- roads, Engines, and Telegraphs; the chairman has erected mills and bridges in New Zealand. The usher at our school, who was considered to know every thing as opposed to the Chief who ~vas considered to know nothing, was a bony, gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty black. It was whispered that he was sweet upon one of Maxbys sisters (Maxby lived close by, and was a day pupil), and further that he fa- vored Maxby. As we remember, he taught Italian to Maxbys sisters on half-holidays. He once went to the play with them, and wore a white waistcoat and a rose: which was consid- ered among us equivalent to a declaration. We were of opinion on that occasion that to the last moment he expected Maxhys father to ask him to dinner at five oclock, and therefore neglected his own dinner at half-past one, and finally got none. We exaggerated in our imaginations the extent to which he punished Maxbys fathers cold meat at supper; and we agreed to believe that he was elevated with wine and water when he came home. But, we all liked him; for he had a good knowledge of boys, and would have made it a much better school if he had had mor.~ power. He was writing-master, mathematical. master, English master, made out the bills, mend- ed the pens, and did all sorts of things. He di- vided the little boys with the Latin master (they were smuggled through their rudimentary books, at odd times when there was nothing else to do), and he always called at parents houses to in quire after sick boys, because he had gentleman- ly manners. He was rather musical, and on some remote quarter-day had bought an old trom- bone; but a bit of it was lost, and it made the most extraordinary sounds when he sometimes tried A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. to play it of an evening. His holidays never be- gan (on account of the bills) until long after ours; but in the summer-vacations he used to take pe- destrian excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas-time he went to see his father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no author- ity) was a dairy-fed-pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxbys sisters wedding-day, and afterward was thought to favor Maxhy more than ever, though he had been ex- pected to spite him. He has been dead these twenty years. Poor fellow! Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a colorless, doubled-up, near- sighted man with a crutch, who was always cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always disclosing ends of flan- nel under all his garments, tnd almost always applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn; otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless teased into a pas- sion) with as little energy as coloras having been worried and tormented into monotonous feeblenessas having had the best part of his life ground out of him in a mill of boys. We remember with terror how he fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled class before him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread si- lence, and said, Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, sir ~ how he blushingly replied, Sir, rather so how the Chief retorted with severity, Mr. Blink- ins, this is no place to be ill in (which was very, very true), and walked back, solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, he caned that boy for inattention, and hap- pily expressed his feelings toward the Latin master through the medium of a substitute. There was a fat little dancing-master who use(1 to come in a gig, and taught the more ad- vanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplish- ment in great social demand in after-life); and there was a brisk little French master who used to come in the sunniest weather with a handle- less umbrella, and to whom the Chief was al- ways polite, because (as we believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the Chief in French, and forever confound him before the boys with his inability to understand or reply. There was, besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our retrospective glance pre- sents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an ingenicus inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, and mended all the broken windowsat the prime cost (as was darkly ru- mored among us) of ninepence for every square charged three-and-six to parents. We had a tiigh opinion of his mechanical genius, and gen erally held that the Chief knew something bad of him, and on pain of divulgence enforced Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil had a sovereign contempt for learning; which engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate observation of the rela tive positions of the Chief and the ushers. He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and, throughout the half kept the boxes in sevare custody. He was morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the toast, Success to Phil! Hooray ! he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain until we were all gone. Never- theless, one time when we had the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own accord, and was like a mother to them. There was another school not far off, and ot course our school could have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and the locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes. So fades and languishes, grews dim and (lies, All that this world is proud of, and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our School, and has done much bet- ter since in that way, and will do far better yet. A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. 1) OETS have complained in all countries and in a ages, that true love ever meets with ob- stacles and hindrances, and the highest efforts of their art have been exhausted in commemora- ting the sufferings or the triumphs of affection. Will the theme ever cease to interest Will the hopes, the fears, the joys, the vows of lovers, ever be deemed matters of light moment, unworthy to be embalmed and preserved in those immortal caskets which genius knows how to frame out of words If that dreary time be destined to comeif victory decide in favor of those mechan- ical philosophers who would drive sentiment out of the world~L.sad will be the lot of mortals; for it is better to die with a heart full of love, than live for an age without feeling one vibration of that divine passion. I am almost ashamed to translate into this level English, the sublime rhapsody with which the worthy Sheikh Ibrahim introduced the simple sto- ry about to be repeated. The truth is, I do not remember much of what he said, and at times he left me far behind, as he soared up through the cloudy heaven of his enthusiasm. I could only occasionally discern his meaning as it flashed along; but a solemn, rapturous murmur of inar- ticulate sounds swept over my soul, and prepared it to receive with devout faith and respect, what else might have appeared to me a silly tale of truth and constancy and passionate devotion. I forgot the thousand musquitoes that were whirl- ing with threatening buzz around; the bubbling of the water-pipe grew gradually less frequent, and at length died away; and the sitles of the kiosque overlooking the river, with its flitting

A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. to play it of an evening. His holidays never be- gan (on account of the bills) until long after ours; but in the summer-vacations he used to take pe- destrian excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas-time he went to see his father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no author- ity) was a dairy-fed-pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxbys sisters wedding-day, and afterward was thought to favor Maxhy more than ever, though he had been ex- pected to spite him. He has been dead these twenty years. Poor fellow! Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a colorless, doubled-up, near- sighted man with a crutch, who was always cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always disclosing ends of flan- nel under all his garments, tnd almost always applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn; otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless teased into a pas- sion) with as little energy as coloras having been worried and tormented into monotonous feeblenessas having had the best part of his life ground out of him in a mill of boys. We remember with terror how he fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled class before him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread si- lence, and said, Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, sir ~ how he blushingly replied, Sir, rather so how the Chief retorted with severity, Mr. Blink- ins, this is no place to be ill in (which was very, very true), and walked back, solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, he caned that boy for inattention, and hap- pily expressed his feelings toward the Latin master through the medium of a substitute. There was a fat little dancing-master who use(1 to come in a gig, and taught the more ad- vanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplish- ment in great social demand in after-life); and there was a brisk little French master who used to come in the sunniest weather with a handle- less umbrella, and to whom the Chief was al- ways polite, because (as we believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the Chief in French, and forever confound him before the boys with his inability to understand or reply. There was, besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our retrospective glance pre- sents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an ingenicus inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, and mended all the broken windowsat the prime cost (as was darkly ru- mored among us) of ninepence for every square charged three-and-six to parents. We had a tiigh opinion of his mechanical genius, and gen erally held that the Chief knew something bad of him, and on pain of divulgence enforced Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil had a sovereign contempt for learning; which engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate observation of the rela tive positions of the Chief and the ushers. He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and, throughout the half kept the boxes in sevare custody. He was morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the toast, Success to Phil! Hooray ! he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain until we were all gone. Never- theless, one time when we had the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own accord, and was like a mother to them. There was another school not far off, and ot course our school could have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and the locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes. So fades and languishes, grews dim and (lies, All that this world is proud of, and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our School, and has done much bet- ter since in that way, and will do far better yet. A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. 1) OETS have complained in all countries and in a ages, that true love ever meets with ob- stacles and hindrances, and the highest efforts of their art have been exhausted in commemora- ting the sufferings or the triumphs of affection. Will the theme ever cease to interest Will the hopes, the fears, the joys, the vows of lovers, ever be deemed matters of light moment, unworthy to be embalmed and preserved in those immortal caskets which genius knows how to frame out of words If that dreary time be destined to comeif victory decide in favor of those mechan- ical philosophers who would drive sentiment out of the world~L.sad will be the lot of mortals; for it is better to die with a heart full of love, than live for an age without feeling one vibration of that divine passion. I am almost ashamed to translate into this level English, the sublime rhapsody with which the worthy Sheikh Ibrahim introduced the simple sto- ry about to be repeated. The truth is, I do not remember much of what he said, and at times he left me far behind, as he soared up through the cloudy heaven of his enthusiasm. I could only occasionally discern his meaning as it flashed along; but a solemn, rapturous murmur of inar- ticulate sounds swept over my soul, and prepared it to receive with devout faith and respect, what else might have appeared to me a silly tale of truth and constancy and passionate devotion. I forgot the thousand musquitoes that were whirl- ing with threatening buzz around; the bubbling of the water-pipe grew gradually less frequent, and at length died away; and the sitles of the kiosque overlooking the river, with its flitting

A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. to play it of an evening. His holidays never be- gan (on account of the bills) until long after ours; but in the summer-vacations he used to take pe- destrian excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas-time he went to see his father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no author- ity) was a dairy-fed-pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxbys sisters wedding-day, and afterward was thought to favor Maxhy more than ever, though he had been ex- pected to spite him. He has been dead these twenty years. Poor fellow! Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a colorless, doubled-up, near- sighted man with a crutch, who was always cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always disclosing ends of flan- nel under all his garments, tnd almost always applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn; otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless teased into a pas- sion) with as little energy as coloras having been worried and tormented into monotonous feeblenessas having had the best part of his life ground out of him in a mill of boys. We remember with terror how he fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled class before him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread si- lence, and said, Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, sir ~ how he blushingly replied, Sir, rather so how the Chief retorted with severity, Mr. Blink- ins, this is no place to be ill in (which was very, very true), and walked back, solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, he caned that boy for inattention, and hap- pily expressed his feelings toward the Latin master through the medium of a substitute. There was a fat little dancing-master who use(1 to come in a gig, and taught the more ad- vanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplish- ment in great social demand in after-life); and there was a brisk little French master who used to come in the sunniest weather with a handle- less umbrella, and to whom the Chief was al- ways polite, because (as we believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the Chief in French, and forever confound him before the boys with his inability to understand or reply. There was, besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our retrospective glance pre- sents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an ingenicus inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, and mended all the broken windowsat the prime cost (as was darkly ru- mored among us) of ninepence for every square charged three-and-six to parents. We had a tiigh opinion of his mechanical genius, and gen erally held that the Chief knew something bad of him, and on pain of divulgence enforced Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil had a sovereign contempt for learning; which engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate observation of the rela tive positions of the Chief and the ushers. He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and, throughout the half kept the boxes in sevare custody. He was morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the toast, Success to Phil! Hooray ! he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain until we were all gone. Never- theless, one time when we had the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own accord, and was like a mother to them. There was another school not far off, and ot course our school could have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and the locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes. So fades and languishes, grews dim and (lies, All that this world is proud of, and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our School, and has done much bet- ter since in that way, and will do far better yet. A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. 1) OETS have complained in all countries and in a ages, that true love ever meets with ob- stacles and hindrances, and the highest efforts of their art have been exhausted in commemora- ting the sufferings or the triumphs of affection. Will the theme ever cease to interest Will the hopes, the fears, the joys, the vows of lovers, ever be deemed matters of light moment, unworthy to be embalmed and preserved in those immortal caskets which genius knows how to frame out of words If that dreary time be destined to comeif victory decide in favor of those mechan- ical philosophers who would drive sentiment out of the world~L.sad will be the lot of mortals; for it is better to die with a heart full of love, than live for an age without feeling one vibration of that divine passion. I am almost ashamed to translate into this level English, the sublime rhapsody with which the worthy Sheikh Ibrahim introduced the simple sto- ry about to be repeated. The truth is, I do not remember much of what he said, and at times he left me far behind, as he soared up through the cloudy heaven of his enthusiasm. I could only occasionally discern his meaning as it flashed along; but a solemn, rapturous murmur of inar- ticulate sounds swept over my soul, and prepared it to receive with devout faith and respect, what else might have appeared to me a silly tale of truth and constancy and passionate devotion. I forgot the thousand musquitoes that were whirl- ing with threatening buzz around; the bubbling of the water-pipe grew gradually less frequent, and at length died away; and the sitles of the kiosque overlooking the river, with its flitting HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sails and palm-fringed shores dimming in the stopped b.~fore a mansion fit for a prince, and Ga. twilight, seemed to open and throw back a long dallah entered along with thc owner. A spacious vista into the past. I listened, aid the Sheikh court, with fountains playing in the shade of two continued to speak: large sycamores, and surrounded by light colon I will relate the story of Gadallah, the son of nades, so struck the young sword-maker with as the sword-maker, and of Hosuch, the daughter tonishment, that he exclaimed: Blessed be God, of the merchant. It is handed down to us by whose creatures are permitted to rear palaces so tradition, and the fathers of some yet living, re- beautiful! These words caused the master to member to have heard it told by eye-witnesses. Not that any great weight of testimony is required to exact belief. No extraordinary incident befell the lovers; and the pure-hearted, when they hear these things, will say within themselves, This must be so; we would have done likewise. Gadallah was a youth of wonderful beauty; his like is only to be seen once in a long sum- mers day, by the favor of God. All Cairo spoke of him, and mothers envied his mother, and fa- thers his father; and maidens who beheld him grew faint with admiration, and loved as hope- lessly as if he had been the brightest star of heaven. For he did not incline to such thoughts, and had been taught to despise women, and to believe that they were all wicked and designing full of craft and falsehood. Such instructions had his mother given him, for she knew the snares that would beset so beautiful a youth, and feared for him, lest he might be led into danger and misfortune. Gadaliah worked with his father in the shop, and being a cunning artificer, assisted to support the family. He had many brothers and sisters, all younger than he; but there were times when money was scarce with them, and they were com- pelled to borrow for their daily expenses of their neighbors, and to trust to Providence for the means of repayment. Thus time passed, and they became neither richer nor poorer, as is the common lot of men who labor for their bread; but neither Gadallah nor his father repined. When Allah gave good fortune they bhissed him, and when no good fortune was bestowed, they blessed him for not taking away that which they had. They who spend their lives in industry and in praise of God, can not be unhappy. It came to pass one day, that a man richly dressed, riding on a mule, and followed by serv- ants, stopped opposite the shop, and calling to the father of Gadallah, said to him: 0 Sheikh, I have a sword, the hilt of which is broken, and I desire thee to come to my house and mend it; for it is of much value, and there is a word of power written on it, and I can not allow it to leave the shelter of my roof. The sword-ma- ker answered: 0 master, it will be better that my son should accompany thee; for he is young, and his eyes are sharp, and his hand is clever, while I am growing 01(1, and not fit for the finer work. The customer replied that it was well, 6nd having given Gadallah time to take his tools, rode slowly away, the youth following him at a modest distance. They proceeded to a distant quarter, where the streets were silent and the houses large and lofty, surrounded by gardens with tall trees that trem- bled overhead in the sur-light. At length they~ smile with benignity, for who is insensible to the praise of his own house? And he said: Young man, thou seest only a portion of that which ha been bestowed upon meextolled be the Lord and his Prophet; follow me. So they passed through halls of surprising magnificence, unti) they came to a lofty door, over which swept long crimson curtains, and which was guarded by a black slave with a sword in his hand. He lookeO at Gadallah with surprise when the master saio open, but obeying, admitted them to a spacious saloonmore splendid than any that had pre. ceded. Now Gadallah having never seen the interior of any house better than that of his neighbor the barber, who was a relation by the mothers side, and highly respected as a man of wealth and con- dition, was lost in amazement and wonder at all he beheld, not knowing that he was the most beautiful thing in that saloon, and scarcely ven- tured to walk, lest he might stain the polished marble or the costly carpets. His conductor, who was evidently a good man, from the delight he honestly showed at this artless tribute to his mag. nificence, took him to a small cabinet containing a chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl. This he opened, and producing a sword, the like of which never came from Damascus, bade him observe where the hilt was broken, and ordered him to mend it carefully. Then he left him, saying ht would return in an hour. Gadallah began his work with the intention of being very industrious; but he soon paused to admire at leisure the splendor of the saloon; when he had fed his eyes with this, he turned to a window that looked upon a garden, and saw that it was adorned with lovely trees, bright flow- ers, elegant kiosques, and running fountains. An aviary hard by was filled with singingbirds, which warbled the praises of the Creator. His mind soon became a wilderness of delight, in which leaf-laden branches waved, and roses, and anemones, and pinks, and fifty more of the bright daughters of spring, blushed and glittered; and melody wandered with hesitating steps, like a spirit seeking the coolest and sweetest place of rest. This was like an exquisite dream; but presently, straying in a path nigh at hand, lie beheld an unvailed maiden and her attendant - It was but for a moment she appeared, yet her image was so brightly thrown in upon his heart, that he loved her ever afterward with a love as unchangeable as the purity of the heavens. When she was gone, he sat himself down beside the broken sword and wept. The master of the house came back, and gent- ly chid him for his idleness. Go, said he, and return to-morrow at the same hour. Thou hast A STORY OF ORIENTAL LOVE. now sufficiently fed thine eyesgo; but remem- ber, envy me not the wealth w~iiich God hath bestowed. Gadallah went his way, having first ascertained from the servants, that his employer was the Arabian merchant Zen-ed-din, whose daughter Hosneh was said to surpass in beauty all the maidens of the land of Egypt. On reach- ing the house, he repaired to his mothers side, and sitting down, told her of all he had seen and all he felt, beseeching her to advise him and pre- dict good fortune to him. Fatoumeh, the mother of Gadallah, was a wise woman, and understood that his case was hope- less, unless his desires received accomplishment. But it seemed to her impossible that the son of the poor sword-maker should ever be acceptable to the daughter of the wealthy merchant. She wept plentifully at the prospect of misery that unfolded itself, and when her husband came in, he also wept; and all three mingled their tears together until a late hour of the night. Next day Gadallah went at the appointed hour to the merchants house, and being kindly re- ceived, finished the work set to him; but saw no more of the maiden who had disturbed his mind. Zen-ed-din paid him handsomely for his trouble, ~and added some words of good advice. This done, he gently dismissed him, promising he would re- ~all him shortly for other work; and the youth returned home despairing of all future happiness. The strength of his love was so great, that it shook him like a mighty fever, and he remained ill upon his couch that day, and the next, and the next, until he approached the margin of the grave; but his hour was not yet come, and he recovered. In the mean time, the Angel of Death received permission from the Almighty to smite thirty thousand of the inhabitants of Cairo; and he sent a great plague, that introduced sorrow into every house. It flew rapidly from quarter to quarter, and from street to street, smiting the chosen of the tombthe young, the old, the bad, the good, the rich, the poorhere, there, every where; in the palace, the hovel, the shop, the market-place, the deewan. All day and all night the shriek of sorrow resounded in the air; and the thoroughfares were filled with people follow- ing corpses to the cemetery. Many fled into other cities and other lands; but the plague followed those who were doomed, and struck them down by the wayside, or in the midst of their new friends. It happened that the merchant Zen-ed-din had gone upon a journey, and had left his house, and his harem, and his lovely daughter, under the care of Providence, so that when Gadallah re- covered, before the pestilence reached its height, he waited in vain in the shop, expecting that the merchant would pass, and invite him again to his house. At length the affliction of the city reached so great a degree of intensity, that all business was put a stop to, the bazaars were deserted, and nen waited beneath their own roofs the inevita- Me decrees of fate. Gadallah, who had confidence in God, spent Voi~ IV.No. 19.F part of his time walking in the streets; but every day went and sat on a stone bench opposite to Zen-ed-dins house, expecting to see some one come forth who might tell him that all were well within. But the doors remained closed, and not a sound ever proceeded from the interior of the vast mansion. At length, however, when he came at the usual hour, he perceived that the great entrance-gate was left half-open, and he mustered up courage to enter 1-Je found the Bawab dead on his bench, and two black slaves by the side of the fountain. His heart smote him with a presentiment of evil. He advanced into the inner halls without seeing a sign of life. Behind the great crimson curtains that swept over the doorway of the saloon where he had worked, lay the guardian with his sword still in his hand. He pressed forward, finding every place deserted. Raising his voice at length, he called aloud, and asked if any living thing re- mained within those walls. No reply came but the echo that sounded dismally along the roof; with a heart oppressed by fear, he entered what he knew to be the ladies private apartments; and here he found the attendant of Hosneh dy- ing. She looked amazed at beholding a stran- ger, and, at first, refused to reply to his questions. But, at length, in a faint voice, she said that the plague had entered the house the day before likc a raging lion, that many fell victims almost in- stantly, and that t