LLTTEJ~J2S LIVING AGE.No. 710.i JANUARY, 1858. From The Spectator. LIVINGSTONES TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA.* THIs long-looked for narrative of African travels and discovery will not disappoint ex- pectation. Greater skill ~in the arrangement of the three leading divisions of the work, so as to present the travels in three distinct parts like the acts of a drama, would have facilitated the readers grasp of the whole story at the outset; since there is in the first place the authors residence as a medical mis- sionary in the countrybeyond the Cape set- tlements, his exploration of the desert, his discovery of Lake Ngami and the Zambesi; secondly, his journey from the Zambesi (start- ing in about 180 South Latitude and 240 West longitude) to Loanda on the Atlantic and back ;i finally, a similar journey Eastward to the shores of the Indian Ocean. Greater practice in composition would often have transferred the general observations on geo- graphy, natural history, and native characfer, to the close of the respective sections, instead of intermixing them with the narrative. Oc- casionally, greater clearness might be desir- able as regards some scientific expositions. But, taken altogether, the book is original, attractive, and important, with an operating though not prominent judgment, which prev- ents the author from dwelling upon his early travels in the Cape colony or the explored regions beyond it. Enough of this is given, but no more than is needful to see the ex- perience and connections Dr. Livingstone acquired as a nciedical missionary and traveller in the country of the Bechuanas, Bushmen, and other wild tribes. Without the habits and knowledge of a dozen years, the traveller could not have subsequently made his way among strange and suspicious Negro tribes; without long training and acclimatization, he never could have, borne up against the labors, privations, and fever-laden atmosphere of the ~ Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa; including a Sketch of Sixteen Years Resi- dence in the Interior of Africa, and a Journey from the Cape of Good Hope to Lounda o the West Coast; thence across the Continent, down the River Zambesi, to the Eastern Ocean. By David Living- stone, Lb D U C L, & c. & c. With Portrait, Maps by Arrowsmith and numerous Illustrations. Publishe d by Murray. DCCX. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 1 many regions he had to pass through in effecting his djscoveries. In a literary point of view, he could not without ,so long a sojourn have infused so much of African at- mosphere as it were into his accounts of what he observea and did; a peculiarity which we have rarely noticed before in a traveller, never to so great an extent. The blaze - and bareness of the desertthe increasing rich- ness of vegetation and plentifulness of water as you advance towards the Equator, till rank grass, almost impenetrable forests, with inun- dations in the rainy season and swamps after- wards, give the traveller too much of those good thingsthe strange and Various ani- mantiaand more important still, the mental and moral character of the various peoples are all presented to the reader, not as some- thing surprising from a novice, but ~s matters that constitute quite the ordinary state of things. The difference between Dr. Living- stone and many other travellers, and not bach travellers either, is the difference of an old experienced guide, who has all at his fingers- ~nds, and a smart young valet-de-place, who -may do things with more method and talk with more fluency, but whose actual knowledge is not much deeper than the tour- ists own. The discoveries of Dr. Livingstone, as re- gards extent, exceed those of any modern land-traveller. If the reader will take up a common map of Africa, he will observe the~ Portuguese settlement of Loanda, on the Atlantic coast, in about 9 degrees of South~ latitude, and on the opposite side of t e con- tinent, the mouths of the Quilimane and Zambesi iivers, falling into the Mozawbique Channel nearly opposite the centre Madaga- scar. Throughout this range of ten degree of latitude and upwards of twenty of longi- tude, the examiner will find nothing but a few scratches to indicate imaginary rivers,. lakes, or mountains; for, except the Por- tuguese information respecting theirown set- - tlements at the two extremities of th~ long range of country, all rested upon vague report till Dr. Livingstone traversed the line and filled up the map, substituting certainty, for what before was blankness, with here and there a conjectural feature. LIVLNGS1~ONES TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. The ~exploration has led to discoveries greater in some sense than were even ex- pected. Instead of the great central desert where reported rivers lost themselves in the sand that speculative geographers have dreamed of, Dr. ILivingstone has traced a continuous and perennial river from about latitude ~ South and longitude 220 East, across the continent to the mouths of the Quilimane or more properly of the Zambesi. This water-course is not, like the Australian or South African rivers, a torrent at certain times and a succession of pools with a muddy or dry bed intervening for the remainder of the year. There is always plenty of water; and for five-sevenths of its distance it is navigable, so far as water is concerned, (for the impediments from rapids, cataracts, and sandbanks, are numerous,) for Thames steamers. Of course this body of water is not from a single river. On the contrary, as far as Dr. Livingstone could learn, and as he partly proved from the tributary streams he crossed in his way, the Leeba and the Zam- besi drain the larger portion of the continent of Africa over ten degrees of latitude and nearly double the number of longitude. This network of watercourses is one of the most remarkable in the world. Like the Nile and the Niger, it inundates the low flat lands dur- ing a portion of the year; but the tributary rivers seem more numerous than those which (so far as we know) contribute to the Niger and the Nileratl~r resembling the Missis- sippi and the mighty rivers of South Amer- ica. The reason why no suspicion of the magnitude of the Zambesi was entertained, appears to be the same as that which so long concealed the outlet of the Niger, the number of its mouths, and the sandbanks across them. EThe Zambesi has various names at different parts of its course, according to the language of the tribes; but the names all signify flowing water, and mean the river, or the great river.] Dr. Livingstone did not approach within nine degrees of the Equator, or do more than cross the upper waters of the Coango, and other rivers that fall into the Atlantic North and South of Loanda. His actual dis- coveries, the native information he collected and what is known froni other sources, will, however, enable the geographer to form a shrewd guess as to the interior of Africa from the Equator to the Cape settlements, or in- deed to the exploration-line of travellers from the North; which line stops short of the Equator by about the same distance as that of Dr. Livingstone. At either extremity of the continent we find a belt of land ex- tending roughly over eight degrees of latitude, capable of regular settlement and cultivat?on, as Algiers, with the other states along the Mediterranean, and our Cape colonies. This is followed in either case by a desert, only sparsely habitable from scarcity of water; the Northern Sahara seeming to have the advantage as regards men, but the Southern with respect to animals, for whose sustenance it is provided with a peculiar vegetation. Of the forty degrees of latitude which form the central part of Africa, we know that one-half (and there are reasonable grounds for in- ferring the same of the middle region) is distinguished by Tropical heat, Tropical rains, and Tropical vegetation. The rains that create the fertility form considerable rivers, most of which find their way to the ocean; some form inland lakes; a once widely-enter- tained theory Dr. Livingstone disputes alto- gether,he does not believe that any African river loses itself in sand. The inhabitants are Negroes, though varying in physiognomy and.color; and when let alone by ambitious and turbulent rival chieftains and uncorrupted by the slave-dealers, seem to lead a happy enough animal kind of life, in a vegetarian and often total abstinence mode of existence, though some tribes contrive to get intoxicated on a sort of beer or mead. With the natural communications of the country opened up, the soil tolerably cultivated, and regular gov- ernments established, the region could pro- duce commodities enough for a most enorm- ous foreign commerce, and food sufficient to stop the fears of the Malthusian for centuries to come. But we confess we are not s6 sanguine in an early expectation of this mil- lennium as some, and our author amongst them. South America possesses as great natural advantages, if not greater; and though her countries may have bad govern- ments, they have governiiients. So far as Dr. Livingstones discoveries bear upon African advancements, it must be observed that the doors of the country are kept by others; the Portuguese settlements of Loanda and Quilimane at the two ends of his route render any trade or even communication im- practicable excpt by the good-will of Por 2 LIVINGSTONE S TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. tugak This in the case of Dr. Livingstone was given kindly and lavishly; but there is a vast difference between a distinguished trav- eller, recommended by a British Secretary of State, and skippers and supercargoes, only anxious to turn a penny, and not very scrup- ulous as to how they c& mpass it. The great obstacles to African civilization and commerce are natural. Divided into a number of independent tribes at frequent foray with one another, there is no certainty; the smiling district of to-day may be a des- ert to-morrow, so far as man can make it so. An European might or might not be safe among them: Dr. Livingstones example proves little. He was widely known by re- putation; he thoro~ghly understood the na- tive character; and he was recon~mended by a powerful chieftain. What is of more im- portance, his friend Sekeletu, this powerful chief of Bechuana or desert descent, fur- nished him with a body~ of Mokololo atten- dants on his Westward journey to Loanda. When the Doctor returned and started on his Eastward journey, which towards~its close would lead him among unfriendly tribes, some of whom had lately been at war with the Portuguese, he was accompanied by upwards of a hundred followers. These men were analogous to the Arabs of the Northern Sa- haraold campaigners, who desired nothing better than an excuse to labor in their vo- cation. Here they are in presence of an ill- conditioned potentate. This morning at sunrise, a party of Mpendes people came close to our encamp- ment, uttering strange cries and waving some bright red substance towards us. They then lighted a fire with charms in it, and depart- ed, uttering the same hideous screams as be- fore. This was intended to render us pow- erless, and probably also to frighten us. Ever since dawn, parties of armed men have been seen collecting from all quarters, and numbers passed us while it was yet dark. Had we moved down the river at once, it would have been considered an indication of fear or defiance, and so would a retreat. I therefore resolved to wait, trusting in Him who has the hearts of all men in His hands. They evidently intended to attack us, for no friendly message was sent; and when three of the Batoka the night before entered the village to beg food, a man went round about each of them, making a noise like a lion. The villagers then called upon them to do homage; and when they complied, the chief ordered some chaff to be given them, as if it had been food. Other things also showed unmistakeable hostility. As we were now pret- ty certain of a skirmish, I ordered an ox to be slaughtered, as this is a means which Sebituane [the ~father of Sekeletu and a great warrior] employed for inspiring courage. I have no doubt that we should have been vic- torious; indeed, my men, who were far bet- ter acquainted with fighting than any of the l)eople on the Zambesi, were rejoicing in the prospect of securing cal)tives to carry the tusks for them. We shall now, said they, get both corn and clothes in plenty. They were in a sad state, poor fellows! for the rains we had encountered had made their skin-clothing drop off piecemeal, and they were looked upon with disgust by the well- fed and well-clothed Zambesians. They were, however, veterans in marauding; and the head men, instead of being depressed by fear, as the people of Mpende intended should be the case in using their charms, hinted broadly to me that I ought to allow them to keep Mpendes wives. The roasting of meat went o~ fast and furious; and some of the young men said to me, You have seen us with the elephants, but you dont know yet what we can do with men. I believe that had Mpende struck the first blow, he would soon have found out that he never made a greater mistake in his life. The greatest obstacle to improvement, however, is the climate. Except in a rather highland region laying towards the Portu- guese settlemeAt of Quilimane,to which Dr. Livingstone proposes to return and form a mission,the whole district is infested by fever, and even the hills may be. Numbers of the natives sink under it yearly; any man less acclimatized or with a less wonderful constitution than Dr. Livingstone must have sunk at the outset of his great expedition. Even on the verge of the aesert, before he reached the basin of the Zambesi, the signifi- cant name of fever-ponds indicates the state of things. He was frequently attacked afterwards before he reached Loanda; and this was the condition in which he travelled the latter portion of the way to the Portu- guese territory. We were most kindly received by the Commandant of Ambaca, Arsenio de Carpo; who spoke a little English. He recom- mended wine for my debility, and here I took the first glass of that beverage I had taken in Africa. I felt much refreshed, and could then realize and meditate on the weakening effects of the fever. They were curious even 3 4 LIVLNGSTONE S TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. / to myself; for, though I had tried several aided, no doubt, by the greater healthines~ times since we left Ngio to take lunar obser- of the district over which we passed, I en- vations, I could not avoid confusion of time joyed perfect health. - and distance, neither could I hold the instiu- This perfect health did not continue: on ment steady, nor perform a. simple calcu tion; hence many of the positions of this reaching Tete, the first Portuguese station, part of the route were left till my return he was laid up with fpver; and he caught an- from ILoanda. Often, on getting up in the other on his journey to Quilimane, as was to mornings, I found my clothing as wet from be exp.ected from the nature of the coast. perspiration as if it had been dipped in Indeed, the most wonderful thing about the water. In vain had I tried to learn or col- expedition is that the traveller survived to lect words of the Bunda or dialect spoken in tell it Angola. I forgot the days of the week and , the names of my companions, and, had I The village of Kilimane stands on a been asked, I probably could not have told great mud bank, and is surrounded by ex- my own. The complaint itself occupied tensive swamps and rice-grounds. The many of my thoughts. One day I supposed banks of the river are. lined with mangrove- that I had got the true theory of it, and bushes, the roots of which, and the slimy would certainly cure the next attack whether banks on which they grow, are alternately in myself or companions; but some new exposed to the tide and sun. The houses symptoms would appear, and scatter all the are well built of brick and lime; the latter fine speculations which had sprung up with from Mozambique. If one digs down two extraordinary fertility in one department of or three feet in any part of the site of the my brain. village, he comes to water: hence the walls On the Westward journey he was reckless, built on this mud bank gradually subside; but, gaining wisdom by experience, he made pieces are sometimes sawn off the doors be- low, because the walls in which they are himself comfortable when going Eastward, fixed have descended into the ground, so as accordino to African notions of comfort. to leave the floors higher than the bottom of n This was the first wetting we had got the doors. It is almost needless to say that since we left Sesheke, [Sekeletus capital, and Kilirnane is very unhealthy. A man of ple- the starting-rendezvous] for I had gained thoric temperament is sure to get fever; and some experience in travelling. In Loanda concerning a stout person, one may hear the we braved the rain; and as I despised being remark, Ah! he will not live long, he is carried in our frequent passage through run- sure to die. ning water, I was pretty constantly drenched A Hamburg vessel was lost near the bar but now, when we saw a storm coming, w~ before we came down. The men were much invariably halted. The men soon pulled more regular in their habits than English grass sufficient to make a little shelter for sailors, so I had an opportunity of observing themselves by placing it on a bush; and hay- the fever acting as a slow poison. They felt ing got my camp-stool and umbrella with out of sorts only, but gradually became a little grass under my feet, I kept myself pale, bloodless, and emaciated, then weaker perfectly dry. We also lighted large fires, and weaker, till at last they sank more like and. the men were not chilled by streams of oxen bitten by tsetse than any disease I ever water running down their persons, and ab- saw. The captain, a strong robust young stractiug the heat, as they would have been man, remained in perfect health for about had they been exposed to the rain. When three months, but was at last knocked down it was over, they warmed themselves by the suddenly and made as helpless as a child, by fires, and we travelled on comfortably. The this terrible disease. He had imbibed a effect of this care was, that we had much less foolish prejudice against qi~inine, our sheet- sickness than with a smaller party in journey- anchor in the complaint. This is rather a ing to Loanda. Another improvement made professional subject, but I introduce it here from my experience was avoiding an entire in order to protest against the prejudice as change of diet. In going to Loanda, I took almost entirely unfounded. Quinine is in- little or no European food, in order not to valuable in fever, and never produces any burden my men and make them lose spirit, unpleasant effects in any stage of the disease, but trusted entirely to what minht be got by if exhibited in combination with an aperi- the gun and the liberality of the Balonda; ent. The captain was saved by it, without but on this journey I took some flour which his knowledge; and I was thankful that the had been left ia the waggod with some got mode of treatment so efficacious among na- on the $sland, and baked my own bread all tives promised so fair among Europeans. the way in an extemporaneous oven made Although discovery, and discovery of a by an inverted pot. With these precautions new and most extensive kind, is the feature LLVINGSTONE S TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. of the book, still there are many other things in it of an interesting nature, reg4rding na- tive traits, the habits and characteristics of wild animals, and the peculiarities of insects and vegetation. Here are a few gatherings. Queenly Difficulties. I found Sekeletu a young man of eighteen years of age, of that dark-yellow or coffee-and-milk color, of which the Makololo are so proud, because it distinguishes them considerably from the black tribes on the rivers. He is about five feet seven in height, and neither so good- looking nor of so much ability as his father was, but isequally friendly to the. English. Sebituane installed his daughter Mamochi- sine into the chieftainship long before hi~ death; but, with all his acuteness, the idea of her having a husband who should not be her lord did not seem to enter his mind. He wished to make her his successor, probably in imitation of some of the Negro tribes with whom he had come into contact; but, being of the Bechuana race, he could not look upon the husband except as the womans lord, so he told her all the men were hers, she might take any one, but ought to keep none. In fact, he thought she might do with the men what he could do with the women. But these men had other wives; and, according to a saying in the country, the tongues of women cafinot be governed, they made her miserable by their remarks. One man whom she chose was even called her wife, and her son the child of Mamochis~nes wife; but the arrangement was so distasteful to Mamo- chisi~ine herself, that, as soon as Sebituane died, she said she never would consent to govern the Makololo so long as she had a brother living. Sekeletu, being afraid of an- other member of the family, Mp~pe, who had pretensions to the chieftainship, urged his sister strongly to remain as she had al- ways been, and allow him to support her au- thority by leading the Makololo when they went forth to war. Three days were spent in public discussion on the point. Mp~pe insinuated that Sekeletu was not the lawftml son of Sebituane, on account of his mother having been the wife of another chief before her marriage with Sebituane. Mamochis~ne however, upheld Sekeletus claims, and at last stood up in the assembly and addressed, him with a womanly gush of tears: I have, been a chief only because my father wished it. I always would have preferred to be mar- ried and have a family like other women. You, Sekeletu, must be chief and build up your fathers house. Reading, Money, and Ztlacliinery. I proposed to teach the Makololo to read; but, for the reasons mentioned, Sekeletu at first declined: after some weeks, however, Motibe, his father-in-law, and some others determined to brave the niysterious book. To nil who have not acquired it, the knowledge of letters is quite unfathomable; there is nought like it within the compass of their observation; and we have nb comparison with any thing except pictures, to aki them in comprehend- ing the idea of signs of words. It seems to them sul)ernatural that we see in a book things taking place or having occurred at a distance. No amount of explanation con- veys, the idea unless they learn to read. Machinery is equally inexplicable, and money nearly as much so until they see it in actual use. They are familiar with barter alone; and in the centre of the country, where gold is totally unknown, if a button and sovereign were left to their choice, they ~vould prefer the former on account of its having an eye. In beginning to learn, Motibe seemed to himself in the position of the doctor who was obliged to drink his potion before the patient, to show that it contained nothing detrimental: after he had mastered the al- phabet, and reported the thing so far safe, Sekeletu and his young companions came forward to try for themselves. He must have resolved to watch the effects of the book against his views on polygamy, and abstain whenever he perceived any tendency, in read- ing it, towards enforcing him to put his wives away. A number of men learned the alpha- bet in a short time, and wore set to teach others. HeatAenism.~ I had been, during a nine weeks tour, in closer contact with heathenism than I had ever been before; and though all, including the chief, were as kind and at- tentive to me as possible, and there was no want of food, (oxen being slaughtered dally, sometimes ten at a time, more than sufficient for the wants of all,) yet to endure the danc- ing, roaring, and singing, the jesting, anec- dotes, grumbling, quarrelling, and mnrdering of these children of nature, seemed more like a severe penance than any thing I had before met with in the course of my mission- ary duties. I took thence a more intense disgust at heathenism than I had before, and formed a greatly elevated opinion of the latent effects of amissions in the South, among tribes which are reported to have been a~ savage as the Makololo. The indirect bene- fits, which to a casual observer lie beneath the surface and are inappreciable, ~ reference to the probable wide diff~msion of Christianity at some future time are worth all the money and labor that have been expended to pro- duce them. The LookiI7~y-gtass. The women have somewhat the same ideas with ourselves of what constitutes comeliness. They came frequently and asked for the looking-glass; LIVINGSTONE S TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. and the remarks they madewhile I was en- gaged in reading, and apparently not attend- ing to thcmon first seeing themselves therein, was amusingly ridiculous. Is that me? What abig mouth I have! My ears are as big as pumpkin-leaves. I have no chin at all. Or, I would have been pretty, hut am spoiled by these high cheek- bones. See how my head shoots up in the middle ! laughing vociferously all the time at their own jokes. They readily perceive any defect in each other, and give nicknames accordingly. One man came along to have a quiet gate at his own features once, when he thought I was asleep: after twisting his mouth about in various directions, he remarked to himself, People say I am ugly, and how very ugly I am indeed! Thus far the ~extracts relate to Sekeletu and his yellow-colored people, among whQm the Doctor resided during the latter part of his stay in Africa. The following mostly refer to his Tropical journeyings. Travels of Manufactures. When cross- ing at the confluence of the ILeeba and Ma- kondo, one of my men picked up a bit of a steel watch-chain of English manufacture, and we were informed that this was the spot where the Mambari cross in coming to Mas- iko. Their visits explain why Sekelenke kept his tusks so carefully. These Mambari are very enterprising merchants; when they mean to trade with a town, they deliberately begin the affair by building huts, as if they knew that little business could be transacted without a liberal allowance of time for pa- laver. They bring Manchester goods into the heart of Africa; these cotton prints look so wonderful that the Makololo could not be- lieve them to be the work of mortal hands. On questioning the Mambari, they were an- swered that English manufactures came out of the sea, and beads were gathered on its shore. To Africans our cotton-mills are fairy dreams. How can the irons spin, weave, and print so beautifully? Our coun- try is like what Taprobane was to our ances- torsa strange realm of light, whence came the diamond, muslin, and peacocks: an at- ~empt at explanation of our manufactures usually elicits the expression, Truly, ye are gods! Feeling towards Water. There was con- siderable pleasure,in spite of rain and fever, in this new scenery. The deep gloom con- trasted strongly with the shadeless glare of the IKalahari, which had left an indelible im pression on my memory. Though drenched clay by day at this time, and for months af- terwards, it was long before I could believe that we were getting too much of a good thing. Nor could I look at water being thrown away, without a slight quick impres- sion flitting across my mind that we were guilty of wasting it. The Gallanty Show. Shinte was most anxious to see the pictures of the magic lan- tern; but fever had so weakening an effect, and I had such violent action of the heart, with buzzing in the ears, that I could not go for several days; when I did go for the pur- pose, he had his principal men and the same crowd of coort beauties near him as at the reception. The first picture exhibited was Abraham about to slaughter his son Isaac; it was shown as large as life, and the uplifted knife was in the actof striking the lad: the Balonda men remarked that the picture was much more like ~ god than the things of wood or clay they worshipped.. I explained that this man was the first of a race to whom God had given the Bible we now held, and that among his children our Saviour ap- peared. The ladies listened With silent awe; but, when I moved the slide, the uplifted dagger moving towards them,. they thought it was to be sheathed in their bodies instead of Isaacs. Mother! mother! all shouted at once; and off they rushed helter-skelter, tumbling pell-mell over each other, and over the little idol-huts and tobacco bushes; we could not get one of them back again. Shinte, however, sat bravely through the whole, and afterwards exafi~ined the instru- ment with interest. An explanation was al- ways added after each time of showing its powers, so that no one should imagine there was aught supernatural in it; and had Mr. Murray, who kindly brought it from Eng- land, seen its popularity among both Mako- lob and Biilonda, he would have been grati- fied with the direction his generosity then took. It was the only mode of instruction I was ever pressed to repeat. The people came long distances for the express purpose of seeing the objects and hearing the expla- natiQns. The Sea. As we were now drawing near to the sea, my [Makololo] companions were looking at every thing in a serious light. One of them asked me if we should all have an opportunity of watching each other at Lo- anda. Suppose one went for water, would the others see if he were kidnapped? I replied, I see what you are driving at; and if you suspect me, you may return, for I am as ignorant of Loanda as you are: but notli- ing will happen to you but what happens to myself. We have stood by each other hith- erto, and will do so to the last. The plains adjacent to ILoanda are somewhat elevated and comparatively sterile. On coming across these we first beheld the sea. My compari 6 7 b LIVINGSTONE S TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. ions looked upon the boundless ocean with awe. On describing their feelings after- wards, they remarked that we marched along with our father, believing that what the ancients had always told us was true, that the world has no end; hut all at once the world said to us, I am finished; there is no more of me! They had always imagined that the world was one extended plain with- out limit. The Makololo at Loanda. every on~e remarked the serious deportment of the Ma- kololo. They viewed the large stone houses and churches in the vicinity of the great ocean with awe. A house with two stories was, until now, beyond their comprehension. In explanation of this strange thing, I had always been obliged to use the word for hut; and as huts are constructed by the poles being let into the earth, they never could comprehend how the poles of one hut could be founded upon~ the roof of another, or how men could live in the upper story, with the conical roof of the lower one in the middle. Some Makololo who had visite& my little house at Kolobeng, in trying to describe it to their countrymen at Lynanti, said, It is not a hut; it is a mountain with several caves in it: Commander Bedingfeld and Captain Skene invited them to visit tWeir vessels, the Pluto and Philomel. Knowing, their fears, I told them that no one need go if he enter- tained the least suspicion of foul play. Nearly the whole party went; and when on deck, I pointed to the sailors, and said, Now these are all my countrymen; sent by our Queen for the purpose of putting down the trade of those that buy and sell Black men. They xeplied, Truly, they are just like you ; and all their fears seemed to vanish at once, for they went forward amongst the men, and the jolly tars, acting much as the Makololo would have done in similar circumstances, ha~ded them a share of the bread and beef which they had for dinner. The commander allowed them to fire off a cannon; and hav- ing the most exalted ideas of its power, they were greatly pleased when I told them, That is what they put down the slave trade with. The size of the brig-of-war amazed them. It is not a canoe at all; it is a town. The sailors deck they named the Kotla; and then, as a climax to their description of this great ark, added, and, what s6rt of a town is it that you must climb up into with a rope? The effect of the politeness of the officers and men on their minds was most beneficial. They had behaved with the greatest kindness to me all the way from Linyanti; and I now rose rapidly in their estimation, for whatever they may have surmised before, they now saw that I was respected among my own countrymen, and always afterwards treated me with the greatest deference.~~ By the advice of some judicious friends, Dr. Livingstone prefixes an autobiographical sketch to the narrative of his discoveries. This is not only interesting as another ex- ample of the pursuit of knowlqdge under difficulties~ but as showing the manner in which the qualities necessary to an explorer were acquired. His father was a peasant of the Hebrides, who subsequently worked at Blantyre Works (a cotton manufactory); in which the future traveller was also employed as soon as his labor could be turned to ac- count. A less advantageous position for study could not well be; but young Living- stone worked by day, and improved the learning~ acquired at a common school by night. As years and wages advanced, and the idea of becoming a medical missionary grew in his mind, the. strange spectacle was seen of a youthful artisail supporting himself by the - labor of his hands while lie attended Glasgow University. When sufficiently qual- ified, he became attached to a missionary in- stitution, and finally ivent out to the Cape; qualified beyond most men, as the result proved, for the toil and privations of an Afri- can career, by the labors and thrift of his previous life, and be it also said, by a most wonderful constitution. SU~IMAEY REMOVAL OF A NATIVE Nm- offer to rent the same. All his endeavors will SANcE. Should he find, on taking possession prove abortive. The most effectual, safest, casi- of his residence, that there exists ~ny nuisances est, and most economical plao will be to pur- next to or in the immediate vicinity of his com- chase a small pi~, price 5 rupees or lOs., ii ave a pound, such as a small hut on the ground ad- hole made in the hut, either at the side or back, joining, in the front or rear of the premises and send the unclean animal into the premises; which he occupies, it will be perfectl~ useless at the appearance or sound of which the whole for him to call the Sepoy, (policemen,) attempt of the inmates will abandon it instanter. to complain to the owner of the property or to Bredshaws Overland Guide to India. 8 Part of an Article in The New Quarterly Review. CARRUTHERS LIFE OF POPE. MR CARLYLE showed the way by his charming studies of Burns, Heyne, Diderot, and others; and Lives, more or less re- spectable, of emiaen4 authors appear now, at no unreasonably long intervals. To these, the work before us by Mr. Carruthers a gentleman whom we recently mentioned, in our article on Horace Walpole, as one of the best of those who are engaged in bring- ing into a new career of popularity the eigh- teenth-century-men, is a very welcome addi- tion. He is an old studeat of our belles lettres, distinguished by a calm Scotch com- mon-sense, which, refined by constant com- munion with letters, has issued, at last, as taste of a very pure order. His style is singularly easy and unpretendingplain but attractive, like the dress of a pretty Quaker and the natural exponent, accordingly, of an impartial and yet kindly judgment. So much for the general character of his book, on the details of which we may have a word oi two to say as we go along. A good Life of Pope was wanted in our literature, and there will be revelations prob- ably by-and-by, which will enable Mr. Carru- thers to enrich the present one. About Pope himself there wasr a certain secretive- ness and love of mystery, which made it diffi- cult for those who knew him best to know his history fully. Accordingly, information handed down about him on what might justly be thought good authority, has turned out in modern tintes to be unsatisfactory. The first desideratum in a biographer, there- fore, is criticism. This Mr. Carruthers pos- sesses; and he has applied it to all the latest material, gathered by himself and others, with sharp industry. For Pope is, by this time, an object of antiquarian investiga- tionand when a man reaches that epoch, a great deal is grubbed out concerning him, which was unknown to the generation that came close on ~his heels. The facts, for ~in- stance, about Popes fathers positionhis early life and educationhis fricixis, the Blounts and Caryllsthe literary history of his letteys, & c.are better known at this moment to Mr. Carruthers and the Popian critic of the Athenteum, than they were we do not say to Bowles or IDr. Johnson but even to Warburton or Spenc~e. And hence no biographies of him are necessary, CAILRUTHERS LIFE OF POPE. not only from the accumulation of matter, but because that matter is of a kind which. helps us to understand his genius and char- acter. This, of course, is the ultimate valu~ of all biography, and justifies the minute labor which the vulgar are apt to deride as frivolous and misplaced. We thank Mr. Carruthers, then, for the amount of minute information in this book; and with the help of it, shall. now proceed to discuss a few of the Popian questions, of most general inter- est, to which it has once more recalled our attention. And these shall, as becomes the occasion, be points biographic. Was Alexander Pope, on the whole, of a fine and noble character i~ To this, we reply without hesitationrYEs! Trickeries of his littlenessesmeannesses (if we mu~st use the word), are unquestionably parts of his life which nobody can wash away, and which (as antiquarian investigations proceed) come out more and more. In rubbing off the varn- ish from h~s portrait we see these spots mora clearly than ever. And the tricky element in himbe it remarkedwas not an occa- sional affair, for it pervaded his whole life, and exercised itself deliberately. But, then, Pope was not a healthy man, and a solitary boyhood, and a sedentary life, and the fact of his being a Papist in the day of Penal Laws, were all against his development, and tended to fix in a morbid egotism that queer, sensi- tive, intellectual nature, which at once took the noblest pleasure in Art, and the smallest possible pleasure in stratagem. A fine thin natureleaping up naturally (like a tongue of flame) at the true and the good when in its best activityis yet apt to be little in its more ordinary moments. Pope had small faultsas he had weak legs. But, then~ he had a generous soulas he bad a fine intel- lect. It makes all the difference, whether a man is a great man with some blemishes, o~ only a bad man of extraordinary gifts. Now, not even Lord Macaulay (with all his zeal for the Whig Addison) would venture to say that Pope was a bad man. His natural ten- dency was to the sublime and to the beauti- fulhe had profound affectionshe loved virtuehe valued friendship; there was a spontaneous admiration for what was fine about him from the first. These are great qualitiesand, on the whole, it was these that inspired the leading actions of his life. There might be flaws in the stuff he was CARRUTHERS LIFE OF POPE. made of, but the stuff itself was of a rare kind. Marble, with a bad vein or two, is a greater thing than the most wholesome whin- stone. One of the points of character most assailed in Pope has been his vindictive- ness. Macaulay is very severe upon his lampoonsthe occasion being his famous quarrel with Addison. The great Blackstone himself (see the Biographia Britannica, art. Addison, note 10) wrote a paper on this quarrel to defend Addisons side, and it is an interesting subject undoubtedly. Addison was a good man, and, what is more, was a good man on principle and from piety, as well as from mere richness of na- ture. There is so much amiability in his writings, that he has been as much loved by posterity as he was by his contemporaries. Then his reputation is of so respectable a character, that the world is willing to believe him altogether in the right as against the bitter little man, whose penchant for satire was as unquestionable as.. his unrivalled skill at it. But in this quarrel, as in all quar- rels perhaps, there were ugly-looking things on both sides. When Pope first began to be famous, Addi- son was already an established man. He was sixteen years Popes senior; he had been for some years on the winning side in poli- tics, and of the first rank in letters; and, as he could afford to be generous, so it was his duty also to encourage the merit of one who had attained such remarkable merit under circumstances so disadvantageous. Their acquaintance began, and continued for some time, very auspiciously. Pope addressed Ad- dison with the respect due from a rising man to an established one. Addison praised Pope in the Spectator (Oct. 1712). Pope wrote the prologue to Cato for Addison (1713). But now came a hitch. When Dennis furiously assailed that tragedy, Pope came forward to revenge both Addison and himself on the old bruiser, and did so in the Narrative of the Frenzy ~c.; this is not in his best mannerbut they were not squeam- ish in those days, (unlike our present breed, who abuse each other only in private)and there was nothing outrageous in publishing a somewhat coarse squib. Some years after, Mr. Addison himself did not think it be- neath him to ridicule the poverty of the ?retender(for which he has been justly rebuked by loyal old Johnson)and why should he be so mightily hurt at Popes handling Dennis roughly, sturdy Dennis, who had about as much delicacy as the Tipton Slasher? He wrote off, through Steele, to Dennis, vid Lintot, repudiating Popes pam- phlet in aid of himself. It looked remarka- bly like propitiating an unscrupulous enemy at the expense of a friend. Mr. Carrutb.ers observes well: Though not printed till sixteen years after it was written, Steeles letter would ia all probability be shown to Pope by Lintot, and must have irritated and offended him in no small degree. He had only four months before contributed his prologue to Addisons Cato, he had enriched the Spectator with his poem of the Mes~iah, had assisied Steele by writing several papers in the Guardian, and now had employed his pen in reply to Den- nis criticism~a reply which must be charac- terized as friendly, whatever was the value o~ the performance. Under these circum- stances, for Addison so officiously to disclaim all sympathy with the manner in which Pope treated Dennis, and to forget the obligation conferred on him so recently by the younger poet, in writing for his play the finest pro- logue in the language, implies ingratitude, or, at least, cold superciliousness, on the part of him whom all the world commended. It was at once insulting Pope and affording Dennis. a triumph at the expense of a man of genius, who had come forward, if not in defence of Addison, at least in ridicule of Addisons unfair and malignant critic. Mr. Macaulays abuse of the execution of this prose squib of Popes, is nihil ad rem. If it had been down to the level of the Rey- noldses of our day, it was a thing done in the cause ~of Addison, by a man whose position by this time amply entitled him to decide on its propriety himself. There was no immediate or visible coolness, however, as yet; they did each other public civilities, though rumors came to Pope that Addisons toadies at Buttons were in the habit of abusing him. Now, Addisons greatest admirers do not deny that he had a little of that human weakness found even in saintswhich makes a man jealous of rivals, and apt to be spoiled by the flat- tery of his own clique. They drank hard at Buttonsand in the geniality of wine their hearts would warm to each other; and the retainers of Addisons court could not be very lenient to the crooked little Papist who 9 CARRUTITERS LIFE OF POPE. could not take his liquor, and who set him- self up on a level with the great est name of the age. It is, indeed, a mark of a small mind, and generally of an upstart, to sur- round himself with inferior people habitually. But the second-rate men of Addisons set were of the stamp of the first-rate men of our time; gentlemen by birth, i~nd education too, whose praise (unlike that of the common clumsy sycophants of to-day) was a match in its rich flavor f& r Lord Whartons or Lord Halifaxs Burgundy. And Pope was getting too great. The time was gone when he could be patronized with much appearance of kind- ness. He was becoming a power. Now, a man who is kind enough to help on a rising man, may not have the angelic kindness that fairly and frankly admits an equal in a risen one. There is a certain stage in a mans rise, just before he is attaining the highest plat- form, when his best friends, and his very kin, all but a few, are inclined to think that he has got enough. We appeal to the middle classes. Your cousin Tom is an exceedingly clever fellow; you hail his advance for his own sake, and it is not disagreeable to you, either, to share in the lustre of his fame. But when Tom stands for the county, the case becomes serious! est modus, & c., you reflect, and you have an uneasy consciousness what the county would have said if the candidate had been yourselfJack! Pope had exquisite sensitiveness, and of course he exaggerated every thing. We are as sure, as Mr. Carruthers is, that he was in error in attributing to Addison much of that with which he charges him in Spence. But we think that the odd-timed publication of the first boQk of the iliad by Addisons friend and retainer Tickell, was a circumstance which, considering the relation of the men to aich other, Pope could only be expected to view with suspicion. Indeed, not only Pope, but the whole of his friends and admirers, seem to lave felt it as such: Contemporaneous with the first volume of Popes Homer, in the same week, ap- peared Tickells translation of the First Book of the Iliad. On the 10th of June, Lintot writes that he had delivered upwards of four hundred of the former to subscribers, and in the same letter he informs Pope that he has sent Tickells book to divert an hour. It is already condemned here, adds the lofty ILintot, and the malice and juggle at But- tons is the conversation of those who have spare moments from politics. * * * * *. Tickell, as Pope afterwards acknowledged, was a lhir and worthy man. It is to be regretted, however, that he ventured his translation at th~ precise time when Popes was ready for delivery, as the simultaneous appearance of the two works inevitably led to the conclusion that rivalry was designed, and that Popes hopes of a competence for life were placed in jeopardy. One word from Addison would have made Tickell withhold his translation., but that word w~~s not spoken. He had not, indeed, urged a subscription for his friends work, which, if opened in time, might have proved seriously injurious to Pope; but the publication of Tickell s volume, with the praises of Addison, echoed by all the Whigs at Buttons betrayed indifference to Popes interests and feelings, and might justly inspire a poet so sensitive with suspicion and resentment. Addison had thrice before, as Pope conceived, done him disservice. He had censured the strokes of ill-nature in his Essay on Criti cism; he had indirectly preferred Philips Pastorals, and he had employed Steele to write a gratuitous~ and insulting letter, con- demning the satire on Dennis. To these were ~iow added his supposed connivance with Tickell in undermining that source from which all his hopes of fortune and independ- ence were to be derivedthat bold yet toil- some and anxious undertaking, which was to crown him with unfading laurels, or blight his rising and envied ~reputation. The case is put very fairly (Mr. Carruthers is always moderate) in the above passages. Tickell seems never to have had a bond fide intention of translating Homerwhile with Pope it was a matter of life or death; and it was a shabby thing for the set at Buttons to throw out a book of the poem, just to br& ak the force of the appearance of Popes first volume; availing them selves, too, of the eelaJ of that appearance, and using Pope (should they happen to be successful) as a stepping- stone to rise by. It was a shabby thing, we say, and Addison permitted it. The result was the sketch of Arricusperhaps the most perfect satire in the world. It is, however, to be remarked, to Addisons honor, that after their friendship was at an end forever, he should have praised Popes iliad in the Freeholder for May 1716. Addisons kist word was a kind one to Pope. Pope pol- ished and refined his satire on Addison, till it had attained perfection, and left it so for posterity. It was not in human nature to destroy such a piece of work; and it was right 10 CARRUTITERS LIFE OF POPE. that so exquisite a sketch of character should survive for our instruction. It is our opinion, then, that in the Addison quarrel, Pope had some justification. In his general feuds he showed, however, a too con- tinuous relish for controversy. A man cap- able of translating Homer, and writing the Essay on Man, need not have kept up so prolonged a war with the dunces. He took a pleasure in it inconsistent with the dignity which belonged to his general mind and character. Again, his frequent references to his money, and the friends he had among lords, smacked of his city parentage, and were not in harmony with his desc4ption of himself. When he professed to be indifferent to tbe world and careless about ~enmity, and yet altered (much spoiling) the Dunciad in order to take revenge for a pamphlet by Cibber, be surely laid himself open to a charge of cant and affectation. In short, the weaknesses of the little man are endless. When examined, they will be found to resolve .themselves generally into egotism, and tbis egotism was closely connected with his bad health. A sick man is only too likely to be selfish, and Pope was sp much thrown tpon himself that he brooded over every little tbing that con- cerned him till it attained quite ridiculous proportions. In a word.~.Zhe was morbid. But he was a great man, too :alive to every flash of the lofty and the generous from books, or life, and capable of embodying the impression they made in immortal language. Nay, he did some of his little things under the self-deceit that they were fine things. When he lashed some poor devil of a scrib- bler, he persuaded himself that it was a duty to truth, & c.and did not remember that what he called duty many people could not help believing to be partly spite. One of the most remarkable illustrations of Popes character is the whole way in which he managed and prepared the publication of his correspondence. That it was a trick by which he first contrived that his letters should see t~e ligbt at allnobody, we presume, now affects to doubt. But it is gradually be- coming clearer, that he cooked these letters for publication in an unparalleled manner. The Athenceum critic has done wonders (from MS. authority) in establishing tbis; and our present biographer shall tell us, briefly, the facts. The pretended surreptitious edition of Curll was of course Popes own But recently fresh evidence has transpired. It has been proved that Pope printed letters as addressed to his deceased contemporaries, Addison, Arbuthnot, and Trumbull, which were originally written to other parties; and that he altered, added, or omitted names, dates, and incidents, in order to serve pur- poses of his own. It has also been ascer- tained that although he had so early as 1729 deposited letters in Lord Oxfords library, he withdrew them in the spring of 1735no doubt with a view to the publication by Curll. This dispels the last shadow of doubt and uncertainty. Tbe surreptitious edition was one of Popes poeticce fraudes, intended spe- cially to benefit himself and to gratify his m- nate love of stratagem. There was something rather southern than English in bis passion for mystery, intrigue, and masquerade; but it harmonizes with the peculiar brilliance and subtlety of his riiind. The exact degree of moral guilt involved in these mystifications of his we shall not ven- ture to fix; but it is right to say that they were more practised to gratify his own van- ity, than to injure any body else. It is pain- ful to think that so wonderful a genius should have done what was little, but we cannot be- lieve that he did what was base. Base, however, will have to be the word for one deed attributed to him, if future biographers do not repudiate more decidedly than Mr.Carruthers, the story that Pope took a bribe from the Duchess of Marlborough to suppress his satire on herthe character of Atossa. So scrupulously anxious is Mr. Carruthers (in spi(e of that kindly feeling to Pope, which we confess to sharing with him), so anxious, we say, is he, to be utterly im- partial, that he scarcely decides whether to believe this story or no. First, he tells us that Surely such an act is contrary to the tenor of the poets life, if not of his moral char- acter. It was his boast that he was un- placed, unpensioned, no mans heir or slave. He had rejected offers of Trcasury grants from Halifax and Craggs; he had even, as Warburton asserts, declined making use of a subscription for 1000 of South Sea stock which Craggs would have pressed upon him. To his noble friend Bathurst and others, he was a lender, not a borrower, and his annu- ities secured him against any heavy reverse of fortune. ii 11 12 CARRUTUERS LIFE OF POPE. But afterwards he waversand we have the following melancholy paragraph The poet may have become avaricious for another, if not for himself. There are indi- cations of a love of money in his publication of the licentious version of Horace, Sober Advice, and in the subscription edition of his Letters. The former was injurious to his fame, and the latter was not necessary towards it, as the cheap editions of the Letters were in every ones hands. But Pope was strongly and passionately desirous to see Martha Blount settled in easy and independent cir- cumstances for life. Her mother had died at the beginning of this year (March 31, 1743), and he had agreed t~purchase for her, at a cost of 315, the remainder of the lease of a house in Berkeley-row. He had some time before engaged Fortescue to procure an an- nuity for life for 1000, in behalf of a lady of their acquaintance, evidently Miss Blount. And thus we may conceiVe that the poet, blinded by affection and impelled by what seenied a generous and unselfish feeling, yielded to the temptation, and was ultimately induced, as Warton reports, by female per- suasion, to accept of a favor from the haughty Duchess, who would gladly have pur- chased his friendship or his silence at any price, and whose wealth was known to be. al- most boundless. Now, that an offence like this stands by itself, apart from the style of Popes ordinary faults, alien from his general character in matters of money, inconsistent with his known pride towards people of rhnk, is so perfectly well known to all who are really familiar with him, that the charge cannot be believed ex- cept on direct evidence. Of this there is none, except in the subjoined passage from a letter of Bolingbrokes to Marchmont Our friend Pope, it~seems, corrected and prepared for the press, just before his death, an edition of the four epistles that follow the Essay on Man. They were then printed off, and are now ready for publication. I am sorry for it, because if he could be excused for writing the character of Atossa formerly, there is no excuse for his design of publishing it after the favor you and I know; and the character of Atossa is inserted. I have a copy of the book. Warburton has the pro- priety [or property] of it, as you know. Alter it he cannot by the terms of the will. Is it worth while to suppress the edition? or should her Graces friends say (as they may from several strokes in it) that it was not in- tended for her character? and should she despise it? If you come over hither, we may talk better than write on the eubject. The favor you and I know,? however, b~ no means need be 1000 in hard cash, and there is absolutely no proof whatever that it was barring a pencil-mark which Lord Marchmonts executor, Sir George Rose, put on the letter, and which Rose junior (who edited it) thought intended to assert that Marchmont himself told his father so. True stories require a clearer pedigree than this where the affiliation is not established. That there was a story to the effect that Pope took the bribe (floating about among a hundred lies soon after Popes death), is indeed true. (See Athi~nceum, No. 1562.) And this explains the it is said of Wartonand of Horace Walpole, who would believe any- thing bad of a successful writer. But loose rumors about a ~readcd satirist are probably as likely to be Ialse as any ana one could name.* Failing real proof then, was not Pope likely to be too proud to incur the shame, and not sufficiently in need to want the money? Would he absolutely (as we know he did) have printed and di.stributed copies of a book containing the satire, during the Duchess life, if it had been in her power to put him to open shame? (At henceum, ubi sup.) The thing is incredible. He was al- ways vain, and he was sometimes weak; but he was never at any time a rogue and a fool! We are corry that Mr. Carruthers did not follow, more decidedly, the instinct which told him that this accusation, at all events, was fi~lse. Mr. Peter Cunningham in his editiofi of Johnsons Lives of the Poets had, indeed, set him a bad example, by professing his faith in it on no better authority than that stated above. Our readers may perhaps think that we have confined ~urselvestoo exclusively to the shady side of the great writers character. But the fact is, and facts ought always to be faced, that recent discoveries have thrown more light on this side than on the other; and that a critics business is~ to deal with what is immediately pressing first, whether SE It is extraordinary, what serious effects are produced on reputations by wandering and piqua anecdotes, of which the mass of people never seek the original authority. The story about Congreves telling Voltaire that he wanted to be visited as a gentleman (which has affected Con Dreves whole reputation with posterity), is a case in point. There is no authority for itas was shown for the first time in the 1Iotes to Thackerays Lectures. CARJAUTITERS UFE OP POPR. he finds the task pleasant or no. It would have been more agreeable to admirers of Hope, like ourselves, to dwell on the sound tenderness of his filial relations~.his genuine love of Swift and Bolingbroke, and Gay and Arbuthnothis noble sense of the dignity of literaturehis tender hankering after sweeter emotion in his life-long devotion to the fair-2 haired Martha Blount *and such familiar topics. But we are entering on an epoch when his character is beingand is likely to bemore severely scrutinized than ever and it is wise to be prepared for the worst. We have not failed to distinguish his great- ness and his weaknesses. Weigh them in ~ Mr. Blount of Mapledurhamthe representa- tive of that right worshipful old family in our dayhas very kindly aided the labors of Mr. Car- ruthers in this edition. It is nearly four centuries since some of the Blounts were encouraging Eras- mus. the balance, then throw in his services to literature, and what will the positton of the scales be? This biography will form. a most agreeable addition to the works produced by that revival of the Queen Anne reputations which we al- luded to in our recent paper on Walpole. We believe that the revival will do~ good. Pope may still be studied as the most perfect master of didactic writing in verse that our literature can afford, and in studying the writer it is a great aid to know the man. There is no fear, now, of his ever again being over- rated in either capacity; the danger is rather the other way; and extraordinary as it would have seemed a century sinceit is now become necessary to recommend a due study and appreciation of Alexander Pope to the rising generation of Englishmen! RUSSIAN Cuxx FOR IMPROVIDENCE. There exiits in slavery, and even in serfdom, a considerable abatement of the evils arising from improvidence on the part of the working classes. Among free laborers, go where you will, you find improvidence generally prevail- ing. In the East and in the West, in the tem- perate zone and in the tropics, as all authors agree, the laborer scarcely looks forward be- yond the day. He marries without any secure prospects of a maintenance; he spends the whole of his gains when he first marries, with- out refiheting that in a few years he may have half-a-dozen additional mouths to fill; he makes no provision against old age and infirmity, and only some faint provision even again& t sickness. Now a slave cannot be improvident, because to him providence is impossible. He depends on his master; he knows that if he is sick he will be fed and doctored; that when he is old he will be decently maintained: he marries with the cheerful consent of his master, who regards children as a valuable property; and the greater the number of moutht to be fed, the more the maintenance that is willinglysupplied him. Even under serfdom the same is true. A Russian no- bleman cnnnot now sell his serfs from the land they inherit; he may sell the land with the serfs upon it; he can prevent the serfs from leaving his estate, and can compel them to cultivate the soil. His property is valuable very much ac- cording to the number of serfs he possesses, and therefore he has a strong interest in having them well treated and in securing their physical well- being. Under these restraints, a serf may be guilty of some improvidence and recklessness, yet he is not sufficiently his own master to do this with impunity. If any serf behaves in such a way as to be a scandal to his neighborhood, the seigneur selects him as a suitable man for a soldier, as well fitted to he food for powder. He is marched oft and his village sees him no~ more. Sargants Economy of the Laboring Glasses. INDIAN LETTERS O~F INTRODUCTION. As in all probability the European will be furnished with several letters of introduction, it may be as well to warn him that upon the delivery of those credentials, (which should be sent on his arrival by a Sepoy belonging to the hotel or club at which he is staying, with his card and address in full,) the following morning he should make a personal call, such being the etiquette observ- able in India. He must not anticipate to be cordially received, or to have a carte blanche given ~mim to renew his visits whenever he may think proper or convenient; for an old resident ~n India, although most unbounded in his hos- pitality, must have some intimate knowledge of an individual some insight into his habits, character, & c., are he fraternizes with, or allows a Griffin (as a new csmer in India is termed) to put his legs under his mahogany whenever he likes. He will be received with marked and studied politeness, and then bowed out most courteously; and not until he has established himself; and becomes better known (either per- sonally or,by report) to the old Indian, must he look for anything beyond the polite bow or nod of recognition, and perhaps, as a mark of great condescension, an occasional invite. Still, should any unforeseen misfortune overtake him, the upon making an application to him, (provided that his entire conduct has been fair and honor- able,) the old Indian will relax his rigidity and interest himself most warmly and heartily in his behalf, and serve him to the very best of his ability and the uttermost of his power: hut if, on the other hand, the Griffin has been guilty of any faux pus, or has acted indiscreetly, he has n6thing to expect at the hands of the resident~ his letter of introduction will not then have the slightest weight with him. So that, in fact. these credentials are not of much value to any civilian or European on his entrance into Indian life.Bradskaws Overland Guide to India. 13 14 ANATOMY OF A UTEILALLY FORGERY. From Chambers Journal, dare that to possess a single vestige of the ANATOMY OF A LITERARY FORGERS. poets handwriting, would be esteemed a ALTHOUGH, doubtless, all the world, or at gem beyond all price, and far dearer to him least all the reading part of it, has heard of than his whole collection. At these conver- that most audacious of literary forgeries, Vor- sations, young Ireland was always present, tigern, a Tragedy, yet, as we suspect that swallowing with avidity the honeyed poison; very few even of the few who have seen it when, by way, he says, of completing this have ever read it, and that only a small infatuation, my father, who had already pro- minority of our readers generally is at all duced picturesque tours of some of the Brit- likely to be acquainted with its history, we ish rivers, determined on commencing that of purpose to avail ourselves of the recent ac- the Avon, and I was selected as the compan- quisition of a copy of the rare reprint of ion of his journey. Of course, he adds, 1832,* to supplyin many places in the no inquiries were spared either at Strat- forgers own wordssuch an account of the ford or in , the neighborhood, respecting the circumstances which led to the perpetration mighty poet. Every legendary talc, vended of the fraud as shall be wanting, we fully anecdote, or traditionary account was treas- hope, neither in interest nor instruction. ured up. In short, the name of Shakspeare Samuel Ireland the father of the unhappy ushered in the dawn, and a bumper, quaffed lad whose career we are about to trace, was to his immortal memory at night, sealed our em~phatically, one of those madmen who weary eyelids to repose. make men madone of those idolaters who Induced by the reiterated eulogies rung esteem the book above the life, and who, in his ears respecting Shakspeare, by his without an eye to see or a heart to under- fathers enthusiasm, and, above all, by the stand wherein lies the greatness of him whom incessant remark on the old mans part, they adore, prefer some filthy, worm-eaten, that to possess even a signature of the useless relic of their deified mortal to the bard would make him the happiest of human body of genius and wisdom, which is in the beings, it occurred to young Ireland to take better testament of his works. Even such a advantage of his residence in a coaveyancers divinity, according to the testimony of tile office, environed by old deeds, to produce a son, was Shakespeare to Samuel Ireland. spurious imitation of Shakspeares autograph. Four days at least out of the seven were Having supplied himself with a tracing of his writings made the after-dinner theme of the poets signature, he wrote a mortgage- the old mans conversation; while in the deed, imitating the law-hand of the time of evening, still further to impress the subject James I., and affixed thereto Shakspeares upon the minds of his son and his visitors, cer- sign-manual. This mortgage deed purport- tam plays were selected, and a part allotted ing to be between Shakspeare and one Mi- to each, in order that they might read aloud chael Fraser and Elizabeth his wife, not only andcommune doubtless with the soul of transported the sage elder into the seventh their divinity, and extract the heart of the heaven of felicity, but attracted crowds of mystery? nobut in order that they might other connoisseurs and antiquaries. To the thereby acquire a knowledge of the deliv- que~tion where the deed was found, ireland. ery of blank verse articulately and with the younger replied, that he had formed proper emphasis!~ The comments to an acquaintance with a gentleman of ancient which these rehearsals, if I may be per- family, possessed of a mass of deeds and mitted so to call them, gave rise, were of a papers relating to his ancestors, who finding nature to elicit, in all its bearings, the enthu- him very partial to the examination of old. siasm entertained by my father for the bard documents, had permitted him to inspect of Avon. With him, Shakspeare was ~no them; that, shortly after commencing his mortal, but a divinity; and frequently while search, the mortgage-deed in question had expatiating on this subject, impregnated with fallen into his hands, and had been presented all the fervor of Garrick, with whom he had to him by the proprietor. He added, that been on intimate terms, my father wouid de- the personage alluded to, well aware that the ~ The Shakespeare Forgeries. Vortiqern, a name of Shakspeare must create a consider- Tragedy. Reprinted from the edition of 1796, able sensation, and being a very retiring and with an Introduction. By W. H. Ireland. Lon- diffident man, had bound him by a solemn don. 1832. ANATOMY OF A LITERARY FORGERY. engagement nev~r to divulge his name.~~ Whereupon so completely had this young rogues skill and plausibility produced the effect he wishedMr. Byng, afterwards Vis- count Torrington, Sir Frederick Eden, and many others, gave it as their decided opinion that, wheresoever he found the deed, there, no doubt, the mass of papers existed which had been so long and vainly sought after by the numerous commentators on Shakspeare! Thus urged to make further searches, as he modestly called them, the young scape- grace proceeded to pen a few letters and The Profession of Faith of William Shaks- pear,~~* the whole of which passed muster, although, in many instances, the documents produced as two hundred years old had not been fabricated many hours previous to their production. On the pretended Profession of Faith, particularly, Dr. Warton, after having twice perused the important docu- ment, pronounced a pompous eulogy in the presence of Dr. Parr: Sir, we have many fine things in our church-service, and our lit- urgy abounds in beauties; but here, sir, is a man who has distanced us all! Well might the precocious lad be excited by these old ass-heads to more ambitious ef- forts! Anon, he announced the existence of ~ it is curious enough that a somewhat similar fraud had, a quarter of a century before, been played off by Steevens upon Malone. Thomas Hart, a descendant of Shakspeares sister, Joan, employed, in the year 1770, a bricklayer of the name of Mosely, to new-tile his housethe same house in lienly Street, Stratford, bequeathed by the poet to his sister for the term of her natnral life at the yearly rent of twelve pence; and here, between the rafters and the tiling, he discov- ered, or is said to have discovered, a manuscript of six leaves, purporting to be The Confession of Faith of John Shakspear (the poets father), an unworthy member of the holy Catholic religion. Mosely gave his prize to Mr. Peyton, an alderman of Stratford, who sent it to Malone, through the Rev. Mr. Davenport, as a curiosity of great impor- tance. Malone was completely deceived. I have taken some pains, he says in 1790, to as- certain the authenticity of this document, and am perfectly satisfied that it is genuine. But the paper as we have said, was a fabrication, and a clumsy onea trick of Steevens to mislead his rival editor. Malone, however, discovered his error at last. I have since obtained documents, lie says in a subsequent publication, that clearly prove it could not have been the composition of sny of our po~ts family. Boswell quietly and judiciously dropped the document from his edition, treating it as a paper that had never existed. Ma- lone himself was not guiltless of like unseemly frauds. The drawing of Shakspeares house of New Place, which figures in his edition of 1790 as taken from the margin of an ancient surve~% is, by his own confession, a forgery. a dramathe Vortigern we have already re- ferred toalthough, if he is to be believed. he had never essayed a pen at poetical com- position, and had not at that time~written a single line of the play which he purposed producing. Prior to its completion, the fame of his discoveries had resounded from ens extremity of the country to the other; and on the completion of the drama, strenuous applications were made by the lessee of Co- vent Garden Theatre to secure it; but the elder Ireland, from his long intimacy with the Sheridan and Linley families, preferred Drury tane, where the play was subsequen4y represented. Malone, whose experience of deception had given him some caution, now stood for- ward as generalissimo of the unbelievers. Some pamphlets pro. and con. had also issued from the press, while the newspapers incessantly teemed with paragraphs written on the spur of the moment, and dictated by the particular sentiments entertained as to the papers by their authors. Malone having, in the interim, colleded his mass of docu- ments intended to prove the whole a forgery, committed them to the press, under a hope that he should be able to publish his volume before the representation of T/ortigern. The bulkiness of his production, however, having defeated that object, he, the day the piece was to be performed, issued a notice, to the effect that he had a work on tile eve of pub- lication which would infallibly prove the manuscripts in Mr. Irelands possession mere fabrications, and warning the people not to be i~nposed upon by the play advertised for that nights representation, as being from the pen of Shakspeare. My father it is young Ireland who writes having pro- cured a copy of this notice, though late in the day, instantly forwarded to the press the following handbill, and distributed an im- mense number amongst the assembled mul- titudes, then choking up every avenue to Drury Lane Theatre: VoltrIGuiN. A malevolent and impotent attack on the Shakspeare MSS. having appeared on the eve of representation of the play of Vorti- gem, evidently intended to injure the inter- ests of the proprietor of the MSS., Mr. Ire- land feels it impossible, within the short space of time that intervenes between the publishing and the representation, to produce 15 ANATOMY OP A LITERARY FORGERY. an answer to the most illiberal and unfounded assertions in Mr. Malones inquiry: he is therefore induced to request that the play of Vortigern may be heard with that candor that has ever distinguished a British audience. John Philip Kemble, who was then stage- m& nager at Drury Lane, and had had the heros part in the tragedy assigned to him, saw at a glance that such rubbish as com- poses Vortigern cQllld never have emanated from the mind of Shakspeare, even in his baby-hood, and passed that sentence upon it which he felt the public ought, and did after- wards most effectually pronounce. He there- fore did his best to procure its representation on the first, instead of the second, of April 1796, in order to pass upon the audience the compliment of fools all. Foiled in this by the interposition of old Ireland and Mr. Sheridan, Kemble, however, so managed that the farce of lily Grandmother should follow the tragedy, intending that all the bear- ings of that production should be applied by the audience to the subject of the Shaks- pearian papers. He is also charged by the younger Ireland with having preconcerted a signal when the opponents of the papers were to manifest their disapprobation. For this purpose, the following line in the fifth act was selected: And when this solemn mockery is oer. However this may be, no sooner had he arrived at this line, which he delivered in an exceediiigly pointed manner, than a deafen- ing clamor reigned throughout one of the most crowded houses ever recollected in the- atrical history, which lasted several minutes. Upon a hearing being at length obtained, instead of taking up the following line of the speech in rotation, Mr. Kemble reiter- ated the above line with an expression the most pointedly sarcastic and acrimonious it is possible to conceive. Added to this, the late Mr. Pignuin was purposbly placed by Mr. Kemble in a subordinate part where- in, speaking of the sounaing of trumpets, he had to exclaim: Let them bellow on which words were uttered with such a nasal and tin-kettle twang, that no muscles save those of adamant [sic] could have re- sisted the powerful incentive to laughter. So far the Irelands and their adherents were scotched but not slain. Malones Wn- vestigation was at length published, and was answered by George Chalmers, first in his Apology for the Believers, and next in his Supplemental Apology, wherein he refuted, to young Irelands satisfaction, every position laid down by Malone. After the avowal of the forgery, the author of Vortigern for-~ warded two very humble letters to Mr. Chal- mers, who, maintaining a prudent silence, never answered them. This avowal was made from a stroke of conscience. The forgery had been charged upon the elder Ireland instead of the younger. It was argued that the latters youthhe was but nineteenprecluding all possibility of the papers being. his, the whole must have been fabricated by his father, who had made the son the vehicle of introducing them to the public. It seems, however, that the former was a total stranger to every pro- ceeding in the composition of the papers; and George Stephens, who had been also sus~ected of participation in the fraud, is stated by Ireland to have been equally inno- cent. Urged by the imperious motive of rescuing his fathers character from unmerited obloquy, he came forward with the truth, having first abandoned the paternal roof, and relinquished a profession ~or which he was studying. With the wide . world before me, he says, and a host of most implaca- ble enemies at my back, ere my twentieth year, I entered upon the eventful pilgrimage 9f life, without a guide to direct my steps, or any means of existence save those which might result from my own industry and per- severance. Of his after career we know nothing. ETIQUETTE IN Arsucx. We had an op- Makololo, who are accustomed to the most free portunity of observing that our guides had and easy manners, held out handsful of what much more etiquette than any of the tribes fur- they had cooked to any of the Balouda near; ther South. They gave us food, but would not hut they refused to taste. They are very punc- partake of it when we bad cooked it; nor would tilious in their manners to each other. Each they eat their own food in our presence. When hut has its own fire, and when it goes out they it was cooked they retired into a thicket, and ate make it afresh for themselves, rather than take their porridge; then all stood up and clapped it from a ncighbor.Liviagstones Missionary their hands, and praised Intemese for it. The Travels in South Africa. 16 CHARLES READ~ S CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. From The Athennum. CHARLES READiES CLOUDS AND SUN SHINE. COPYRIOTIT is a fine thing, and the re- served right of reproduction and translation is a protection which it is so pleasant to have lived to see wrung by Literature out of Law, that naturally enough men of letters are de- sirous to reconcile theory with practice. Copywright, I assume, lies in a name on the title-page, and in the magical wordsprinted betwixt brackets beneath. If I am wrong, I a mere suckling of an,,~ author, am evidently wrong in good company; but I wish to be quite sure. To give you the example fresh in my mind. Mr. C. Reade, as your readers well know, has lately published a small collection of small tales (duly protected on its title-page). The book is entitled, The Course of True Love never did run smooth. That it should have been necessary for this English author to appeal to Law is a circumstance that will not surprise any one conversant with modern French drama. As the ancients stole nearly all their best things from the moderns, so the French dramatists of a dozen years ago ap- pear to have stolen the good things of Eng- lish authors of the present year. Mr. Reade is more than usually unlucky in having had his subjects laid hold of by otber writers. Howhard it is on him, for instance, that his tale of Art in this very volume, (which tale is a second edition of a small translated drama, played under twq titles in two Eng- lish theatres,) should have been thought- lessly forestalled by a certain old Tiridat& on the opposite side of the water! But Art is not the only article to be cared for. Mr. TLeade has been much complimented on the grace and mastery and color shown in his Clouds and Sunshine. If one is ever proud and jealous of ones offspring it is when they are appreciated and praised by others. What resentment then must Mr. Reade not feel against Madame Sand, who had the audacity, as your readers shall see, to use the whole of Mr. Reades storysce- nery, dialogue, and characters in a work of hers six years ago! It was in the month of January,in the year 18~1, that a play by Madame Sand (whether dramatized or not from one of her novels, let others say,) was produced at the Porte Saint- Martin Theatre in Paris. The play was DCCX. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 2 called Claudie, and the scene of the play was laid in Bern. A small paraphrase of it, called The Village Tale, (reputed at the time to be by Mr. C. Reade,) was produced at Easter 1S~2 at Punchs Playhouse, as duly noticed in your journal [Athen. No. 1277]. The paraphrase passed and madeno sign. Against these pre-publications it has now become necessary to protect Clouds and Sunshine, the third story in Mr. Reades recent book,since it is merely his Village Tale written over again. Oxfordshire, about two miles from the Thames, and on the skirts oP the beech forest that lies be- tween Wallingford and Henley, corres- ponds exactly with La Mltairie des Bos- sons of the French drama. This is not all. Not merely has Madame Sand antici- pated Mr. Reades incidents one by one, but she has presented the very dialogue of his novelized drama with a literal hardihood which cannot be too distinctly exposed. Here, by way of proof, is a scene following the farmers settlement with the reapers, where the old man and the girl (in Oxford- shire Daddy Patrick and Bachael, in I3erri I?emi and Claudie) are paid as one for their joint labor. Robert is the young ~rmer in England, Sylvain in France. The English Tale. The French Drama. A few minutes later Scene VI. Itachael came to , the CLATJDIE and SYLvA~n.. well, and began to draw Claudie approaches the a bucket of water. This well to draw water; well worked in the fol- ~Sglvai has crossed to lowing manner A the right, taken his chain and rope were fork, and is going out, passed over a cylinder, when he sees the pain and two buckets were that it gives Clandie to attached to the several raise the backet. ends of the rope, so that S. How you are still the empty bucket de- working, Claudie, in scending, helped in some stead of resting! Our slight degree the full women never tire them bucket to mount. This selves out; they dont cylinder was turned by reap. After a months an iron handle. The labor, tis to finish your-. well was a hundred feet self up utterly. deep. Itachael draw C. (Sorrowful, but the bucket up easily calm, speaking in a enough until the ,last sweet, but firm voice.) thirl~y feet; and then she Dont trouble yourself found it hard work. She about me, Master Syl- had both hands on the vain. iron handle, and was S. (La ~ng bg his panting a little like a fork, and going to the tender fawn, when a well, where he stops the deep but gentle voice bucket, and empties its said in her ear, Letgo, contents into apail which Rachael; and the ban- .is near the well.3 Ex- die was taken out of her cuse me, I do trouble hand by Robert Ha. myself about .you; thorn. Never mind when a mans heart is in me, Master I~ohert, the right place theres 17 CHARLES READES CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. said Rachael, giving way reluctantly. Always at some hard work or other, said he: you will not b~e easy till you kill yourself. And with this~he whirled the han- dle round like light- ning with one hand, and the hucket came up in a few moments. He then filled a pitcher for her, which she took up, and was about to go into the house with it. Stay one minute, Ra- chael , Yes, Master Robert. How old are you? Robert blushed after he had put this question: but he was obliged to say some- thing, and he did not well know how to be- gin. Twenty-two, was .Rachaels answer. Dont go just yet. Is this your first years reaping? No, the third. You must be very poor, I am afraid. Very poor indeed, Master Robert. Do you live far from here ? Dont you remem- ber I told you I came twenty miles from here? no helping seeing your good will, and how hard you work. ~ She does not hear me! She goes on as if she would not hear me! How old are you, Claudia? C. Twenty-two. ,S. And is this the first time you have been reaping in this way? G. Tis the third year. iS. You must be in great want. C. True enough. ~ ~s ~ S. Do ~rou live far from here. C. More than six leagues off, I think. And so Madame Sand has had the assur- ance to go on scene after scene and page af- tar page, as any one curious may satisfy him- self by comparing Mr. Reades Oxfordshire - Cloud with her Berrichon Claudia. 7Now, are we or are we not in a state of alli- ance betwixt England and France PAre we, dr are we not, to be prot~cted against our piratical i~rench predecessors Pthat is what I want to knowthat is my reason for writing to youunder the protection of laws more stringent than the laws of honor P Till these things can be answeredtill these doubts can be set at rest,till Madame Sands Claudia be prohibited at home and abrond, what tale-teller will venture to pub- lish? what .publisher to buy PI ask, haying myself on hand a Battle of Gentlewo- men, the scene of which is laid in Hamp- shire tiuring the Civil War; also a story of genteel Belgravian life, called Half-and-half Fashionables, shall I not protect these sto- ries against MM. Scribe and Dumas the younger, if I find that they have written something of the kind before P G. prom The Critic. WE frankly confess that hitherto we have admired Mr. Charles Reade: we have held him tobe a powerful, and above all an origi- nal writer, a man not cut after the common pattern, -but made after a fashion of his own, unique, artistic, with no commonplace out- lines, no mild conventional prettinessas. Hitherto we have treated all accusation of plagiarism against him with scorn, as the idle invention of envious rivals. When we were told that ~ It is Never too Late to Mend was only a blue-hook turned int.o a novel, we replied, Aye: but how splendid the trans- formation! When we heard of White Lies being a double plagiarism from two French authors, we scouted the notion, and al- most refused to hear evidence. Like Louis Quatorze, when he was told that Moliere stole his comedies, he said to his detractors, Go you and steal as good. But we were wrong, deplorably in the wrongalas, that it should be so! Mr. Charles Reades delinquency has been proved in a manner to which not even his most earnest admirers can refuse assent. We are bound to declare, after a careful comparison, that the tale Clouds and Sun- shine is taken from the play Claudia, not only as regards the incidents and characters, but even the very dialogues. The impudence of plagiarism can no farther go. The char- acters tally exactly. CLouDs AND SUN- CLAUDIE. By George SHINE. Sand. By Mr. Charles Reade. Corporal Patrick, a Rainy, an old soldier soldier ~vho had seen and reaperan octogen- four-score years. arian. Rachel, his daughter, Claudia, his grand- who is twenty-two. daughter, 21 years old. Farmer Hathorn. Fauvean (farmer to Farms Mrs. Mayfields Grande-Rose), a peasant acres upon some friendly in easy circumstances. agreement.. Mrs. Hathorn, his Mdre Fauvean, hi~ wife. wife. Robert Hathorn, his Sylvain, his son, 25 son. years old. Richard Hickman, a gay, dashing young fellow. Rose Mayfield, a young widow, fresh and free. Denis Ronciat, a dan- dified peasant, 30 years old. La Grande Rose, arich countrywoman, proprie- tor of the farm, a fine woman, 25 to 30 years old. So much for the characters: the resam~. blance is certainly very startling; but still more so that between the incidents of the story and the dialogue intrsduced. In addi- tion to the specimen given by the Athence~ttm we give the following: 18 CHARLES READES. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. CHARLES READE. Let me see, said Ilathorn, What are you to have? Count yourself, re- plied Patrick ; you know what you give the others. What I give the others! but you cant have done the work. Not of two; no, we dont ask the wages of two. Of coursa you do- nt. Wher~s the dis- pute, said the old sol- dier, angrily; here are two that ask ~he wages of one; is that hard upon you? There is no dispute, old man, said Robert steadily. Father, twenty-five times five shillings is six pound five; that is what you owe them. GEORGE SAND. Fauveeu. . . And what do you ask for that? Ilemy. Count your- self; you know well what you give the others. Fauvean. What I give the others; aye! but you two have not done the work of Remy. The work of two; therefore we dont ask you to pay us as two. ~Fauveau. Diache! I suppose you dont ask that. Remy (animated). Well! What then! Where do you seek a dispute? Here are we two who ask you the pay of one, and do you find that unjust? ~Sylvain. No. Theres no dispute. Twenty- five times fifty sons make exactly sixty-two francs and sixty cen- times. Those who have read Clouds and Sun- shine will remember the natural simplicity of the meeting between Rachel and her seducer Hickman. No tragedy-queen act- ing, but quiet, simple, suppressed pain. Well, let them judge to whom that is due. CHARLES READE. (Hickman.) . . be cause I could assist you now may be. And what right have. you to assist me now? (Hickman.) To pro- vide for him. For WHOM? cried Rachel wildly, WREN HE IS DEAD! Dead~ Dead! Dont say so, Rachel; dont say so. He is dead! GEORGE SAND. Denis. I can assist you. Claudie cpro ly.) Where did you get the right to assist me, Denis Ronciat? Denis .. . how much do you want for Cia je. For whom? Denis. For Claudie. For whom? When he is dead! Denis. Dead! But Mr. Reade i~ occasionally more ingeni- ous than this in making use of Madame Dudevants hints. There is the scene wher~ Robert Hathorn attempts suicide by throwing himself under the waggon-wheels. In Claudie this is related and not represented; but Mr. Reade, in putting it in action, follows the narrative with wonderful. accuracy. CHARLES READE. Robert came out and went to Rachels side of the waggon, but she turned her head awsy. Wont you speak to me, Rachel? said Ro- bert. Rachel turned her head away and was ~ilent. Very well, said Robert quietly, very quietly. Go on! cried old Hathorn. The next moment there was a fearful scream among the wo- men, and Robert was seen down among the horses feet, and the carter was forcing them back. ... (Mrs. Hathorn.) What did Thomas say who dragged him up from the horses feet? 1 dont know said old Hatborn, half sulki- ly, half trembling. He said, That is flying in the face of Heaven, young master. What did Rose Mayfield say, as she passed him next minute? Would you kill your mother, Robert, and break all our hearts? You cried out Go on, go on! Robert said his foot had slipped, and made as though he would smile at me. Ah! what a smile, John! If you had been as near it as I was, von wouldnt sleep this night. Having thus stated against Mr. Reade, whilst we admit that his conduct is all the more inexcusable because he is too wealthy a man (in a mental point of view) to need such expedients, it should in fairness be remembered that these tales were written some years ago, before Mr. Reade had attained the reputation which he now enjoys.. It is possible that, if he himself had been consulted, he would have approved of neither the issue of the volume nor the hyperbolical strain in which it was announced, and when we remember that a serious differ- ence of opinion has lately occurred between him and the publisher, even to the extent of appealing to the Court of Chancery for. a remedy, we must say that the whole affair looks very much like vengeance on the part of the latter. GEORGE SAND. .iIuire Fauvean.. When he called to Clandie for the last time, and she would not even turn her head towards him, he said, Very well! and he threw himself under the waggon that he might be crushed. Ask Thomas what he said when he lifted him up in spite of himself What are you doing there, master? Will you displease the good God? Ask Madame Rose, who said to him: What are you doing there, Sylvain? Do you wish to kill your mother? You called out to~ Thomas Go on go on! Sylvain said that his foot slipped as lie turned round, and made as if he would smile at me. Ah! what a smile, husband! If you had seen it, as I saw it, you would not sleep this night. the case as it stands 19 20 THE DEMONS OF PIMLICO. From Punch. Edwin. Though, from her radiant bow no THE DEMONS OF PIMLICO. Iris settles, EDWIN is a Young Bard, who has taken a lodging Like some bright butterfly to in a quiet Street in Beigravia, that he may write Swarthy Demon. Mend your kettles! his Oxford Prize Poem. The interlocutors are Edwin. Though sad and silent is the ancient Demons of both Sexes. seat, Edwin (composing). Where the bright foun- Where the Olympians raised their proud tam, sparkling never ceases Demon with Skewers. Cats me-e-et! Its gush of liquid music Edwin. There is a spell that noxie can chase Female Demon. Wa-.tercreeeeses! away, Edwin. Where splashing on the marble floor From scenes once visited by it tinkles Demon with Organ. Poor Dog Tray. In silver cadence, Edwin. There is a charm whose power must Male Demon. Buy my perriwinkles! ever blend Edwin. Where the sad Oread oft retires to The past and present in its weep Demon with rushes. Chairs to mend! Her long lost love, her unforgiving Edwin. And still unbanished falters on the Black Demon. Sweep! ear, Edwin. And tears that comfort not must The Dryads voice of music ever flow Demon with Can. Any Beer! At thoughts of every joy departed, Edwin. Still Pan and Syrinx wander through Demon from Palestine. Clo. the groves, Edwin. There let me linger, stretched be- Still Zephyr murmurs neath the trees, She Demon. Shavings for your stoves! Tracing in air fantastic Edwin. The spot, God visited, is sacred Italian Demon. Imagees! ground, Edwin. And weave long grasses into lovers And echo answers knots, Second Demon with Organ. Bobbing all And wish the spell had power to silence around. Demon in Apron. Pots! Edwin. Ay, and for ever, while this planet Edwin. What varied dreams the vagrant rolls, fancy hatches, To its sphere music A playful Leda with her Jove born Demon with Fish. Mackerel or Soles! Ragged Old Demon. Matches! Edwin. While crushed Enceladus in torment Edwin. She opes her treasure cells, like groans Portias caskets, Beneath his Etna, shrieking And bids me choose her Little Denmon. Stones, hearthstones! Demon with Gart. Baskets, any baskets! Eduin. While laves the tideless sea the glit- Edwin. Spangles the air with thousand-col- tering strand ored silks, Of Grecia That float like clouds in dying sunset Third Demon with Organ. 0, tis hard to Old Demon. Whilks i give the hand. Edwin. Garments of which the fairies might Edwin. While as the cygnet nobly walks the make habits, water, When Oheron holds his court and So moves on earth the fair Lame Demon. Ostend rabbits! Fourth Demon with Organ. Ratcatchers Edwin. Visions like those the Interpreter, Daughter. of Bunyans, Edwin. And the Acropolis reveals to man Displayed to Mercy and young Matthew Thy stately loveliness Demon with a Stick. Onions! Fifth Demon with Organ. My Mary Ann. Edwim. And prompted glowing utterances, Edwin. So long the Presence, yes, the Mens to theirs kin Divina, Who sang, when Earth was younger, That once inspired both Dirty Demon. Hareskin! hareskin! Sixth Demon with Organ. Vilikins and Edwin. In thoughts so bright the aching Dinah. sense they blind, Edwin: Shall breathe o~er every land where- In their own lustrous langor soeer the eye shoots Demon with Wheel. Knives to grind! Or ocean plays Edwin. Though gone, the Deities that long Six dirty German The Overture to Freis Demons with Brass chutz. ago (Edwin goes mad.) Haunted Arcadias perfumed meads Grim Demon. Dust-Ho! From Chambers Journal. THE LOST ENVOY. ON the afternoon of Saturday, the 25th of November 1809, two travellers, accompanied by a servant, arrived at the post-house of Perleberg, in Upper Saxony, en route from Berlin to Hamburg, and immediatley ordered horses. They travelled with Prussian pass- ports, but under fictitious names. Of the elder of the two, little, unfortunately, is known; but that little is so full of sinister significance, that I am persuaded I am doing him no injustice in branding bim as an agent of tbe French police. He will be known to us throughout this paper as the Merchant Kruger. His companion was an Englishman of the name of Bathurst a son of the then Bishop of Norwich, returning from i~ secret diplomatic mission to Pie court of Vienna. Mr. Bathurst seemed to be laboring under some terrible apprehensions. Throughout the journey, all his actions had been marked by an air of indecision, which to the several post-masters seemed -unaccountable. At Perleberg, the horses which he had ordered on big arrival were countermanded before they were harnessed. Not feeling himself safe, as he said, in the post-house, he went, about five oclock in the afternoon, to Cap- tain Klitzing, the Prussian governor of the town, and begged for a safeguard, which at seven in the evening he dismissed. During some hours, he was engaged at his desk in a small room of the house, and was seen to burn a number of papers which he took from bis portfolio. On another occasion he was observed in the kitchen standing before the fire, playing with his watch, and counting his money in the presence of a crowd of postillions, hostlers, and tapsters. At length, about nine oclock in the evening, the horses were again ordered to be in readiness; but when the post-master went to announce the packing of the carriage, Mr. Bathurst had disappeared. From that hour to this, his fate has remained shrouded in impenetrable mystery. In England, in the meantime, his return had been anxiously expected by the cabinet and his relations. We knew, says his sister, the dangers to which he was exposed on his journey, surrounded as he was by enemies on all sides; while the impossibility of any intelligence being received of him by letter rendered us doubly anxious and un THE LOST ENVOY. 21 certain. Day after day passed, and no tid- ings of him arrived. It was concluded that he had taken a circuitous route, and tray- yelled incognito to avoid falling into the hands of the French. Weeks, however, elapsed, and we still heard nothing of the missing one. The agonising suspense of his wife and relations it would be difficult to describe. I perfectly well remember that every knock at the street-door caused the liveliest emotions arising from the hope that it might be our much-loved brother. At length, one evening in December, my father received an express from Lord Wellesley, requesting his immediate attendance at Apsley House, his lordship having something of importance to communicate. On my fathers return, we were all alarmed at his pale and dejected aspect. He informed us that government had received intelligence of the sudden and mysterious disappeararce of my brotber at Perleberg, a small town on the route from Vienna, where he had stopped for rest and refreshment. * A rewardof 1000 was immediately offered by the British government, and another of equal amount by the relatives of the missing envoy, for any authentic information as to his fate; and his wife prepared in person to set out in search of him, as soon as the Baltic ports should be free from ice. In the spring of 1810, accordingly, she proceeded to Stock- holm, whence, under the protection of Swed- ish passports, she entered Prussia through Pomerania, and reached Berlin in safety. At Berlin she found, to her astonishment, a safe- col~duct aWaiting her from the emperor Na- poleon, and, armed with it, she at once pro- ceeded to Perleberg. I entreat the reader to bear this circumstance in mind, as I shaD have occasion to refer to it in the sequel. At Perleberg, Mrs. Bathursts inquiries were met by statements so conflicting as to impede rather than to facilitate her search. Whether her husband was dead or vas still alive; whether, if dead, he had fallen by his own hand, or had perished beneath the knife of some ruffian marauder or pol icrd assas- sin; a~nd whether, if aliv4, he had been the victim of violent abduction, or had volun- tarily absconded, were questions which she found herself nable to solve, and which no ~ Jlemoirs aid Correspondence of Dr. H. Batkurst, Lord BisliopofNorwieh. By his Daugh- ter. London. 1853. 22 T]~E LOST ENVOY. astuteness has yet been found equal to free peacliment. KrUger and the servant of the from obscurity and confusion. It appeared lost envoy succeeded in evading their guards; ~hat, immediately on Mr. iBathursts disap~ and the first intimation which the Perleberg pearance, his servant had waited on the gov~ authorities received of the formers wherea- ernor, and apprised him of the circumstance. bout was when, nearly three weeks after Mr. Xlitzing, who was preparing for a ball which Bathursts disappearance, the burgomaster was to be held that evening in the Grown saw in a Berlin paper a notification that an hotel, immediately sent for the civic authori- unknown person, calling himself the iner- ties, and desired them to make all possible chant KrUger, had arrived in that city from inquiries into the case. No lack of zeal can Perleberg. Immediate inquiries were made be charged against these gentlemen. They respecting him, of the police of the capital;. at once arrested KrUger and the servant, and an exhibition of official zeal for which the placed them under the guard of a troop of police minister expressed his thanks, at the cuirass~ers. They took possession of all Mr. same time courteously assuring his corres- l3athursts property, with the exception of a pondents that it was unnecessary for them to ~ich fur-cloak which was missing. They sent trouble themselves further in the matter, scouts into the town and into the neighbor- that all was right, and that the pretended ing country; but when on Sunday morning merchant Kruger was the companion of the they waited on the governor, it was found missing envoy. Of the unfortunate mans that all their researches had been in v~xin. servant, no trace could bP discovered; but it Not a trace of the missing man had been transpired that Mr. Bathurst had been discovered, warned by a friend in Berlin to beware of And now it was that the first suspicious his attendant, and that his suspicions of circumstance connected with the conduct of treachery had been strengthened by finding Klitzing occurred. After charging the mag- in the mans possession a bill for .500, of istrates to prosecute their inquiries with the which he could give no good account. utmost ardor, and especially to do their best The IPerleberg authorities were now coni- to probe the mystery of the missing cloak, pletely at fault. Every document which he announced his intention of going into the might have served to aid their councils was country for a few hours. But his return was studiously withheld from them by the gover- deferred till Monday evening, when he ex- nor. Suddenly, however, it was announced plamed his lengthened absence by saying that a certain hostler of the name of that he had been at Berlin for the purpose Schmidt, who had been in the kitchen of the of obtaining instructions. In the interim, post-house when Mr. Bathurst so impru- the magistrates had been indefatigable. It dently exhibited his purse and watch, had was necessary to obtain a clue to the identifi- absconded, and that the missing cloak had cation of the abstracted cloak, which none of been found in the possession of his family. them had seen, and for this purpose Mr. Schmidt himself was never afterwards heard Bathursts servant was sent for. His deposi- of; but his wife and son, both of whom were tion was taken down in writing, and, on the persons of notoriously bad character, were governors return was laid before him. brought before the magistrates, and, after a Klitzings character had always stood high; rigid examination, which elicited nothing, but his behavior on this occasion looks sus- beyond a bare suspicion, to implicate either piciously like an attempt to stifle all inquiries of them in the murder or abduction of the that might lead to unpleasant disclosures unfortunate traveller, were each sentenced to affecting his government or its task-masters, eight weeks imprisonment for concealment the French police. He threw the servants of the stolen property. deposition into the fire; he stormed at the But the doom of the vanished man re- magistrates, accused them of arbitrary pine- mained as mysterious as ever. A reward of tices and of investing the case with an un- ten thalers had, at the instigation of Klitz- due importance, and threatened to report ing, been offered to any one who should their conduct to the authorities in Berlin. bring him to the magistracy either dead or A feud, which lasted for many weeks, and alive. The river Steppenitz was drained of effectually prevented a proper sifting of the its waters during two days, while search was whole affair, was the consequence of this im- made along its bed; every barn, hedge, THE LOST ENVOY. ditch, and wood, for miles around the town, was ransacked for many days with hounds, sticks, nets, and other instruments, but with- out success. The town itself, and the gardens which surround it, were similarly rummaged. The disreputable resorts frequented by the younger Schmidt, every cellar and loft at- tached to the taverns wherein it could be ascertained he had been drinking or dancing, the post-house, and the cellar of the town- hail, which was used as a taproom, were especially scrutinised; but all research was fruitless. The magistrates were in despair, and reluctantly -resolved to abandon the search, when, precisely six weeks after the eiivoys disappearance, his pantaloons were found, perforated by two shot-holes, on the Ixuder of a fir-wood near the town. They were discovered by a woman of the name, of Weide, who, in company with the wife of a shoemaker, had gone to the forest for the ostensible purpose of gathering brush- wood. They were found stretched at length npon the ground, and turned inside out; but, although saturated with the rain which had fallen in torrents during many weeks, a few lines, in the handwriting of the missing man, which were discovered, scribbled on a scrap of paper, in one of the pockets, were still easily decipherable. But, as the pantaloons could not have been exposed to such a del- uge for many hours, without the w~aters oblit- erating the writing, and reducing the paper itself to pulp, the conclusion ~s a fair one that they had been thus ostentatiously laid rut for the purpose of strengthening the im- pression that their wearer had been mur- dered and stripped by the hostler Schmidt. The note in the missing mans handwriting was a~ldressed to his wife, and was safely con- veyed to her. It had evidently been written in great haste, and in terrible perturbation. It set forth the dangers to which the writer was exposed from his enemies; expressed great fears that he should never reach Eng- land, and inveighed bitterly against the Rus- sians and the Count dEntraigues ;* by whom he said, his ruin had been brought about. Weide and the shoemakers wife, on their discovery being communicated to the magis- A French spy, then resident in London. A few months after Mr. Bathursts disappearance, D Entraigues was assassinated by his Italian servant, at the instigation, as is supposed, of the French goverument, some of whose secrets the count had betrayed, or imprudently permitted to escape him. trates, underwent a rigorous examination; the fir-wood was once more thoroughly searched, and the surrounding, country scoured for miles; but no further trace of the missing man could be discovered. The wo- men were liberated and rewarded; the, peas ants were presented with ten quarts of bran- dy, and a cask of beer; and Captain Klitz- - ing and the magistrates of Perleberg sat down to report to their superiors in Berlin at once their discovery and their despair. Such was the intelligence which awaited the arrival of Mrs. Bathurst at Perleberg, and which she communicated to her friends in England. The impression which it left upon her own mind, and the universal im- pression of the public mind at home, was, that her husband had been forcibly abducted by the agents of the French government, who then swarmed in every city and town of the continent; and that Klitzing, Kruger, and the servant of the luckless envoy, had been accessories to the deed. That Napo- leon was not troubled with any over-scrupu- losity in such matters, when state purposes could be subserved by the seizure of impor- taht papers, is well known; but, in justice to Klitzing, it can only he supposed that he con- sented to take part in the dark transaction under the debasing influence of the terror inspired and universally felt throughout Prussia by the French occupation. Two in- cidents, to one of which I have already re- ferred, deepened~ the impression created by the Perleberg revelation into something ap- proaching to conviction. When on the eve of starting for the continent, ~Mrs. Bathurst had written to the French emperor for pass- ports to guarantee her unmolested freedom in prosecuting her travels and inquiries. Fearing his refusal, she had set out, as we have seen, by way of Sweden, her change of purpose being kept a profound secret from all save her immediate r lations and the British cabinet. Napoleon, however, had re- ceivedprobably from DEntraiguessuch accdrate intelligence of her intended move- ments, that, as I have already stated, she found, on her arrival in Berlin, passports, under his own hand, awaiting her at the French ambassadors. The other incident indicates still more clearly the agency em- ployed in perpetrating the crime, and the end to which the victim came. While the search after Mr. Bathurst was still hot, the governor 23 THE LOST ENVOY. of Mngdehurg, distant about fifty miles from Perleberg, assured a lady one night in the hall-room that the English ambassador was confined in the neighboring fortress. Hear- ing of the fact during her continental explor- ations, the agonized wife repaired to Mngde- burg, waited upon the governor, and im- plored him to tell her the truth. He at once admitted having made the statement referred to, but assured Mrs. Bathurst that he had made it by mistake, and that the prisoner in question was one Louis Fritz, a spy of Mr. Cannin~,s. Mrs. Bathurst begged earaestly to see the man; but Fritz, she was told, had been sent some time before into Spain. On inquiring at the Foreign Office after her re- turn to England, Mrs. Bathurst found that no such person as Fritz had ever been em- ployed by the British government. The pro- babilitv is, therefore, great, that Mr. Bathurst perished, a victim to the odious policy of Na- poleon, in the fortress of Magdeburg. It cannot be denied, however, that this hy- pothesis does not wholly harmonize with cir- cumstances which, whether true or false, were at least at the time very generally re- ported. It is certain that in one of his last letters to his wife, Mr. Bathurst had ex- ~ressed his intention of returning to Col- berg and Stockholm; and a story is still told by the peasantry of Schwerin, how, at a late hour on that fatal night, a stranger called at the house of a consul in the neighborhoodof Wismar on the coast of Mecklenburg, and re- quested an intervie~ with him. The man, however, being absent, the servant asked what name she should mention. The answer given in German, with a foreign accent, was: Never mind that; but she was desired to say that an English gentleman wished to see her master at the post-house at an early hour on the following morning. When the consul called as directed, however, he found that his midnight visitor had departed, leav- ing no message. In the course of the day, the wrecks of two boats which had foun- dered at sea, were washed ashore; and in one of these, it is supposed, the stranger had embarked. But if this stranger were indeed Mr. Bathurst, how are we to account for the subsequent discovery of his trousers in the neighborhood of Perleberg? The only other hypothesis which seems to demand examination, is that which ascribes to the hostler Schmidt and his son Auguste the murder of the missing man. That the younger Schmidt had been much in contact with Mr. Bathurst throughout the afternoon of the 25th of November, is beyond a doubt; and, if we could rely upon its authenticity, a story told by a lady, now the wife of a phy- sician at Perleberg, but who was, at the time of Mr. Bathursts disappearance connected with the household in which Captain Klitzing lodged, would go far to fix the crime upon the fugitive hostler and his profligate son. About five oclock in the afternoon of the day of the disappearance, a stranger, whom the girl understood afterwards to be Mr. Bathurst called at the house, and requested to see the governor. The reader is already aware that this was for the purpose of soliciting a safe- guard at the post-house. Mr. Bathurst Was evidently laboring under great mental agita- tion, and, whether from cold or fear, shivered from head to foot. At the request of Klitz- ing, the girl made the visitor some tea, which revived him greatly. While drinking it, he spoke wildly of the dangers which had threat- ened him along the whole route from Vienna and said that he must be quickly off if he would reach the coast in safety. After press- ing upon the girl some money, which, how- ever, she refused, the stranger took his leave; but upon going to the window to look after him, she was surprised to see him walking rapidly in~a direction quite opposite to that which led to the post-house. Shortly after- wards, the younger Schmidt called in quest of him, and on being informed of the route he had taken, followed fast upon his foot- steps. In a few hours afterwards, the town was in a commotion at the strangers disap- pearance. Such was the story told by the Perleberg phy~icians wife to the sister of Mrs. Bathurst in 1852; but she spoke, as that lady remarked, in so hurried and ex- cited a manner, that it appeared like a tale told by rote, and made up according to direc- tions at the time. It is further to he ob- served that if the lady meant to imply that Mr. Bathurst was overtaken at this time, and immediately hustled away by Schmidt, the story is inconsistent with the fact of the for- iner having at nine oclock in the evening or- dered his carriage to be in readiness and his bill at the post-house to be made out. The fact, moreover, is, that Auguste Schmidt was, about six months after Mr. Bathursts disappearance, actually arrested at the in- 24 THE LOST ENVOY. 25 stance of his family, and tried for the mur- in conjunction with Schmidt, who had lured der; but the case completely broke down. Mr. Bathurst to the house, committed the Another attempt to bring the crime home to murder. The body, she added, had been him was made through the instrumentality carried to a distant part of the coast, and of an abandoned woman, of the name of buried in the sand, upon which all traces of Hacker, whose house was much frequented disturbance must have been speedily obliter- by Schmidt, and la~ in the direction said to ated. But the woman afterwards confessed have been pursued by the missing man after that the story had been a pure fabrication, leaving Klitzing. Haeker stated that at the I and that she was utterly ignorant of the fate time of the occurrence, a party of French which had befallen the Lost Envoy, soldiers was billeted upon her, and that they CRIMEAN ToMBs.*~Under the ambiguous title of The Last of the Brave, two gallant officers have performed the reverent and accep- table service of giving, in the form both of pic- torial representation and of verbal transcript, a complete register of all the tombs and grave- yards of our perished soldiers of the Crimean campaign. The list includes the privates of the Army and seamen of the Naval Brigade no less than the Field-Ma~shal Commander-in-Chief; and is faithful even to the humble devices on the tombs, and the mistakes in spelling. Soldierlike, the compilers have done their work, and say little of the manner in which it was done; the volume consisting wholly of a copy of the inscriptions, lithographic views of the cemeteries, a few hearty words of introduction, and ~ome statistical details of the strength of the British Army, the numbers killed, and the like. We are left to infer that Ghptains Col- borne and Brine themselves sketched the places and copied the inscriptions; and that the illus- trations, carefully lithographed, have been exe- cuted from original designs so suppliedif not possibly from photographs. The most common material of the tombs is the ordinary stone of the country, dazzlingly white, and durable thou ~h soft: the masons were mostly the Royal Engineers. The inscriptions are generally of the simplest kind; sometimes no more than the name, and date of death; often with such additions as Died from his wounds received at the Redan, or Erected by his Comrades; as a token of their esteem. Lord Raglans monument itself carries this simplicity to the extremest point being mcrcly a flat tombstone, inscribed To the Memory of Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, G.C.B., Commander-in-chief of the British Army in the Crimea; died 28th June 1855. Several, including General~ Cathcarts, have Russian inscriptions (of which no interpretation ~ The Last ~f the Brave; or the resting-places of our Fallen Heroes in the Crimea and at Scu- tar By. Captains the Honorable John Coihorne, 60th Royal Rifles, late 77th Regiment, and Fred- erick Brine, Royal Engineers. Published by Ackermaun and Co. is given). A woman or a priest here and there, a few Sardinians, Mr. Stowe, the administrator of the Times Fund, vary at rare intervals the records of officers, soldiers, and seamen. One of the most touching mottoe~ in its simplicity, and doubtless in its truth, is She bath done what she could to the grave of Sophia Wal- ford, Matron, Barrack Rospital, Scutari. From the verse-mottoes the following may be selected as among the more characteristic. Though boisterous winds, and Neptunes waves, Have tossed us to and fro, En spite of both, by Gods decree, We harbor here below: And at an anchor here we ride, With many of the fleet, In hopes again for to set sail, Our Redeemer Christ to meet. (To Quartermaster Burrell, of the Leaader.) ~ Plant, plant wild flowers around their bed, Your brothers numbering with the dead; A sacred duty tis you owe To all mankindto friend, to foe. Gather, gather from you dell, The snowdrops, crocus, and blue-hell: Unsparing strew them oer each grave; The dead but marks the truly brave. (To ]lIen of the Laad Transport Corps.) Here lies an old soldier whom all must ap- plaud: He fought many battles both at home and abroad; But the fiercest engagement he ever was in Was the battle of ~elf in the conquestof sin. (To a Private of Marines.) Unis pour la victoire, Da soldat cest la gloire: R6unis par la mort, Des braves cest le sort. (At the Malalcoff.) In artistic decoration, we find nothing more elaborate than a cross, an obelisk, or a broken column. The Statistics show a total of 2755 killed in the Army, and 124 in the Naval Brigade. 26 From The Athennum. Recollections of a Lifetime; or, Men and Things I have seen: in a Series of Pam- iliar Letters to a Friend, Historical, Biographical, Anecdotical, and Descrip- tive. By S. G. Goodrich. 2 vols. (New York, Miller & Co.; London, Low & Co.) SIXTY-FOUR years to an American are something like one hundred and sixty years to any memorialist belonging to the old country, so far as the amount of changes with wl#ich mans memory can be stored is represented. Mr. Goodrich, at all events, has seen far more than he knows how to describe. It is curious to find a man so pleasant in his style as our author was when writing as Peter Parley for children, so prosy, and diffuse, and sapless as he is when dealing with the varied topics which fill these two heavy volumes. Yet, they contain in- structive matter, and, if abridged and re- written, they might be transformed into a welcome addition to the library of American biography. Mr. Goodrich was born in the western part of Connecticut State, at Hidgefield. His father was clergyman there, with a small stipend and a family of eight children,all of whom, says our Mr. Goodrich attained respectable positions in life. But life fifty years ago was primitive,manners were sim- ole,and self-sacrifice was not then thought calamity. Let us string together a few traits, showing how people lived in those homely days: Money was scarce, wages being about fifty cents a day, though these were generally paid in meat, vegetables, and other articles of useseldom in money. There was not a factory of any kind in the place. There was a butcher, but he only went from house to house to slaughter the cattle and swine of his neighors. There wa~ a tanner, but he only dressed other peoples skins: there was a clothier, but he generally fulled and dressed other peoples cloth. * * Even dyeing blue a portion of the wool, so as to make linsey- wolsey for short gowns, aprons, and blue- mixed stockingsvital necessities in those dayswas a domestic operation. During the autumn, a dye-tub in the chimney corner thus placed so as to be cherished by the genial heatwas as familiar in all thrifty houses, as the Bible or the back-log. It was covered with a board, and formed a cosy seat in the wide-mouthed fire-place, especially of a chill evening. * * Our bread was of rye, tinged with Indian meal. Wheat bread was RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE-TIME. reserved for the sacrament and company. * * All the vegetables came from our garden and farm. The fuel was supplied by our own woods sweet-scented hickory, snapping chestnut, odoriferous oak, and reeking, fizzling ash. * * Sugar was partially supplied by our maple-trees. These were tapped in March, the sap being collected, and boiled down in the woods. This was wholly a domestic oJ)eration, and one in which all the children rejoiced. * * Rum was largely consumed, but our distilleries had scarcel; begun~ A half-pint of it was given as a mutwr of course to every day-labor~er, more particib~rly in the summer season. In all families, rich or poor, it was offered to male visitors as an essential point of hospitality, or even good manners. WomenI beg pardonladies, took their schnapps, then named Hopkins Elixir, which was the most delicious and seductive means of getting tipsy that has been im- vented. Crying babies were silenced with hot toddy, then esteemed an infallible remedy for wind on the stomach. Every man im- bibed his morning dram, ai~d this was esteemed temperance. There is a story of a preacher about those days, who thus lectured his par- ish: I say nothing, my beloved brethren, against taking a little bitters before breakfast, and after breakfast, especially if you are used to it. What I contend against is this dram- ming, dramming, dramming, at all hours of the day. * * We raised our own flax, rotted it, hackled it, dressed it, and spun it. The little wheel, turned by the foot, had its place, and was as familiar as if it had been a member of the family. * * The wool was also spun in the family, partly by my sisters, and part- ly by Molly Gregory, daughter of our neigh- bor, the town carpenter. I remember her well as she sang and spun aloft in the attic. In those days, church singing was one of the fine artsthe only one, indeed, which flour- ished in IRidgefield, except the music of the drum and fife. The choir was divided into four parts, ranged on three sides of the meet- ing-house gallery. * * Twice a year, that is, in the spring and autumn, the tailor came to the house and fabricated the semi-annual stock of clothes for the male membersthis being called whipping the cat. Mantun- makers and milliners came in their turn, to fit out the female members of the family. There was a similar process as to boots and shoes. Here are a few more details, which bring again before us persons, and the scenes, al- ready intFoduced to us by Greenwood and Flint: At the period of my earliest recollections, men of all classes were dres~& d in long, broad-tailed coats, with huge pockets, long RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE-TIME, waistcoats, and breeches. Hats had low crowns, with broad brimssome so wide as to be supported at the sides with cords. The stockings of the parson, and a few others, were of silk in summer and worsted in win- ter; those of the people were generally of wool, and blue and grey mixed. Women dressed in wide bonnetssometimes of straw and sometimes of silk: the gowns were of silk, muslin, gingham, & c.generally close and short-waisted, the breast and shoulders being covered by a full muslin kerchief. Girls ornamented themselves with a large white Vandyke. * * Tavern haunting especially in winter, when there was little to dowas common, even with respectable far- mers. Marriages were celebrated in the evening, nt the house of the bride, with a gen- eral gathering of the neighborhood, and usu- ally wound off by dancing. Everybody went, as to a public exhibition, without invitation. Funerals generally drew large processions, which proceeded to the grave. Here the minister always made an ~iddress, suited to the occasion. If there was any thing remark- able in the history of the deceased, it was turned to religious account in the next Sun- days sermon. Singing meetings, to practise church music, were a great resotrce for the young, in winter. * * Balls at the taverns were frequented by the young; the children of deacons and ministers attended, though the parents did not. The winter brought sleighing, skating, and the usual round of in- door sports. We are amused, a page or two later, to find Mr. Goodrich putting. in a good word for the practice of whittling,which, with some writers on America, has shared the wrath bestowed on the sitters legs resting on the mantel-shelfon the spitters evolutions, whether there be carpet or no carpet. Mr. Goodrich defends the knife, the shingle, and the chips, as so many first steps and imple- ments in mechanical ingenuity. Steam navigation [says he], the electric telegraph, the steam reaper, & c. & c., are American inventions: hence it is that, whether it be at the Worlds Fair in London or Paris, we gain a greater proportion of prizes for useful inventions than other peo- ple. That is what comes of whittling! Society was civiller in those days than it has since become. Before I proceed, let me note, in pass- ing, a point of manners then universal, but which has now nearly faded away. When travellers met with people on the highway, ,both saluted one another with a certain dig- nified and formal courtesy. All children were regularly taught at school to make their manners to strangers; the boys to bow and the girls to courtesy. It was some- thing different from the frank, familiar How are you stranger? of the Far West; some- thing different from the Bon jour, servi- teur, of the Alps. * * For children to salute travellers was, in my early days as well a duty as a decency. A child whb did not make his manners to a stranger on the high-road was deemed a low fellow. * * Jefferson was, or affected to be, very simple in his taste, dress, and manners. He wore pantaloons, instead of breeches, and adopted leather shoe-strings in place of buckles. These and other similar things were prai~sed by his admirers as signs of his democracy: a certain coarseness of manners, supposed to be encouraged by the leaders, passed to the led. Rudeness and irreverence were at length deemed democratic, if not democracy. An anecdote, which is strictly historical, wil. illustrate this. About this time, there was in the eastern part of Connecticut a clergyman by the ni~me of Cleveland, who was noted for his wit. One summer day, as he was riding along, he came to a brook. Here he paused to let his horse drink. Just then, a stranger rode into the stream from the opposite direc- tion, and his horse began to drink also. The animals approached, as is their wont un- der such circumstances, and thus brought the two men face to face. How are you, priest? said the stranger. How are you, democrat? said the parson How do you know I am a democrat? said one. How do you know I am a priest? said the other. I know you to be a priest by your dre~ss, said the stranger. I know you to be a dem- ocrat by your address, said the parson. The above scraps, collected from the pages of prosy writing, over which they are thinly sprinkled, will afford no bad idea of the matter of a large portion of the first vol- ume. How its writers education, commenced at a dame-school, which was kept by one Delight Benedict, was continued and carried out,by what steps he rose into compilation, editorship, authorship, competence, and an Etiropean reputation (of its kind),we do not profess to follow, since the chapters might be shorn of pages, and the pages be shorn of paragra,phs, and the paragraphs of words, ere the story could be reduced into such form and compass as would make bketch or extract easy. Some of the pas- sages which will be found most amusing on this side of the Atlantic are pencillings,by Mr. Goodrich, of the literary celebrities of 27 RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE-TIME. England and Scotland, taken about the year 1823, telling how Peter Parley surprised a person no less awful than the Editor of the Edinburgh Beview, on the floor, in high romps with Mrs. Russells boys !how the American was taken, out a-riding, and did not get the trot of Jeifreys mare out of his hones for a fortnight,and how he found Blackwood, a plain, short, stocky person, with a large head, bald and flat on the top, who spoke broad Scotch, or rather sang it: also, how he dined with Sir Walter Scotts son-in-law and daughter. From the record of this dinner-party, a passage or two may be extracted. Mrs. Lockhart was now apparently about two-and-twenty years oldsmall in person, and girl-like in manner. Her hair was light- brown, cut sbort, and curled in her neck and around her face. Her cheeks were blooming, and her countenance full of cheerfulness. * Mrs. Lockhart spoke with great interest of Mr. Irving, who had visited the family at Abbotsford. She said that he slept in a room which looked out on the Tweed. In the morning as he came down to breakfast, he was very pale, and being asked the rea- son, confessed that he had not been able to sleep. The sight of the Tweed from his window, and the consciousness of being at Ahbotsford, so filled his imaginationso ex- cited his feelings, as to deprive him of slum- ber. She also spoke of Prof. Ticknorlay- ing the accent on the last syllableas having been at Abbotsford, and leaving behind him thc most agreeable impressions. Our lively hostess was requested to give us some music, and instantly compliedthe harp being her instrument. She sang Scotch airs, and played several pibrochsnll with taste and feeling. Her range of tunes seemed inex- haustible. Her father sat by, and entered heartily into the performances. He beat time vigorously with his lame leg, and fre- quently helped out a chorus, the heartiness of his tones making up for some delinquencies in tune and time. Often he made remarks upon the songs, and told anecdotes respect- ing them. When a certain pibroch had been played, he said it reminded him of the first time he ever saw Miss Edgeworth. There had come to Abhotsford, a wild, Gaelic peasant from the neighborhooa of Staffa, and it was proposed to hini to sing a pibroch common in that region. He had consented, but required the whole party present, to sit in a circle on the floor, while he should sing the song, and perform a certain pantomimic accoml)animent, in the centre. All was ac- cordingl~~ arranged in the great hall, and the performer had just begun his wild chant, when in walked a small but stately lady, and announced herself as Miss Edgeworth! * * The most remarkable thing about the Amer- ican Indians, said Blackwood, is their be- ing able to follow in the trail of their ene- mies, by their footprints left in the leaves, upon the grass, and even upon the moss of the rocks. The accounts given of this seem hardly credible. I can readily believe it, however, said Sir Walter. You must re- member that this is a part of their education. I have learned at Abbotsford to discriminate between the hoof-marks of all our neighbors horses, and I taught the same thing to Mrs. Lockhart. It is, after all, not so difficult as you might think. Every horse& foot has some peculiarityeither of size, shoeing, or manner of striking the earth. I was once walking with Southeya mile or more from homeacross the fields. At last we came to a bridle-path, leading towards Abbotsford, and here I noticed fresh hoof-prints. Of this I said nothing; hnt pausing and looking up with an inspired expression, I said to Southey I have a gift of second sight: we shall, have a stranger to dinner ! And what may be his name? was the reply. Scott, said I. Ah, it is some relation of yours, he said, you have invited him, and you would pass off as an example of your Scot- tish gift of prophecy, a matter previously agreed upon Not at all, said I. I assure you that till this moment I never thought of such a thing. When we got home, I was told that Mr. Scott, a farmer living some three or four miles distant, and a relative of mine, was waiting to see me. Southey looked astounded. The man re- mained to dinner, and he was asked if he had given any intimation df his coming. He replied in the negative: that indeed he ha~ no idea of visiting Abbotsford when he left home. After enjoying Southeys wonder for some time, I told him that I saw the tracks of Mr. Scotts horse in the bridle-path, and inferring that he was going to Abbotsford, easily foresaw that we should have him to dinner. Mrs. Lockhart confirmed her fathers statement, and told how, in walking over the country together, they had often amused themselves in studying the hoof- prints along the roads. * * Charles Scott, Sir Walters second son, a rosy-checked youth of about eighteen, was present. He had recently come from Wales, where he had been under the teaching of a Welch clergy- man. The subject being mentioned, Black- wood asked Mr. Robinsona very sober, clerical-looking gentlemanto give the~com- pany a sample of a Welsh sermon. Two chairs were p!aced.back to back: Blackwood sat in onehis bald, flat pate for a desk, and 28 RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE-~TIME. and the performer mounted the othertak- ing one of Mrs. Lockharts songs for his notes. It seems he was familiar with the Welch language, and an admirable mimic. His performance was exceedingly amusing. When he became animated, he slapped the music down on Blackwoods bald pate, and in capping his climaxes, gave it two or three smart thumps with his fist. Blackwood must have bad a substantial skull or he could not ha~e borne it. At last, even he had enough of it, and when he perceived another climax was coming,he dodged, and the sermon ~vas speedily brought to a close. Mr. Robinson was then called upon to imitate an Italian player on the bass-viol. He took a pair of tongs for his bow, and a shovel for his viol, and mounting a pair of spectacles on the tip-end of his nose, he began imitating the spluttering of the instrument by his voice. It was inimitably droll. Sir Walter was quite convulsed, and several of the ladies ab- solutely screamed. As. to myself, I had the side-ache for four-and-twenty hours. It may have been already remembered by our readers that Mr. Goodrich was consul at Paris for some years. But it is singular that they should have left such feeble traces or yielded so few traits, as this book reveals. He recounts, too, as diffusely as well can be, how, in his editorial capacity, he did his part in bringing out some of the most popular American authors :among others, Brainard, who wrote his poem on The Fall of Niag- ara, yet had never been within less tban five hundred miles of the cataract,Mr. N. P. Willis, who was successful and spoiled from the very outset of his careel7,and Mr. Hawthorne, whose up-hill fight towards the eminence on which ~e now stands is also commemorated.That this striking humorist and romancer was long in getting his public, none knew better than those concerned in the Athenceum. But this Journal was not inadvertent to the appearance of something new and real in the world of American im- agination; since so long ago as the year 1835, we made our readers acquainted with some of the papers by Mr. Hawthorne then anonymously scattered through the Ameri- can periodicals, which, a few years later were gathered and published as the Twice-told Tales. Mn. HAMMOND, an American sportsman, in his volume entitled Wild Northern Scenes, gives a record of exciting adventures with the rifle and the rod, along with graphic descriptions of a district comparatively unknown and unfre- quented. In the broad region lying between the St. Lawrence and Lake Champlain colonization and civilization have yet made little progress. The country, rocky and sterile, offers no temp- tation to agricultural labor, and the ancient for- ests yet give shelter to multitudes of deer, while the howl of the wolf and the scream of the panther disturb the solitude of the scenes. The Red Indians have indeed disappeared, but the region is yet wild and rude as when the white man had not yet invaded it. The romantic lakes and rugged rocks add to the natural charm of the scenery. Mr. Hammond tells us that for many years he has been accustomed to take hi~ annual holiday from the wearing business of city life amidst these solitudes, in preference to the crowded watering-places, with theirdismal con- ventionality and cheerless excitement. His book is very likely to attract many others to the same scenes, thou,,h we believe the district is not quite so unvisited as Mr. Hammond repre- sents. However, he has written a most enter- ta~ning book, whether as regiirds the more direct sporting experiences, or the reflections on life and manners, and the enthusiastic descriptions of natural scenery. The volume is illustrated by several engravings. We have read it with as much interest as any recent American book of light literature that has lately come in our way. Literary Gazette. AFRIcAN Rxsxs FROM TRAvat. My men were exceedingly delighted ~ith the cordial re- ception we met with every where: but a source of annoyance was found where it was not ex- pected. Many of their wives had married other men during our two years absence. Mashan- anas wife, who had borne him two children, was among the number. He wished to appear not to feel it much; saying, Why, wives are as plentiful as grass, and I can get another: she may go; but he would add, If I had that fel- low, I would open his ears for him. As most of them had more wives than one, I tried to console them by saying that they still had more than I had, and that they had enough yet: but they felt the reflection to be galling, that while they were toiling, another had been devouring their corn. Some of their wives came with very young infants in their arms. This excited no discontent; and for some I bad to speak to the chief, to order the men, who had married the only wives some of my companions ever had, to restore them. Liviagstoaes ]Jiliissionary Travels in. $outh Africa. 29 MIDDLESEX HOSPITAL REPORT ON CANCER. From The Spectator. MIDDLESEX HOSPITAL REPORT OF CANCER.* IN 1791, the late Samuel Whitbread founded a ward in the Middlesex Hospital for the special reception and treatment of cancer; requiring as a condition of the en- dowment, that the name of every patient ad- mitted should be kept, and records made of any peculiar case, which records should be open to public inspection. Many additions have been made to the Cancer Fund since its original institution; and the ~ward has become a sort of school for cancer, not merely from the number of cases continually present for study, but because the Governors have rendered it available for the trial of every new method of treatment which the medical officers might consider safe and proper. Two conditions are always enforced,that the fi~iethod of treatment~ should be explained; and that consent to make it public within a rehsonable period should be given. During the sixty-six years that have elapsed since the foundation of the ward, numerous applications have been rej ected. and many experiments have been tried. The most important of these appears to have been the plan of Dr. Fell, an American phy- sician, which was commenced in January last; for although not applicable to many cases of the diseas~, and not producing any constitutional effects, which is the greatest desideratum, it h~is various advantages. It causes little constitutional disturbance; though not painless, it is much less painful than any other treatment; it removes the offensive odor and other unpleasant concomitants of the disease, which at all events depress and harass the patient; there is not necessarily confinement to the bed or even the house, 50 that the general health is little affected for the worse; it can be employed in all cases where the knife is used, and in many others in which no prudent person would recom- mend a cutting operation. The drug, new as to its application, which Dr. Fell uses, is the root of the Sanguinaria Canadensis or Blood-root of Canada. It can be taken internally, or applied externally ~t Report of the Surgical Staff of the Middlesex Hospital to the Weekly Board au~l Governors upon the Treatment of Cancerous Diseases in the Hospi- tal, on the Plan introduced by Dr. Fell. Printed by order of the Quarterly Court. Published by Churchill. with chloride of zinc and flour1~t1ie form of a paste. The external treatment wa~ the more effectual mode, and is thus dpscribed. In treating an ulcerated cancer, a small quantity of the paste was diluted with stra- monium, or other ointment, spread on cotton- wool, and pressed into contact with the whole ulcerated surface. By the next day, a thin superficial layer of the morbi& structure was usually found changed into a dull white, 1~ria- ble, insensible eschar; and the fietor and discharge were lessened. The undiluted paste was then applied in the same manner; and the dressing was renewed from day to day, until it appeared to have pervaded the disease in its entire thickness. Fragments of the esehar were removed as they became loose; and light incisions were made from time to time in its deeper and more fixed parts, with the purpose of facilitating the gradual percolation of the paste to the in- most layers of the disease. The use of the paste was then discontinued, and poultices, or what is better, soothing ointments, were employed, particularly around the edges of the eschar. A line of demarcation formed and deepened, and the dead mass was at length cast off. If the eschar comprised the entire mass of the cancer, a perfectly healthy granulating sore soon appeared in its place, and speedily healed. If, however, any part of the original disease remained, it was requisite to renew the treatment, only taking care, as before, to dilute the paste on its first application to the tender surface of the ulcer. * * * * * Two peculiarities marked the treatment of cancerous tumours, which had not yet ul- cerated, or were only ulcerated to a small extent. In the first placq, no ingredient in the remedy being capable of destroying healthy skin, at least ia a reasonably short period, it was necessary to remove that ob- stacle to its action upon the soft and permea- ble tissue beneath. The treatment, there- fore, commenced by destroying the skin, to about the same superficial extent as that of the tumor, by means of strong nitric acid. The skin was lightly touched with the acid, until every part of it intended to be destroyed had lost its natural appearance and acquired a yellow color. A bright red halo formed around, and vessication commenced upon the charred surface. The latter process ceased on the application of a layer of the paste, spread on cotton; and th? next day, on re- moving the dressing, a dry tawny-yellow eschar appeared. Then commenced the second and the characteristic process in the treatment by Dr. Fell. Parallel scr~tches or shallow incisions 30 MIDDLESEX HOSPITAL REPORT ON CANCER. 31 were made along the charred skin, for the lion that this is its only but its very great merit. purpose of inserting into them strips of cal- The san~uinaria is inert; the chloride of zinc ico smeared with the paste. These incisions ~paste was known before; but the incisions varied in number, being usually made about constitute a new feature in the treatment of half an inch apart, but sometimes there cancerous tumors, for which we find no par- were not more than four in a breadth of five allel in the writings of the past or in the or six inches. They were carried along the practice of present surgeons. Cancer, in its whole length of the esehar, and to a depth constitutional nature, remains as ruthless and somewhat short of the living tissues beneath. as unassailable as ever. Chloride of zinc For the first two or three days they were may or may not continue to be used for the seldom deep enough to lodge the strips of destruction of the local disease. But the ad- calico; still even tbe scratches sufficed for vantage placed in the hands of surgeons by the ~percolation of the remedy into the sub- the invention- of gradual incisions claims jacent living parts. Each day the incisions henceforth their very frequent adoption in were a little deepened, and fresh strips of the treatment of cancerous tumours, as well anointed calico, or rolls of cotton-wool coy- as a grateful acknowledgment of the inge- ered with the paste, were inserted into them, nuity of their inventor. until in the course of from two to seven weeks, the average time being about three weeks, the whole depth of the tumour was penetrated; and then the use of the paste was discontinued, and the eschar left to sep- arate. It is in these incisions that the principal value of Dr. Fells method consists, accord- ing to the opinion of the Middlesex Hospital surgeons. The application of zinc to cancer is not new; taken internally, the blood-root did not seem to have any effect one way or other. The external application seems lim- ited to removing the odor; for the purpose of destroying cancers it appears to be prac- tically inert. In a review of the whole treat- ment, the report ascribes the virtue to the incisions. The last peculiarity of this treatment is the practice of incisions; and we are of opin This notice of the Report on Cancer is confined to the barest outline of the new practice. Those who wish for fuller infor- mation on the subject must obtain the report itself. They will find there some curious particulars relating to an audacious attempt at imposition by a charlatan, recommended by men who ought to have known better; a very full account of Dr. Fells plan and the methods of carrying it out in detail; a criti- cal survey of the whole treatment so far as the short period in which it has been under observation permits of jud~ment, and nume- rous cases illustrative of that treatment. It should be observed that the surgical staff of the Hospital consider that further improve- ments nfay arise from Dr. Fells plan, when it has been subjected to more extensive in- vestigation and experiment. The Stanhope Prize Essay: the C7iaracte,- and Place of Wicklzffe as a Reformer. By Her- bert Cowell. J. H. and J. Parker. Tnn Stanhope prize essay for 1857, by Her- bert Cowell, of Wadham College, on the Char- acter and Place of Wickliffe as a Reformer, pre- sents an interesting view of the state of Eng- land in the reign of Edward III., with a clear exposition of the special work which Wickliffe was able to accomplish by his labors and his writings. Of the personal piety of the reformer and his fervent spiritual character there is no difference of opinion, but Mr. Cowell shows that he exerted public influence chiefly by his attacks on the clergy for their immorality and their abuse of power and privilege. It was the English sense of justice and love of liberty rather than Christian zeal for the truth which4 brought support to Wickliffe in his protest against Rome. He himself was moved by higher principles, but Mr. Cowell is right in his representation of the general tone of the movement of which this early reformer was the head. The tide of public feeling was in the di-. rection of political rather than religious liberty, and there was no strong or general desire to oppose more than the grossabuses of the church.. The masses of the people could little sympathiz with the spiritual aspirations of the reformer, whose services were better appreciated by a sue. ceeding generation. But though his efforts for reformation were premature, his name is not tha less cherished and honored as one of the found- ers of the Protestant cause in England.4to. rary Qazette. 32 A VISION OF THE GREAT EASTEILN.PANIC POETRY. ON RECEIVING A BASKET OF VIO- LETS IN WAX. WHERE, oh where do the violets dwell l Sweet April breeze, I pray thee, tell! Thou hast wandered far over vale and glen, Ere thou hast entered the haunts of men; Thou hast breathed on the wealth of the springs young green, Through sunlit valleys thy path has been, Through copses where last years leaves lie still, Where the brambles dip in the wandering rill, Oer wide green meadows, oer bleak hillside Tell me, sweet breeze, where do violets hide l Down some quiet glen where the moss is deep; At a gray rocks foot where the lichens creep; Under branches gemmed with the morning dew, In a bower of leaves which the sun glints through; Mong the thick gnarled roots of an old oak- tree, Unvisited save by some wandering bee; Mid the deep wood-3ilence, unbroken all day, Save by babbling brook or rustling spray; Like a gem in the shade of its deep leaves-set, You may find the coy sweet violet! Alas, forme! Imaynotgo Where the wild fern bends to the waters flow, Chained are the steps that would gladly roam In the track of the breeze to the violets home. I dwell mid the tide of eddying life; The very air with its sound is rife! I may not leave these streets and walls For lone wood-dells and water-falls; So deep in its own sweet verdrous gloom, Unseen by me, must the violet bloom! Yet have I violets! See my prize I Purple and white, with their golden eyes! Violets vying with Natures best, Tenderly set in a mossy nest! Better in this, that these dainty flowers Fade not away *ith the fleeting hours; But their beauty will last with the fancies they raise, Through rain and tempest, and wintry days. Then-thanks, warm thanks, to the skilful hand, And tenfold thanks to the heart that planned This graceful gift! So these flowers shall be Ever a source of sweet thoughts to me, And though storms blow wildly, and skies are drear, Shall bring dreams of spring-time through all the year! F. H. S. Chambers Journal. A VISION OF THE GREAT EASTERN. LIRE a huge landslip, lo, the monster glides Solemn and dark, upon the swelling main, Whose surge, upheaved by her tremendous sides Indignant, dashes on the shores again. Shout, multitudes! Guns, strain your iron throats Approving smiles, well pleased, let beauty lend; Sound, trumpets, sound your high triumphant notes Frighted sea-monsters, to your caves descend; To-day our ocean queen the earth disdains, And oer the subject deep, a mighty conqueror reigns! Friendship no longer to the shore descends With cheeks bedewed, while fond ones look their last, As at the bedside of departing friends, Ere death the bitterness of death to taste. Securely walking, as on city street, The self-same heaven above, though stars be strange; Countrymen, neighborhoods, and kindred meet, Serene th illimitable deep they range; Many they love, and much of all they know, Religion, language, laws, together with them go. Thyself a navy! Offspring of mans mind, Aspiring ever, and expanding still; Pilot of labor wheresoeer we find - The wilderness expecting human skill. Earth callsman hearswide ocean intervene, Crowds pine on this, hope points to other strands; Our iron Island oscillates between The old and new, th outworn and virgin lands; Laborembarks with proud elated mien, Glory and wealth with him, alleit as yet unseen. Instinct with living fires, for purposed ends, Submissive, pliant to the helmsmans skill, From continent to continent extends, From pole to pole the iron isle at will. Not belching death from her artilleried sides, Not clothed with thunder, terror, rage, and pain; On peaceful errands, olive-crowned, she glides, Tyrannic only oer the watery plain; From teeming nations, scarce-requited toil, Floats man to nature, labor to the soil. Linking two hemispheres, the far and near, Esteeming lightly distance, change, and time, Ordained to trample on, and domineer Over the wild dissociating brine; Far as th oerarching western heavens extend, Onward, still onward, tens of thousands come; Thy sides food-seeking families ascend, Descending thence, to their appointed home; Men of one name, one language, and one birth, Subduing and replenishing the earth! JOHN FISHER MURRAY. Chambers~ Journal. PANIC POETRY. A Friend in need is a Friend indeed! Old proverbs at times seem witty or wise, As seen by the aid of a new pair of eyes Opened wide by misfortuneanothers or ours Like clouds that grow grand as the thunder- storm lowers. Old Skinflint) the man with more money than heart, In vain is besought with his specie to part; His friends are so kind and so friendly in- deed, That old Skinflint suspects them to be friends in need. NoRwRsTiea. IowA Czr~, October 22, 1857. Evening Post. THE SPANISH COURT. 33 From The Saturday Review, of Louis XIV. At Madrid, you have Louis THE SPANISH COURT. XV., tout impur. What need of a Parc THE condition of the Spanish Court and aux Gerfs, when there are the united services Government is a disgrace to Europe. The for a preserve P first-fruits of civilization, even on the unkind- Many people are surprised to hear that liest soil, are usually the external decencies; these intolerable, scandals have produced a hut in Madrid these humblest conquests of general desire for the return of the Queen- moral progress seem to be abandoned. The Mother to Spain. Considering who Maria accredited phrase in certain circles about the Christina is, the remedy called for at Madrid Court of Spain is, that there is a mystery may seem only intellihible on the principles about it; but the mystery is like the secret of homoeopathy. This Royal lady has just de Policliinelle. Everybody in Europe whis- most deliberately stamped herself with the pers it. The smallest piece of news in character which she is to wear in the eyes ot Madrid is enough to set every tongue pro- posterity. She had to choose between the faning it. If the Ministry changes, if Armero horns of an uncomfortable dilemma, and to brings in Mon, and Mon refuses to come in say. whether she would be regarded as a without Pidal, and Pidal introduces Bermudez cheat or as something which most women de Castro, and the dead generally unbury would consider a good deal worse. A Coin- their dead, but one name is made responsible mittee of the Constituent Cortes appointed to for it all. If it is announced that a Royal report on the sequestration of her property, child is about to be born to Spain, and had endeavored, with spiteful and perhaps prayers are offered in all the churches for her not very honorable dexterity, to show that Majestys deliverance from danger, the same the State had a claim against her f~r very name mingles with the public orisons. One large sums of money unlawfully received. omnipresent influence animates Court life and She had enjoyed an extravagant revenue as politics, and yet it has an inner shrine whither Regent and guardian of her infant daughter, you may easily get directed if you want a but both the Regency and the guardianship place, or a command, or a railway concession, were to cease on her marrying a second time As you make your way to a certain boudoir, and, unfortunately, her relations with he you will pass Cardinals who have been to present husband, now Duke of Rianzares, converse about the Concordat, Princes of the had been such as to make it a charitable sup- Blood who have been consulting about their position that her widowhood ended soon after own or th~Jr daughters marriage, and For- Ferdinands death. The Committee had eign Ministers who have~come to mediate in stated the alt?rnative with malignant clear- the rul)ture with Mexico. The inmate will ness; and when, on the defeat of her politi- receive you graciously, if you are properly cal enemies, the Queen-Mother announced equipped; and you will find that there is no that a formal refutation of tVeir charges good thing in Spain but can be begged or would be immediately submitted to the world, bought from a Madame Dubarry who, in- all the curiosity in Spain was awake to watch stead of paint and patches, wears a sword, a the issue of the struggle between modesty sabre-tasehe, and spurs. The present moral and cupidity. The result establishes the status of the Bourbons reminds one of the wisdom of the dictum tl~at avarice is the best theory, held by som~ persons, that in very of all passions to cultivate, because it lasts old families the good qualities of the race die longest. Maria Christina refuses to be called out, leaving a resi(luum of unqualified evil, a swindler, because swindlers are sometimes The greatest Hoitse in Europe will certainly required to refundshe consents to be called not disprove the theory. Except where the something else, because hard words break no blood has been sweetened by adversity, it bones. In a bulky pamphlet, published in seems to have steadily eliminated all its her name by three well-known advocates, nobler particles, and to have run itself elear, this Princess, who some years since was in the course of years, from all its1inigredients travelling about Europe with a train of mar except vice, fanaticism, and imbecility. At riageable daughters, labors to show, with Naples, you. have the cold cruelty and morose- much emphatic asseveration and great afliu- ness of Louis XIII. At Venice, you have the ence of proofs, that she was not married till formal superstition and mechanical routine 1844. No wonder the question is asked, DCCX. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 3 THE MARRIAGE OF FELLOWS QUESTION. what possible improvement can she bring to the morals of the Court of Spain? But the answer is, that she will bring common discre- tion. False, cruel, avaricious, tyrannical, ann, as she herself admits, licentious, she has still the instincts of a woman. Though she may not have self-command enough to disappoint a single passion, she will do her best to reconcile her vices with appearances. She will affront scandal rather than relinquish one dollar of her hoards; hut she does not love scandal for its own sakeshe has no taste for orgies in the face of day, and would very much rather sin in private than in public. She is, in fact, desired in Madrid for the ex- cellent example she affords. The person now styled Duke of Rianzares is not known to have caused the rise or fall of a single Cabinet. Probably; like the rest of the world, he has his hates and likings, but no political event can be traced to them ; and if he has coveted distinction in any field outside the Palace, no indulgence has been extended to this creditable ambition. Maria Christina must be fully alive to the dangerousness of a Potemkin who is bent on having a Crimea in Cuba, and, if only for this reason, her mitis .sapientia would be invaluable at Madrid. The Oriental tinge which colors Spanish character may not imply any great austerity of morals, but it produces acute distaste for violations of external propriety, and a pecu- liar disgust at open irregularities in the other sex. It is greatly to be feared that Queen Isabella is at the same moment wearing out the affection of the Spanish nation for the Royal office, and its respect for those free institutions which sanction the seat of the younger branch of Spanish Bourbons on the throne. There are some, indeed, who appear ~to extract comfort from. the shameful pro- eedings of the Spanish Court, by reflecting That, whatever Queen Isabella is, she is still ~a protest against absolute monarchy. She we are told, the sense to see that an attarnpt to govern without a Parliament would be an admission of her cousins title to the Crown; and hence she keeps alive traditions arid ~cerms of freedom which may blossom hereafter in more genial days. The danger does :not, however, impend from the sons of Don Carlos, whose chance of reinstatement in any event 1s almost inappreciable. In Spain .as in every other Continental com- ~unity,it is a milltary autocracy which waits to take advantage of the false steps of free- dom; and in truth, nothing but the power which she accidentally possessed of playing off ODonnell against Naivaez, prevented Queen Isabella from becoming, the other day, the slave and creature of an armed dictator. Curiously enough, the Court of Spain owes its ptesent independence to the profligacy with which it has been wont to dispense its favors. It ~has created such a mob of Gene- rals, and such a variety of discordant interests in the army, that no one competitor for mili- tary absolutism can hope to carry witli him the support of more than a fraction of the forces and of their cificers. But this even balance among a crowd of ready conspirators would be instantly destroyed by the conspicu- ous success of any one General in domestic or foreign war. Espartero, though he never drew a sword out of Spain, might have been Dictator long ago if it had not been for that cast of character, which his disappointed friends stigmatize as feebleness, but which looks to an Englishman much more like simple honesty. Had hostilities really broken out between Spain and Mexico, the des~royer of the monarchy would not probably have been long in showing himself; and in any case, a Crown which has for years been the sport of military conspiracy needs but a push to topple it from the head of a sovereign who is an object of general contempt. From The Saturday Review. THE MARRIAGE OF FELLOWS QUESTION. WE spoke of this question the other day as it concerns non-residents. We have a few words more to say on it as it concerns the residentsthat is, the literary and educating staff of the several Colleges, and, in the ag- gregate, of the University. Our recurrence to what may seem a dry local question will be excused by those who know its great ima portance to the persons whose interests are affected, and (what is infinitely more to the. purpose) its vital connexion with the future efficiency of our great national places of learning and education. The more we con- sider the subject, the more does the question of the marriage of Fellows appear to us the cardinal question of University Reform. Of course there is no such thing now in ex- istence at Oxford or Cambridge as celibacy in the raedi~val sense. A certain number of 34 THE MARRIAGE OF FELLOWS QUESTION. 35 menmore at Oxford than at Cambridge purposes of education. Professorial teach- have been attracted by the religious poetry ing, practically speaking, is teaching by pub- and monastic self-devotion of the Middle lic lectures; and teaching by public lectures Ages, and have shown a yearning for the is really useful and efficient in the case of revival of those famous fraternities which, physical science alone. Classics, mathema- with all their perils and evils, did greatthings tics, moral philosophy, history, pclitical econ- in their dark and stormy day. But it is a omy, to he taught properly must be taught yearning only, which must change itself into catechetically, either to single pupils or to a something more practical before we can take small classeven ordinary College classes notice of it in settling the character of our are found by experience to be too large. actual institutions. We have no monks now The attempt made at Oxford to teach Latin none of the self-devotion of the monknone scholarship and composition by means of of the noble works which were the children public lectures, must be said, we believe, to of childless men. We must look to other have proved unsuccessful, in spite of the sources of energy and duty. We must look great ability and energy of the Professor to the natural devotion of men to a calling through whom it has been made. The of their own choice, and their natural desire standard of Latin scholarship is said to be to earn, by honorable exertion, their own declining; and the accomplishment of writ- and their childrens bread. The Fellows of ing Latin verse, we fear, almost verges on ex- Colleges are not celibatesthey are men tinction. Even in the case of physical waiting for a College living to be married, science, it may be doubted whether the sys- These are your doctors and your tutors. tem of lecturing to large classes is not rather Their life is cut in two ; and both moieties a matter of necessity than of choiceyou are, too often, failures. They do not give cannot afford to repeat the necessary experi- themselves heartily to the work of study and meats for each individual pupil. As an teaching, because they know they will have intellectual stimulus, public lecturing may be to quit it; and when they quit it, they are occasionally useful in all subjects of instruc- often too old to give themselves heartily to tion; but it cannot he looked to as the regu- any thing else. By the help of unequalled lar mode OT t caching in any. Such, we are prizes, which have had more to do with mak- confident, would be the verdict of any man ing men read at Oxford and Cambridge than practically acquainted with the business bf the teaching, things shambled on tolerably education. Besides this, Professors are and well so long as the real studies of the place must be elected mainly for their learning; were limited to classics and mathematics, and it by no means follows, though it is often But now that a wider range is taken, and sub- the case, that a learned man is a good jects are introduced which require the re~sl teacher. We will not dwell on other evils of devotion of a life, the system of bird-of- constant public lecturing to young, hhlf-in- passage tuition and learning has totally structed, and enthusiastic audiencesevils broken down. Men cannot become great in which, though they have been exaggerated political and physical science while they are by bigoted alarmists, are nevertheless but looking for the death of an incumbent too real, and of which s6me Continental na- more especially as half the year is lost in va- tions still feel the lamentable effects. c~tions, which the dulness of College life The Professoriate is better suited to the renders almost necessary to prevent a Fellow purposes of learning than those of education.. from becoming a human fossil before he is But even for the purposes of learning it is thirty. defective. It. is too narrow, formal, and The framers of the Oxford and Cambridge limitedit seeks too much to organize defi- Acts have tried to meet the difficultywhich nitely that which in its nature is incapable of they could not ov6rlookby the extension definite organization. Its theory is that you and be~tter endowment of the University Pro- elect a man to represent, or rather to be, fessoriate, leaving the College system as it is. the genius and learning of the University in We are afraid, as we have said before, that a particular subject, and that the man this device, natural and tempting as it was, elected devotes his whole life to the special will prove insufficient for the purposes of object of his chair. But things cannot be learning, and still more insufficient for the ordered after this fashion in the intellectual 36 THE LAST OF THE MOGULS. world. Your Newton is not forthcoming at have no reverence whatsoever; we would the moment when the chair of Astronomy is remove it out of the path of rational im- vacant, and he appears a year or two after provement like any other antiquated obstruc-. it is filled by a second-rate man, who may tion. Difficult as the question is, University hold it for twenty years to come. An Adam Reformers and University Commissioners Smith or a Hume passes, with advantage to must address their minds in earnest to its the literary world, from history or political solution, if they mean really to bring into economy to moral philosophy, or vice versa, free play the vast wealth and power of the and it would be hard if in doing so he were Colleges, and to enable them to stand their compelled to forfeit his special chair. Some ground against other institutions, like the great minds, such as Bacon and Leibnitz, London University, which have the means of take a still wider rangetheir proper sphere keeping the best teachers permanently in is the whole field of knowledge, and it would their service. The solution need not take be a great evil to limit them to any part of the form of a sudden and sweeping revolution. it. We had occasion the other day to notice Nor need it at first be the same for all Col the breaking down of this theory of the ex- leges. Some of them offer a much clearer clusive devotion of Professors to their special and safer ground for an experiment, than subject, in the case of the Oxford Profes- others. But something must be done, on soriate. The Oxford Professors of Hebrew pain of leaving the great mass of the Uni- and Greek are known to the world only as versity endowments really unavailable for eminent theologians; the Professor of Eccle- the purposes of religion, learning, and siastical History seems to chafe at the idea of education~ in the present day, and allowing being confined to the history of the Church; a movement in which so much energy and the Professor of Latin has as yet only edited labor have been expended to fail of its most Greek plays; the writings of other eminent essential ends. The Oxford Colleges and Professors wander far from the special sub- Commissioners have let the matter pretty jects of their Professorships; and the chair well out of their hands. But the Cambridge of Modern History has long been silent, Commissioners have it still in their power; while the Professor announces a work on and we trust they will vigorously brace them- Moral Philosophy. The fact is, men of let- selves to an effort which will make their te~s seek these professorships not so much work far more valuable and far more lasting from devotion to the special subject, as from than that of their Oxford rivals, valuable as the natural desire to get a permanent posi- that work is, and lasting as we hope many tion and subsistence in a place of learning; parts of it will be. and permanent fellowships, not forfeitable on marriage, would give this position and sub- rrom The Economist, 14 Nov. sistence in a much easier and more convenient THE LAST OF THE MOGULS. way. THE EVILS OF A COUNTERFEIT GOVERNMENT. We do not disguise from ourselves the THE almost simultaneous dislodgement of difficulties which beset the settlement of this the mutineers from Delhi and Lucknow,the question from the established constitution of capture of the old Mogul,the execution of the Colleges, their strong coenobitic character, his sons and grandson,are events which and even the structure of the buildings on may be said to have extinguished that last which that character is so deeply impressed. shadow of Mahometan Empire which still As to the notion that the introduction of a reminded the primitive inhabitants of India few more families into Oxford or Cambridge that a rule almost as splendid and extensive would affect the morality of the students, it as the English had once belonged to a race seems to us the most over-strained apprehen- at least naturalised among them, and similar siOll in the world. Simple and frugal family in blood and language, though alien in life, such as that of an intellectual man ought religion. A long list of distinguished Eng- to be, is at least as edifying and improving a lishmen have been sacrificed in the work of spectacle for the undergraduates as the pres- obtaining this end. We call the Mahometan ent lives and habits of bachelor Fellows, dynasty a mere shadow of the past, and truly For the soul-surviving body of monasticism enough, so far as its own inherent energy the once potent spirit having fledwe and reality is concerned. But over the minds TIlE LAST OF TIlE MOGULS. 37 of the mutineers it must have exercised a the equal hand of British rule. Those who very real and present, if a very capricious so eagerly maintained the necessity of leaving charm, when we see how freely they have native States standing wherever it was pos- poured forth their blood in the defence of sible, never advocated leaving the semblance Delhi and the assault on Lucknow,what of government where all real government racking anxiety, what precious lives, what had been taken away. Scindiah and Holkar, noble, desperate courage they have obliged for instance, though dependents on the British us to spend in conquering them. No com- Government, are not mere shadows; they mander who has done us distinguished ser- are responsible for what they do and leave vice in the field, excepting Sir Henry Hay- undone. But this has long been otherwise elock and General Van Cortlandt alone, are with the Mogul. When ~4 years ago, in now left in active command of our English September 1803, General Lake defeated the troops. Lawrence, Wheeler, Nicholson, and French and Mahratta troops near Delhi and Neill are dead; Wilson and Chamberlain entered that city, he restored to a nominal disabled, while others enter into their labors. throne exactly such an aged and decrepit Subordinate English officers and soldier~ captive as the English troops captured the have been sacrificed in proportion; one-third other day in his frtiitless attempt to escape of the storming force at Delhi was put hors from that throne. Then, however, it was de combat. In Oude the swarms of mutineers said that by the restoration of the Mogul prevent us, as yet, from keeping open the Emperor the British acquired the favor of communication with Cawnpore. By numbers the whole Mahometan interest in India, alone they have effected all this, it is true; now we have learned what that favor meant, we have been obliged to offer this costly cx- and how far from grateful for a merely change; we have been forced to requite them nominal restoration of a puppet to power, they gold for brass, what was worth a hundred really were. It acted on the native imagina- oxen for what was worth nine. But the very tion as if it were a kind of involuntary homage wastefulness of life shown in resisting us on the part of the English to a greatness betokens, not indeed any attachment on the which we envied, but dared not wholly oh- part of the Sepoys to the Mahometan rule, literate. It acted on the English imagination but a certain fascination in the idea of a as all shams necessarily act, by teaching us revived native dynasty,and a fixed convic- to confound a sober and conservative policy tion that there must be inherent power even with the mere ostentatious pretence of such a in a mere ceremonial outside of royalty which policy. the English had taken so much pains to re- The eagerness with which we have really spect and perpetuate. cheated ourselves in our treatment of the The natives of India cannot understand Mogul and other native dynasties is well our dislike of the appearance of power, where worth remark. We have so far identified the we possess the reality. They ascribe it to a form of respect for a nonentity with our reg- real superstition or timidity on our part, ular British policy, that our Sepoy army took which inspires them with a real superstitious the hint, and made it their first effort to get courage on theirs. We respect the name of the old imperial dginre for their nominal the old Dynasty, and they think, therefore, centre and rallying point. This politic~ 1 dcx- that the name must in some way be a strong- terity they learned in our school. When in hold in itself to make us thus respect it. It 1804, during Holkars insurrection, the com- has been a false system on which we have mander-in-chief was under the impression acted in India, to keep up the appearance of that it was, impossible for so small a force deference for sham royalty so long after we [as Colonel Burns] to defend both the city have withdrawn the actual sceptre. Our of Delhi and the person of the Emperor great Indian Statesmen meant something [poor old Shah Alum], he ordered that the quite different from this when they urged the former should be abandoned, and that the danger of absorbin,, the native States. They exertions of the garrison should be devoted meant that we ought to leave them resjpon- solely to the defence of the citadel: so sitility as well as power; to let the great a stroke of policy was it thought to native populations feel the sharp contrast be- govern under the nominal authority of the tween the abuses of native government and successor of Aurungzebe. Lord Lake little 38 foresaw that half a century later the same stroke of policy would be turned against us. The belief in this wisdom of shielding them- selves behind a pageant of apparent authohty seems to have been rooted very deeply in the Companys mind. Not two years since Lord Dalbousie, in his final minute, writes thus - Seven years ago the heir-apparent to the King of Delhi died. He was the last of the royal race who had been born in the purple. The Court of Directors was accord- ingly advised to decline to recognise any other heir-apparent, and to permit the kingly title to fall into abeyance upon the death of the l)resent King,* who even then was a very aged man. The Honorable Court according- ly conveyed to the Government of India authority to terminate the dynasty of Timour whenever the reigning King should die. But as it was found that, although the Honorable Court had consented to the measure, it had given its consent with great reluctance, I ab- siained from making use of the authority which had been given to me. The grandson of the King was recognised as heir-apparent, but only on condition that he ~hould quit the palace in Delhi; in order to reside in the palace at the Kootub, and that he should as King receive the Governor- General of india at all times on terms of perfect equality. This great, and we may say weak, delicacy on the part of the Honorable Court, and the condition of perfect equality, as between the king of Delhi and the Governor-General of India, read now somewhat ludicrously. The truth is, that the policy of our Indian Govern- ment has often aimed at far too great astute- ness, and has neutralised its own purposes. It has inspired the people of India with a real respect, commensurate with its own apparent respect, for an empty title. It has actively fostered the superstition under the veil of which it desired to lie hid. The only parallel to this policy was the old system of patronising the Hindoo idolatries, which the British Government apparently adopted almost entirely from the same motive as that which induced them to use the Mogul as a catspaw for governing India. They be- lieved about as much in the Mogul as they did in Juggernaut; yet the interest with which the Government collectors used for- merly to report to the Governor-General ac- cessions to the wealth of Juggernaiut, had ~ Bahadah Shah, the old King just captured. THE LAST OF TtIE MOGULS. exactly the same effect on the minds of the natives, as the ceremonious care with which the British took all their fornual powers of governing from the bands of the Mogul. The Hindoos were persuaded in the one case that the English did respect Juggernaut at heart, and, therefore, worshipped him themselves in much greater numhers than before. They were persuaded in khe other case that the English did respect the Moguls authority at heart, and, therefore, made it their first ob- ject to secure that authority for themselves. The English overacted their part in both cases. Who that reads such a report as the followingforwarded by a collector to the Supreme Governmentwould doubt that the British authority had a deep reverence for Juggernaut : I have the honor to acquaint you that Ram Buksh and Ram Hutgur, pilgrims, presented a serviceable elephant to Juggernaut and 200 rupees for its exI)enses, which last about six months.- The gods es- tablishment is six elephants. At or before the end of six months it will be necessary for Government either to order the elephant to be disposed of, or appoint some fund for its support, should it be deemed advisable to keep it for Juggernauts use. * The prac- tical effect of such an intellectual self-accom- modation to the religious atmosphere of India on the part of the English Government, was to increase immensely the idolatrous ferv~r of the Hindoos. And who can doubt but that the spirit indicated above in Lord Dal- housies reference to the Honorable Courta tenderness for the Mogul, must similarly very greatly have increased the traditional rever- ence in Hindoos and Mahometans for the Moguls name and state P We call him at home a puppet and a shadow, but we acted our part of deference with such dramatic fer- vor, as to increase the feeling which we in- tended to use as a mere blind. We believe that all such shams are really quite as injuri- ous in India as at home. The Hindoos easily suspect in us a superstitious homage and timidity which they themselves actually feel. It is a good and~ generous policy to leave some real power, so long as it is even toler- ably exercised, in the hands of native princes. But to make a parade of respect where there is no authority, is to cherish a gross super- stition we ought cordially to fight against. ~ Parliamentary Papers, 1813,quoted in Cal- cutta Review for March, 1852. THE PRUSSIAN REGENCY. We must assume courageously the ~power and respor(sibility we really exercise, or we shall again, perhaps, have to sweep away these phantom-kings at the same terrible sacri- fice of English blood, as that we have just poured out upon the altar of the Great Mogul. ________ ___ From The Saturday Review. THE PRUSSIAN REGENCY. WE know that an Englishman who eulo- gizes a reigning King is always suspected by his fellows of innate flunkeyism, or of some sinister object; and, on the other hand, we have never had the slightest respect for that frame of mind which chooses the mo- ment after a mans death to say about him an infinity of good which the eulogist never could have dreamed of saying during his lifetime. The situation of the King of Prussia, whose life is likely to he prolonged, but who, from the nature of his complaint, will never probably again exercise regal au- thority, gives us a good opportunity for speaking of him as he deserves to be spoken of in a country towards which he has always entertained the warmest affection. There is no conspicuous personage of the day about whom vulgar opinion in England is so thor- oughly in the wrong. No more accomplished gentleman than the King of Prussia ever sat on a throne. Learning is common enough in Germany, and therefore it is not a very rare distinction in the pupil of Niekuhr and Schleiermacher that he is known to be one of the best informed men of the age. But from the Tyrol to the Eyder, wit is a scarce commodity; and it is therefore something that Frederick William has always been re- markable for saying the best things that are said in a language which does not easily lend itself to pleasantry. The religion of kings is apt to be regarded on the Continent as an appendage of their state, and a mere instru- ment of political Conservatism; but no one, even of those who disliked the form of doc- trine to which he attached himself, ever de- nied the depth and spirituality of the King of Prussias piety. He has always, too, been characterized by sympathies for which it is to be feared that a great part of Germany has much more respect than for religious fer- vor. His pulse has vibrated in unison with every one of the great movements which of late years have run through his country. 39 No aspiration after liberty, after nationality, after new forms of knowledge or new forms of art, has thrilled the German public mind which has not been shared by Frederick William; and it has always been shown to the Germans, by some demonstration or other, that he too was a German even as they. It is impossible not to ask, and it would be absurd to try to refrain from asking, why a monarch so rarely gifted, and so largely endowed with the qualities which attract af- fection, should have ended his reign with so little honor at home and such scanty respect abroad. The explanation is not far to seek. Frederick William has been eminently the wrong man in the wrong place. His situa- tion has been the most unfavorable that can be conceived for a man of great suscel)tibil- ity and quick impulses. He has been placed so high that every fleeting phase of mind, and all the ebbs and flows of teml)er, have always been watched by a thousand envious eyes, and commented on by a thousand gos- siping tongues; and his authority has been so great that he has been able to act at once on his speculations, and to give instant effect to his passing moods. If his actions had been more under extrinsic control, and if his character had not been so much of the nature of public property, he might have gone down to posterity as a great scholar, a great wit, and a warm-hearted and sympa- thetic patriot. But, as it was, the good in him has mostly been turned to evil. His erudition, however appreciated by the let- tered circles of Berlin, has gained him among that idle and frivolous German aris- tocracy which unfortunately does so much to form European and English opinion on the affairs of the Continent, a reputation for pedantry not unlike that which blinds us to the really remarkable attainments of our own James I. Observers of another class have misunderstood his abundant humor and geniality; and to them we owe the calumny with which his name has been most fre- quently associated in England. But Freder- ick William has suffered most from the false position in which a man whose sensibilities are easily wrought upon is placed by the possession of very great, if not quite abso- lute, power. Born to less conspicuous dig- nity, and more controlled by circumstances, he would have lived down many changes of THE RENEWED PARIS CQNFERENCE. sentiment which, carried out into action, have invested his domestic and foreign policy with the appearance of lamentable inconsistency. It is not given to quasi-despotic kings to rise on stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things. They are only too free to act on the feelings of the moment; and when these feelings succeed each other rap- idly, the result is exactly that contradiction in outward conduct which the generality of men disdain. The King of Prussia has al- ways been keenly alive to the grandeur of his position as the descendant of Frederick the Great, and as the inheritor of the mon- archy which Frederick re-founded with his sword. The conception of his kingdom as a sort of camp long made him cold to free institutions; but yet he could not remain in- sensible to the yearning of Germany for liberty, and the combination of two contra- dictory impulses produced that grotesque political establishmentthe Estates of Prus- siawhich all Europe smiled at,~ and the Revolution of 1848 overturned. In that very year, 1848, he could not escape the contagion of enthusiasm for a united Empire. Thus he schemed at Frankfort for an Impe- rial Crown, hesitating to grasp it from dis- like of losing Prussia in Germany, and at last accepted it so much too late that noth- ing was left to him except to resign it with undignified haste. Every turn of his policy by which he lost credit abroad, may be ex- plained in the same way; nor need we hesi- tate to admit that some of the finest quali- ties of our nature distinguish the warm admirer of England who threw himself during the last war into the arms of the Emperor of Russia, and the patron of the Evangelical Alliance who refused to let his censors pro- scribe the Leben Jesu of Strauss, and who suffered his own closet to become the harbor of the Ultra-Lutheran re-action. Though the days of T~l6maque are gone by, and an article ought not to take the form of an essay on the education of Princes, we may venture to say that the qualities which would be most useful in a monarch who has to conduct a country like Prussia through the transition-period between subjection and liberty are neither the best nor the worst of those which enter into human character. The King of Prussia has failed through an idiosyncracy in which there was much to ad- mire, and more to love; but the homely dulness of Francis of Austria, and the down- right idiocy of his successor, would have been equally unsuccessful. The late Czar Nicholas, though he had a striking mental organizationand though as the French actress said, Sa Majeste avait diablement la physique de son metierwould have been out of place in Northern Germany. Perhaps a man not very learned, not very brilliant, but with perfect honesty, a firu purpose, and a frank straightforwardness, is most likely to steer the vessel through those ugly and difficult straits. Victor Emmanuel of Sar- dinia, though far from a model of intellectual or ethical perfections, is nevertheless be- lieved to answer this description on the whole; and we have a satisfaction in being able to say that the same characteristics are attributed by general rumor to the Prince who has just assumed the reins of govern- ment in Prussia. If he has only good sense and directness, he will bequeath a throne not more stable than august to a successor who will already have given pledges to con- stitutional liberty by allying himself with the Royal line of England. From the Spectator, 7 Nov. THE RENEWED PARIS CONFER- ENCE. IN due course we shall probably have a bundle of papers comprising the protocols of the renewed Conference in Paris. Before these papers are published, we shall have a semi-official announcement of the arrange- ment for the future government of the Danu- bian Principalitiesthe subject which will chiefly, though perhaps not exclusively, en- gage the supplemental Conference. When the papers arrive, we shall have some data for conjecturing the motives which will have determined the Powers to make the intended arrangement; that is, we shall have so much of the data as the Plenipotentiaries can be brought to rescue from each others instinct of suppressiona protocol consisting only of so much truth as any given number of diplo- matists can unanimously agree to unveil. By that time the future government of the Principalities will be settled past recall. Meanwhile, we English, and other nations who have a certain interest in the subject, are amused by a variety of anticipative assu ances; and the inhabitants of the Principali ties, the very persons wh~ are most immedi 40 THE RENEWED PARIS CONFERENCE. ately and vitally concerned, are treated to volunteer lectures on their presumption in expecting to be really consulted on the sub- ject. For, after all, it does appear that the reference made to the Principalities them- selves, through their provisional representa-~ tive institutions, on the subject of union, is not a reality, but is a sham. There is no great difficulty in forming a shrewd guess as to the nature of the arrangement, and as to the motives for it; and since we do not set up for any intellectual impeccability, we need not refrain from declaring what we believe the arrangement to be, and why. Notwithstanding the efforts of Russia to prejudge the question of union at the Paris Conference, it was left an open question; and the Plenipotentiaries made the arrangement for the appointment of Commissioners to consult the inhabitants of the two provinces. The plan was, to procure for each province the election of a Council, called a Divan; and our readers are already familiar with the history of these elections. The Wallachians thus declared through their representatives in favor of union. The Moldavians first returned a Divan against union; hut it was proved that the local Governor had packed the Divan, and that, as the only means of counteracting his corrupt proceeding, the Anti-Unionist party had entirely abstained from the election. A second election re- turned a Divan in favor of union. it is re- markable that down to this point there con- - tinued ~to appear on the Continent reports that the majority of the Powers were in favor of union; but by the time the Princi- palities have definitively pronounced their desire to that effect, then a new unanimity creeps over the Continent against the prom- ised measure. Mystification will never end. Some few months since, Russia was said to have been supported by France, Prussia, and Sardinia, in encouragement of the union; and the grounds stated were very plausible. Russia desired to unite the Principalities, to foster in them a feeling of self-reliance and even of independence, to prepare them for severance from the Porte; and then to play with Mol- davia the same part which she had played with Lithuania, with Finland, and other once independent countries. France was said to be tired. of the part of coadjutor with Bag- land at the Conference; and, after having displayed a splendid gratitude for the sup- port which England gave her in her com- promised Eastern position, France was to exhibitan act of sublime ingratitude by turning against our own ally, setting Russia against England, and thus assuming to her-~ self the hold of the balance of Europe. Alienated by the feeble and fallacious sup- port that England had given to proposals for the improvement of Italy, Sardinia accepted the advances of Russia, and was also inclined to support the union of the Principalities, alike from hatred to Austria and sympathy with the aspirations after nationality. Royal Prussia was already a slave .to the will of his imperial brother-in-law. Thus the four Powers are fully accounted for. But reports continued on this side of the Channel, that the Turkish Government would never yield to a plan for loosening its hold over the Danubian Provinces; that Austria would con-~ tinue firm in her antagonism to Russia; and that England would never give up her opin- ion in favor of strictly maintaining the in- tegrity of the Ottoman empire. Here was a dead lock !four of the parties to the Con- ference for union, three against it, those three comprising the owner of the provinces. Even after Napoleon had visited Osborne, the phenomena of the French press seemed to contradict the assertions on this side that he had yielded to the British view. All these accounts of the position are so consistent that they look like history. But suddenly all is changed; not only does the Austrian Government adumbrate its fidelity to the principle of non-union, but Prussia, who is joining with Austria in some remarkable movement on the South-western confines of Russia, equally declares, that al- though the sentiments of the Moldo-Wal- lachians will be received with respect, their wish can form only one element in the con- sideration of the subject. And the French press, with equal or greater suddenness, dis- covers that it has been all a mistake to sup- pose the French Government anxious for the union of the provinces; it was only anxious to ascertain the wish of the inhabitantsnot to adopt that wish, but to treat that wish with respect. The Divans therefore appear to be nothing more than a solemn farce. The Powers bave~ demanded valid election8 in 41 THE SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN QUESTION. order to have a genuine declaration of the Provinces, only to manifest respect in the form of declining. This is the point at which we have arrived now, just before the reas- sembling of the Paris Conference. An expectation has been hinted that even Russia will have revised her intentions; and the idea is not altogether without plausibility. The reason is remarkable. The 1)ivan of Moldavia has made a sufficiently dLtinct de- claration of its wishes. It reasserts the local rights of the Principalities as confirmed by treaties with the Porte, in 1393, 14~O, 1611, 1634; it requests a union of the Principali- ties, under an hereditary foreign prince, 8elected from one of the reigning dynasties; eutrality of the territory to he guaranteed; and legislative power to be reposed in a gene- ral representative assembly. The Principali- ties are right logically and morally; they are wrong diplomatically. They have not only declared in favor of union, which might have subserved the purpose of Russia, but they have showi~ what they want to do with union. They have conecived ideas of representative institutions,perhaps something not so tame as the Corps Mgislatif which a Napoleon might grant; and above all, they wish to be re~stablished in a substantive state under the name of iRoumania. They remember their nationality, and they desire to have it recognized; an idea sufficient to turn cold the blood of Prussia, Austria, and even Rus- sia, whose greatness has been fed upon man- gled nationalities. This is a point which will restore all the sympathies of these Powers to our official anxiety for the integrity of the Ottoman empire. The example of Roumania might awaken traditions of Po- land, of Finland, of Hungary, of Transyl- vania, and Livonia, as it has already aroused old recollections in Servia; and if the na- tionalities are again to have their map, what will become of the map of 1816, to which the reigning dynasties are so faithfulwhen it suits them? Our accomplished corre- spondent Mr. Freeman will be found arguing in our pages for the union of the Principali- ties, against all question of Ottoman expedi- ency or Paris consistency, on the very ground that the Roumans are a nation, and must be recognized; while the newest diplomatic cal- culation is, that this assertion of nationality has broken up the combination of the Four P were, who will now concur in refusing lin ion, in alarm at the very sound of Roumania. Such is the respect with which the ex- pressed wishes of the inhabitants are to be treated. Trom The Spectator, 7 Nov~ THE SCHLESWJG-HOLSTEIN QUES- TION. A SENSATION has been created in the North of Europe by the resolve of the German Powers to take active measures in the affairs of Holstein and Schleswig. It is currently said that the Prince Regent of Prussia is displaying extraordinary firmness on the subject, and is preparing to exchange the attitude of passiveness and neutrality for some tremendous course which is called an initiative policy. Nor has Denmark been idle. After having broken faith with the Duchies, and used the Germanic form of suc- cession to encroach upon the rights of the Danes, Denmark has for some time been en- gaged in framing a constitution, that would, in our English phrase, swamp her Germanic Duchies by incorporating them with the king- dom as a whole. To repeat our former parallel, it is much as if King William the Fourth, as King of Hanover, had assimilated the English crown to the Hanoverian succes- sion, excluding our gracious Queen, and had merged hanover in England, to the equal disgust of both countries. A certain degree of assent, however, was requisite to get over treaty difficulties which l)rotected the IDuchies. Volenti non fit injuria, and if the Duchies could only seem to be volentes, Royal Denmark could plead her assent against any German remonstrances. To that end, they were baited with all sorts of liberal conces- sions if they would agree to be submerged: but they have declined, and they fall back upon German support, to the danger of peace in Europe. There ought not to be much difficulty in settling the question, if we were to look to the rights of peoples whether territorial or political; but every European question has been vitiated, of late years, by the literal application of the policy which originated with Louis Quatorze, summed up in his celebrated dictum, l~tat, cest moi. A nation is like a private estate: it may be bought and sold or exchanged; it must go from father to son, an heirloom to grand- children, and a dowry to daughters: the prince is the master, the territory is his land, the people are the live stock. This is the 42 THE SOHLESWJG-HOLSTEIN QUESTION. 43 meaning of 1~tat, cest moi; in this policy From this Christian I. descend the memhers lay the provocative of French revolutions,of of the present Danish Royal Family; and Spanish revolutions, and Italian revolt; and they consequently hold possession of Schles-. from this princil)le of government also spring wig-liolstvin, almost in the same manner the difficulties of the Schl~swig-llolstein ques- and with the same right as the sovereigns of tion. the house of Hanover held Great Britain.. Strictly speaking, the question has hecome Unfortunately, however, Denmark has heen one of tenure; it is only in a secondary way sinking rapidly from her former high posi- that the popular question hecomes involved tion. The little island-kingdom lost Sweden through the questions of dynastic rights, in 1~23, and Norway in 1814; and having liVe must, then, go to the heginning of things. lost so much, the Danish Monarchs long It is needless to wade through the wastes of since felt a natural desire to secure their few Germanic discussion, which, dull and dreary, remaining dominions hy concentrating their has encumbered the last ten years of the government into one state, forming a clearly worlds existence. The Panes trace their rounded whole. Accordingly, almost all rights up to an ancient proverb Eidora King-Dukes for the last three hundred years fluvius, terminus Imperii Romani; a proof have tried to annex the Duchies to their that at the least~ Schleswig, the duchy kingdom. They worked, however, with no North of the river Eider belongs to Denmark. great amount of perseverance; and not until On the other side, the Germans cite innumer- the middle of this century was any final step able passages which show that the provinces taken. On the 11th of July, 1846, Christian were German. Thus, even that primoSval VIII made a formal claim to the absolute person Barbarossa, in his speech to the Papal sovereignty, and followed up the claim by un- Ambassadors, speaks of the two Duchies as conditionally annexing the Duchies to his German provinces; and the Kaiser Conrad kingdom. Schleswig as well as Holstein II. was blamed by all the Princes of the resisted, and appealed to the German Diet. Empire for not suffi3iently protecting the The princely ambassadors at Frankfort, with Margraviate of Schleswig, a part of his the dilatory habit of diplomatists, moved dominions. This is the mystic stage of the slowly; and it was not until the German Schleswig-Holstein question. For many hun- revolution of 1848 had given a sudden im- dred years, down to the middle of the fifteenth pulse to popular action, that the people ac century, the two Duchies were independent last decided the question for themselves. On states, governed by their native Princes, and the 2sth March, 1849, the inhabitants of retaining, like almost all states of small cir- Schleswig and Holstein declared their mdc- cumference, a considerable amount of politi- pendence of the crown of Denmark; and, cal and social liberty. But it came to pass, by a vote of their representatives assembled through the havoc made by war and pestilence at Rendsburg, they preclaimed themselves created in the middle ages, that all the members of the German Confederation; call- branches of the two reigning families succes- ing upon the people and the princes of Ger- sively expired; and in the year 1459, the many to assist them in the struggle against knights and burgesses of the Duchies as- their Duke. sembled for the election of a common sover- The people, and some of the princes, obeyed eign. After long debates, not unmixed with the call, and the war began. Schleswig-Hol- occasional hard fighting, they at last fixed stein was chiefly aided by Prussian troops, upon Christian I., King of Denmark, Sweden, and some volunteers from the German Uni- and Norway, as their Duke, with the versities. On the other hand, Denmark had solemn understanding, duly protocolled and the diplomatic~ support of all the Great sworn, that the Duchies were to remain in- European Powers; who at last, in 1851, dependent states, only recognizing the person managed to settle the disputefor a time. of the Scandinavian King as their sovereign. The German Diet was induced to disband the This important deed between the representa- remaihs of its army, and to restore the per- tives of the two Duchies and the elected sonal authority of the King-Duke, on condi- King-Duke Christian I., was sealed and tion of his respecting the rights of his Ger- signed on both sides in the month of March man states. That promise the King-Duke 1460. made, 44 THE CRI8I~. But the old whole-state schemes soon began to work again. On the 28th January, 1852, the Government at Copenhagen issued a proclamation directing the formation of representative assemblies for the common affairs of the whole monarchy, the Duchies included. The Diet of Holstein protested, but in vain; and on the 26th July, 1854, the common constitution for the whole monarchy was promulgated. By this constitution, many of the most important local affairs of the Duchies, including political rights, were merged in the general rights and busine~s of the kingdom as a whole. We have already described the course of the dispute. The Holstein Diet, finding its protest at Copen- hagen received without attention, appealed to Austria and Prussia, as contracting parties to the peace of 1851, and sponsors for Den- mark in her promise to respect the rights of the German Duchies. ~mong other specific allegations by the Diet, is the statement that during the years 1855 and 1856, the Duchy of Holstein has been over-taxed to the amount of 800,000 dollars (about 120,000) in favor of Denmark. The King does not deny his tendencies towards annexation; but his plea, couched in diplomatic language, amounts to thisthat the annexation is necessary to his royal comfort, and to his project of consoli- dating his kingdom. The practical question at present is, how far certain views of expedi- ency in protecting German rights against Scandinavian encroachments may induce Aus- tria and Prussia to support the Duchies against those consolidating plans which have been patronized by Russia; and it is a ques- tion for us, how far English Ministers, who have hitherto supported the Danish King against his German subjects, will follow up that course of policy in the altered state of Europe. It is one of the questions which the present state of diplomacy will perhaps. prevent our knowing anything about until it is settled, without much reference to the opinions or interests of any people, Schleswig- Holstein or English. It is to be noted, how- ever, that in the present contest the Danes, indulging Scandinavian antipathies, are ac- complices of their King in endeavoring to put down long-established popular rights. From The Saturday Review, 14 Nov. THE CRISIS. THE second suspension of the Bank Act is a far more serious matter than the first re- laxation of its provisions while it was yet in its infancy, and little understood. Depar- tures from the letter of the law, however special may be the occasion for them, tend, by repetitior, to become part and parcel of the law itself; aud, when it has once come to be the recognized rule to disregard statu- tory provisions in certain conjunctures, the practical effect is just the same as if the oc- casional irregularity were provided for by express clauses in the Act itself. When Lord John Russell issued his famous letter in 1847, the immediate results were so far good, that they at once allayed the unreason ing panic which then aggravated the difficul ties of the time, while no immediate harm resulted, because the state of the exchanges was such that the Bank was under no temp- tation to use the additional facilities which were given to it. The step was unquestionably wise with reference to the emergency of the moment, but it was fraught with future mis- chief, of which we are now feeling the effects. It is now matter of history that the provi- sions of the Bank Act were capable of co- ping with the difficulties of 1847, for, in point of fact, those provisions were never departed from; but the indulgence then granted to the Bank fostered doubts of the efficiency of the Act, and laid the foundation for fu- ture panics, to ~e relieved by further con- cessions. A very short time will show whether the present relaxation can be de- fended on the same grounds which justified that of 1847. It is not quite certain yet whether the drain of specie which was going on until within the last few days has defi- nitively ceased. Probably the present rates will suffice to prevent any further exportation. If so, the events of 1847 will he substantially repeated; and the power of issuing an in- definite number of notes will for the mo- ment be beneficial, because the call for- it will have sprung from the fear rather than from the wants of the commercial world. If a child cries for the moon, you may perhaps save him from convulsions by paomising it, if you are quite sure that the - promise, without the performance will quiet his demand; and it is only under the same conditions that the City can be safely indulged in its outcry for more money than there is in the world. But the unfortunate consequence of such policy is, that the promise however absurd, will be re THE CRISIS. 45 ferred to as a precedent whenever fresh trou- the restrictions which the natural law of bles bring on a renewed call for impossible trade imposed, and the removal of the statu relief, tory obligation will not relieve the Bank The truth is, that neither Sir Robert from the necessity of conforming to the die- Peels Act nor any legislation whatever can tates of prudence, which are identical with prev~ut panic from increasing commercial the commands of the suspended law. A embarrassment and distress. If the exist- moments consideration of what is actually ing troubles were exclusively due to the for- happening will show how idle it would be to eign demand created by the Amerioan crisis, attribute the evil to our currency legislation. the issue of more notes would give no per- All over the world there is a greedy demand manent relief, but would serve only to in- for money. The rate of interest for advances crease the drain of gold. So far, however, is far beyond the permanent rate of interest as the pressure has been aggravated by in- on capital, which is\ simply a proof that the ternal panic, Lord Palmerstons letter will whole circulation of the world is insufficient bring an immediate alleviation. It is a con- to carry on the business for which it amply cession to the loss of confidence which has sufficed a few months ago. Why is this, hut not unnaturally resulted from the failures because the amount of trade which can be that have occurred among ourselves, as well conducted with a given quantity of money as in the United States. We do not say that depends on the degree of confidence which the concession could have been avoided in prevails? In ordinary times, a few millions the face of the panic which everywhere ex- of gold and notes, aided by the general sys- isted; but we cannot disguise the fact that tem of credit, will serve to transact all the the desperate remedy applied to relieve the business of the markets. But let a panic disorders of the moment will tell hereafter come, and the supplem-entary forms of credit upon our mercantile stability. It is impossi. lose nearly all their efficiency, and straight- ble to gratify demands founded on a panic way it requires a circulation of perhaps two without increasing the risk of its recurrence. or three times the ordinary value to satisf~r The advocates of every wild scheme of the demands of trade. If the change were currency expansion will doubtless seize upon gradual, the compensation would be afforded, recent events as testimonies against the wis- without a shock, by the increase in the ex- - dom of the Act of 1844. Yet no inference changeable value of money, through a fall could be more unfounded. No one can of prices. This would require no addition to justly pretend that the Bank Act has caused the nominal amount of gold or notes. But or contributed to the present disasters. If the progress of alarm is as rapid as the the Bank had all through enjoyed absolute electric telegrs~ph. The change of feeling in liberty to issue notes at pleasure, it could not a single day may paralyse the regular action have safely taken any other course than it of credit to such an extent as to require has done. Could it have maintained lower many millions of money to cariy on the busi- rates of discount? Certainly not; for biil- ness for which a fraction of that amount lion has been going out of the country dur- would before have sufficed. Then the dread ing the whole crisis, and nothing less than of matters getting worse brings thousands of a rate of 10 per cent. has sufficed to check applicants for discounts, not because they it. Whatever the law has prohibited, com- want them at the time, but because they may mon prudence would equally have forbidden want them hereafter, and are afraid lest the in the absence of any law. The real effect sources of supply should be dried up. Then of the suspension of the Act will be not so come runs upon banks, which are compelled much to increase the power of the Bank to to keep a reserve in their tills far beyond accommodate the public as to reduce the de- what the ordinary necessities of business re- mand for assistance to its legitimate amount. quire. Thus one mans need reacts upon Legally, it is true there is now no limit to anothers fears, until the demand for money the notes which the Bank may advance to grows to dimensions out of all proportion to applicants for discount; but the actual the permanent requirements of trade. limit on the Banks power is imposed by the Now, what is the cure for these things? necessity of ensuring the convertibility of its Not legislation of any kind. So long as the notes. The law of the land merely enforced appetite for money is liable to violent and 46 TUE SEPOY PROCLAMATIONS AND LETTERS. from the gist of their composition if is evi- dent that they do not know the amount of the offence. They imagine that they are in some degree squaring accounts by leaving their property behind them; and it is impos- sible to resist a belief that to a certain extent they act upon our own prlncil)le of self-de- fence. The Havildar-Major had toict them, they say, that the Madras Sepoys were to sieze the arms of the regiment and to kill the men; if he had not said this, we would not have deserted and saved our lives by flight. They remind their Colonel, that when an Adjutant was attacked, they seized the Sepoy, and that the regiment had been faithful in previous times of peril, although the Madras troops were ~not present. This representa- tion is at least plausible. It is quite possible that the men believed the Madras troops to have been brought up for the purpo:e of their destruction; and from the manner in which their letter to the Colonel was answered, he seems to have thought that they were speak- ing in good faith, though acting under a false impression. They could not understand the arrangement of the Europeans; is it certain that we can understand all their movements and intentions? We remember some time since how the Times made merry with the exercises of certain Hindoo youths in British colleges, who had attempted to show off their scholarship by proposing and solving piob- lems that were to us simply ridiculous: their compositions proved how difficult it was for the cleverest ilindon minds, even at a docile age, to catch the purpose and spirit of British instruction. Whether we look to the polite literature of the Fifty-second Bengal Infantry regiment, or to the most hostile proclamations thun- dered at the British by the Government at Delhi and other Native leaders, we find the same essentially different strain of thought and feeling. There is indeed one qualifica- tion to be taken with regard to all these documents; they come to us by channels that are flot entirely without question. The proclamation of the King of Delhi seems to have been a placard; its wide diffusion shows that it had some common purpose; and it may be said that the edicts of revolutionary governments do not need authentication. Another specimen of the seditious literature ~ is said to have been found among the papers garded as a great crime..deserting; yet of one of the rebels, and the story is not mm sudden fluctuations of this magnitude, no machinery will keep it supplied. It is no more possible to legislate beforehand for a panic than for a revolution. The Bank Act does secure us a supply of circulation which will never oscillate far on either side of our actual w.ants; but no legislation can furnish an adequate supply of any commodity, the demand for which is every now and then magnified by fear to double or treble its nat- ural proportions. If a sudden dread of fam- ine were to come over us whenever corn is dear, and induce every one who had a shil- ling to spare to rush to the market and lay in a years stock of flour, we should have half the population starved in earnest. We dont do this, because we trust free-trade in corn to set us right. We do rush for accom- modation whenever gold is scarce, because we have not learned to trust to the working of a system which is in fact free-trade in gold. Until this truth is brought home to us, we shall never be able to get through a sea- son of pressure without increasing its evil~ by exaggerated fears; and every attempt to throw upon Acts of Parliament the blame which is due to our oWn selfish folly, will only postpone the time when a more whole- some feelin0 shall render a run for gold as obsolete as a rush for corn has now become. From The Spectator, 7 Nov TIlE SEPOY PROCLAMATIONS AND LETTERS. Ir is impossil)le to avoid smiling at the style in which the Sepoys of the Fifty-second Bengal Infantry address their Colbnel, his Excellency the Lord of Clemency, the Boun- tiful of the Age, & c. But there is no doubt that hnlf of the absurdity lies in the strange tongue, with its idiom, which has not the same force to those who read it idiomatically that it has to us. how ridiculous is a French letter translate~l into English; and the more polished the letter the~ more foolish it reads. How laughable to readers in a distant country would be an English letter with some hostile purpose and its polite if not affection- ate closing; the writer ending my dear Sir, believe me to remain yours truly! But, apart from the style, there is also something that is not easy to translate in the very sub- stance of the Sepoy letter. The men are committing that which in our country is re THE SEPOY ~PROCLAMATIONS AND LETTERS. probable. The so-called proclamations of Nena Sahib appear to have been posted up in places subject to his authority. The com- position which was found among the papers was the prayer of Shunkur Shah, the old Rajah of Goud: it expresses an earnestness of devotion truly Oriental, praying for the scattering of the English as if our race were a nuisance and a pest. Nothing can be more shocking to us than the description of the way in which women have been massacred and children destroyed; but Shunkur Shah makes the destruction of the enemy and their, families the object of a direct prayer to the terrible mother IDevee, whom he requests to eat the unclean race. Here is a combinatioi~ of ideas which the English ap- prehension not only fails to sieze but repels. Let us imagine a ~)rayer asking a superior being to eat that which is unclean, and we shall see how thoroughly different from our own must be the Hindoo notion of worship, of Divine intervention, of Divine attributes, and of blessings for the world. To us the sentiment of this prayer is diabolical; yet there appears no reason to imagine that the old Shah was an unredeemed fiend. He evidentlyiiad some qualities which we admire amon~ them fortitude under a horrible fate. The most remarkable of these composi- tions, however, are those which purport to be proclamations issued by Nena Sahib. They come to us without authentication; but on the other hand, there appears to he no mo- tive for fabricating them, and certainly they are in harmony both with the supposed ge- nius of that monster rebel and with the exi- gencies of hisposition. The first, dated July 1st, is couched in these terms As, by the kindness of God and the ikbal or good fortune of the Emperor, aTh the Christians who were at Delhi, Poonah, Sata- rah, and other places, and even those 5000 European soldiers who went in disguise into the former city and were discovered, are de- stroyed and sent to bell by the pious and sa- gacious troops, who are firm to their religion, and as they have all been conquered by the present Government, and as no trace of them is left in these places, it is the duty of all the subjects and servants of the Government to rejoice at the delightful intelligence,, and to carry on their respective work with comfort and ease. The next bears the same date and is cx- 47 aetly to the same effect; but its preamble is more eloquent: As, by the bounty of the glorious Almighty God and the enemy-de- stroying fortune of the Emperor, the yellow- faced and narrow-minded peopl& have been sent to heil, and Cawupore has been con- quered. On these grounds, while the public servants are bound cheerfully to engage their whole mind in executing the orders of the Government, it is the incumbent duty of all the ryots and landed proprietors of every district to rejoice at the thought that the Christians have been sent to hell, and ~both the Hindoo and Mahometan religions have been confirmed. A third paper is an order addressed-by Nena Sahib to the Mayor of Cawnpore, directing him to contradict ru- mors that European soldiers had arrived at Allahabad, in order to prevent the alarmed townspeople from running away. The Mayor is to proclaim that regiments of cavalry and infantry and batteries have been despatched to check the Europeans; so that the people shall remain in their hpuses ~without appre- hension and engage their minds in their work. The mere style of these compositions is enough to prove that the writer is not ac- tuated by feelings common to the two races. In the annoijncement that both the Hindoo and Mahometan religions ha~/e been con- firmed by the destruction of the ~Christians, we see the craft of the Mussulmen playing upon the Hindoo so nakedly that it is diffi- cult for us to understand how the i~act cannot have been equally obvious to the Hindoos themselves; yet they have evidently been led for a time into an attempt at restoring Mus- sulman sup~emacy in lieu of the milder and more tolerable rule of the British. With those essential differences in feelings, views, and even in the use of language, how impos- sible it is for the two races to come to a clear mutual understanding! We can scarcely measure the amount of moral culpability in our adversaries; for, wi~h their training, reli- gion approves their treachery and destructive fanaticism, and modifies the criminality of their most barbarous conduct. To them the brutal slaughter of women and children is justified by some religious sanction. A Nena Sahib is a noxious brute, whom we may treat as a natural enemy and extirpate as we would a hyrena; but even the hyrena w~ do not hold to be morally responsible, as a man would he. S TIlE FREE AFRICAN TRADkI. If there are these excuses for the barbari- ans, it is impossible for us to deny that there have been amongst them many instances of great kindness and of chivalrous devotion. Several cases of generous and gallant con- duct have been related, in order to prove that the majority of the Native chiefs, and the people generally, are not with the muti- neers, but are with the British. The private letters teem with narrations of both Hindoos and Mussulmans who have entered the field in arms to fulfil their contracts with the Brit- ish; who have continued faithful to us even when they were themselves supposed to be treacherous; who have saved the lives of offi- cers and fugitives, and have refused all re- ward; who have gone through great trouble and danger in order to secure the safety of the most helpless. At present we are contend- ing with an immense force of mutineers; the military organized force of Bengal, whom we should have called out to put down the civil inhabitants of the latter, has rebelled; and it certainly proves a great amount of attach- ment to the British if the Natives can mus- ter any show of antagonism to die action of the Sepoys. Yet the instances, as we have said, are innumerable; and it would as yet be quite impossible to determine what is the proportion of treachery or fidelity. These are considerations which must qual- ify our judgment in criticizing the conduct of those who are now responsible in India. To combat th~ Sepoys is a plain duty, and the course is direct; but how are we to deal with Sepoys who are less hostile than misled, who believe themselves to be flying for life P If the Natives exhibit an amusing trait which is like a childishness or puerility never out- grown, are not the persons charged with the practical administration of the country bound to consider that undeveloped condition of their subjects? If we make a1lowas~es for inferiority of race, barbaric training, and nat- ural fears, how much, larger allowance must we make in consideration of truly meritorious conduct and of heroic services? When these considerations are taken into account, we find that, simple as the l)rinciples of our own Government may be, the treatment of the Ilindoos in detail is neither so simple nor so self-evident a thing as some easy writers would represent it. From The Spectator, 81 Oct. THE FREE AFRICAN TRADE. THE slave-trade has been renewed exactly as we expected, in a new form suggested by the practical example at Whydab. An in- genious Frenchman, M. Thgis, invented a plan of conveying free Africans from Whydah to Guadaloupe and Martinique; one of th colonies accepted the proposal, and free Africafis have accordingly been carried over. It is also reported that other cargoes have been landed in French Guiana. In these colonies, the Negroes are to labor at the pay of 11 francs a month for ten years,at least that is stated to be the rate of wages which a free African can earn. Should the French West Indies be brought to a very high state of productivity, perhaps Negro wages iiiight rise; but if they were to rise to a~rate in- convenient for French employers, the remedy would be easy,an importation of new free Africans would augment the supply of labor in proportion to the demand, and wages would be kept down. It is therefore anticip- ated that the Negro will be very wretched either in the French West Indies or in Gui- ana, and a species of protest has been made against the new traffic. French casuists might retort, that the objections to the trans- shipment of Negroes apply with equal force to the importation of Indian coolies in the British West Indies, and still more to the importation of Chinese. We know how es- sentially different are the cases; but the retort is one which, whether fair or not, may be used against us in any Enropean council. But there are worse, objections to the new French traffic: it has been imitated by Span- iards, Port!lguese, and Americans. The de- mand for free~ Africans on the West Coast having exceeded the supply, it became neces- sary to stimulate the collection of the com- modity, and the local chiefs have resorted to a very summary process. They have set to work in order to hunt up recruits, and the Black authorities do it very much upon the plan of Qur old pressgangs: they take the free Africans, willy-nilly, and accept a bonus on the transaction; they catch them as pris- oners of war, detain them as slav~s, and sell them as free. It is a slave-trade in the name of free emigration; and the Daily News calls upon Lord Palmerston and Lord Shaftes- bury to lay their heads together for the pur- pose of carrying out a better slave-trade sup- pression. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and slave-trade by any other name has as shocking an odor. Whether the 48 THE FREE AFRICAN TRADE. Africans are~ called free or bond, the results to themselves bodily are likely to he much the same, if the new free slave-trade were to go on under the condition of the old traffic. Nevertheless, there are serious difficulties in the recommencement of the crusade. Our treaties and conventions with various foreign countries stil)ulate that they shall not tolerate the traffic in slaves, but the same treaties have no force as against the migration of free Africans. We have ourselves set an example of that migration from Sierra Leone. If we object that in tbe new case the Africans were originally captured as slaves and freed sub- sequently, that is exactly the story of the Negroes of our own colony. It would seem as if M. R~gis and his legal friends had been too sharp for us. We have a great alliance against the slave-trade, but it never occurred to us to render the san~e alliance operative against free emigration: and in order to render it so, we must revise the whole of our treaties, and obtain the consent of.the several powers for the suppression of the free traffic. Such an agreement, however, is most improbable. Our own Emancipation scheme has not been so very successful as to have great moral force with slave-owning coun- tries. Our ~iief ally, upon whose support we rest so much in Europe, evidently does not incline to carry out the league against the new form of slave-trade. We have only with great difficulty succeeded in keeping up the armed codperation against the slave-trade; and the tendency to mutiny among our half- coerced allies has been very considerable. The French have never been cordially with us, and they have kept up a joint fleet as much out o~ jealousy as anything else. The Americans have refused to allow that right of search which is requisite to prevent the flag of.any nation from being a cover for the slave-trade pro~)erly so called. The state which has really acted most cordially with us, Brazil, we have treated with an oppressive hauteur. It has been only by the force of our influence, our strength at sea, and perpe- tual concessions to purchase agreement on this particular point, that we have managed to keep the league on foot, and at any mo- ment the defection of France would have gone far to break it down. Our position has be- come so difficult and faulty, that we are not likely to obtain the same agreement on total4y new grounds, professedly going far beyond the grounds that we have already oc- cupied. JJVING DCOX. AGE. VOL. XX. 4 It is certain that Lord Palmerston has been perfectly in earnest on the subject of the slave-trade; but how is he to actwhat can he do? To what court can he appeal for the interpretation and enforcement of the slave-trade treaties? To the Powers PWe know beforehand what their judgment would be. To our principal ally? To the United States PNowhere could Lord Palmers~n command any influential backing. The only resource, then, is to enforce the slave-trade treaties by the means of our naval strength, in other words by war afloat. But in the l)resent state of Europe, with an Indian war on hand, and without a cordial alliance any- where save in France, Lord Palmerston would incur a great responsibility if he were to at- tempt ~in enforcement of the slave-trade trea- ties by naval broadsides. It would seem probable, therefore, that in spite of the earnestness of Lord Palmerston. and of the religious feeling of Lord Shaftes- bury, we must perforce fall back upon the common rule of life. We cannot compel Ffance and other foreign states to regulate their conduct by our sense of right and wrong; and we must content ourselves with doing what we think right, and compelling no more than our own family to follow the same law. Out of evil cometh good. No course of action has committed England to so many embarrassments and mistakes as the slave- trade suppression. It has placed the Mother- country in a false position with many of her own colonies; it ha~ made us win small African concessions from European states at the cost of lsrger Europ~an concessions; it has rendered us odious for a petty dictation. to those who should he our friends. Perhaps - the dompulsory abandonment of the policy may 1etter the condition of England in Eu- rolie. Nor is it to be assumed that even the African will suffer in the long run. We have yet to be satisfied that the position of an African as a slave in America is worse than that of an African as a slave in Africa. lit has been the attempt at the compulsory sup- pression of slavery which has, more than any- thing else, prevented the education of the African in America; which has checked the national tendency to transfer him from African deserts to Anglo-Saxon civiliz tion. Should the Negro population of America he very greatly multiplied, it will necessarily acquire a larger share of attention and consideration; its civilization must be attended to; and Africa after all may be civilized in America. This result would happen the more speedily should England lend her influence in a friend-. ly instead of a compulsory form. 49 bO THE BMUGGLER S REVENGE From Taits Magazine. his contraband cruises, a man of two or three- THE SMIJGGLERS REVENGE: A SEA- and-twenty, by name George Gilbert, the SIDE YARN. son of a gentleman in reduced circumstances, Come list awhile unto a greybeards storyOld and who, having been wild at college, to Play. A fearful talethe truth were worse.P. B. which by his father, at great personal incon Shelley. venience, he had been sent, for he was a youth of promise, in expectation of then the year 179, some ~five miles from the doing something good for himself, had some place where I am now writing, lived John months returned home, and growing tired Brown, the son of a substantial yeoman-tar- of family reproaches, and having too much mer, and the hero of the tale I am now about spirit to wish to live as a pensioner on pater- to tella fine, jovial, open-hearted you~~ nal good nature, had joined the Petrels ad- fellow was he in those days, handsome enon venturers. Brown and lie were friends, yet to turn the heads of half the girls within an never were two men more utterly dissimilar afternoons ride of his fathers homestead, in mind and body. By the side of the where hut for his restless dislike of any set- genial Jack Brown, the quiet, saturnine tled mode of life, he might perhaps have George Gilbert made a poor figureyet there been now leading a tranquil old age. But was more in him than a stranger would have the life of a farmer had no charms for him. supposedas the smugglers soon discovered~ A life of excitement for me! said the wil- Stern in feature, with a face whereon a smile ful young man to his fathers remonstrance, seldom beamedand then it was a smile none of your hum-drum, stay-at-home, fire- more unpleasant than any frownwith noth- side happiness for Jack Brown. And, so ing genial about it cold as moonlighta thinkin ~, he soon joined a band of smugglers, smile of mingled bitterness and contempt, who at that time infested this coast. In George Gilbert, nevertheless, was emphati- those days smuggling was not only more eally the brain of the Petrels crew. He it common but less disreputable than now. was who planned for others to execute. France being almost closed to fair ttaders by Whenever a cool, calculating spirit, a keen war, those who required such fripperies as eye and indomitable perseverance were re- muslins, and the like, or such creature com- quired, Gilbert was the man who furnished forts as Cognac, were obliged~.if they stud- them; whenever a dashing enterprise was to ied economyto buy them in the cheapest be carried out by a strong nerve, a reckless market; and this was in the hands of the heart, and an iron hand, then Jack Brown smugglers, who at that time formed no 1 was truly Jack at a pinch. Little wonder ~considerable proportion of Englands man- then if, with two such men banded together time population. Young Brown, who from in one cause, the Petrel soon became famous his childhood had been used to the seat in a for successful crujses, and hair-breadth es- short time from the opening of this narative had, by his energy and aptness for command, capes,or that her crew who were all hound together in a kind of partnership, soon were elicited warm praises from his brother smug- in a good way to realise a handsome livelihood is, and was speedily elected captain of as by their nefarious practices, in spite~ of the ~akish a looking lugger, called the Pc- revenue. trel, ns ever baffled a Kings cruiser. Once Now, although it is by no means my inten- in every week or two the Petrel brought in tion to dose my readers with too much sea- the much coveted muslins and silks for the timentality in these veritable chronicles, still ladies, and the Cognac, & e., for their liege j suppose I should be le~sening whatever in- lords, who, however much they might repro- terest 5 y story may possess, by omitting hate smugglers and smuggling in public, such love matters as are necessary to that had not the least objection to become pur- storys development. chasers in private of the smugglers wares, Let me be brief, however. at far lower rates than they could have pur- Jack Brown wooed and won as pretty a cha. ed them of the fair traders as by law girl as ever wore a contraband silk dress, or protected and recognized. kissed a handsome young smuggler,Kate Among Browns intimate companions, was Furness. It was likewise surmised at the an old ~choolfellow, ~vho had joined him in time that George Gilbertthough he had THE BMUGGLER S REVENGE. never shown any feeling of interest when Brown announced his engagement to his lady lovehad at one time been a suitor f3r Kates hand. Scandal said that she had not treated the young man quite fairlythat, though she had up to a certain period en- couraged his addresses, the moment Brown appeared on the field she had slighted Gil- bert in a manner undeservedfor, however harsh and unamiable in other respects might have been the character of George Gilbert, he loved her with all that deepI had well nigh saidstern attachment of which such naturesand such onlyare capable. Just before she formally declined his suit, he had led a steadier life, and had promised, if she would only offer him an object in view, that he would go to London and there make tise of his talents to retrieve the past, and brighten the future. But, noBrown was a handsome, dashing, young sailor, and poor George was a man destitute of such advan- tages, and consequently, was, like many a better man by many a more foolish girl, jilted. And so, like a sensible man, for a time he bore the blow in silence; and endeav- ored to make the best of it. True, she had deceived him, and then as coldly undeceived him, and then given him for his pains a sneer and his congee. No matter ;.pride would en- enable him to bear it, and for a while pride did. One evening, as he was strolling home- wards along the cliff, he saw the two lovers, Brown and his affianced, sitting among the bushes in a loving Ute-~t-t~te. having no wish to play the part of a listener, he was turning away, when he heard his name men- tioned. lie had been more than man if he had not l)aused awhile then. In voluntarily he listened and soon verified in his own per- son, the old proverb, that listeners bear no good of themselves; for Kate was just then telling Brown the issue of poor Gilbert~s un- successful suit, adding th6reto sundry face- tious comments of her own, which ~veat like swords through the heart of the proud man who heard every word then spoken, and never forgot or forgave oneand Jack Brown, with a horse-laugh, said, Poor devil! till he roare(l again. Little thought fickle Kate Furness, that l)leasaat evening, of the fearful consequences that would ensue from those foolish words of hers, spoken, after all, in merry jest, but taken by one of the listeners 51 in fierce revengeful earnestlittle thonght she how a moment had alienated from her the faithful heart that had .loved her for years. Little thought Brown how his coarse laugh, in which there was not the least par- ticle of ill nature, had severed a friendship that had cxi ted from childhood hctween himself and his old school-fellow, Gilbert, turning the friend into a deadly enemy heaceforward. But it was so. From that hour Gilbert hated Kate and Brown with all that intensity which belongs to temperaments like his. Still, Gilbert and Brown sailed together a~ heretofore, till one day as they were cruising off Jersey, a ~ew hasty words between the two led to a quarrelblows were exchanged, and the, combatants were sel)arated by their crew. Directly they landed, Gilbert de- manded satisfaction on the spot, and Brown, after a few well meant but vain atteml)ts at reconciliation, took his ground and shut his quondam friend through the arm. At his own request Gilbert was left behind in St. Heiers, and the Petrel sailed home. His wound, which was a simple flesh wound, rap- idly healed, and from that time his couriection with the Petrel ceased. But he had formed his plan lready to crush his hated rival. In a few months Brown was married to Kate Furness, and for a year all went on happily. Gilbert, by exerting what little in- terest his father possessed with the county members, procured an appointment in the coast-guard, and from that day it was re- marked that more seizures were made a~ong the shore, and the Petrel went more rarely to the coast of France. I(nowin~ well the character of the man they had lost as a friend, the Petrels ci ew became dispirited, and Brown speudily found that the worst days work he ever did was his quarrel with George Gilbert. One dark night, however, after they had ascertained that Gilbert was on the sick list, the ~smugglers had avranged to effect a land- ing of several tubs of spirits, and this was to he brought about as follows: About a mile from their usual landing- place, where the shore was less rocky than nearer home, to a stile, on the summit of the cliff, was attached a strong block and pulley, with one man to work it, a second as a gen~ ml assistant in case of need, and a third some quarter of a mile off on the look out. 52 Then the lugger ran in shore as close as pos- sible, and the tubs were floated off and con- veyed by the smugglers to a snug cranny, there affixed to the pulley, and then wound up to the brow of the cliff, when they were conveyed hy the second man to the third, who soon disposed of them in a convei~ient stackyard, to wait till called for. But the smugglers had reckoned without their host, as the saying is. The sick-list was merely a sham, and in less time than served to convey four tubs up to the stile from the beach, a shrill whistle from the smugglers outpost, announced that danger was abroad. The smugglers on the beach regained their lugger and awaited the safe advent of the rest to sheer off. But it was too late. George Gil- bert, with four or five men, was running to the scene of action,, the smugglers on the high-ground were intercepted, and after a short conflict were worsted, and by Browns order retired, leaving one of their number shot through the body on the grass, and Brown himself a prisoner, though not before he had sent a bullet through the hat of one and the leg of another of his assailants. He was dragged off to the Preventive sta- tion, and thei~e detained in safe custody till morning when he could be taken before a magistrate. During that night he bitterly reproached Gilbert with hi~ treachery in turning his hand against his former ship- mates, and taking advantage pf the knowl- edge he had acquired on board thePetrel, to capture her captain. He then went on to ask his old schoolfellow if he thought that a mere foolish quarrel justified such hatred as his. For a few minutes, Gilbert looked at him with a sstiile of hate, blended strangely with contempt, ere he replied: Think you, Brown, that a petty squabble like that would have really turned the old friend of twenty years standing into a life- long foe, or that a few blackguard words, followed by a well-directed bullet from a wrong-headed idiot like you, could have made me what I am? Noit needed something more to do that. And that something was P asked Brown, eagerly, in spite of himself Listen, and you shall know a secret, said the other. A year or two ago I loved deeply, purely and truly, a village girl. Ayeyou may smile, smilehut men like me ca~ love as TIlE SMUGGLERS REVENGE. wellor far better than people of your kind your love may have been a plaything for your vanitymine was the one hope of life. I oved was rejected, after having been coldly deceivedand loved on still. I could have borne that. AyeI loved and was a fool fo~ my pains. She I loved might have been a girl with no more heart than heada jiltbut though thus driven from the only hope whereby my soul then seemed to anchor my trusting love flung in my faceI for- gave that, and would have carried my secret forgivingly to my grave. She loped another; and I was to furnish mirth for my rival. Wellone evening I was walking out over yonder cliffI saw her sitting by the side of him she lovedwho could not love her with half the intensity I had doneI heard wo~rds of endearmentwords I shall never more hear or speak in this world nowthen I heard my name mentioned with many a heartless jest by her, for whom I had suffered so much unrepiningly. I heard enough to tell me that in their eyes I was fit to be mocked and sneered at by a false coquette to be the topic of the coarse jests of an empty-headed boor. My blood was turned to gallthat night I swore a bitter oathI have kept the first part of it alreadyfor that girl was Kate Furness, and that man wasyourself; ayeyouJohn Brownthe prisoi~er of the Coast Guard to-nightthe committed for trial to-morrowthe trans- portedif there he justice in the landat the next assizes. And I will keep that oath still further. So saying, he walked out and left his pris- oner to his reflectionswhich were not of a very pleasant nature. Not that the stout heart of Brown feared for himselfbut for his wife who was hourly expecting her con- finement. He knew that, if h~ was trans- ported, she could be at the mercy of Gilb& t in some measure; and he knew enough of the ingenuity of his captor to feel sure that he would allow nothing to baulk him of his revenge. Scoundrel! shouted he in his despair, if I ever hear that my wife and the child yet unborn suffer aught at your devilish hands, I will come back, if it be three thousand miles and -twenty years hence, to take such a revenge as man shall never forget. These words were heardnot by the ear for which they were intendedbut by one of TIlE SMUGGLER S REVENGE. the coast guard outside the prisoners door, who remembered them long after the pris- oner was wearing his heart out in a foreign land. Brown was triedfound guilty of smug- gling and firing, with intent to kill, at two of His Majestys revenue officers, & c., and sen- tenced to deathwhich was commuted to transportation beyond the seas for the term of his natural life. There was what the ocal newspapers of the day called an af- fecting scene in court, when his grey-headed father entreated the mercy of the stern Judge on the prisoner for the sake of his poor wife and his unborn child. There was a yell of execration from the assembled mob outside the Sessions-House as Gilbert passed outto which that amiable personage vouch- safed a contemptuous sneer as sole reply. And in a few months the capture of the Petrel by the ever vigilant Gilbert broke up Browns gang, and the story of the trial and ~he sentence were speedily forgotten, save by the convicts wife and a few sympathisers, smugglers, who, over their pipes and grog, would often avouch their opinion that Brown would yet come back again to keep his oath, of whichthanks to that loquacious member of the coast gijard who originally overheard itthey were aware. With one of these men Brown kept up a correspondence ar1d thus knew every thing that took place in his absence. But Gilbert appeared to have for- gotten his old grudge against Kate, and so Browns heart crew light oI~ that score. The revenue officer only bided his time till he could wreak his vengeance more terribly thi~ough her son. *- * * * ~ Twenty years had passed away from the night when Jack Brown was taken by the Coast Guard, and Mrs. Brown, who had been estahilished by her relatives in a shop inthe town adjoining her girlhoods home, was, with a few friends celebrating the birthday of her son Harry, a fine young man who had inherited from his father a handsome face, an athletic frame, and as adventurous a spirit as his who was far away. His mother was calling to mind her long-lost husband, and instituting fdnd comparisons between him and her wild boy, regretting that both would follow a law- less course of life, when a tap ~nme at the door, it was opened, and ifi walked Gilbert and two of his followers. The poor mother saw all at a glance. Rushing to the side window, she threw it up, and screaming Flydearest Harryfly! endeavored to impede the further advance of the officers. The effort was useless; in a moment they had dragged him from the window, and had led him away a prisoner to the door, where he stood breathless with impotent rage and as- tonishment at the suddenness of his capture. Poor Mrs. Brown rushed to the door, and then stood wringing her hands in all the helplessness of despair, till she saw the men preparing to march Harry off, when she said: George Gilbert, I did not think two and twenty years ago, when you and I stood to- gether in my fathers garden, that you would ever bring me sorrow liie thisthat you could~ ever ruin the husband and child of one who never sought to injure you or yours.~~ Softly, my dear madam, sneered Gilbert, in a fierce whisper, which, though unheard by his men, was perfectly audible to the wretched mother. Do you remember sit- ting on the cliff twenty-one years ago, and giggling with John Brown, at that poor simpleton, George Gilbert, as you then phrased it, as though a proud mans love were worthy of nothing more than a weak girls heartless laughter P Then, motioning her a few steps further off his men and theb~ prisoner, he continued, if you have forgot- ten that, I have notdo you remember it, Mrs. Brown, now She did, indeed, remember all too well. George, gasped she, mercymercy for the sake of my boy who never harmed you. I was but a silly girl in those d~ysyou will notyou cannot seek to crush my home. for such a girlish folly as that. Georgeif you ever loved me, pity me now. I have been punished already too far by the loss of poor John. Is there no mercy, George? asked she, looking up imploringly into the Revenue officers stern face, which for an instaift worked convulsively, and then subsided into its wonted passionless expression. After a while he answered in a husky voice, Kate Brown! think of what I mig4t have been; for, though the son of a ruined father, I had, some fools said, talent, and I would, for. your sake, have yet made a place for us in the worldand then think of all I have sufferedthink ~of what 1 amthe detested Revenue spy. Think of the strug 53 54 gle that must have been here, where a heart once was, ere love was turned to undying hate like mine, and then ask yourself if there can l)e any mercy for you, at the hands of a man like me? * * * * * She answered not a word, but gazed at him like one distraught, as he said to his men, Now, my lads, away with him, and turn- ing to the weeping mother added, to share, I hope, if not at present, his fathers fate, and the young man was dragged off. But the party had not advanced many yards when, with an effort of desperate strength, he wrested his arm from one of his captors, knocked him down, and snatching the cut- lass from the others grasp, struck. him a fearful blow acios~ the head. The man fell bleeding at his feet, as Harry, waving his weapon, shojited to Gilbert to come on. In an instant Gilbert, who was some yards in the rear, stood before him, and pointing a pistol at the young mans breast, said, in a voice of quiet determination, Young man, will you surrender, and come quietly with me? The only answer vouchsafed by the gallant young smuggler, was a rapid thrust at the officer, who as quickly parrie$ it with his cutlass, and saying, Your ,blood be upon your own head! __fired. Harry Brown hounded up in the air and fell on his face at Gilberts feet, stark dead, with a bullet through his heart. The neighbors, hearing the report, rushed out with lights to the scene, and there found Gilbert standing, with. a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. Even his iron heart relented, and his eyes grew dim as the childless mother flung herself upon the body of the dead boy, and poured forth her lament over him, in all the wild eloquence of sor- row. And Harry Brown shortly after was borne to the churchyard, and buried under the grey wall looking seaward; and every day for three wretched months did his heart- broken mother come to sit upon her childs grave, to mourn, like Rachel of oH, refusing to be comforted. Her mind, which had never been strong, gave way at last, and in six months from her sons death reason fled forever. She went to reside with a relative of her husbands, as a hopeless idiot. She was very quiet and per- THE SMUGGLERS REVENGE. fectiy inoffensive, and spent long hours each day in sitting on the brow of the cliff, lookjng over the sea, asking every passer-by if he (meaning her husband,) had come hack yet? One morning they missed her from her ac- customed seat on the cliff. They feared at first she had fallen over int.o the sea, till some villager said that he had seen her . entering the churchyard; there by her sons grave, with her arms peacefully folded over her breast., lay poor Mrs. Brown as though asleep lying there dead in the bright sunshine by her boys grave. And Brown, in his convict home, thou- sands of miles away, heard of these things by letter from his friends in England. * * * * * * * Five years had passed since the events I have just narrated, when John Brown, who, by his good conduct had obtained a ticket-of- leave, and had amassed, by honest industry, a good sum of money in the colony, whither in pursuance of his sentence he had been sent, escal)ed to England. Time and sorrow had altered the once dashing smuggler into a careworn man, with hard lines on his brow, and grizzled locks, and a face sc sadly changed, that he had small cause to fear re- cognition in his native I)lace, where many of his old friends were dead and gone. He felt he might safely pay a visit to the scene where he had spent his fiery boyhoodwhere he had wooed and won his poor lost Kate. One wild night in November the escaped convict sat on the oaken settle by the fireside of ~ The Fortune of War, in , a tav- ern where he and his rollicking companions of lang syne had spent many a jovial hour and while silentlysmoking his pipe, and list- ening to the conversation of a few sailors who were spending their evening there, he caught the following: Aye; it is just about twenty-five years ago since young Jack Brown was taken by that infernal Gilbert. I remember Jack well as brave, a lad as ever ran in a tub of brandy under yonder cliff. I wonder if he is still in foreign parts, poor lad. Ah, said the other, it is well .for Gil- bert that Jack is a few thousand miles away over the herring-pond, or I fancy some fine morning we might see George Gilbert with a slit in his wizen, for Ive heard em tell as how Jack swore, in a letter he wrote, when he heard from a friend here of his boys T1I~ SMUGGLE~R~ ~EVE~GE. death, thaf he would have his revenge though he waited long years, and came back thousands of miles over the sea to take it. Aye, lad; and Jack Brown will keep his oath some daydepend ont. Thus talked they. It was evident they had forgotten him of whom they spoke. Brown said nothing; but ever and anon they could see a grim smile curl his lip, as the forelight played over his weatherbeaten face. At last one of the sailors, turning to the stranger, said: Well, my hearty, you seem to take inter- est in our talkdid you know aught of poor Jack? I did, replied the stranger laconically; but let me ask in turn what has become of Gilbert ~ He is at , some ten miles from here, was the answer ;. when the stranger rose, called for his reckoning and glasses round, and bade them good night. This was the last time that John Brown saw his native place again after a long absence. * * * * * * * The next night, in a miserable inn at the town where Gilbert was now stationed, a Preventive man and a tall, muscular stranger in seafaring dress, were in close conversation over their grog. They talked of local mat- ters in general, and smuggling in particular. Oh! said the Preventive man, theres not much chance of our making much by seizures nowthere are so few to make, aince Mr. Gilbert came here. A mighty clever officer is he, too, I can tell you. Did you ever hear the story of his taking Jack Brown, the most out and out smuggler along this coast, some five and twenty years ago? The stranger replied that he had not and listened patiently to the mans yarn, in which the real facts were magnified by his vivid imagination to such an extent that the stranger could hardly repress a smile at times. He must be getting an elderly man now, this Mr. Gilbert? I should think a few years older than youbut then one is apt to be deceived; for he is a gloomy sort of man, and that may make him look older. I was at school with him; that makes me ask, added the stranger. I should like to see him again. That you can easily do was the reply; he is the keenest officer the King has here- abouts, and any one can see him going his rounds any night along yonder cliffs, between nine and ten oclock. And so the two shook hands and parted. It was a dark night; the moon was vainly struggling through a wilderness of clouds as the stranger walked out at the inn door, turned on his heel, and slowly sauntered off in the direction indicated by his late com- panion. He had not walked a quarter of a mile in the darkness before he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a deep, stern voice asked, Who goes there? One you know well, was the unsatisfac- tory answer. Honest men are not ashamed of their names, and I suspect you are after no good. At this moment the moon shone out from a cloud on the two men, when Brown shout- ing, Gilbert, do you know me nowJack Brown, the convict? sprung at the officer like a tiger, before cutlass could be un- sheathed, or pistol drawn, grasped his throat and falling with him to the ground, knelt on his prostrate foe. For a few mo- ments, stunned by the fall, the offlee~ lay perfectly still; but shortly, recovering his faculties, he writhed desperately in his assail- ants grasp. Thqugh a brave man, and one who felt that his life depended on his exer- tions, after a few vigorous, but abortive efforts to free himself from his position on the ground, or to clutch his pistols, he found himself utterly powerless in the hands of one powefful as John Brownfor he it ~vas. Tightening his grasp on Gilberts throat, Brown contrived with the other hand to draw both pistols from his enemys belt, and laying them 6n the grass beyond his reach, Gilbert, summoning his strength for another effort, well nigh succeeded in hurling Brown backwards, ~nd drawing his weapon from its scabbard. Quick as lightning, the convict recovered one of the pistols, cocked it, and presenting it close to Gilberts temple, bade him be stillor, accompanied by a fierce oathhe would scatter his brains on the turf. The revenue officer, though a bad man, was a brave one, yet it had required some- thing, more than rational bravery to disobey the command in such a situation. Gilbert was still waiting a better opportunity for re- sistance. He could not call for helpfor Brown had assured him that if he atte ~pted his cry would be followed by a shot. Sud 55 THE SMIJGGLER S REVENGE. denly the idea flashed through his mind that Brown, who seemed in no hurry to harm him, might, on his return to England be short of money, and have had recourse to highway robbery for subsistence. If robbery be. your object, gasped Gil- bert, as well as he was able, for the ex-smug- glers baud clasped his throat take all I haveI will give it you unhesitatingly. The reply was an oatha tighter squeeze and I am no thief, George Gilbert. I swore I would take a heavy revenge for my sons slaughter. I will not blow your brains out as 1 clearly might; firstly, because the shot would bring your men up6n meand sec- ondly because You surely would not murder me un armed, said Gilbert, with a cold sweat breaking out at every pore. Loosening his hold for an instant, Brown drew the cutlass from the officers scabbard, and hurled it terrific effort of his giant strength, hurled Gilbert over his shoulder. They were both upon the very brink of the beetling cliff; the wretched man fell down ten feet, when he clung desperately to some bushes which grew upon the precipice. His quondam antagonist looked down upon him for some moments in silencebut no tbought of pity influenced him in that evil hour. By a desperate effort Gilbert had succeeded in gaining a temporary resting- place for one of his feet upon a stone that projected from the cliff, and was battling strongly for his life when Brown, looking over the cliffs brow, muttered hoarsely Though you showed no mercy to me and mine, I would not destroy body and soul to- gether. I give you five minutes to make your peace with God; and, seizing a branch he slowly descended and bent it down with those iron, hands of his, till Gilbert could grasp it. ,I know not what may have been over the cliff; then securing the pistols in the thoughts of that proud, stern man, as he his vest, he leapt to his feetan example hung by that frail branch between time and speedily followed by Gilbert who, with eternityperhaps for a moment a thought of bre~t heaving and eye glaring like a tigers repentance flashed through his mind-but at bay, was preparing to dash at his foe, and the old spirit broke forth at the last. escape oi~ die at once. Brown! cried, he you robbed me of Drawing a pistol once more, Brown said,~-. her I lovedyou now are about to murder Gilbert, I strove to have my revenge for mea dying mans curse is yours to-night. my murdered son. I will not slay you un- BroWn descended a foot lowerdrew his armedbe this a token,and he threw knifeand severed the branch. Theae was one pistol from him over the cliff but one a wild crya fearful crashthen all was of us must perish to-night. I will give you still. The tide, was running in, the tall, a last chance for your lifebecause villain pointed rocks below received the miserable though you are, you were once my ,dearest Gilbert in his fall.. And as the moon shone friend. So saying he hurled the second down upon the ashy face of the murderer pistol after the first, and, extending his arms, her beams revealed to his horror-stricken shouted Come on! There is a fall of sight a mangled corpse. eighty feet beneath us, your life or mine to- * * * * * night! Brown fled. Nezt morning, the revenue Then ensued a deadly struggle between officers body was found by a fisherman, these two bitter foesL.~both were strong men washed high and dry by the tide into a fis- and expert wrestlers, as all men in the West sure of the cliff. The brow of the cliff above country are; but ~ looker-on would soon presented marks of a fearful strugglebut a have seen that Gilbert could not hold out coroners inquest returnedan open verdict long against the Herculean strength of his and, beyond vague surmises, nothing further antagonist. After a short struggle, in which was known how George Gilbert met his death. neither gained any positive advantage over Years after these events, an old man was the other, they paused for breath; and, as knocked down by a cart in one of our sea- the moon gleamed down on them, they gazed port towns, and taken to the hospital where ~into each others eyes with a settled glare of he soon lay at the point of death. A clergy- hatred, only to be quelled by death. Drop- man was sent for; to him the dying man ping suddenly upon one knee, in a manner confessed all that I have told~ and died. ~w~ll-known to all wrestlers, Brown, with a That man was the duellist, John Biown. 56 67 A STORY FOR THE NEW YEAR. From The Dublin University Magazine. A STORY FOR THE NEW YEAR. BY TH~ DEAN OF PIMLICO. WE were staying during the Christmas week at the Bishops Palace at X; a small 1)artychiefly young people, with a sprinkling of the cleric order. It had snowed most pertinaciously for three days, thus pre- cluding all out of doors amusement, so we were thrown upon our own resources to create enjoyment at home, and kindle artificial sun- shine around the yule log, and beneath the mistletoe. And so it came to pass that on the last evening of the old year, after supper, and when our dear and venerable prelate had retired to his rest; one of his grandsons, a fine hright lad just fresh from Harrow, made a lively proposition that we should all sit up till twelve oclock, and keep vigil, to see the death and the birth, the exit and the entrance of the old and the new year; to say fare- well to the former, and cry all hail to the latter; and to behold these two great shadows meet and mingle for a second on the vast dial-plate of time, and then pass, and part forever more. This motion of our young friends was carfied, no man dissenting; and furthermore, we agreed to beguile the cripple tardy-gaited night~ in telling stories each in his turn, thus establishing a sort of ahridged iDecameron, but neither so witty or so wicked as the Florentines; or an Eng- lish Nights Entertainment on an epitomiz~d scale to:that of Sultan Schariar, hut wanting the cutting off of the heads, and the mulier- icide of that sanguineous potentate. The young people commencedthe Harrow man leading the van; their narratives were not over wise, but then they were not over long, and if they were wanting in learning and wit, they produced laughter and kept up good humor, which was all we required. Then followed a sentimentally intoned, and rome- what lugubrious recital from the pale young curate of Hazlewhittle-cum-Shiveringham, which had this rem arkable feature, that the - most melancholy parts of the narrative were sure to pi;oduce most concealed mirth among the younger auditory; and what the pensive narrator put forth as pathos, seemed ever to be considered by his hearers as purest bathos. Doctor Broadhurst next took up his parable, and narrated his adventures in the great snOw of 18, during a ride from Oxford to C when his black mare balled in her hoofsslippedslidedsliddered, and event- ually stumbled and fell prone; prostrating the learned Doctor on the surface of the snowy element, who lost 6n the occasion his equilibrium, and his blue spectacles. And this fall hail nothing of miracle in it, seeing the Doctor was purblind quoad his vision, .and plethoric quoad his person, and thereby unfitted to perform the functions of the eques- trian order, & c. Procumbit humi bos whispered the Harrovian. It was now eleven oclock, and none remained but myself, and our honored guest the Dean of Pimlico, who looked so intelligent and had such a sparkle in his pure grey English eye, and such a meeting of tl~e waters of benevolence and sarcasm around his well cut mouth, that calling to mind what the great Ussher once said of Bishop Bedell, broach him, and you will find good liquor in him, I felt certain thit the Dean of Pimlico clarum et vener- abile nomen would not helie either his face or his fame by the quality of his narra- tive. So I briefly and simply told what had befallen me by night at an old Inn in th~ City of Gloucester where George Whitefield was born, and the comfort I had received, in an hour of depression, from the chimes of an ancient clock, most sweet and clear, ringing out, over the still midnight air, a Gregorian tone. My tale was short,and my audience applauded mean unexpected compliment, paid, I suspect, more to the brevity of my story than produced by its weight. And now all eyes were turned upon the Dean of Pim- lico, who, crossing his strong but well shaped limbs on the hearth-rug, with a white hand- kerchief in~ his hand, and a clear and ringing voice, and a preliminary smile, and a little hem,, as if he were about to deliver a charge to his chapter, proceedej as follows It was about this night seven years that I was standing on my own drawing-room hearth-rug, thinking of nothing, and listlessly watching the footman who was extinguishing the waxhights in the lustre; for I had had a bachelors dinner party, and my guests were just departedwhen suddenly there came a tremendous double knock at the hall door, disturbing the silence of the night, and ex- pressive of haste and much mental agitation in him who kno,cked. On the door being opened, some one bounded up the stairs with such a wonderful velocity and eagerness, that I immediately concluded it must be either a A STORY FOL~ THE NEW YEAL~. highwayman, or else my nephew Harry, a young divinity student; but who, having Irish blood in his veins, occasionally exhibited more vivacity thaii just suited the sober stan- dard of my staid domicile. True enough it was he, and his first appearance - rather alarmed me, for I love the lad in my soul, and he is to be my heir. On the present oc- casion his face was flushed, his hair in dis- order, and his eye and aspect troubled and excited. Well, Harry, what is the matter P What has brought you up like a ghost in a tragedy, at this witching hour of night, to murder sleep, and disturb me and my decorous house- hold P Speak now, or else forever hereafter hold thy pence. 0 uncle, exclaimed the young fellow, seating himself in an arm-chair, I have done a deed half an hour ago, which must affect my whole future life, and at which I am ~ure you will be displeased; andso I came here, late though it be, to tell you my distress, and ask for counsel. Why, what in the name of ~vonder have you been doing? I exclaimed. Say, Stagyrite, have you been libelling Sam of Ox- ford; or publishing a pasquinade on Dr. Pusey; or administering strychnine to Car- dinal Wiseman ? No, I assure von, uncle, answered the simple hearted, matter-of-fact young fellow, I have never written any libel on the Lord Bishop; and as for Dr. Pusey, I have only seen him once, when I could not believe it was he; and in regard of Dr. Wiseman, what- ever I might Come, come, interrupted I, let us have no scandalum magnatum. He has an indu- bitable position, though not from us or with us; but what is the cause of your t~ouble, Harry? Why, uncle, I was dining to-day at our cousins, General OBriens. You know you always wished me to cultivate that family; they are so accomplished, so pious, and so charming. Humph, said I, no doubt they are; but I can guess what is coming. And so, uncle, after having been ac- quainted with them for the last six weeks; led on by the irresistible ardor of an attach- ment founded on rational esteem, [here I smiled] cemented by long intercourse, ~ six weeks to wit, thought I,] and develop- ing a golden future of domestic happiness, [ More gold, I fear, in the brain than in the bank, I mentally ejaculated,] I proposed, and was accepted to night by Mary OBrien; and we have agreed to be married immedia- tely after my ordination. Now, uncle; are you angry With your l)OOV nephew, your sis- ters son, for taking this stel) without your ex- press knowledge and sanction? Well, I confess I have a right to be angry. You know I am your guardian, and stand to you in loco parentis, and you ought to have consulted me before you took the plunge, and not to hasre come to me now all dripping and drowned, and in this thorough Irish fashion, after the deed was done, under the pretence of asking advice, but in reality seeking for approbation. I am, however, less angry than I ought to he, for two reasons; first, because from the Ilibernian impetuosity of your temperament I always felt that you would achieve an exl)loit of this kind sooner or later; and, secondly, I do think most highly of your choice, if she had a few more years notched in her lifes young calendar, and a little of added exferience to suit her for ~ clergymans wife. 0! dear uncle, Mary is full eightee~i years of age, and I. assure you is as wise As Minerva, no doubt, I said, and as experienced in menage matters as Hecoba. Well, we will grant all this for arguments sake.; but how are you to live, Ilarry? Whence are you to have the supplies Pt Love is poor to a Rroverb; Love is a pauper, and makes more paupers than he has pen~ce to fill their pockets with. Love cannot fur- nish your house; or feed your children, for I presume you intend having children. Love cannot bu~ you a loin of veal, or gammon of bacon, nor worsted hose, or Welsh flannel, in case yqu or Mary should hecome~rheumatick, which you probably will be when~you come to my years. 0, uncle, uncle, how can you conjure up such ideas? said Harry, half laughing. The truth is that we have quite enough to marry on; for there is a hundred pounds a year which Marys aunt and godmother, Lady L. settled on her; and thea my curacy will bring in a hundred l)ounds more, an- nually; then something will come to us at the Generals death; but this Mary will not ~58 A STORY FOR THE NEW YEAR. 59 suffer me to speak of. And thenand not been many months when the old gentle- then man died, and I took immediate possession Proceed, said I, well knowing what the of Harry, and had him to Cambridgeto young fellow was going to say. old Trinitymy own college; where he Why, uncle, said he, taking my hand, gained many honors, for the lad inherited and looking so wonderfully like my dear diligence and a taste for learning from my sister, with his fair complexion, and wistful, side of the house, and was naturally smart earnest eyes we thought and reckoned on enough, besides possessing a won~erful talent your goodness; that as you have been ever for making friends, from his enthusiasm, like a father to your orphan nephew, and as his simplicity, arid the purity of his life. I you seem to admire Mary most of all the certainly was charmed at having rescued the Generals other eight daughters, and as you poor fellow from t,he University of Dublin; are always as generous as aprince, [I assure for though ~ acknowledge that the courses of you, gentlemen, the young fellow was quite the sciences are well looked after there, I wrong here, and knew nothing about me] must ever denounce their imperfect maimer so we were sanguine on having a little set- of composition, and making Latin verses, tlement from you a.so, until such time as I [here the Dean~s manner became slightly have obtained a living. and done my duties acidulated, yet piquant as a lemon lozenge] in such a manner as to deserve it. they may compose clumsy hexameters, or Well, Harry, said I, I am sure you stiff mechanical pentameters. Sapphics too will be an active and earnest minister. You they might achieve; but I do avow, gentle- cannot help it, Harry; you have it from na- men; nay, insist on it, that the Dhoriamhio ture; you are physically and constitutionally the Choriambic laughs them to scorn. fidgetty and mercurial, as is your countrys lie paused here a little excited, and then fashion; you have a kindly nature too, my went calmly on. boy, and no doubt will make an exemplary Well, gentlemen, that I be not further married man, your domestic organs having a tedious to you, my nephew was ordained in most amiable development. And so, as for March, and married in April; the ceremony the settlement you speak of, it shall be forth- took place in the cathedral of Pimlico; it coming in due, time, I promise you; but now was performed by our dear and right rever- that the shock of your sudden appearance end host, assisted by your humble servant. has subsided, I confess I feel rather sleepy; It was a quiet wedding; Marys eight hand. and you will forgive me if I say, inclined to some smiling sister lassies officiating as awn. 1 am not in love, and must therefore bridesmaids, and the otd general in full urn- go to bed, and I advise you by all means to form, (he was colonel of the Connaught go home quietly and do the same. So, good Rangers, the gallant eighty-eighth,) with night, my dear lad; we will meet at ten golden aiguilettes on his shoulder, and spark- oclock breakfast. ling crosses on his breast, and true valor in I offered him my hand, but he clasped his his heart, and a strong county of Clare as- arms round me like a child, and though I cent on his tongue. Short of an eye like felt ashamed at the action, I could not but Hannibal, and minus a leg like Lord Angle- return the pressure; and so we parted, just sey, this fine old veteran stumped up the as the clock on the mantle piece struck the aisle, and frankly gave his lovely blushing hour of twelve, daughter away. She was number six, he Henry Font was my sisters only child. said, and he had no better or fairer than His father was un Irishman, and a captain of his Mary. And the stern soldier, who had dragoons, and was shot in the saddle during led a forlorn hope more than once, and a cavalry charge in India. They called it a would march up with composure to the iron brilliant affair, but it killed my poor sister, mouths of a gun battery, now broke down and made Harry an orphan before he was six kito natures softness; and as he bid the years old. Old Mr. Font, his grandfather; bride a weeping farewell, the heart of ste~1 now took him up, and had him at his castle became like virgin wax. I wished their in the wilds of Connaught, schooling him in bridal tour should be to Cumberland or Gaiway town, and afterwards entering him Scotland, and expressed this desire, as I into the College of Dublin, where he harI slipped a bank post bill into Harrys hand 00 A STORY FOR THE NEW YEAR. on his getting the license; but no, he was a every hamlet, nay, I believe, actually ena- regular lover of the Green Isle, and there he moured of their Kills, and their Knocks, would go, and Mary was of course sympa- their Slieves, their Duns, their Haths, thetic, and as patriotic as he. I then sug their Innises, their Ballys, and their gested their going to see Armagh, which I lAogs.. I had an occasional letter from my had heard of as a rather civilized part of ire- old friend, Dr. B, the hishop of the land, with a cathedral, and archiepiscopal diocese~ speaking most highly of poor Harry; palace, to be a refuge in case of any popular and one from himself, telling me ~ow he had outbreak, or attack from the whiteboys, been twitted by the leading dissenter in his rebels, or assassins of other denominations, parish with reading his sermon from a But no; my gentleman was firm, and he was book, and that he had now hecom6 an ex- determined to visit the Wild West, and temporary preacher; at which, I shrugged trace the ruins of his ancestors-old Castle of up my shouders, shook my head,, and cried, Kitman?nore, on the banks of what he called Foolish fellow! the Killeries. I certainly listened to these Every summer he came to see me during sanguineous appellations with a shudder, five years, till at last he joyfully announced which was not allayed when he further an- that the old Earl of B, whom he had nounced his intention of going among some met at a friends house;had offered him his friends of his ladys residing in the county of family living in a southern country. It was Tipperary, close under the Knock me down worth a clear six hundred pounds per annum; Afountains,* arid from thence they were to and he took possession of it shortly after he ijait an aunt 6f the young wifes, the Dowa- had left me for Ireland. And now came ger Lady 1 residing (they told me, long letters from him and Mary, descriptive laughing actually at what made my few par- of the delights of their new residence, the ticular hairs to enact porcupine quills a la grandeur of the earls great oaks, the beauty Hamlet,) in a lone old place called Kilbride of his forest walks, the river which swept Hall, near the town of Ballyragget; but through the park, and the extraordinarily whether the first syllable of this last was rich and beautiful lights, and shadows, and spelled with an a or an e, I protest I know purple tints which glittered and deepened not, save that the name of the locality seemed and glowed on the glorious Galtee mountains to me to sound grisly, and to irresistibly as- which skirted their eastern horizon. Then a sociate with itself the phantoms of Irish description of each of the children, of which hunger and nakedness. there were now five, and another expected; Well, they had their happy tour; and in not forgetting frequent allusions to the old, six months after their marriage he wrote to oldr quaint house in which they were living me as cheerfully and lovingly as usual, and while their gle!e was repairing, and whiok asking my permission to accept a curacy had been a hunting lodge of the unfortunate offered to him in the county of Donegal; a Earl of Desmond, attainted in the reign of region only known to me as existing on the Elizabeth, and called Earlesoke, from trees map, and of th~ manners, customs, physical planted there by the hand of his almost aspect, and population of which I was as~ lit- equally ill-starred son. tie cognoscent as I was of the interior of I think you may have perceived in the Australia, or the steppes of Tartary. But I course of my narrative that I had no great wrote my consent, adding my blessing; and love for ireland; yet, strange to say,I found there he continued for a whole year, visiting myself on one fine June evening shortly after his people, the little wife going everywhere this, steaming into IDuhlin Bay. I had been with him, working amidst his poor and his summoned as a witness on an important trial parishioners, and becoming perfectly con- involving some Irish property of which I had versant with the names of every hill and been left executor, much to my annoyance. ~ With the deepest respect for the Dean of Pim- I certainly was wonderfully delighted as we licos wonted scholarship, and accuracy of orthog- neared the Irish shores; the sun was just raphy, we would humbly but geographically suggest that his spelling in this instance is not cor- setting amidst thin cloud~ets of amber, pink, rect. The mountains meant here are the Knock- and purple, the sea mirroring and retaining meale-down range, near Clogheen, on the borders these tints in long paths on its Mnooth aur- of the county of Warerford.Note, humbly sug- g~tsd by the pr~n~ers di~ibo1us. face, and the Wicklow mQuntazns covered A STORY FOR TUE NEW YEAR. 61 with a golden gauze-like haze, yet preserving seemed to me very insecure, but the family their tent-like outlines against the darkening chiefly inhabited an offshoot which was a sky. As the sun went down, the moon rose much later erection. I spent a delightful and shone out brightly over Killiney bills, month here; harry was as enthusiastic and I certainly never saw such a beautiful sight, as vehement as ever, and a truly active and or such a grouping of the points of diversified efficient .parish minister. Here was a large landscape. Our packet, dashing through the body of well conditioned Protestant yeomanry, deep clear water, passed many a loitering farmers and cottiers, and the country was yacht with snowy sail; many racing boats studded with the handsome seats of an edu ____ flew by us as we rounded the white pier of cated, well born, and very wealthy gentry~ ~ W Kingstown; the harbor was crowded with Ti I was amazed, for I always considered gay crafts, among which loomed a large war that Justice Shallows ol~servation was pecu- ship. The whole population seemed to he on liarly applicable to Ireland and her sons, the long flat pier; there was music on the Beggars allbeggars all. water, and the many lights on the shore But I must hasten my tale, or the new reflected from the harbor looked like trem- year will ailticipate its conclusion. In the bling pillars of gold standing in the water. following December I was again summoned I felt my I)rejudices against the Irish soil a to Dublin, and I spent my Christmas at Earl- little abated; and a months sojourn in the soke; they were to leave it in March for good society of Dublin nearly converted me their new house, which stood higher up in into a Philo-Hibernian. Here I found learn- the valley, and less exposed to the pr~vailing ing without pedantry, humor without effort, western gales. The old tree, almost denuded, piety without priggism, enthusiasm for the yet with a few pale brown leaves clinging to arts without exclusiveness, much love of liter- its vast arms and distorted branches, looked ature, a growing taste for the mechanical and the very type of gaunt and worn senility; agricultural sciences, and thoroughly gentle- yet the children dearly loved this ancient manlike hospitality; ind~ed, they thought servitor, regarding it I believe next to their they could never make enough of the Dean parents, and spent most of their play hours of Pimlico. So on a fine July day I went climbing amidst its branches, or racing around down to my nephew, by he Cork and Limerick its stem, or sitting in its hollow. The river express train, appointed and worked fully as ran deep, turbid, and strong. The weather well as our Great Western; and the same was mild as the year died away, and we had evening found me sitting under a gigantic a green Christmas, yet tIme place w oak which stood almost opposite the queerest, healthy, and no deaths, thus falsifying an old oddest, and most antique of parsonages proverb. rudely Elizabethan in its architecture, with On the last day of the year the season was low walls, lofty chimneys, mullioned windows, so sultry that the fire went out of its own and small arched doora most unique yet accord, and no one thought of renewing it; tumble down concern. Dear Harry was here, the sky was of a hazy blue; the air dazzling radiant with joy at seeing me; his wife hand- and trying to the eyes, and the light brassy. somer than ever, much improved ahd very A nervous man would have complained of the self-possessed. The children, especially my weather, for the atmosphere seemed pregnant godson, whom they called the young Dean of with electricity. We spent the whole day Pimlico, healthy bright animals. We had wandering amidst the glades of the earls tea and strawberries under the kingly tree, deer park; and the sun went down in a burn- wh6se hollowed stem I measured next morn- ing finsh of bright crimson haze, the sky all ing, and found it to be twenty-four feet in dotted and flecked with pink clouds and girth. In the little dark parlor was a wooden copper colored lines. I never knew so still scutcheon over the mantle piece, and on it an evening. After prayers were over, we was rudely carved in the Irish or Celtic lan- walked out before the hall door, to w~itch the guage an inscription which Harry translated effect of the moonlight streaming on the for me in the following fashion, This is the great tree. The air was even sultry. It was great Earl of Desmonds hunting lodge, a splendid night, and almost as light as day; 1~7O, All the old portion of the house the wind rising in light gusts, and voices a& 62 A STORY FOR TIrE NEW TEAR. it were seeming to come from the old woods, and on the slates of the unceiled house in as it fell away into calm again. Suddenly which we were sheltered. I was now sorry I Harry spoke, had come, for the pro4ect of our home ride Uncle, do you not hear the galloping of a was any thing but agreeable, and I would horse just near the bridge P Who can it be wil1in~ly have given my Treatise on Anem at this hour ~ ology to its kindred winds, to be once more safely under Earl IDesmonds oak, or en- We all listened, and suspicion became cer- sconced in an arm chair at MaryFonts bright tainty as in about five minutes a man rode fireside. The sick mi~n too was much better; through the avenue gate, slamming it violently, it was a false alarm; he had fainted, and and cantered up to the hall door. they imagined it to be approaching death. In the midst of my perplexity I could not It is young Ashcroft, the earls game- butadmire harrys great tact and adaptation keeper from Acton Wood; his brother John of himself, as well as his tenderness and care must be dying. He has had consumption for with these poor people; he seemed quite to the last year. Well, Asberoft, whats the forget self, to be deaf to the storm and blind matter p to the lightning, while he read the Scriptures, 0, sir, you are wanted immediately; poor and prayed fervently and simply, and was John has had a sudden attack, and is sinking indeed among them, like his Divine Master, as one that serveth; and I confess I was rapidly. reproved and felt ashamed of my selfishness, In ten minutes Harry was in the saddle;, when I compared it with his disinterestedness and I, strange to say, loth to lose his com- and devotion. pany, qnd delighting in the beauty of the It was now just midnight, and it seemed as night, determined to accompany him. I was if the old year at that dread hour was bat- at that time writing a Treatise on Anemology, tling fiercely for -his right, as amidst con~~ and I was curious to observe from actual ob- tending elementsthe storm, the lightning, servation how the wind acted on the trees the thunder, and the rainhe abdicated his and their branches, and the sound produced sovereignty, and withdrew in sullen subjec- thereby.. Harry mounted me on his bay cob tion to the fated oi~ of Time. The clock in a steady aftimal that had never carried f t~e keepers kitchen had struck twelve; the Dean before; and we set out, after a most sick man had fallen asleep; we sat on, and ultra-vehement parting between Ilarry and I still on, listening to the stprm, and watching the little wife, as affectionate and as protracted and praying for a change. And now the as if he were about to start for Central Africa, clock struck one, and was answered by a or depart on the Patagonian mission. He r jeal of thunder that shook the house and spoke about her on our ride, and told me the very heavens; the rain flashing against what a treasure of goodness and love she the wind ows, and the wind whooping, and was to him. I told him how much I really screaming, and raging out among the dense admired her, and said I had perceived how old woods with a noise and din at once hor- finely and sweetly tempered her spirit had rible and confounding. Harry was urgent beconw, and finished by quoting to him, old on me to lie down; he was dreadfully pale; bachelor as J was, some flue lines from Mar- yet it could not be from fear, for lie had twice low which run thus: - ventured out of the house, that he might The treasures of the deep arc not so great report on the probable.cessatioii of the storm. As the concealed comforts of a man Truth to ~peak, I was thoroughly weary, and ,Locked up in womans love. the keepers bed being bright, and sweet, and sheets hike snow, I undressed, and soon We had a brilliant ride through the woods slept spundly, and did not wake for many over the old bridge, and past the castle hours, when I thought there appeared a faint which was all shut up, the family being in dawn; but Harry who camo into the room London. But the night was evidently chang- with a candle, said, no, it is the moonlight ing, and gathering for rain, and large dull still; but the storm, thank God is subsiding. masses of cloud were sailing across the moons lie was pale as a corpse, and his clothes ap- face and obscuring her light. In an hour we peared to be thoroughly soaked. I quickly had reached the rangers house, embosomed rose, and as I was dressing, he told me that, in trees, and we were scarcely in shelteri fearing for his wife and family, he had made when the storm came on most violently, time an eflbrt to reach home shortly after tw& thunder ratthiub and pealing, the high~tning oclock. John Asheroft had accompanied flashing every minute with a brilliancy almost lim and they had ridden swifthy through the blinding, deluging the whole air with fire, I woods, keeping to the more open glades., for and the rain foIling in pailfulls; the wind I the boughs were falling and flying; but on driving it fmiriously against the window-panes, reaching the Holmes they found them nil A STORY FOR THE NEW YEAR. flooded, and the bridge entirely swept away; and so, said Harry, we came back to wait till dawn. Now, dear uncle, the rain is over, and your horse is ready, and let us start in Gods name, for I have passed a miserable night; for 0, uncle, the walls and the roof of my house never could have stood beneath last ~night~s storm; and where is my wife, and where are my helpless children P 0! I am undone unless God has taken them under his special protection, and wrought some miracle on their behalf; his voice faltered as he spoke, and he turned his head aside. I was indeed greatly affected, and shared his fears, remembering well the bulging walls of the old house, and the toppling mass of heavy chimney work which beetled over the roof, beneath which these poor doves had made their nest. We rode very fast, getting out on the high road, which was a long circuit, but safe and smooth, passing over the river by a high stone bridge which the flood could not reach or injure. Harry scarcely spoke; he ap- peared to be engaged in mental prayer. We passed a farm house, with its haggard and outhouses all wrecked and desolated, and its strong roof torn up. Harry shuddered, and said, If my merciful Saviour spares me this dreadful cup, I willI will indeed~~ Here tears choked his utterance: I soothed him as best I could, but he spoke no more, but kept urging his horse into a steady gal- lop, so that we soon reached the turn to the valley in whose gorge the old lodge stood half way up the hilt. The moon had now sunk, and it was grey dawn, I should think about seven oclock, but too dark to see more than a perch or so before us. Presently we were at the lawn gate. 0! heavens, the great oak was do~vi~, lying like a huge mon- ster on the little lawnnot a vestige of the house to be seen. Alas, alas! dear Harry, they are crushed to deathGods will be done. He spoke not for a moment; then he stood straight up in his stirrups, and drop- ping the bridle, and clapping his hands to- gether, he uttered a cry so loud, so deep, so shrill in its heart-bursting agony that it haunted me for months after. Then leaping from his horse, he rushed to a little path which brought us to the back of the newer part of the dxi~elling, and bursting through a lower door he ran along the passage which led into the old rooms. As he ran, he cried with a ~)iercing and troubled voice Mary! Mary! where are you P My wife, my own Mary, my best wife, speak to me for Gads sake if you are alive. 0, dearest, speak to mespeak to memy wife, mj wife ! 83 But there was no response to that passion- ate pleading, as his feet paused at her cham- ber door. - Yet no ruin, no destruction had been here,. and the first flush of hope rose faintly to his brow as he turned the handle and we entered. A watch light burning on the table, and a Bible open at the 91st Psalm by its side, and the young wife asleep in a large arm chair looking, as I thought, never more lovely He did not speak, or wake her, but kneeling down at her bedside he buried his face in the I)illows, and I knew by the strong heav- ings of his shoulders, that weeping, and thanksgiving, and the voice of adoration for great goodness, and fervent supplication were all ascending together to heaven, from a heart which was greatly but sweetly over- tried with sudden joy. He then arose, and turning to me, he cried, uncle, and clasped me in his arias: and then again kneeling down, gently, and reverently, and with a look and a smile of unspeakable love he took his wifes fair .little hand which hung over the arm of the chair, aiid kissing it most ten- derly, she awokeand in a moment they were fast locked in each others arms. Dearest Harry, God has preserved us wonderfully; the old oak was split by the lightrdng early in the night, and afterwards fell with a frightful crash: I thought at first that the house was falling, but only a few windows and slates were dislodged. The tree fell clear of us, through Gods mercy, and has lain before the house all the night, stretched in front, and shielding us from the storm. Dear old friemd! faithful even in death; and we were as secure behind its mass of stem and branches as if we were sheltered in a castle of steel. At first I was dreadfully alarmed, but my children were all asleep, and knew nothing either of danger or of dread; and as the night wore on, and I sat here working, and reading, and waiting for your return, I drew 1 rfectly calm, know- ing that God would take care of me and mine; and so I scarcely beard the storm, and my only anxiety was about my absent husband and our good node here. And mine! he said, with fervent so- lemnity of manner; I will not speak of it now, for indeed something more than the heaviness of death was with ~nc all the night, in the thoughts of losing you, Mary; but I am well content that it should have been so now, since such joy has come in the morning; but see, said he, gding to a little end win dow which faced the east, there is the first sunbeam over the Galtees, and I greet it from my heart; for it will not shine on a happier being under the whole wide heav- ens than I am on this blessed New Years Morning. f CONTENTS OF NO. 710. Spectator, New Quarterly Review, - Chambers Journal, - Athenceum, Punch, Chambers Journal, - - 1. Dr. Livingstones Travels in South Africa, 2. A New Life of l~pe, by Mr. Carruthers, 3. Anatomy of a Literary Forgery, - - - 4. Charles Reade and the French Originals, 5. The Demons of Pimlico, 6. The Lost Envoy, 7. Crimean Tombs, 8. Recollections of a LifetimeMr. Goodrich, 9. Middlesex Hospital Report on Cancer, - - 10. The Spanish Court, - - - - 11. The Marriage of Fellows, - - - 12. The Last of the Moguls, - - - - 13. The Prussian Regency, - - - - 14. The Renewed Paris Conference, - 15. The Schleswig-llolstein Question, - 16. The Money Crisis, 17. Sepoy Proclamations and Letters, - 18. Free African Trade, - - - - --1 8 - - - 14 - - - 17 - - - 20 - - - 21 - Spectator, - - - - 25 - Athenceurn, - - - 26 - Spectator, - - - - 30 - - - - Saturday Review, - - 33 - - - - - - 34 - - Economist, 36. - - Saturday Review, - - 39 - - - - Spectator, 40 - - - 42 - - - - Saturday Review, - - 44 - - - - Sjsectator, 46 - - - 48 19. The Smugglers RevengeA Sea-Side Yarn, - Taits Magazine, - - . - - 50 20. A Story for the New Year, Dublin University Magazine, 57 POETRY.The Demons of Pimlico, 20. A Basket of Violets in Wax, 32. Vision of the Great Eastern, 32. Panic Poetry, 32. SHORT ARTIcLEs.Susnmary Removal of,a Native Nuisance, 7. [This little scrap may sug- gest to the reader much thought unimagined by the writer, upon the relations between the two races.] Russian Cure for Improvidence, 13. Indian Letters of Introduction, 13. Et- iquette in Africa, 16. hammonds Wild Northern Scenes, 29. African Risks from Travel, 29. Stanhope Prize Essay on the Chara~ter of Wickliffe, 31. LITTELLS LIVING AGE. WASFHNOTON, 27 Dec., 1845. Oi all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature and science which abound in Europe, and in this country, this has appeared to me the most useful. It contains indeed the exposition oniy of the currei~t literature of the English Language; but this, hy its immense extent and comprehension, incla~des a portraiture of the human mind, in the utmost expansion of the present age. J. Q. ADAMS. This work is made up of the elaborate and stately essays of the Edinbirgls Quarterly, Weacminascr, North B e- isA, British Qa reedy, New Quarterly, London Quarterly, Ghristia Remembrancer, and other neviews; and Black- woods noble criticisms on Poetry, hit keen political Commentaries, highly wrought Tales, and vivid descriptions of rural and mountain Scenery; and contributions to Literature, history and Common Life. by the sagacious Specta- tor, the sparkling Examiner, the judicious Athen~um,the busy and industrious l.iserary Gazette, the learned and sedate Saturday Itevica. the studious and practical Bconomist, the keen tory Press, the sober and respectable christian Observer; these are intermixed with the Military and Naval reminiscences of the United Service, and with the best articles of tise Dublin University, New Monthly, Fr secs, Taits, Ainsworehs, Hoods and Sporting Maga-~ zaaes, and of Ghasnbcrs admirable Journal, and Dickens Household Words. We do not consider it beneath our dig- nity to borrow wit a;?d wisdom from Punch and, when we think it good enough, make use of the thunder of The Times. We shall increase our variety by importations from the contissent of Europe, a d from the new growth of the British colonies. Published every Saturday, by LITTELL, SON & COMPANY, Boston. Price 12~ cents a number, or six dollars a year. Remittances for any period will he thanlefully received and promptly attended to. We will send the Living Age, postage free, to all subscribers within the United States, who remit in advance, cSrectly to the off cc of p blicacion. the sum of six dollars; thus placing our distant subscribers on the same footing as those nearer to us, and making the whole country our neighborhood. Complete sets, handsomely bound, parked in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of ex- pense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. 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LITTELJ4S LIVING AGE.No. 711.9 JAMJAIRY, 1858. From Edinburgh EssayB. SCOTTISH BALLADS.* A GREEK girl traced the shadow of her lovers face on a sunny wall. That, says the legend, was the birth of painting. The death of one of the lions of the early world may have given birth to the twin arts of poetry and music. The barbarian return- ing to his village laden with the spoils of the chase, or driving before him a crowd of cap. tives, must have a poet to rehearse his tri- umphs, to celebrate the strength of his arm and the terror of his unconquerable spear. To some such rude source we may trace back the sacred streams of poetry and music which have flowed down to us out of unknown time. From his power of conferring a new distinction on warlike achievements, the bard or singer has ever been held in respect. His songs are a kind of rude fame. He Ps the depositary of the traditions of his tribe. His memory is the archives of his people, and therein are preserved their rolls of glory. We find the singer in every ancient nation, by the rainy shores of the Baltic, in the vast Germanic forests; and everywhere he is re- garded as one possessing surpassing knowl- edge, who has mysterious kindred with the elements, and who in solitary places hears the messages of the gods. He passes from land to land, walks into the heart of hostile camps, and sifs down at the very carousals of his foes. He finds a welcome in the dcn of the robber, and in the rush-strewn hall of the prince. When at rich and solemn feast the monarch is seated on the dais surrounded by his earls, there is also the minstrel and his harp. What were a banquet without song and the recital of the deeds of heroes? The wild boars flesh is tasteless, the mead is ditch-water, it cannot fire the blood, nor tin- gle to the brain. In course of time chivalry brought the Troubadour, a more courtly and splendid personage than his predecessor, who knew another god than Odin, believed in quite a different Valhalla, and relished softer pleasures than drinking ale out of the skulls of departed warriors. Some of these [# By the poet Alexander Smith; Secretary to the University.I DCOXI. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 5 men were soldiers as well as minstrels, and were cunning with the sword as with the harp-string. On the morning of Hastings, Taillefer asked and obtained permission from William to lead the onset. He sang in a loud voice the Song of Roland in the front of the Norman army, then striking spurs into his horse, he rode forward still singing, and dashed his life out in an ecstacy on the Saxon spears. After the Conquest, the English kings were great patrons of poets and minstrels, and some of them were no mean brethren of the craft, and could touch the harp themselves. Richhrd I. was an accomplished musician, and composed verses. The story how one of the kings minstrels, Blondell by name, rescued his mas- ter from captivity is familiar to most readers. It was known in England that Richard had returned from Palestine, but no one could tell in what country he was detained. Blon- dell travelled through many lands in search of the king, till his wanderings led him one day to a strong castle. On inquiry he learned that the fortress belonged to the iDuke of Austria, and that it contained a sin gle prisoner; but no one could tell him his name. The minstrel took up his place be- neath one of the grated windows, and began to sing a song in French, which he and the king had at one time composed together. Richard started when the familiar tones fell upon his ear, and recognized Blondells voice. He immediately took up the strain, and sang the remaining half. By that token Blondell knew it was the king, and returning to Eng- land discovered to the barons where their master was imprisoned. In the reign of Richard II. a court of minstrels was estab- lished, which obtained a charter, had power to enact laws, and every year elected a king to preside over them. By the time of Eliz- abeth the craft had fallen into disrepute, the minstrel was profanely classed with rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars, and seems to have been better acquainted with the staff of the constable, than with the tables of the rich or the favor of princes. Although more emphatically the home of minstrelsy than SCOTTISH BALLADS. England, we have but little information rela- tive to the worldly prosperity of the min- strels in Scotland. Celtic bards, we know, frequently left their mountains and wandered through the Lowlands singing their wild songs, and the inhabitants of the Borders were passionately fond of listening to strains in which the struggles of clans and the forays into England were celebrated. Some provi- sion appears to have been made for poets or musicians among the Celtic tribes; a piper seems to have been as indispensable to a highland chieftain as a claymore or eagles feather; and a portion of the land of the tribe, called the pipers croft, was set apart for the support of that important indi- vidual. In the Lowlands the poets seem to have found few royal favors. Dunbar and Sir David Lindsay resided at court, and al- though the first was sometimes attached to the train of a noble when he visited France on an embassy of state, and the second was honored by bearing a young prince on his back, he meanwhile romping about on all- fours, they do not seem to have lived in the most flourishing condition. A considerable portion of their poetry is of the begging- letter species. If wit and eloquence had had power to charm coin from the pocket of the king, theirs had been better supplied. It is to be hoped that the poets were the most troublesome duns of the Jameses, else the unfortunate monarchs must have fre- quently been at the ends of their royal wits. It is hardly to be expected, however, that a line of kings, of lineage unexceptionable and most irreproachable blood, some of whom were occasionally hard-pushed in the matter ~of silk stockings, could afford to be gene- ~rous to singing men and singing women, to Ipoets, jesters, and buffoons. But it was not from the court poets that the ballads sprung. They grew up over the eoiautry like wildflowers. Their authors were most probably part minstrels, part gaberlunzies, who wandered about the king- dow, dwelling often under the canopy with the~ehoughs and crows, haunting fairs, mar- kets and all assemblies of people, and when fertunate enough to procure a supper and a couch of straw, paying their lawing with a tong, and then forward on the morrow; and often, doubtless, we should find the minstrel equipped in the steel jacket of the moss- tr~Qper, urging a drove of floundering and terrified cattle before him from Cumberland on a moonless night, with many ~ prick of lance and a great superfluity of curses. Many of the border ballads are so real and life-like, so full of character and humor, that we feel the singer had himself wielded a sword in the combat, or ridden into England to lift a prey. The form of this kind of poetry is of course necessitated by the cir- cuffistances of the minstrel and his audience. They were meant to be sung on public occa- sions to the harp or some other musical in- strument, and in order to produce effect and sustain interest, some exploit must be the theme which flashed out far above common raid and the skirmish of rival clanssome surpassing tragedy which steeped a whole country-side in tears. The story claimed, too, to be told in the most direct and natu- ral manner, and the lighter poetic graces ornaments and effloresences, precious and delightful enough in a calmer hourwere scared away by the fury of the minstrels ~iand and voice. These compositionsand some of them are very ancientwere not till a comparatively recent period, preserved by printing; living, therefore, on the lips and in the memories of several generations, and sung extensively over a country where, even at the present day, every twenty or thirty miles you come upon a dialect locally peculiar, it is not surprising that in process of time they underwent considerable modifi- cations; that we frequently find half-a-dozen versions of the same story, and several stan- zas of one ballad imbedded in the very heart of another. When a minstrel met a brother of the craft, they would in all probability ex- hibit their stock in trade, and both thereby acquire fresh materials. The meeting over, and reciting his novelties in distant parts of the country, if memory failed, the singer who could not afford to pause in his strain would hardly hesitate to thrust into the hia- tus any set of stanzas which, without outrage to the proprieties of the story, carried along with it the feelings of his audience. In these compositions there are great similari- ties of ineid~nt and feeling. One thing at least never fails the reader; when two lovers die they are of course buried together, and out of the grave of one there springs a rose, and out of the grave of the other a briar; which rapidly growing, contrive as a sort of poetical jtzstice and compensatioi~ for their 66 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 67 cruel fate, to interlace and marry their more impressed, not even on the page of branches above the spire of the churcha Shakspeare himself, with the reality of the spectacle which, howeyer it might astonish scenes and the men and women. Yet with people now-a-cfays, seems to have had the all this naturalness, it is difficult for the most touching associations for the grim reader of to-day, with his complex environ- moss-trooper and the lawless reiver of the ments and difference of training, to imagine marches. None of these ballads can be himself so actuated, so sgbdued by fears, so looked upon as the work of a single author. stormed along by passion. In reading these Their present form is the work of genera- compositions, we see what we have gained tions. For centuries the floating legendary and lost in the course of a few centuries, material was reshaped, added to and altered, what new elements have entered into human by the changing spirit and emotion of man. life, what more of awfulness or frivolity, of Rude and formless, they are touching and truth or falsehood; we discover the old sea- venerable as some ruin on the waste, the margins of right and wrong, and compare names of whose builders are unknown; them with the point the tide reaches to-day. whose towers and walls, although not er~ct?d All that far-off, lawless, and generous life is in accordance with the lights of modern ar- unroofed to us in these Ballads; we wander chitecture, affect the spirit, and fire the im- amongst the relics of a past society as we agination far more than nobler and more re- would amongst the ruins of Pompeii. We cent piles; for its chambers, now roofless to see the domestic economy of the houses ~f the day, were ages ago tenanted by life and our ancestors; everything is left there for our death, joy and sorrow, for its walls have been inspection. We take up a household imple- worn and rounded by time, its stones chan- ment and examine its material and shape. nelled and fretted by the fierce tears of win- The first thing which strikes the reader ~f ter rains; on broken arch and battlement the Ballads is their direct and impulsive life. every April for centuries has kindled a light There is nothing cloaked or concealed. You of desert flowers, and it stands muffled in look through the iron corslet of the marau- ivy, bearded with moss, and stained with der, and see the fierce heart heave beneath. lichens, crimson, golden and green, by the None of the heroes ever seem to feel that suns of forgotten summers. We are told to hesitancy and palsy of action which arises imitate this, but who can recal the strong from the clash of complex and opposing mo- arms and rude hearts that piled huge stone tives. At once the mailed hand executes on stone P Who can simulate the hallowing the impulse of the hot heart. There seem of time? Who can create us a ruin to-day to have been no dissimulators in those days with the weather-wear and lichens of five cen- If a man is a scoundrel, he speaks and acts tunes upon it? as if he were perfectly aware of the fact, and The Scottish Ballads may be divided into aware, too, that the whole world knew it as two classes. 1. Those poems founded on well as himself. If a man is wronged by historical events, private tragedies, and the another, he runs him through the body with fairy mythology. 2. Those which more spe- his sword, or cleaves him to the chin with his cially pertain to the Borders, and relate the pole-axe, and then flees, pursued day and sturt and strife, the wild revenges, the ex- night, awake and asleep, in town and wilder- ploits, skirmishes, andcattle-lifting expeditions ness by a bloody ghost. If two lovers meet of the marchmen. The first contains much in the greenwood, they forget church and of the finest poetry, and the deepest pathos. holy priest, and in course of time the heron Those of the second attend closely to the is startled from his solitary haunt, and shanie business in hand, are rude and bustling, and and despair are at rest beneath the long are frequently enlivened by flashes of savage weeds of the pool, and a ghost with dripping humor. In every stanza you seem to hear hair glides into the chamber, and with hand the clatter of hoofs, and the rattle of steel of ice awakes the horrified betrayer from us jackets. Both are valuable, as throwing first sleep on his bridal night. And these light on a condition of man which can never men had their rude reverences and dcvotiox~s, recur in these isinuda; o.a exhibiting in a. terrors of the solitary mountain-top and the mighty mirror, pictures of a strong, passion- moonless waste, wandering fires of the mo- ate, turbulent time. Nowhere is the reader rass, spirits of the swollen stream: Edom o OS scorn~n DALLADS. Gordon, who burned a mother and her chil- Their authors were not literary men, and dren in their own tower with laughter and there was no existing literature by which mockery as if agony were a jest, would ere their efforts were measured.. Originality was night mutter an Ave to Mary Mother, and not expected of them, and they were conse- crdss himself as devoutly as ever a saint in quehtly never tempted to call grass purple, the calendar; and the moss-trooper who to avoid the imputation of plagiarism, some could impale an infant on his spear point, former writer having called it green. There would shiver at an omen which a schoolboy were no critics to show up their failings and Aaughs at. These people were not afflicted shortcomings, or to parade their good things with the maladies of hair-splitting and nice perhaps a line and a half in lengthin distinctions. A character like Hamlets, italics, as the manner of some is. It may where doubt balances resolve, and thought fairly be doubted whether the present time is action, was impossible in these straight-for- favorable to the production of poetry of a ward days; perhaps quite ~as well for Ham- high class; not, as is commonly supposed, let. Before he could have made up his mind that there is ahything necessarily unj~oetical how to act under the circumstances, the in the aitificial state of society, in the eternal sweep of a sword-blade would have solved struggle and roar of labor, in the shifting of that, and every other problem, for him for the points of interest from green fields and ever. Public opinion had not come into their meadows, and the sweet goings on of pas- world to make men walk gingerly as if upon toral life, to the joys, crimes, and tragedies knives, to add hypocrisy to vice, to rub the of men congregated in thousands beneath the fine bloom off goodness, and to make afaux smoke of mighty towns, but mainly from the par worse than a crime. The wild eyes of, greatness of existing literature, the preva- passion, on whatever message she is bent, lence of criticism, and its immediate appli- whether to kill or save, are seldom turned in cation to literary productions. In 1824 we the direction of the Decalogue. The full find Goethe expressing himself in the follow- heart is its own law, its fluctuations its only ing terms to Eckermaun : And how could creed, and describing these men and women, one get courage only to put pen to paper, singing their tragedies, the ballad-monger if one were conscious in an earnest ap- frequently, in utter innocence and uncon- preciating spirit, that such unfathomable and sciousness, and in words simple as the babble unattainable excellencies (as Shakspeares of childhood, goes to the inmost core of the writings) were already in existence! matter like the inevitable arrow of a William It fared better with me fifty years ago in my Tell, and the tears are on our cheeks before own dear Germany. I could soon come to we are aware. This is an art which the an end with all that then existed; it could world has lost, and which cannot be recovered not long awe me or occupy my attention. I until centuries are cancelled, and knights are soon left behind me- German literature and again pricking through the greenwood, ladies the study of it, and turned my thoughts to sitting among the roses of their bower-win- life and to production. So on and on I went dows, and minstrels wandering through the in my own natural development, and on and country harp in hand. Society is migratory, on I fashioned the productions of epoch after settling age after age in different districts, epoch. And at every step of life and devel- with changing abodes and occupations; and opment my standard of excellence was not wherever she dwells, whether in ~the hut of much higher than what at such step I was the trapper, or in the glittering capitals of able to attain. But had I been born an Eng- civilization, Poetry must attend, and take de- lishman, and had all those numerous master- light in representing the life which lies around pieces been brought before me, in all their the loghouse or the palace. power at my first dawn of youthful conscious- The literary merit of many of these Ballads ness, they would have overpowered me, and is great; in the majority, the singer is in ut- I should not have known what to do. I ter abeyance, and the subject is all in all. could not have gone on with such fresh light- There is no straining and effort, no artifices heartedness, but should have had to bethink are employed to fillip the dulled spirit of the myself, and look about for a long time to find reader; no impertinent ornaments distract some new outlet. It is this seeking a new the attention from the agony or the woe. outlet for ones seZ which is the cause of SCOTTISH BALLADS. 69 nearly all the vices of contemporary litera- had they to face the spectres and questions tureof poetry especially. On it may be which centuries of life and speculation have charged the strain and glitter, the forced and since started. They had simpler hearts and perverse originality, and the extraordinary lived in simpler times. They sang to rude innovations in rhythm and measure of which and uncultured men; their task was to touch so much is heard, both in the way of ap- their spirits and evoke their sympathies, and plause and condemnation. The primal emo- from their peculiarenvironments and train- tions of humanity have been so fully sung in ing, they exhibit an artlessness and simplicity England during the last two hundred years, which becomes at times the very perfection that a poet of the present period, unless he of style, and whichwhatever other merits is swept away by the torrent of feeling, or is modern singers may possess, cannot be ex- bold enoughwhich he is perfectly justified pected to appear in anything like the same in beingto look upon every situation of life, degree in an artificial and fastidious age. In whether expressed before or not, as merely pathos they are supreme. Nothing can be poetic material, and to use it for his own pur- placed beside them. It is so direct and sim- poses, color it by his own mind, shape it by ple, and goes so to the heart. There is an his own emotion,i5 tempted, when he re- element of helplessness in it which is over- members in a former writer some consum- powering. It is piteous as the complaint of mate expression of an idea, indispensable to a little child. the sequence and stream of emotion, to di- Sir Philip Sidney said long ago that the verge from the direct path, and to attest his ballad of Chevy-Chase, although snug but originality by becoming unintelligible or un- by some blinde crowder, stirred his blood natural. It is required of every builder that more than a trumpet. The publication of he should erect a house new and well-pro- Bishop Percys Reliques, at ,the close of portioned; it is not required that he should, the last century, was the salvation of English with his own hands, have baked every brick poetry. The world was weary of the muse- employed in the edifice. The existing sys- ums of Darwin and Hayley, with their wax tem of criticism, and the greatness and ful- figures arrayed in dresses stiff with embroid- ness of literatiire, are in many respects inju- ery and gold ;pretty enough to look on as rious to poetical writers. An authors first curiosities in their gorgeous apparel, but with book is generally written con amore and for never a flash in their glassy eyes, never a himself; critic and reader are forgotten in the throb beneath their costly clothes. In the heat and delight of the task; but after he ~Reliques had returned tenderness, and has run the gauntlet of dailies, weeklies nature, and passion. The voices of n~en and monthlies, and quarterlies, he becomes more women were again heard in gladness and conscious and less single-hearted. He writes grief, the globed dews were lying thick on with one eye to his subject, nnd.the other to the purple moors, the wind was blowing what the reviewers will say of him. He is strong and fresh, curling the faces of the more careful of the expression than of the streams, and bringing odors from the forests. thought. He desires to dazzle and astonish. The rivers of poetry had been frozen up, but He is no longer an inspired singer uttering the sjiring had come and loosened their icy words of fire; he is a lapidary coldly polish- chains, and they flowed forth again exulting ing a gem. The condition of the modern and abounding. author resembles that of the flying-fish; if it Coleridge has praised the grand old hal- seeks the air to escape its water foes, pounce lad of Sir Patrick SRens. Being familiar come the gulls upon it. If he writes quietly he to most readers, it need not now be quoted is common-place, if strikingly, he is a sky- at length. Passing, however, such graphic rocket with a noisy xush to heaven, a bril- touches of description ~s liant burst and shower of falling splendors, I saw the now moon late yestreen, and then utter darkness and oblivion. He Wi the auld moon in her arm; must either be crazy or dull. Under which or king, Bezonian, speak or die! Most men He hadna sailed a league, a league, prefer the former. The ballad-writers living A league, but barely three; When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew under different circumstances were of course loud, untouched by these peculiar temptations, nor , And gurly grew the sea, 70 attention may be drawn to its magnificent close 0 lang, lang may the ladycs sit Wi their fans into their hand; Before they see Sir Patrick Spens, Come sailing to the strand. And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi their gowd kames in their hair; A waiting for their am dear loves, For them theyl see nae mair. 0 forty miles off Aberdour, Tis forty fathom deep; And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi the Scots lords at his feet. Whoever he was, the nameless and forgotten author of this old song was a poet, and a great one too. The ballad of Fair Helen is well known, and the story is simple. Helen, a lady of great beauty had two lovers, one of whom was preferred, but their passion being dis- pleasing to her family, they were obliged to meet in secret During One of these inter- views the discarded suitor appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and in a fit of jealous rage, levelled his carabine at his rival. Helen sprang before her lover to shield him and received the bullet. The fol- lowing song is supposed to ke sung by the bereaved man over her grave I wish I were where Helen lies. Night and day on me she cries; 0 that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell Lee! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me! 0 think na ye my heart was sair When my love dropt doun and spak nae mair! Then did she swoon wi meikle care On fair Kirkconnell Lee. CC As I went doun the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide On fair Kirkconnell Lee: I lighted doun my sword to draw, I hacked him in pieces sma, I hacked him in pieces sma, For her sake that died for me. I wish my grave were growing green, A winding sheet drawn ower my een, And I in Helens arms lying On fair KirkconnelL Lee. The reader will note the curiously inter- mingled ferocity and pathos of these verses; the lament with which they open; the grim satisfaction with which he recounts his pro- S4X$TTI~fl BALLADS. gress down the river, his foe being his guide, repeated as if that gave an addi- tional zest and flavor to his revenge; the terrible re-duplication, I hacked him in pieces sma, I hacked him in pieces sma; in which he lingers over, and is loath to leave the savage sweetness of the memory, killing him again and again in imagination. That done, he is weak as tears,how desolate and hopeless is the music, I wish my grave were growing green, A winding sheet drawn ower my een. His vengeance is sated. The fiery thirst which kept him alive, and all too eager for sleep, is abundantly slaked. There is noth~. ing now to live for on earth. Blind him, therefore, with a winding-sheet, shut out the world from him with its peaceful folds, and ltsy him side by side with Helen in the grave. A dreadful scene is described in the ballad entitled, Edom o Gordon. This marau- der clatters up to the house of Rodes with a band of ruffians at his heels, and in the ab- sence of the, lord, demands that the lady should deliver up to him the keys of the castle. She refuses, and the freebooter orders the house to be burned. The poor mother is standing at one of the windows with her chikiren, girtwith climbing and quiv- ering fires, and rolled in volumes of choking smoke, and reproaches one of her servants whom she discovers busy among the yelling fiends outside. Wae worth wae worth ye, Jock my man, I paid ye wed your fee; Why pu ye out the ground-wa stane Lets in the reek to me ~ And em wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your hire; Why pu ye out the ground-wa stane To me lets in the fire l Ye paid me wed, my hire lady, Ye paid me weel my fee, But now Im Edom o Gordons man Mann either do or dee. 0 then bespaik her little son, Sate on the nurses knee? Says, Mither dear, gi ower this house For the reek it smithers me. I wad gie a my gowd, my child, Sac wald I a my ~e, For ane blast o. the western wind To blaw the reek from thee. 0, then bespaik her dochter dear, She was baithjirnp and sma, 0, row me in a pair o sheets And tow me ower the wa. 8eOTTIBU 1~ALLAI~S. They rowed her in a pair o sheets, They towd her ower the Wa; But on the point o Gordons spear She got a deadly fa. 0 bonnie bonnie was her month, And cherry were her cheeks; And clear clear was her yellow hair, From which the red bluid dreeps. Then wi his spear he turned her ower, o gin her face was wan I He said, Ye are the first that eir I wished alive again. He turned her ower and ower again, o gin her skin was white! I might hae spared that bonnie face. To hae been some mans delight. Busk and bonn my merry men a, For ill dooms I do gness; I canna lnik on that bonnie face As it lies on the grass.~~~ The writer of Edom o Gordon had no theories of art. He uttered only what he saw and felt; but what words could add to that picture of the burning tower, the un- utterable sigh of the mother for ane blast o the western wind, and the mute reproach of the face on t~he grass, more terrible to the marauder than the gleam of hostile spears. There is an expression of misery in these Ballads which appears frequently in Scottish song, and is in some degree peculiar to the compositions of the nation. It is a ghost whlch rises out of the ashes of passion; the despair of that love,caused by stroke of death or heartlessness of man,which knew neither pride of birth, nor riches, nor shame, nor death, which was conscious only of itself, blind to everything save its own rapture and its own joy; a mental state, not grief, not pain, but rather a dull stupor of misery, which would welcome sharp pain itself as a relief from its own bewilderment, which turns passionately to death, and hugs oblivion like a lover. The heart has crowded all on one throw of the dice: that lost, the forgetfulness of the grave, and a quiet coverlet of waving grass is all that even Hope desires. In 1629, James V. made an expedition tQ the borders, and executed many of the free~ booters. One of those who suffered was Cockburn of Henderland. He was hanged by command of the king over the gateway of his own tower. The following verses seem to have been composed by his wife He slew my knight to me sae dear, He slew my knight and poind his gear: My servants all for life did flee, And left me in extremitie. I sewed his sheet;, making ray mane: I watched the corpse myself alane; I watched his body night and day, No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat; I diggd a grave and laid him in, And happed 4 him with the sod so green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moni on his yellow hair; 0 think na ye my heart was wac, When I tnrned about away to gac. Does the reader remember anything half so touching as that womans lonely vigil by the dead, in a solitude where no creature came, or her progress to some secret place, carrying the body of her lord, sitting down weary with the burden, and then up and struggling on again? There is in the verses no tumult, no complaint, no wild wringing of sorrowful hands, no frenzied appe~d to the pitiless heaven that saw the deed and made no sign. A broken heart indulges in neither trope nor metaphor; the language is simple as a childs, the circumstances are related without any passion or excitement. All lesser feelings are lost and swallowed up in utter desolation and woe. There is an old song, published by Dr. Percy in his Reliques, which illustrates the hopeless pathos. to which allusion has been made. The circumstances of the tragedy are unknown. All that has come down to us is the following strain of mournful music 0 waly waly np the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn side, Where I and my love wer wont to gae. I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree, But first it bowed and sync it brak, Sac my true love did lechtly me. 0 waly waly gin love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when its auld it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew. 0 wherefore should I husk my head Or wherefore should I kame my hair I For my true love has me forsook, And says hell never lo c me mair. 4 Can the English reader catch, the strange ten- derness and pathos of the word happed? It is one of the dearest to a Scottish ear, recalling infancy and the thousand instances of the love of a mothers heart, and the unwearied care of a mothers hand. The red-breast hepped the dead bodies of the Babes in the Wood with leaves. Happed is the nursery word in Scotland, expressing the care with which the bed-clothes are laid upon the little forms, and carefully tucked in ahout the round sleeping cheeks. What an expression it gives in the verses quoted above to the burden and agony of fondness, all wasted and lavished on unheeding clay! 71 SCO1~TIBH BALLADS. Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall neer be fyled by me; Saint Antons well shall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me. Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the ~ 0 gentle death! when wilt thou cum, For of my life I am wearie. Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaws inclemeacie: Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my loves heart grown cauld to me. Whan we came in by Glasgowe town, We were a comely sight to see, My love was cled in black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie. But had I wist before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win, I had lockt my heart in a case o gowd And pinned it with a siller pin. And oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurses knee, And I mysell were dead and gane, For a maid again Ise never be. Burns in one of his letters quotes the follow- ing stanzas from an old ballad he had picked up among the country people. It breathes the same hopeless misery as those already quoted, and pines like them for the rest of the grave: 0 that my father had neer on me smiled! 0 that my mother had neer to me sung! 0 that my cradle had never been rocked! But that I had died when I was young. 0 that the grave it were my bed! My blankets were my winding sheet! The clocks and the worms my bed fellows a, And, 0, sae sound as I should sleep. What a sigh was there! Burns adds; I do not remember, in all my readiifg, to have met with anything more truly the language of misery than the exclamation in the last line. Misery is like love; to speak its lan- guage truly the author must have felt it. The Ballads relating to sprites, fairies, and other supernatural creatures, are not many in number, but are mostly of great poetic beauty. From these compositions we gain considerable information regarding the spirit- ual agents in which the mounted robber of the marches believed, and at the mention of whose name, or at his approach to the dis- trict in which they were supposed to reside, he piously crossed himself, and murmured a prayer to Mary Mother. Perhaps, owing to the desolate aspect of the scenery, and the sterner chagacter of the people, the supersti- tions of Scotland are of a more terrific nature than those of the sister kingdom; The Scotch have no Puck or Robin Goodfellow. The taciturn Brownie who sets the house to rights, who threshes as much corn in a single night as six husbandmen could accomplish in a summer day, and forsakes the family when he is insulted by any offer of gift or reward, is the moat kindly disposed to human beings. The greater proportion, however, of the crea- tures of popular superstition are of an un- canny and vindictive disposition. There is the restless Will o the Wisp, who betrays the traveller into the treacherous bog and deep morass; the Water Kelpie, who haunts at midnight the fords of swollen streams, and raises shrieks of eldritch laughter, when horse and man are swept away by the current. And there are the Fairies, whose mossy rings are still to be seenba the hill side, and when the peasant is overtaken on the lonely moor by these phantom riders in chase of a phan- tom stag, although he sees nothing, a sound of horns and dogs sweeps past him on the wind; and on Hallow-mass eve, when they ride forth in courtly and measured procession, dim shapes are visihle in the moonbeam, and he hears the trampling of innumerable tiny hoofs, and the music of their bridle bells. The Fairies are a kidnapping people, and have acquired great dexterity in their art. They carry off young children, and leave a peevish and misshapen elf in its place; and persons of maturer age, if they happen to sleep within the rings after sunset, are pretty certain to awake in Fairyland. Many a child who wandered out to gather berries in the wood, and who was sought in the evening with tears and a broken heart, and so the next day and the next, is now a happy page to the Fairy Queen. Many a man who never returned from his distant journey, and for whose soul mass has been sung and prayers offered, and whose wife, who thought she ne~r could have forgotten him, sleeps in the bosom of another husband, is at this moment stretched in one of the sweet-smelling valleys, and basking in the everlasting sunshine of that Land of Dream, wondering, perhaps, what his old companions are about on the earth, and if they ever think of him now. Seek not to return, 0 lost one! However unpleasant to believe, the world wags just as comfortably as when you were one of its denizens. The chair you sat upon is filled. The heart that loved you once, has changed its allegiance aud loves another quite as fondly and devotedly. The guests have sat 72 SCOTTISH BALLADS. down, every seat is occupied; there is no room for you at the feast. When one of these lost ones wishes to rqturn to earth he informs some friend by dream that he has been carried away by the good people, and points out the method in which his release can be accomplished. The friend thus com- missioned takes his station on Hallow-mass eve on the highway along which the Fairies are to pass. Soon the cavalcade is heard approaching. He stands forward and seizes a rider by the mantle, and claims him by name. After some altercation and fierce struggles, the procession sweeps on with murmurs of discontent; a hurried trample of innumerable hoofs and clash of angry bells, and two human beings are standiug on the midnight road. In the ballad of Young Tamlane, we are told how a lady rescued her lover in this manner from the Fairies% and we are also admitted behind the scenes and learn why the good people have a penchant for the children of human parents. Elf-land, it seems, like every other land, has its secret history and its own annoyances. It appears, then, that the land of Fairy must pay tribute to Hell once every seven years, that tribute being its fattest inhabitant. The Fairies naturally prefer handing over to the tender mercies of the Fiend one of the human mortals whom they have ensnared rather than one of their own race. Young Tamlane is unhappily inclined to obesity; in fact he is the Jack Falstaff of Fairy Land; and as the seven years are nearly expired, and the time draws near when Hell must receive its due, his sleek and well-to-do condition throws him into a state of considerable trepidation. He therefore appears to his lady-love and tells her that he enjoys exceedingly the pleasure of Elf-land; indeed, he would not think of chang- ing his residence but for the weighty consider- ations already mentioned, which he describes with considerable naivete and pathos: Then I would never tire, -Janet, In Elfish land to dwell, But aye, at every seven years, The pay the teind to hell~ And I am sae fat and fair of flesh, I fear twill be mysell. He adds that that evening is Halloween, the evening when the Fairies would ride abroad, and that if she would save him, she must act to-night or never. She asks how she should recognize him among the passing troops of ghostlyknights and unearthly cava- liars. He replies The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae; The next company that passes by, Sa na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then Ill be ane o thae. First let pass the black, Janet, And sync let pass the brown; But grip ye to the milk-white steed, And pu the rider down. For I ride on the milk-white steed, And aye nearest the tonn; Because I was a christened knight, They gape me that renown. My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare; And these the tokens I gie thee, Nue doubt I will be there. - Theyll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake, But hand me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wad buy me maik.. Theyll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask; Theyll turn me in your arms, Janet, - A bale that burns fast. Theyll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad o aim; But hand rae fast, let me not pass~ For Ill do you no harm. Theyll shape me in your arms, Janet, A tod, but, and an eel; But hand me fast, nor let me gang, As you do love me wed. Theyll shape mc in your arms, Janet, A dove, but, and a swan, And last theyll shape me in your arms, A mother-naked man: Cast yourgreen mantle over me, Ill be myself again. Janet takes her station at the Miles Cross, pulled down the rider on the milk-white steed, and held her lover fast through all his changing shapes. After her green mantle was thrown over him, the wrathful voice of the Fairy Queen was heard Up then spake the Queen of Faries, - Out o a bush o rye, Shes taen awa the bonniest knight In a my companie. But had I kenned Tamlane, she says, I lady had borrowed thee I wad taeu out thy twa grey een, Put in twa ecu o tree. Had I but kenned Tamlane, she says, Before ye cam frae hame I wad taen out your heart o flesh Put in a heart o stane Had I hut had the wit yestreen, That I hae coft the day I paid my kane seven times to~Hell, Ere youd been won away.~~~ But the most famous earthly inhabitant of 78 SOOTIISH BALLADS. Fairy-land was Thomas Learmont of Ercel- doune, better known by his traditionary name of Thomas the Rhymer, poet, prophet, and the beloved of the Queen of Elf-land, who alone of mortal men dared to kiss her lips, and whose gray tower nods over the Leader, still regarded with superstitious awe by the natives of that district. This apparition True Thomas saw as he lay stretched on the Huntly Bank on a summers day: True Thomas lay on the.Huntlie Bank; A ferlie he spied wi his ee: And there he saw a ladyc bright, Come riding dount~y the Ejidon tree. Her shirt was o the grass green silk, Her mantle o the velvet fyne: At ilka tett of her horses mane, Hung fifty shier bells and nine. True Thomas he pulled aff his cap, And bated low down to his knee, All hail thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth I never did see. 0 no, 0 no, Thomas, she said, That name does not belong to me; I am but the Queen of fair Elf-land, That am hither come to visit thee. Harp and carp, Thomas, she said, Harp and carp along wi me; And if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your bodie I will be, Betide me weal, betide me woe, That wierd shall never daunton me. Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, All uuderneath the Eildon tree. From that day for seven years Thomas was seen no more among men. After that pe- riod he returned and scattered abroad proph- ecies of days of dool and woe to Scotland, wjien the fields should be harvestless, and the hare bring forth her young on the hearth- stone of the castle; of storms raging from sea to sea, of disastrous battle-fields, of the strange overflow of rivers, and the final union of the crowns. When he left Elf- land, he was bound to return at the pleasure of its Queen. One day Thomas was feasting in his own tower, when a messenger burst into the apartment, and told that a doe and fawn of wonderful beauty were pacing, with- out fear, and silently ks a dream, the streets of the little village. Thomas knew the signal, and immediately arose and followed the creatures into the forest, and was never again seen on earth. Had the Queen pined for her favorite? To what glory was he marshalled? To what weird to dree? His countrymen for centuries believed that he was still alive in Fairy-land, and looked for his return. The district of country which produced the Border Balladsstretching from the cataract of the Grey M~ires Tail, along the green valley of the Yarrow, onward to where the castle-keep of Norham blackens against the sinking sun, embracing amongst other steams, the Tweed, and the waters of the Teviot and the Ettrickis, although somewhat limited in extent, by far the most interesting in Scot- land. It is a region for the most part pas- toral, with round swelling hills of no great altitude, and valteys through which waters run whose names are familiar to every Scot- tish ear. The traveller passes in a days journey over fifty battle-fields, some famous, some forgotten, descrying every few miles as he goes, on the hill-side or up the withdraw- ing glen, the grey peel of a border laird, roofless and open to the sky, the walls crowned with long withered grasses, which sigh in the passing wind, and half a dozen sheep feeding around its base, with bits of straggling brambles sticking in their wool; or perhaps, as the day draws to a close, the mightier ruin of the castle of some feudal lord iQoms upon him through the fast fading light. The whole district is full of associa- tfons. Every stream has its tradition, every glen is peopled by legends, every ruin is con- secrated by a story of love or revenge. Gen- ius has thrown an additional charm over the country. As you pace along the crystal mirror of St. Marys Loch, or visit the farm- house of Altrive, you remember Hogg. The shade of Wordsworth wanders along the silver course of the Yarrow; and when the swollen Tweed raves as it sweeps, red and broad, round the ruins of Dryburgh, you think of him who rests therethe magician asleep in the lap of legends old, the sorceror buried in the heart of the land he has made enchanted. This region, so peaceful now, quietly growing its harvests and fattening its flocks, was in the olden time one great thea- tre of strifeand bloodshed. It was the bat- tle-field of the Percy and the Douglass; and, to quote the old chronicle There was never a time on the March partes Sen the Douglas and the Percy met, But yt was marvell and the redde blade roane not As the rane does in the stret. The Kers, Scotta, Armstrongs, and other border clans, dwelt on the waters of the Et- trick, the Whitadder, and the Teviot, and 74 sco~rnsii ~ALLAD8. preyed on England, Scotland, and on one another with great impartiality. Though the cloud of English war first burst on the Bor- der, and midnight was reddened by flames from peel and farm-steading, and rendered hideous by the shouts of the plunderers and the lowing of cattle driven off with a tumult and rapidity utterly repugnant to their med- itative and decorous mode of life ;though the Jameses, in moments of unusual vigor, suddenly appeared on the marches with an army, and left dozens of the robbers waver- ing in the wind over the gateways of their own towers, still Ishmael was untamed; in a week Cumberland was swept, or the flocks of the Lothian farmer driven off by the light of his burning house. Crushed and broken, the spirit of the borderer was never subdued; his hand was against every man, and, every mans hand against him. Forgive your enemies was never a part of his creed, and revenge, prompt and terrible, was elevated nto a chief place among the virtues. never forgot an injury, and although the insult was given in hot youth, and years had elapsed, the avenger was silently upon the track, and in grey hairs blood was exacted for blood, and groan for groan. On one oc- casion, Sir Robert Ker, the Warden of the Scottish March, was murdered by three Eng- lishmen, two of whom made their escape. After some time they began to appear in public, and one of them fixed his residence at a considerable distance from the Scottish border. On this becoming known, two ser- vants of the murdered mans son passed into England during the night, slew him in his own house, and brought the head to their master in Edinburgh, who exposed it on a pole in one of the public streets, and left it there to whither in the sun like a gourd. In the reign of James V., Albany, then regent of the kingdom, thirsting ror an 6pportunity to gratify his private revenge, invited Lord Home to a solemn council to be held on state affairs at Edinburgh. When the hap- less chieftain arrived, he was seized, con- demned on a charge of treason, and executed along with his brother. Before sailing for France, Albany appointed Sir Anthony Darcy, a French knight of great ability, to be ~Warden of the East March in his absence. This Frenchman was an object of intense hatred to the whole clan, whose leader had been slain. On the occasion of a border riot, he encountered Sir David Home, who re- proached him with the death of his chief. A scuffle ensued, and IJarcy sought refuge in flight. He was pursued for miles; at last his horse sunk up to the haunches in a morass. His enemies coming up struck off his head, and Sir David Home, shearing off his long flowing hair, plaited it into a wreath, and tore it as a trophy at his saddle-ho~r. From a passage in the Memoirs of Beaugu~, a French officer who served in Scotland (quoted by Sir Walter Scott in his Miii- strelsy ), we learn the dreadful nature of the animosity which flamed between the Eng- lish and the Marchmen. The Castle of Fairnihirst being besieged by the Borderers, and reduced to extremities, the commandant crept through the breach made in the wall, and surrendered himself to a French officer. A Borderer immediatel~ stept forward, and at one blow struck the Englishmans head four paces from his trunk. A hundred Scots rushed forward to wash their hands in his blood. After the Scots had slain all their own prisoners, they bought up those of the French, and their hatred may be imagined, when it is not mentioned, that in a single in- stance they attempted to cheapen the price. Beaugu~ mentions that he himself sold a prisoner for a small horse to a Scott~ who doubtless conceived that he had secured the luxury of killing an Englishman in the manner after his own heart at a decided bt~r- gain. There are some anecdotes preserved of Walter Scott of Harden, which give a curious enough peep into the domestic man- ners of a border chief. Harden married the Flower of Yarrow, who bore him six stalwart sons, and it sometimes happened, when the giants strode in to dinner with appalling ap- petites, whetted by the chase and the moun- tain breeze, they found, on uncovering the dishes, a pair of clean spurs in each, placed there by the fair hands of the Flower herselfl That night an English farmer would mourn over empty stalls. A prompt grim old man was the Laird of Harden,no danger of his armor rusting, or grass growing beneath his horses hoofs. On one occasion his youngest son was slain in a fray with the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh, but the old warrior had no tears to shed over his youngest born. The flower of Yarrow might throw herself on the body of her dead son in clamorous grief. That was what women were fitted for. He, 75 76 had other work to do. His sons flew to arms, and were eager for revenge. Harden quietly locked them up in their own tower and put the keys in his pocket, letting their fierce hearts fret themselves out there. He then mounted his horse and rode to Edin- burgh, where he proclaimed the crime, and gained from the Crown the gift of his ene- mies lands. He rode back as rapidly as he had come, the charter in his hands. Releas- ing his sons, he cried with a gleam in his grey eye, To horse, lads, and let us take possession. The lands of Gilmanscleugh are well worth a dead son. Educated in the belief that plunder was the whole duty of man, and revenge the most exalted virtue, the borderer when brought to suffer, whether by royal authority or by the hands of an opposing clan, met his fate with an unfaltering heart. It was a misfortune of course to be hanged, a thing to be avoided if possible; but he could not feel that he was a criminal, and for him the gallows had no ignominy. He knew that his executioners merited the .same fate as him- self, and his last thought on earth was the comforting one, that in all probability they would meet it one of these days; consolation dashed next moment by the thought that he could not be there to see. Pity that! So a curse to his foes, to his friends the sternst goodnight, and now. Yet these boister- ous men had their virtues. They were pos- sessed of a rude generosity, and would go through fire and water and dare captivity to save a friend. They were civilized enough to abhor wanton ~bloodshed, they were savage enough to hate, like death, all lying and deceit. When a prisoner was dismissed on parole, he transmitted his ransom, or failing, he returned into the hands of his captor. They sacredly observed their word, and a bargain sealed by a clash of their iron palms was inviolable as a usurers bond. Deep down in their grim hearts dwelt tears and womans tenderness, fountains which, if they seldom overflowed, never entirely dried up. One of the Armstrongs, before he was exe- cuted in Edinburgh for the murder of Sir John Carmichael, sang the following la- ment This night is my departing night, For here na langer must I stay; Theres neither friend nor foe o mine, But wishes me away. SCOTTI8U BALLAP8. What I hae done thro lack o wit I never never can recall, I hope yeer a my friends as yet, Goodnight, and joy be with you alL And a strain is put into the mouth of Lord Maxwell, on his leaving Scotland for France, a banished man, which suggested Childe Harolds Goodnight; but the Border lords lament to Dumfries, his proper place, Carlaverock fair, surpasses in t~nderness and pathos the modern poet singing as he gazed on England like a cloud. on the hori- zon, the sun setting behind him in the splen- did sea. In the Border Ballads, this savage state of society, its strife and turmoil, its rude noble- ness and generosity, is faithfully represented. We open their pages, and find ourselves in a new world. The Scotch moss-troopers have been across the Borders with the dawn, and are now pushing rapidly homeward with flocks of sheep and a hundred head of cattle. The alarm has spread for miles, and Cumber- land is mounting in haste with spear and lance. Across barren waste and up steep ravine a bloodhound is already baying on the robbers track. Men are posted on every ford on the Liddel; and afar on the Souter Moor, Will, stalwart Wat, and long Aicky are sitting, with a sleut-dog on the watch. We have fairly trapped the Scots to-day; and before night there will be many an empty saddle in their troop. Here is part of the rude song of one of the sufferers in the raid Sleepry Sim of the Lamb-hill, And snoring Jock of Suport-mill, Ye are baith right het and fou; But my wae wakens na you. Last night I saw a sorry sight l~ought left me o four-and-twenty guide ousen and ky, My weel-ridden gelding and a white quey, But a toom byre and a wide, And the twelve nogs on ilka side. Fylads! shouta a~ a~ a~ a~ My gears a gane. Weel may ye ken Last night I was right scarce o men~ But Toppet Rob o the Mains had guestened in my house by chance. I set him to wear the fore-door wi a spear, while I kept the hack-door wi a lance; But they bae run him thro the thick o the thie, and broke his knee-pan, And the rnergh o his shin-bane has run down on his spur-leather whang; Hes lame while he lives and wherere he may gang. Fy lads! shout a a a a a My gears a gane. Battle is an every day occurrence, and wounds and dislocations are matters of course. Tush, man, dont look so white, tie up the ugly thing with a napkin; it is your turn to- day, it may be mine to-morrow. Death, too, is always walking about on the Borders; even th& little children have seen him, and know his face. The older troopers when they meet him give him good day, like a com- mon acquaintance, and some of the more familiar stay for a moment to bandy a grim jest or two with him. Ane gat a twist o the craig, Ane gat a punch o the wame; Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg, And syne ran bellowing hame. Hoot, hoot, the auld mans slain outright! Lay him now wi his face dounhes a sorrow- ful sight. Janet, thou donet, Ill lay my best honnet, Thou gets a new gude-man afore it he night. A fit place, truly, to jest about a new hus- band; the old one lying so still there, face downward, on the trampled grass. In the ballad entitled Jamie Telfer, we have a spirited description of a foray, and the subsequent pursuit and rescue of the prey. The ~Qaptain of Beweastle had carried off Jamies cattle, and the ruined man starts up, leaving a greeting wife and bairnies three, and runs ten miles afoot over the new fallen snow to summon aid. He alarms peel after peel, and the awaked inmates hurry on jack, and grasp lance, and push on in hot haste to Branksome Ha, where Buecleuch dwelt in a sort of feudal state. Wha brings the fraye to me? cried the old lord as the riders clattered at his gates Its I, Jamie Telfer o the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be! Theres nought left in the fair Dodhead But a greeting wife and bairnies three. Mack for wae! quoth the gude auld lord, And ever my heart is wae for thee! But fye, gar cry on Willie, my son, To see that he come to me speedilie. Gar warn the water braid and wide, Gar warn it sune and hastilie; They that winna ride for Telfers kye, Let them never look in the face o me. Warn Wat 0 Harden and his sons, Withem will Borthwick water ride; Warn Gandilands and Allan-haugh, And Gilinaiweleugh and Cominonside. 77 The Scotts they rade, the Scotta they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie; And aye the ower-word, o the thrang Was Rise for Branksome readilie. With their number augmented, they ride for- ward, and iii a short time come in sight of the Captain of Bewcastle and his men driv- ing the booty straight for England; As was to be expected, little time is wasted in words. Then tilt they gaed wi heart and hand, The blows fell thick as bickering hail; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale. But Willie was stricken ower the head, And thro the knapseap the sword has gane, And Harden grat for very rage, When Willie on the grund lay slain. But hes taen aff his gude steel cap, And thrice hes waved it in the air; The Dinlay snaw was neer mair white Nor the lyart locks of Hardens hair. Revenge! revenge! auld Wat gan cry: Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie, Well neer see Teviotside again, Or Willies death revenged shall be. 0 many a horse ran masterless, The splintered lances flew on hie! But or they war to the Kershope ford, The Scotts had gotten the victory. Having now secured Jamies cattle, the idea suggests itself to one of the party that they might improve the occasion by robbing the Captains house. There was a wild gallant among us a~ His name was Watty wi the Wudspurs, Cried On for his house in Stanegirthside, If ony man will ride with us! When they cam to the Stanegirthside, They dang wi trees and hurst the door, They loosed out a the Captains kye, And set them forth our lads before. There was an auld wyfe nyont the fire, A wee bit o the Captains kin, Whae dar loose out the Captains kye, Or answer to him and his men. Its I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kyc, I winna layne my name fine thee! And I will Loose out the Captains kye In scorn of a his men and he. When they cam to the fair Dodhead, They were a welcum sight to see! For instead of his am ten milk kye, Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three. And he has paid the rescue shot, Baith wi goud and white monie; And at the burial o Willie Scott I wat was mony a weeping ee. But Kinmont Willie is the finest of all these Ballads; remarkable for the daring SCOTTISH BALLADS. 78 deed it celebrates, and the light and laughing scorn of danger which it exhibits. The moss- trooper encounters peril with as gay a heart as he opens a dance with a rustic beauty at a Border fair. Lord Scroope and Sheriff Salkelde have succeeded in capturing Kin- mont Willie, a robber whose exploits were well known on the marches. They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back; They guarded him five-some on each side, And they brought him ower the Liddel- rack. They led him thro the Liddel-rack, And also thro the Carlisle sands,; They brought him to Carlisle castel, To be at my Lord Scroopes commands. My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, And whae will dare this deed avow? Or answer by the Border law? Or answer to the bauld Buecleugh V Now haud thy tongue, thou rank never! Theres never a Scot shall set thee free; Before ye cross my castle yate, I trow ye shall take farewell o me. Fear ye na that, my lord, quo Willie; By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope, he said, I never yet lodged in a hostelrie But I paid my lawing before I gaed. So while Willie lies in a central dungeon under a load of clanking chains thinking on his sins, and the cheerless hours creep on that bring his death on Haribee, intelligence of the capture reaches Buecleugh in Brank- some Hall. How the blood of the Border chieftain boils up He has taeu the table wi his hand, He garrd the red wine spring on hie; Now Christs curse on my head, he said, But avenged of Lord Scroope Ill be. 0 is my hasnet a widows curtch? Or my lance a-wand o the willow tree? Or my arm a ladycs lilyc hand, That an English lord should lightly me? And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of Border tide? And forgotten that the bauld I3uccleuch Is Keeper here on the Scottish side? And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear? And forgotten that the bauld Buecleuch Can back a steed and shake a spear? Kinmont is to he delivered, and the rescuing party is described. Note the characteristic touch of Border humor at the close. It is quite an exquisite jest to run a man through the body, and the want of appreciation of the joke on the part of the skewered makes it all the more delightful. SCOTTISH BALLADS. He has calledhim forty marchmen bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buceleuch; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, And gleuves of green and feathers blue. There were five and five before them a, Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright; And five and five caine wi Buceleuch, Like wardens men arrayed for fight. And five and five, like a mason gang, That carried the ladders lang and hie; And five and five, like broken men, And so they reached the Woodh~uselee. And as we crossed the Bateable land, When to the English side we held, The first o men that we met wi, Whac sould it be but the fause Sakelde ~ Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen? Quo fause Sakelde; come tell to me V We go to hunt an English stag Has trespassed on the Scots countrie. Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men? Quo fause Sakelde; come tell me true? We go to catch a rank reiver Has broken faith wi the bauld Buecleuch. Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads? Qno fause Sakelde; come tell to me? We gang to harry a corbies nest That wons not farfrae Woodhouselee. Where be ye gaun, ye broken men? Quo fause Sakelde; come tell to me? Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the nevir a word of lear had he. Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand! quo he. The nevir a word had Dickie to say, Sac he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie. Here is the rescue and conclusion Wi coulters and Wi forehammers, We gamed the bars bang mernilie, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie. And when we cam to the inner prison, Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie 0 sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmout Willie, Upon the day that thous to die? 0 I sleep saft, and I wake aft, Its lang since sleeping was fieyed frae me Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a gude fellows that speir for me. Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale Adide, abide, now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewelL Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope, My gude Lord Scroope, farewell, he cried; Ill pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the Border side. Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont~s aims played clang! 0 mony a time, quo Kinmont Willie, I have ridden a horse haith wild and wood, But a rougher beast thau Red Rowan, I ween my legs have neer bestrode. And mony a time, quo Kinmont Willie, Ive pricked a horse out once the furs; But since the day I backed a steed, I never w6re sic cumbrous spurs. We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men on horse and foot Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along. Buceleucli has turnd to Eden Water, Even where it flowed fine bank to brim; And he has plunged in wi a his band, And safely swam them through the stream. He turned him to the other side And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Sc6tland come visit me. All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane, He scarcely dared to trew his eyes. When thro the water they had gane. Hes either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be; I wadna hae ridden that wan water For a the gowd in Christentie. So all those fierce spirits have stormed themselves out, and we learn the stories of their strifes and hatreds, their generosities and revenges, their burnings and plunder- ings, from the strains of a few wandering and forgotten minstrels. They were brave men, who did what work they had to do with promptitude and vigor, dandled children proudly enough on their knees, and when it came to that at last, they clashed down in harness, and death and pain got as few groans out of them as out of most. Times are changed now, however. Their sons have the same bold hearts and strong arms, but they are turned to other uses, and worn out in other tasks. The stream which of yore rushed wastefully from fount to sea, is banked and bridged, it turns the wheela of innumer- able mills, carries on its bosom barge and stately ship, sweeps though mighty towns where thousands live and die beneath an ever-brooding canopy of smoke, and melts at last into peaceful ocean-rest a laborer grimed and worn; but its cradle is still, as of old, on the mountain top among the sacred splen- dors of the dawn, its companions the flying sunbeams and the troops of stars, its nurses the dews of heaven and the weeping clouds. There are modern writers who conceive that man is only poetical when he clanks 79 about in mail and swears by St. Bridget; when he inhabits an immense ca~tle turreted and moated with a background of savage pines, amongst which the winds make a great roaring of winter nights, who spends his forenoons amongst his dogs, or amuses him- self with flying his falcon at the blue-legged heron that rises screaming from the weedy pool; and they are careful to inform the world that the Ballad is the most natural form of poetry, and ought 4o be the model of all future compositions. The wisdom of this seems very questionable. The most pro- fitless work on this planet is the simulation of ancient ballads; to hold water in a sieve is the merest joke to it. A man may as well try to recal Yesterday, or to manufacture tradition or antiquity, with the moss of ages on them. It has been attempted by men of the highest genius, but in no case with en- couraging success. If ever a man was quali- fied for the task, it was Sir Walter Scott. No one lived more iu the past than he. He was more familiar with the men of the mid- dle ages than with the men who brushed past him in Princes Street; and yet, his efforts in tbe ballad formbeautiful and spirited poems they all areare devoid of the hom~ly garrulousnesss, the simple-heart- edness, the carelessness and unconsciousness which give such a charm to the productions of the old minstrels. There is no modern attempt which could by any chance or possi- bility be mistaken for an original. You read the date upon, it as legibly as upon the letter you received yesterday. However dexterous the workman, he is discovereda word blabs, the turn of a phrase betrays him. Simplicity, which is seen at a glance to be affected, carelessness elaborately labored, and modes of thought and expression which have no correspondence with the feelings or the language of living men, are not ornamental to any form of composition. Why should we go to steel-clad barons and rough-riding moss-troopers; is there not suffi- cient poetry in the life which environs us to-day? 1t is of cou~se the merest truism, that in every age and under every disguise beating beneath the mail of the Crusader or the vest of the English gentlemanthe same human heart sorrows and rejoices, and that all poetry resides in it, and not in its encase- ment of Yorkshire broadcloth or Spanish steel; but it is astonishing how frequently a SGO!~TISH BALLADS. 80 SCOTTISH ~BALLADS. truism which has passed for generations the desires that inflame, the fears and spectre~ among men like current coin, would startle that daunt the heart. The Ballads are full them if they only took the trouble to examine of the turbulent times which environed their it. The more generally a thing is supposed authors. When we wish to know something to be believed by mankind, the less real faith of the fourteenth century, we derive our there is in it. Handle your truism, and it knowledge, not so much from formal history, iplodes beneath your unsuspecting i~ose like as from Chaucers picture of the pilgrims in a bombshell. Carlyle utters the merest tru- the room at the Tabard, or his description of isms, and what a strange sound that is ; their ride to Canterbury on the following there is again a prophet amongst men! Our morning. Though so long ago, we can see ballad poetry is valuable,for certain special the flutter of their dresses and hear them merits of genuineness and nature second only laughing yet. The reader of Pope values to the Shakespearian dramabut why it him not so much for his splendid antitheses should be chosen as a model, and sedulously and his glittering wit, but because in his imitated, is not altogether evident. Let pages he comes face to face with the century, genius have free range and scope; it has its breathes its very air, walks into its saloons, own laws which it must obey, and no others; sits among beruffled and rapiered dandies and although ever new, its developments are and beauties with patches on their cheeks, ever beautiful and harmonious. Poetry has hears all their delicious scandals, and the a value in right of its truth and beauty; it good things of the wits; and whether inten- has also-a value of an historical and illustra- tionally or unintentionallyperhaps all the tive nature; the first may decrease, and be better and completer that it is done without less regarded from the changing habits and special purpose or design the day which is feelings of society; the second increases now passing will be preserved for future men necessarily as the ages roll. Every bygone in its poetry. And while history shall repeat period of the world has reflected itself in its the names of Alma and Sebastopol, and the contemporary poetry. History storms on story of the silent Emperor across the water, with siege and battle and political crisis, but Tennyson and the Brownings will open the Poetry runs alongside supplementin~ History, doors of our houses, and readers may see the smoothing its austerities, filling up its chasms faces, hear the voices, and note, if they choose, and interstices with music, catching up the the very furniture of the rooms, with the life of the streets and the current talk and spaniel asleep on the rug, of the men who humors of men; chronicling the emotions, are living now. A. S. PERHAPS it would be exacting too much to ask that a novel of this type should be any thing more than readable and inoffensive. People do not complain that their baker shows no fertility of invention, or tbat there is monotony in the milk; and the novel of the season has almost become an indispensable aliment in an educated English household. The capacity of being bored is one of the faculties bestowed by civili- zation. A rustic is perfectly happy whistling half a day over a gate; and our ancestors could booze or work tapestry for hours, according to their sex, without ever finding time hang heavy on their hands. But the march of intellect has created the craving of the imagination for ali- meat to feed upon, in thousands who lack either time or power for deeper studies. That a mar- ketable article, regularly manufactured to meet a constant demand, should be in every instance a work of art, would be too much to expect. Our hack-novelists may not have the charm of genius; but, considering what goes on else- where, it is a matter of congratulation that they do not attempt to supply its place by the help of the bad passions to which the stupidest can appeal with ease. Seymour and his Friends is a fair sample of what is ordinarily sold; and though it is not first-rate, it is unadulterated which is more than can be said of most articles of ordinary consumption.Saturday Review. CAN you tell me who is the author of some lines beginning I live for those who love me, Whose hearts are kind and true; For the Heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirits too. Notes and (~uerie.. THE FACE AT - From Taits Magazine. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. A FEW summers back I was making a pe- destrian tour of South Wales, when, in one of my solitary rambles, I fell in with a very interesting companion. The similarity of tastes which we discovered in our first inter- view, led to a further intimacy, and we soon became fast friendsso intimate, indeed, that Mr. Arthur Mostyn (such was my compan- ions name), invited me to spend the re- mainder of the summer at a little cottage he owned near Brecon. I was not over-burdened with worldly cares. I had neither wife, child, nor business to cause me any anxiety; so I cheerfully ac- cepted the invitation so heartily given, and in a day or two, was regularly domiciled with my new friend. He was a young man about thirty, well educated, and accomplished; a first-rate artistfor many of his sketches and drawings would have done no discredit to a professional hand. There were, however, many peculiarities in his manner which had not appeased in our first interview, and these I could not help noticing as I was more in his company. He spoke French with a pur- ity of accent that I had never remarked in any other Englishman. I accounted for this by supposing that he had resided for some time on the continent; but on my remarking his perfection in the language, he became si- lent and reserved for the remainder of the day. It was evident that I had touched upon a jarring chord, and as my only object in keeping his company was the enjoyment of his intellectual, taste, and the gratification of my love of the pic,ture~que, I did not seek to know more of him than he chose to tell me. I had noticed that every thing relating to France, if but slightly touched upon, pro- duced in him a fit of melancholy; so I care- fully avoided any reference to that subject. But a circumstance occurred in one of our excursions that aroused my curiosity in a great degree. We frequently took very long walks in the mountainous districts in the neighborhood of Brecon, and one fine even- ing, as the sun was setting, we found our- selves at the little village of Ilanhamlach, some two or three miles from that town. This village is one of the best specimens of South Wales scenery. Lying in the midst of a lovely valley watered by the Usk, we thought, as we now gazed upon it illuminated DCCXL LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 6 THE WINDOW. 81 by the setting sun, that it would be difficult indeed to find a more beautiful picture. We sat upon a gate by the roadside, and were soon lost in delicious reveries, broken only by some murmured exclamation as a change in the aspect of the gorgeously tinted clouds awoke in us such admiration that we could no longer keep silent. Then, breaking into raptures, we vied with each other who could discover the greatest beauties. One pointed to the darkened outline of the little church spire, that stood directly in the crimson glow of the sunlight. The other remarked the purpling tint of the distant mountains, that formed the background of the picture, look- ing more like Titanic shadows than immense masses of earth and stone. One then caught the brilliant glow upon the quiet river, that was meandering through the valley, blushing like a fair virgin with her lovers last kiss at parting on her brow. Having exhausted all our powers of descrip- tion upon the scenery, we determined, as we began to feel fatigued, to rest for a time at the little inn that stood by the roadside. We were shown into a snug little parlor and left to ourselves. As the evening was rather chilly, our host accommodated us with a fire, and refreshing ourselves with a jug of his home-brewed, we chatted till it grew quite dark. My companion was evidently quite tired for I found, on launching out into some flow- ery description of foreign scenes, and com- paring them with Wales, I received no an- swer or comment from him. ~ looked up, and found he was fast asleep; so my only resource was to stir the fire, and as books~ were out of the question in a neighborhoodi like this, to draw my chair nearer to it, andy give myself up to reflection till~ my compan- ion should be rested sufficiently to walk home. Sitting by the fli~elight, I am very. apt to loose myself in imaginative dreams.. In these abstracted moods, the ordinary ob.~ je~ts of the room often mingle strang~l~ with my reveries, and assist the illusions of? fancy. It was particularly the case at this~ moment. All was so quiet and slibdfied that the mind was insensibly carried away t~. the past. Old faces seemed to flash uppn~ me in the flickering firelight; old hop~ and aspirations came fresh to my mem~y~ from the long years that were gone; sweet tones that had touched my heart in tl~oae~ THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. days seemed now to echo faintly in my ears; bright looks and sunny smiles that had long ago been quenched in the grave came vividly to the minds eye. It was growing late, but still Arthur slept. The moon rose abovethe I3recon Beacons, and shone full upon the exquisite landscape, aXid into the apartment where we sat. I~ went to the window and looked out on the beautiful scene. Then I went back again to my chair by the fireside. I had not been sitting long, when it struck me that a faint and unusual shadow seemed to be cast across the room from the direction of the window. I was almost asleep, as well as my compan- ion, and did not at first turn round to notice it; but in a minute or two I recalled my fac- ulties from the abysses of my reveries, and glanced directly toward the window. The object, whatever it was that had obstructed the moonlight, vanished instantly; but it appeared to me, in the indistinct light and the momentary glance I caught, to be the face of a female. So sudden was the disap- pearance from the window, and so shadowy were my recollections of the features, that I fancied for some time it could not have been a realitythat I had been dreaming, or had conjured up the sweet phantom from some faint memories of the past. Yes, yes, I muttered to myself, it could only have been my fancy. Supposing it to have been a ~woman, what motive, what object, could she ihave in standing motionless at a window, ;jgazing at tx~o travellers? But again, I fan- c~ed it might be some gipsy or vagranf, who had been watching our motions, and who ad only left us to give warning to her com- jpanions, who would probably rob us on our svay home. Thus, giving way to a host of cor~ ~ctures, it only now occurred to me to ro und to the back of the house, and see if an~ one was concealed there. With this view, and without awaking my companion, I sough t the waiter of the inn, and told him my sa spicions. But he did not at all enter into n ~y view of the case, assuring me that he ha A not seen a gipsey in the neighbor- hood for years, and was unwilling to assist me in the s~earch I had suggested; but as I was po sitive, he accompanied me to the rear of he premises, and we searched carefi~lly in eve ry directionstables, outhouses, in fact no spot that could have afforded a hiding plxee l~ r a human being ~Vas left. But nei ther gipsey-woman, nor any other, could we discover. Coming back to the room 1 had left, I found my friend had just awoke. I have had a very strange dream, said he, in a sad tone of voice; I have dreamt of a face that I shall probably never see again, for the owner of it is many hundred miles from England at this moment. And yet, continued he, in an altered voice from what I had ever hearg him speak before, I could almost wish to see it again, if only for a mo- ment. As he uttered these words, I almost started from my chair. It is a female face you refer to, said I. How did you know that? he asked. I thought I should now draw from him the secret that weighed upon his mind, and there- fore told him, as briefly as possible, the strange apparition (if such it was) I had seen at the window. This narration seemed greatly to affect him, but, contrary to my expectations, in- stead of unburdening himself to me, he was evidently not sufficiently acquainted with my character to give me his entire confidence. So, contenting himself with making a few hasty remarks as to the extraordinary fact that we should both have fhe same fancies, he dismissed the subject, and proposed that we should walk on home. Day after day pa~ssed away, and my com- panion was still dull and cheerless. We wandered daily amongst the most beautiful scenery, but how coldly the beauties of na- ture meet the eye, if the heart is ill at ease! Once, as we loitered through a delicious val- ley at the close of the day, the sound ofa horn came softly to us from a distance. Ah, said my companion, stopping and list- ening intently, I have heard that melody, a hundred times before, but never has it pos- sessed such a magic influence as now. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Music is in- deed a wondrous enchantmentthe same melody lighting up the soul of one with joy and gladness, while to another it brings only the most melancholy reflections. Why do you not confide to me your se- cret sorrow, I said to Arthur; it would at least ease your mind, and be assured I ask it from no idle curk~sity. I am uncertain how far you can sympa. thize with me, said he, and my sorrow is 82 Dot of a nature to be told, unless I could gain in return for my confidence, counsel and sug- ~estions for the future. I could not promise him counsel, not know- ing how far his trouble might be within my experience; but I pressed him earnestly for his confidence, as I could plainly see how wretched he had lately become. This evening, then, you shall know my history, said he: and for a short time we parted. When the evening came, we seated our- selves by the fireside. Arthur began his story with an air of constraint and diffidence. In the first place, said he, I fear you will blame me greatlyfor while I have continu- ally reproached myself with past folly, I have wanted the moral courage and resolution to own myself in the wrong, and, as it were, hu- miliate myself in the eyes of my former asso- ciatesthough, in all truth, I might have done so long ago, seeing that the depression of my mind has alone been sufficient to drive me from all who have ever known me. How- ever, he continued, you shall hear the main features of my sorrow, and do not fail to say openly your opinions of my conduct. I promised to do so, and he proceeded with his story. A few years ago, I was living with my uncle, a clergyman, in the west of England. I had been brought up at his expense, and well educated. He had, destined me for the Church; but the restricted life of a. country minister being not much to my taste at that period, I had eontent~d myself with rambling about in ~he open country, reading, fishing, dancing occasionally at the county balls, and, as I had some faculty in scribbling, writ- ing a magazine article from time to time. The success of one or two of my little pieces had almost turned my head, and I began to indulge in fantastic visions of fame and for- tune, to be won only with the pen. I wrote incessantly, and went backwards and for- wards to a little town, about three miles dis- tant from the village in which we lived, to see the periodicals as they were published, and to glance eagerly over their pages for my own lucubrations. One evening, however, as I was returning from one of these e~xpedi- tions, an incident occurred which, from that time to this, changed the whole current of my existence. My nearest way home from the town led 8$ in one place almost directly under the win- dows of an antique mansion, that had for many years been ruinous and uninhabited; but it had lately been taken by a French family, and repaired and beautified. I had always taken a fancy to this old place, it was so very quaint and picturesque, and com- manded one of the loveliest landscapes that could be found in that part of England. Often, as I passed by the old house, I had speculated on the character and tastes of its inmates. The particular night I speak of the moon shone brightly as I was just emerging from a little wood near the house, when I was startled by an unexpected vision. From be- neath the drawing-room windows a balcony projected; standing on this balcony I now observed a beautiful female figure. Had the form been the glowing creation of a Greek sculptor it could not have been more perfect, or have stood in a more exquisite attitude. I approached a little nearer to the spot so as to obtain a view of her features, yet so softty as not to disturb ncr meditations. I was in- deed surprised at the marvellous beauty of her countenance. A fine oval face with deep lustrous eyes, a commanding yet perfectly womanly brow was shaded by a profusion of dark hair, forming a strong contrast to her brilliant complexion, which told as plainly as verbal description of the sunny south of France. The dreamy gaze of those large liquid eyes, and the ideal expression of her countenance, told how forcibly she was struck with the beauty of the moonlight view. What wonder was it that I worshipped the unknown divinity from that momentcould I help it, when upon the dimness of a coun- try life a face and form now rose before me such as we rarely see save in dreams! Think- ing only of her transcendant beauty I was utterly lost to every thing else, and gradually wandered nearer and nearer to the balcony, until at length I became aware that I was distinctly seen, and the young beauty, sud- denly aroused from her reverie, retired into the house. What could her dream have been P I asked myself a thousand times. Had she been thinking of some absent lover, far away amongst the vineyards and hills of her native France P Or had his spirit taken flight, and was her gaze directed towards the illimitable expanse, as though to pierce the starlit canopy, and descry him among the THE FAUE AT THE WINDOW. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. white-robed worshipers P Or was it only the glad communion of youth and beauty with the spells of nature P These and many other heories occupied and banished sleep from my eyes that night. For several successive days I passed and repassed the old mansion, but without seeing my inamorata. But I did not give up though. Love is fertile in expe- dients. Amongst my other accomplishments, was a great love for, and skill in, drawing. This faculty I now determined to bring into full play. I knew how common it was among the cultivated French people to find a taste for sketching and drawing, and I little doubted but that the beauty of the balcony had also sufficient love of art to appreciate my efforts. So I procured materials in abun- dance, and in spite of my uncles misgivings, who began to fear in the variety of my tastes and pursuits that I should never do much credit to his teaching or example,.I frequently paid a visit to any spot commanding a view of the old mansion, and sketched, as well as my impatience would allow me, some of the frominent features of the beautiful scenery around. I had tried this ruse for several days without effect, when one day a handsome man, a little past the prime of life, but still light and active in his manner, came down to the spot where I was sitting, and after looking attentively at my sketches for some moments, and throwing me into an ag- ony of wonder as to the possibility of his being the father of my unknown divinity, accosted me in broken English You will sell de picture, Sare P Non, Monsieur, said I, conjuring up the few French w6rds I knew, and inwardly la- menting my ignorace of the language, I am only an amateur. lie bowed low, and began, half in French and half in English, to utter a thousand apologies. But I soon made him once more at ease by begging him to accept the drawing. He did so at once with many thanks, adding, to.my great delight, You shall come dis evening, and ma fillemy child Agkie will ver mock tank you also. I promised to do so, and you may be sure did not fail to keep it. I went home overjoyed. But what have you done with your drawing, said my uncle. I had not thought of this, and blushed deeply. After a few wise remarks upon the danger of young men falling into strange company, my uncle quietly allowed the mat- ter to drop, and in the evening I went, full of joy and expectation, to the French fam- ily. I was received by the gentleman I had seen in the morning and his wife, in whos~ features I found little difficulty in tracing those of the fair Aghie, making due allow- ance for the ravages of time. The lovely girl herself entered the apartment shortly afterwards, if possible more beautiful than ever. Hardly knowing what I said, I ad- vanced to meet her. Her father introduced me with some compliments to my artistic taste, pointing to my little sketch, which was already hanging on the wall amongst a num- ber of graceful drawings by Aglae herself. Agile possessed, in common with the major- ity of her countrywomen, the faculty of mak- ing a stranger feel perfectly at ease in her company, and after a few hours had flown like minutes in her society, I left the house, with surprise that I could possibly hAve grown so intimate in so short a time. From that day forth my visits became frequent. Agile and I understood ea other so well, and our intimacy advanced so rapidly, that in a short time we were recog- nized lovers. My uncle made no objection, and became very tolerant of my French friends Catholic principles. He saw that I was not destined to make a figure in the pulpit, and was only glad to see me with some tangible .obj ect in view. So, contrary to the usual experience of such matters, the course, of true love ran as smoothly as could be desired; and, in a few months from our first meeting, the captivating Agile was my wife. Agreeable to the wishes of her parents, we took up our abode with them, in the old house, and for some time were as happy a& two frail mortals could possibly be on earth. When I remember that happy timethe glowing looks that spoke volumes in answer to my endearmentsthe sweet silvery prat- tle, in delightful broken English, about her native vineyards and mountainsthe pretty French legends which she told me, by the dusky twilight of the winters firesideor the plaintive romance, accompanied by her fathers guitarI wonder more and more at the dark fatality which destroyed such an 84 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. earthly paradise. But, alas! it was destroyed, and regret is unavailing. Amongst the visitors to the house was a young Count Chandier, who, for some poli- tical offence, had been banished his country. He was a young man of most captivating manners and address, and was evidently very much taken with my young wife. After our Ixiarriage, encouraged by the praise of my wife and her friends, I had again taken- up the pen and pencil, and frequently spent some hours in the pursuit of these studies. On these occasions, Count Chandier and my wife would ramble out in the grounds sur- rounding the house. Knowing the gayety and freedom of French manners, I felt no uneasiness on that score, till, one day, an old friend calling upon me took occasion to re- mark in a playful manner that I had better not leave Aghie too much alone with the young Frenchman. I have long since known that this was said out of pure generosity to my charming wife, because he feared she might feel neglected if I gave myself up too much to books and pictures. However, the effect on my mind at that time was sudden, and fatal to my happiness. When Aghie returned, I upbraided her with all the bitter- ness of an injured husband for what was in reality my own fault. Her tearsher assur- ances were alike in vain; from day to day, I brooded like a mad man over this one thought, till her parents, disgusted with my conduct, proposed a separation. The Count himself, who had innocently been the cause, or rather I should say the objecf, of my hatred, reasoned with me to the utmost; but the demon Jealousy had entirely taken pos- session of me. Aghies parents, indignant at my suspicions, withdrew to their native coun- try, and, by reasoning and entreaties, induced her to accompany them. I can easily account to you for the agita- tion I felt when you told me of the apparition at the window of the little inn at ILlanham- lach. You will laugh at me, I dare say, but ever since I was a boy, I have been inclined to be superstitious; and I cannot get rid of the idea that the face you saw staring at me so intently was not human, but a super- natural warning of some danger about to happen to my long lost Agliie. Whatever it may be, my mind is now made up. I shall leave here to-morrow, and set out for France. I will throw myself at her feetI will save 85 her from the peril that hangs over hershe must forgive me. Heaven has taught me a bitter lesson, and is now inviting me to profit by past experience. Yes, my friend, I leave here to-morrow, never to return till I have wiped out this foul stain by giving back, in a thousand times greater degree, the adoration I owe to Aghies innocence and beauty! God grant it! said I, fervently, much moved by Arthurs earnestness. I was about to make some further remark, when I was startled by the extreme agitation of his man- ner. With his face pale as death, and his eyes glaring wildly, he pointed towards the window, See! he cried, almost gasping for breath, she comesAghie, my wifebut she comes from another world to reproach me for my perfidy. Very much alarmed by his incoherent man- ner, I had instantaneously cast a glance in the direction of the window, and there, sure enough, although for less than a second, I discerrted the same features that I saw at Ilanhamlach. Forgetful of everything at the moment ex- cept a desire to penetrate into this mystery, I rushed out of the door, and round to the back of the house. At first I could discover nothing whatever, and was about to return to the ~iouse, when I fancied I saw some object lying on the ground. It~ wits no phantom, but the lovely form and features of Aglije herself, who had fallen fainting on the ground. To carry her into the house was only the work of a moment, but it was some time be- fore she quite recovered. No words can describe the joy of Arthur, after his first out- burst of superstitious fear. He danced round her with frantic delight, wept and laughed like a maniac. Then, bitterly reproaching himself for the sorrow he had caused her, he would hardly be consoled. After this excite- ment had in some degree subsided, Aghie told us all that had happened since they parted. How she had secretly left her pa- rents, and had written to them after her de- parture, as to be object of her journeyhow she had followed Arthur from place to place without having courage to make herself known, for fear of a second repulse. All this, and much more, the happy wife recounte4 our delighted ears, and, if ever true happiness. existed on earth, it certainly was not absent from our circle that evening. Aghies parents again reside in England in the same old mansion where Arthur had first seen them. I visit them frequently, not without hope that a certain lovely cousin of Aglaes will shortly make me as happy as my friend Arthur. 86 prom Frasers Magazine. TUE TEA-TABLE. An Unpublished Poem. BY HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 18278 (i) [This early production of the late Hartley Coleridge may not be without interest, as it de- scribes a state of social manners which is already passing away, in a style of composition which also belongs in some measure to the past.] Tis there all meet The downright clown and perfectly well bred. BLAIRS Grave. Tuo all unknown to Greek and Roman song, The paler hyson, and the dark souchong, Tho black nor green the warbled praises share Of knightly troubadour or gay trouvere, Yet deem not thou, an alien quite tonumbers, That friend to prattle, and that foe to slumbers, Which Kian-Long, Imperial poet, praised So high, that cent. per cent. its price was raised; Which Pope himself would sometimes conde- scend To place commodious at a couplets end; Which the sweet Bard of Olney did not spurn, Who loved the music of the hissing urn. Let her who bade me write enact the Muse, inspire my genius, and my tea infuse, So shall my verse the hovering sylphs delight, And critic gnomes relinquish half their spite, Clear, warm, and flowing as my liquid theme, As sweet as sugar, and as smooth as cream. May it awhile engage the smiling fair, ) Then gambol gaily in the morning air, Twined in the tendrils of her silky hair. ) Who has not resd, in chronicle or fable, Of Good King Arthur and his famous table. Where Guy and Tristram talkd by fits and starts Of love, and murder, broken heads and hearts l $uch too the modern talk, at time of tea, Of the Round Table and its chivalry, Who speak with even tone and equal zest Of hearts entrappd and heads absurdly drest. its tru& a softer race the board environ, Who corseleta wear indeed, but not of iron, Who win, but do not combat, by the card, And drinkbut drink not thr barrd. ough the hemlet The fair alone with chalybean proof $IIpport their buststheir lovers keep aloof. The Muse is female, and may well reveal What I have heard, and some perhaps may feel. King Arthur kept his court in Camelot, But the round table graces every cot; Palace and farm enjoy the ge~tle feast That blends the products of the West and East. Whereer on British land our footsteps roam, We find it still, and find it, too, at home. Whether till eight the formal guests delay, Or meet at seven in a friendly way, Sooner or Inter, still the board is crownd, The lackerd tray and argent spoons resound, The homely del f or far sought porcelain, In cirelisig ranks, are musterd on the plain; The polishcd chest with curious art inlaid, ) Or quaintly wrou~ht by some ingenious maid,~ Displays the lawful spoils of venturous trade;) THE TEA.~TABLE. While the bright urn its stately presence rears, Or vocal kettle on its throne appears. Yet not alike, in every place and time, The social banquet that employs my rhyme. Alas! not social these where Logic lours At Inns of Court, or Academic bowers: In silence sip the solitary tribes Of lank-jawd students and of sallow scribes. Pot after pot is draind, yet not a word From ladys lip in those confines is heard; Nought but the knell of midnights dreary noon Drowns the sad jingle of the silver spoon: Yet even there the bland infusion flows, A plenteous Hippocrene of verse and prose; Helps to dilute the scanty drops of thought, And swell them to a mighty flood of nought. lie we from thence, nor shall we long delay About the homely meal of every day; For the dear comforts of domestic tea ) Are sung too well to stand in need of me By Cowper, and the bard of Rimini; ) Besides, I hold it as a special grace When such a theme is old and commonplaee. The cheering lustre of the new-stirrd fire, The mothers summons to the dozing sire, The whispers audible, that oft intrude On the forced silence of the younger brood. The seniors converse, seldom over new, Where quiet dwells and strange events are few; The blooming daughters ever-ready smile, So full of meaning and so void of guile; And all the little mighty things that cheer The closing day from quiet year to year, I leave to those whom more benignant fate Or merit, destines to the wedded state. A stranger I, a wanderer upon earth, A thriftless Prodigal of tears and mirth, Must learn without a. cherishd hope to se& The loving looks, that look not love to me; The flowers of joy for happier natures sown I may not gather, may not think my own. Happy if Time at last shall teach me this, To find a proper joy in others bliss; But neer be mine the selfish heart fQrlorn, The tear of envy, or the laugh of scorn. I grow too grave, and must in haste return To the frail china and resplendent urn. Behold the cups arrayd, the table set, Matrons and spinsters all are duly met; The younger belles disposed in scatterd troops, In rows demure, or gaily whispering groups, The female elders chat the time away (I often wonder what they find to say) Or timely range the fish in painted pools, (Their bright exchequers,) while the coffee cooLs. What various tones from female organsfiow, How glibly smooth, or languishingly slow, The pretty creatures laugh, and weep, and rail In all gradations of the vocal scale; From fell Xantippes emphasis of brass, To the soft murmur of the melting lass. The vapory board sets all their tongues in mo- tion, Like many billows of the voiceful ocean; From voice to voice the keen remark descends, In sqtsalls begins, and in a whisper ends. For loud and shrill the bulky bourgeoise Accosts the beauty of departed days; In accents tuned with unaVailing skill TILE TEA-T~-BLE. - The vestal answers to the matron shrill; With temperd melody of cautions speech, The hostess doubts, and yet accords with each; Then round and round the breezy murmurs glide, And every absent Miss is named a bride. 7on dimpled lassie, just arrived from school, Where all must look, and think, and feel by rule; Uneasy novice of an order strict That on her tongue haslaid an interdict, With her small hands the weighty secret spells, And weaves her fingers into syllables. Of things like these I oft have taken note, Ere yet my limbs had felt the straight culotte, Ill could I else discover or divine What ladies do when gents are at their- wine. At length the summons of the simpering maid Or well-fed footman, tardily obeyed, Qrings lords, and knights, and squires, and priests, and bards, From red and white, to coffee, tea, and cards. When the hoarse North is hurrying up the vale, To silence sinks the lily-bending gale; So sink the accents of the soft-robed clan At the hard tramp of heavy-pacing man. Stilld is the hum, the scandal is suppressd, The secret kept, the sly charade unguessd; With many a smotherd laugh and many a blush, The buzzing watchword passes, hush, hush, hush. Tis but the Parson ;perhaps it is but I, Then wherefore, ladies, all this mystery I The Parson sure cannot excite your fears, And I, you know, have neither eyes nor ears. Then let the tale, the hint, the joke revive, As if there were not such a thing alive ; 0! let me hear your sweetness; I am stunnd With ilume, Ricardo, and the Sinking Fund. As wheu victorious troops to pillage bound In scatterd bands obey the bugles sound, Sb one by one the jovial swains repair To the head-quarters of the musterd fair. First the prim Dangler, complaisant and sleek, With frill that flutters and with pumps that creak, Lisps oer the news to every aged she, And marks each slander with a low congee; Pays for each morsel that the hostess gives With parasitical superlatives; Whate,erhe tastestis excellent, divine, Above the coffee, as below, the wine. Next comes a thingI know not how to name Of doubtful sex, which neither sex will claim, So rank with Bergamot and Attar-gul That every nose may wind him for a fool; A thing so fine, so exquisitely nice, It has no gout for virtue, no, nor vice; Its waspish waist elaborately thin, Its heartless leer and apathetic grin, Its arching eyebrow of inane pretence, Its eye of unimpassioned impudence. Are these permitted at a ladys side I Forbid it, modesty, and maiden pride. Can he your sweet emhosomd thoughts engage That joins the negatives of youth and age I Boyish in brain, in heart as weak and cold As a French courtier sixty winters old. Yet oft the feelin~ heart and thinking hrain Attempt to ape him, hut attempt in vain; For let kind nature do the best she can, 87 Tis woman still that makes or mars the man, And soit is, the creature can beguile The fairest faces of the readiest smile. The third who comes the hyson to inhale, If not a man, at least appears a male; His worst offences are against your ears, For, though he laughs too loud, he never sneers, He knows the coachmans crafts, the hunters holloa, The Fancys phrase that might confound Apollo~ Right dear to him in row, or lark, or spree, To sound the base string of humility. His rural friends are Nimrods genuine seed. The best among them are his dog and steed~ His town acquaintance are pickd up on bulks, And half the list are now aboard the hulks, With iron grasp, with face and lungs of brass,. He roars a greeting to each bonny lass, Then bolts his teaand straight begins a story Of sportsmans perils, or of bruisers glory; Talks in an unknown tongue of Max an4 Milling, And doubtless fancies he is wondrous killing.~ Now up the stairs, disputing all the way, Two keen logicians urge their wordy fray. Abrupt they enter, voluble and loud. But soon remember that they have not bowd, That error mended, both at once relate To some fair maid the subject of debate: To her decision both at once refer; For each expects a verdict kind from her. But she, too meek, too witty, and too wise, To judge between the vassals of her eyes, To each polemic, seeming to incline, Affords occasion for them both to shine. Through four dull cups their nice distinctions run, And all suppose them just where they begun; Till a gruff senior and his copper nose Arrive to part the dialectic foes. Young men, quoth he, be sure you both are wrong, And all your theories ai~ not worth a song. The point is one that elder heads has puzzled; Presumptuous boys like you should all 1* muzzled. Then to the maid he turns his solemn face, And gravely tells her he has judged the case. But now the lingering votaries of port Make to the fair their long-delayed resort. What bulky forms around the table press D.D., and LL.D., and ASS. The china rings, the urn is ni,,h oerset By such a Bacchanalian alphabet With glowing faces and with watery eyes They pass about their pursy gallantries. What unseen charms they vow that they behold, Inspired adorers of the plain and old! If men were still so happy and so blind, Could man or woman call their fate unkind? They not remark the glance, the 1aug11 suppreat In the fresh virgins newly budding breast, Nor see their wives contract the brow severe, Their daughters blush, that moves the dandys I sneer, Nayf scarce young Nimrods merry roar can hear. Now, like the rumble of a coming storm, Without we hear the dreadful word, Reform. 88 TIlE KING OF DENMARK S RIDE.DOMESTTO BLISS. Last of the rout, and doggd with public cares, Then he dropped; and only the King rode in The politician stumbles up the stairs Where his Rose of theisles lay dying! Whose dusky soul not beauty can illume, The King blew a blast on his bugle horn; Nor wine dispel his patriotic gloom. (Silence!) In restless ire from guest to guest he goes, No answer came; but faint and forlorn And names us all among our countrys foes; An echo returned on the cold grey morn, Swears tis a shame that we should drink our Like the breath of a spirit sighing. Till wrongs are righted awl the nation free. The castle portal stood grimly wide; That priests and poets are a venal race, None welcomed the King from that weary ride; Who preach for patronage and rhyme for place For dead, in the light of the dawning day, Declares that boys and girls should not j~ The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, When cooing, Who had yearned for his voice while dyihg! Englands hope is bankruptcy and ruin; The panting steed, with a drooping crest, That wiser twere the coming wrath to fly, Stood weary! And that old women should make haste to die The King returned from her chamber of rest, As froward infants cry themselves to sleep, The thick sobs choking in his breast, If unregarded they are left to weep, And, that dumb companion eyeing,. So patriot zeal, if unopposed, destroys The tears gushed forth which he strove to cheek, Its strength with fury and its breath with noise; He bowed his head on his chargers neck, Allowd resistless as the son of Ammon, 0, Steed,that every nerve didst strain, Behold the great Reformer at backgammon, Dear Steed, our ride bath been in vain Dckt, taxes, boroughs, and decline of price, To the halls where my love lay dying! Forgotten all, he only damns the dice. Frasers Magazi~e~ But pause, the urn that sweetly sang before, DOMESTIC BLISS. Like a cra~d lute, is vocal now no more, Dry as the traces of the ebbing sea, A THAGHENT. Effete and flaccid lie the leaves of tea. I am And I, who always keep the golden mean, A married lady of thirty odd. II~ive just declined a seventh cup of green. Every evening I tee in their beds The toil, the tumult, and the hour is flown, A bakers dozen of curly heads. Lost in quadrille, whist, commerce, or Pope Every morning my slumbers greet Joan, The patter, patter, of twentysix feet. With nimble haste my theme is swept away Thirteen little hearts are always in a flutter, And, tea concludedshall conclude my lay. Till thirteen little mouths are filled with bread CALIBAN. and butter. Thirteen little tongues are busy all day long, THE KING OF DENMARKS RIDE. And thirteen little hands, with doing something BY TIlE HON. MR5. NORTON. wrong, (Fr the Danish.) Till I fain am to do, WORD was brought to the Danish King With an energy, too, (Hurry!) As did the old woman that lived in a shoe. That the love of his heart lay suffering, And when my poor husband comes home froni And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; his work, (0! ride as though you were flying!) Tired and hungry, and fierce as a Turk, Better he loves each olden curl What do you think is the picture lie sees! On the brow of that Scandinavian girl, A legion of babies, all in a breeze Than liii rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; Johnny a crying, - And his Rose of the Isles is dying! And Lucy a sighing, Thirty nobles saddled with speed; And worn-out mamma, with her hair all a flying; (Hurry!) Strong and angry William, beating little Nelly; Each one mounting a gallant steed Charley in the pantry, eating currant jelly; of need; Richard strutting round in papas Sunday coat; Which he kept for battle and days Harry at the glass, with a razor at his throat; (0! ride as thouqls you were flying!) Robert gets his fingers crushed when Susy shuts Spurs were struck in the foaming flank the door, Worn-out chargers staggered and sank, Mitigates their aching with a forty-pound roar; Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst, Baby at the coal-hod hurries to begin, But ride as they would, the King rode first, Throwing in his mite to the universal din. For his Rose of the Isles lay dying! Alas! my lord and master, being rather weak of His nobles are beaten, one by one, nerve, he (Hurry!) Begins to lose his patience in the stunning topsey- They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward turvey, gone; And then the frightened little ones all fly to me His little fair page now follows al6ne, for shelter, jFor strength and for courage trying! And so the drama closes mid a general helter- The King looked back at that faithful child; skelter. Wan was the face that answering smiled; Ill give you my name, lest you think me a myth They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Yours, very respectfully, Mrs. John Smith. LIFE OF JOHN BANIM. Prom The Atlien~nm. Vie Lffe of John Banim, the Irish Novel- ist; ~pith Extracts from his Correspond- ence, General and Literary. By Patrick Joseph Murray. (Lay.) TirE literary life and personal fortunes of the Author of Damon and Pytbias, and the originator of the Tales by the OHara Family, ought to have made a better book. Mr Murray has not wanted sympathy with his subject,he has taken some pains in col- lection of material; but his style of narra- don is heavy and tasteless, and his literary remarks are pointless and insufficient as regards knowledge. To instance, when he desires to exalt Banim as the first Irish nov- elist, be begins by stating that in 1821, Miss Edgeworth was in the full possession of the public taste as the best and only Irish novelist. Long ere this time ODonnell and Florence Macarthy had appaared. But this is not his sole mistake: our critic having ignored the existence of Lady Mor- gan, goes on to call Castle Rackrent an elegant drawing-room portraiture of Irish life and character; and to point out that Miss Edgeworth wanted many, very many attributes peculiar to that phase of genius which can obtain and keep secure the title of the Irish Novelist. In the same not very luminous style, Mr. Murray proceeds to state that Sir Walter was Banims ideal of a national novelist; from this ideal nothing can be more dissimilar than that discoverable in the style and tone oftheworks of MissEdge- worth. This will seem especially ill consid- ered to those who recollect that Scott more than once declared that he had been encour- aged to continue Waverley, and to commence the career of a Scottish novelist in emula- don of Miss Edgeworths National Tales. That the Banims dealt with the crimes, pas- sions and sorrows which too largely mark the history of Irish society more boldly than any woman should do is true; but to talk of them as having created the irishman for fic- don is absurd. This biography, in short, however well meant, is written in a tone which is at once false and feeble. The best portion of the Life refers to the early years of the boy, who was the second aoa of a shopkeeper at Kilkenny,born there in 1798. John Banim began to make himself (to use the homely phrase applied to & ott by one of his Border playfellows,) almost as soon as be could write and read; as a child he wrote verses and fa~ry tales. When he was nine years of age he passed his works in review, and deliberately de.. stroyed the larger portion of them as un- worthy of preservation. Those were the days of the Kilkenny theatricals, at which Moore recited his Monologue on National Music. It was encored, and Banim was the loud- est of those demanding ,the repetition. Tire beauty of the poetry struck the fancy of the child, and so profound was the impression created by it on his memory, that he, the fol.- lowjng morning, repeated the entire w~h almost perfect accuracy, and with the gestures and inflections employed by Moore in its delivery. After having breakfasted, he was observed to dress himself in his best clothes, and the family saw him leave the shop, and with a roll of papers under his arm, walk to- wards the house in which Moore lodged: he was about to introduce himself to Moore as a brother poet, and the roll of papers was the manuscript verses by which he meant to prove hi~ right to the honorable name. Moore, remembering probably the trembling anxiety with which he had, in his fourteenth year, sent the attempts of a youthful muse to the Editor of The Anthologia Hibernica, and the honor and glory which he enjoyed when he found himself shortly afterwards, called our esteemed correspondent T. M., received his odd little visitor kindly. He read a few of the verses, inquired as to his progress at school, advised him to be atten- tive and diligent, and closed the interview by asking, if there was any thing he could do to oblige his brother poet. To be called his brother poet, was quite sufficient for Banim; but the offer of obliging him was too flatter- ing to be slighted, so after some considera- tion, he told the good-natured bard that there was nothing in the world he should like so much as a season ticket to the private theatre, where he could see Mr. Moore on the nights of performance. This request was at once granted. We shall give an extract or two more from the same pages, as marking humors and characteristics. Literary pursuits, however, were not the only ones by which Banims attention was engaged: he frequently devpted his play hours to mechanical inventions. He formed a complicated machine which was to reali~ that dream of philosophyperpetual motion. Having read Rasselas, he fancied that the philosopher of the happy valley must have been a very unshilful artificer. He ac~ord ingly, of wicker-work and brown paper, work out this he was placed in the drawing formed three pairs of wings, and fastened academy of the Royal Dublin Society, where mie wing to each wrist of his brother, and of he remained two yearsgained pizes and b~i younger sister; having mounted with his two companions upon a manure heap, he distinguished himself. But the pen was fastened the remaining pair of wings to his doomed to get a-head of the pencil; and A own wrists, and all three, jumping from their Dialogue in the Exhibition Room, a criticism eminence, found themselves, in place of soar- in verse on the Irish artists, got into print. Mg to the clouds, deposited in the the ver- It may have been that fame and fortune ap- dant mud which formed their lake. His peared to the youth more attainable by the next attempt was the construction of sky- one path than the other,it may have been rockets intended to mount to a most extraor- that the literary vocation was born in him a~ dinary height, but Which only blazed along the ground, burning the pyrotechnist, and principal, and the artistic one simply an acces- almost destroying the house. This last cx- sory oneit may have been that his patience ploit developed a very remarkable trait in his as a student and a worker was destroyed by c1ft~racter. His father was so much offended the engrossing interests of a love affair, nar- by the danger to which the family and the rated in a fashion aHke cold and diffuse by building had been exposed, that in one of his Mr. Murray; but the fact is, that the years outbreaks of passion he ordered the child to leave the house, and seek his fortune in the of training in the drawing-schools of Dublin world. John took his cap and went forth. were, as regards direct results, so many years It was a winter night, dark and cold, with a wasted. Banim for awhile wa~ in difficulty roaring wind abroad. Away the boy went. and in debtand undecided as to his career. Mrs. Banim was silent, knowing that remon- He married, and came to London with his strance could conduce to no end, save that wife to make his way as a working man of of increasing her husbands anger; and even letters, novelist, playwright. poet,in every he seemed anxious, but was too passionate to recall the offender. A quarter of an hour capacity showing a real, vigorous, new genius, elapsed, and a sturdy knock was heard at the which might have carried him through and door: it was opened, and John reappeared. borne him upward had not the course been lie approached his father, and taking off his stayed and the current troubled by acute and cap said, As I am to go, Ill thank you, sir, progressive diseasea paralysis which toi- for the sixl)ence I lent you the other day; tured and wore him out, making every strug.. this was the last remaining sixpence of the gle an agony, and every new effort of creation thirty shillings subscribed for the unprint fairy tale; and with it he was as willing a spasm; and hanging on every step in life though a child, to commence his way in the a clog and a drawback, which became heavier world, with as bold a heart, as self-reliant a and heavier, more and more disqualifying, as oQnfidence, as when, in later years, he went Time wore on. How, friends interposed, and forth with his young wife to venture upon the public recognition stepped in to make easier troubled tide of literature. The sixpence the last years of the Irish Novelist, is too was repaid him, but, in addition, a second well remembered, because too recent, to claim was given, and he was ordered to bed, his father having forgotten all his anger in the narratron in detail here. Surprise of the moment. We have merely adverted to the painful For a restless, original creature like this circumstances and difficulties of Banims lif~, there is educatibn in every face that passes in because it may be fancied that they had an the streetsin every new picture-book that is influence on his literary creations. They may opened in the print-shop window. Perhaps be described as the works of a man at odds the best of John Banims book learning was with fortune :gloomy, sorrowful, vigorou,~, acquired at the Kilkenny Vollege, where he coarse, real, with all the miseries of Ireland was placed when in his thirteenth year. in them, but comparatively little of its humors. While he was thereas again and again has The powerful weight of the thunder-cloud is happened to other men of geniusother there; but too rarely that lively innocent tastes and propensities than those of litera- sunshine, under the blessed influence of which ture pushed themselves forward so impor- tired people enjoy they know not what, and tunately, as for awhile apparently to decide they ask not why,delighted to feel warm his career. Banim evinced a very remark- and to breathe freely. We are here particu- able talent for drawing and painting, and larly alluding to the Irish novels and peasant selected the profession of an artist. To ballads of John Banim,since thou~h part LIFE 8]? 3OH~N BAN!)!. of the former were w-~tten by his brother, it was still under his direction and from his inspiration. If the OHara Tales last it will be as the forcible and painful novels of Balzac last,as the pictures of Ribera, with their grim subjects of torture and martyrdom, works containing excitements to which we do not lovingly or frequently return. How dif- ferent is the case with Scott, in whom Banim professed to seek his prototype! To none of his romances, save Kenilworth, are there some gleams of redeeming sunlight denied. Even The Bride of Lammermoor has Caleb Balderstone. In the rest of the whole wonderful series, be the period ever so dark, or the passage of life and sorrow ever so moving, there will be always found some oasis of cheerfulness or comfort, in which the heart can take rest :there is always a tone of hope and pleasure and freshness, deepen- ing the pathos, but redeeming the distress from intolerable monotony. If we have wandered away into disserta- tion, it is bect~ise, we mug repeat, Mr. Murrays narrative is poorly executed and his material not very rich. Yet something might have been made of the group of Irishmen in London of whom Banim was one; and this we say with the more assurance because some of the pleasantest touches in this voulme are those which tell how Sheil, then on the top of the wave, as Miss ONeils favorite tragic author,(and who, seriously, we have been told, speculated on the discretion of giving up law, and producing one tragedy a month, as a brilliant and golden way of earning money !)helped Banim with the managers, and made a way for Damon and Pythias~ one of the tragedies adopted by Mr. Mac- ready, when he was working upwards as an actor. On the other band, if Banim was helped by Sheil, he, in his turn, did the best of his best for Gerald Griffin;with small thanks for what he did, since the author of The Tales of the Munster Festivals, seems, in his case, to have been touchy, jealous,.. ungrateful even, though repentant afterwards. There is a tale to be told about all these things, when the Irishman shall come who can tell it, calmly, kindly, justly. THE COURT AT BIARRITEFeW facts could be brought forward more ilinstrative of the great difference in the social life between Eng- land and the Continent than the manner of existence of our Queen at Osborne and that of the Sovereign of France and his Empress at ~iarritz. At Osborne, as visitors to the Isle of Wight well know, Royalty is hedged in with such care and precaution, as to render it impos- sible for even the most inquisitive wayfarer to satisfy his curiosity. At Biarritz, on- the other b~nd, their French Majesties court publicity. The Villa Eugdnie, which, had it been built half a mile more to the south of its present position, would have commanded a grand range of the Pyrenees, is within full view of the houses of Biarritz, and should you be very inquisitive, you may go within a few yards of the villa, from which you are separated merely by a railing, and see, with the aid of common opera-glasses, figures moving within the rooms when they are lighted at night. Without the villa there is no privacy whatever; there is not a tree to shield the house from the western blast, and thus when their Majesties walk out they may be seen by all who care to look at them. Indeed, so regard- less is the Empress of seclusion, that her bath- ing-box is situated on the strand only a couple of hundred yards from the public boxes. Hav- ing frequently seen the Emperor and Empress, I was not among those who pressed forward to see them, but I do plead guilty to having on two mornings waylaid the infant Prince in his ride round the grounds. He was seated on a very handsome jet-black donkey, eaparisoned in Spanish fashion, and adorned with gay ribbons and artifical flowers. The child was, of cours#, tended with all the care due to the, or one of the, heirs presumptive to the French throne. He is a fine little fellow, and gave evidence by his rosy cheeks of the invigorating and bene- ficial influence of the Atlantic breezes. Atke. nceu?Th. THE Booxs OF NUMBERS AND DEUTER~ ONOMY ACCORDING TO THE VERSION OF THfl LXX. Translated into English by the Hon. and Very Rev. Henry E. J. Howard, D.D., Dean of Lichfield. This volume completes Dean Howards translation of the Pentateuch from the v~ersion of the Septuagint, with the omissions, the insertions, and some critical and explanatory notes on passages differing from the authorized version. The late work of the Rev. Dr. Wall, Vice-Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, lends an additional importance to the Septuagint, if his opiuion be true that the vowel letters of the original Hebrew were really inser- tions of the second century after Christ, designed to twist the original metminff agtinst Christian THE NEW OOLONIST$ OF NORFOLK ISLAND. Prom Household Words. THE NEW COLONISTS OF NORFOLK ISLAND. THE story of the Pitcairn islanders, the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty, is well known. Having so multiplied that they have outgrown the agricultural resources of Pitcairn Island, they have lately been re- moved at their own request, at~ the expense of the British government, to Norfolk Island, a place hitherto only known as a crowded convict settlementa horror of horrors. The following description is extracted from a pam- phlet, published by the Roman Catholic Bishop Ullathorne, about twenty years ago. It will be seen that the descendants of Adams are now~planted on a fertile soil under a genial sun. We have a right to expect re- markable agricultural and horticultural re- sults from their industry. Norfolk Island is one thousand miles from Sydney, about twenty-one miles in cir- cumference, of volcanic origin, and one of the most beautiful spots in the world. Rising abruptly on all sides but one from the sea, clustering ~columns of basalt spring out of the sea, securing at intervals its en- durance with the strong architecture of God. That one side presents a low, sandy level, on which is, or was formerly situated the penal settlement. It is approachable only by boats, through a narrow bar in the reef of coral, which, visible here, invisibly circles the island. The island consists of, a series of hills cu- riously interfolded, the green ridges rising one above another until they reach the craggy sides and crowning summit of Mount Pitt, at the height of three thousand feet above the level of the sea. The establishment consists of a spacious quadrangle of buildings for the prisoners, the military barracks, and a series of offices in two ranges. A little further beyond, on a green mound, the mansion of the command- ant, with barred windows, guarded by cannon and a pacing sentineL Straying some distance alotig a footpath, we came upon the cemetery, closed in on three sides by close, thick, melancholy groves of tear-dropping manchineel; the fourth is open to the booming sea. The graves are numerous; most of the tenants have reached their last abode by an untimely end. I my- self have witnessed fifteen descents into those houses of mortality: in every one is a hand of blood. Passing on by a ledge cut in the cliff that hangs over the resoundingshore, we suddenly turn into an amphitheatre of hills, which, rise all around until they close in a circle of the blue, cloudless heavens al~ove, their sides being thickly clothed with curious wild shrubs, wild flowers, and wild vines. Pass- ing a brawling brook, and long and slowly ascending, we again reach the open, varied ground: here a tree-crested mound, there a plantation of pines, and yonder below, de- scending into the very bowels of the earth and covered with an intricacy of dark foliage, interluminated with chequers of sun-light until beyond it opens a receding vista to the blue sea. And now the path closes, so that the sun is almost shut out; whilst giant creepers shoot, twist, and contort themselves upon your path; beautiful lories, parrots, paroquets, and other birds, rich and varied in plumage, spring up at your.approach. We next reach a valley of exquisite beauty, in the middle of which, where the winding, gurgling stream is jagged in its course, spring up a cluster of some eight fern-trees, with a clear, black, mossy stem, from the crown of which shoots out on every side one long, arching fern-leaf. Ascending again through the dank for.~ est, we meet rising on every side, amongst other strange forest trees, the gigantic pine of Norfolk Island; which, ascending with a clear stem of vast circumference some twelve feet, shoots out a coronal of dark boughs, each in shape like the feathers of the ostrich indefinably prolonged, until rising with clear intervals, horizontal, stage above stage, the green pyramid cuts with its point the blue ether at the height of two hundred feet. Through these groves we at length reach the summit of Mount Pitt. Below us lies a wondrous scene in a narrow spacerock valley, forest, corn-field, islet, alive with purple, crimson, snow-white birds of land and sea, in a light of glowing sunshine framed in the vast expanse of the Pacifie Ocean. Descending, we take a new path. After awhile, emerging from the deep gloom of the forest, amid glades and openings may be seen the guava and the lemon, the fern and the 92 THE NEW COLONISTS OF NORFOLK ISLAND. palmetto, rising to the height of twenty-five feet, and then spreadling into a shade of bright broad, green fans. Then parasite creepers and climbers rise up in columns, shoot over arch after arch, and again descend in, every variety of Gothic fantasynow form a high, long wall, dense, impenetrable; then tumhle down in a cas- cade of green leaves, frothed over with the delicate white convolvulus. Our way at length becomes a long vista of lemon-trees, forming overhead an arcade of green, gold, and sunlight. Orange-trees 93 once crowded the island as thickly, but were cut down by a former commandant, as too great a luxury for a convict. On the farms, the yellow hulm bends with the fat of corn; in the gardens, by the broad-breasted, English oak, grows the delicate cinnamon tree, the tea, the coffee- shrub, the sugarcane, the bananna, with its long, weeping streamers and creamy fruit-~-- the fig. All tropical fruits in perfection; English vegetables of gigantic growth. The air is pure, ambient; the sky bril- liant. At night refreshing showers of dew descend. Bossuwr.Manifold as are the aspects under which the great Bishop of Meaux may be re- garded, there is one feature of his character which the best of his critics have uniformly re- garded as the key to his genius and the secret of his popularity. We allude to his practical good sensea quality arising, it may be pre- suined, from the clearness with which his eagle- eye discerned at a glance the main elements and bearings of every question which came under his notice, it iso this bon sens, which both possessed in such ample measure, that we must attribute the ascendeucy which Bossuet and Vol- taire respectively won over their contemporaries. While others were busying themselves about the husk, they pounced upon the kernel. In an age conspicuous for its devotion to religious topics, Bossuet kept himself alike clear from the assaults of doubt and the yet more dangerous delusions of mystical ascetism. If at any time we should have suspected him of departing from this even tenor, it would have been in his rela- tions as director with those who came under his spiritual charge. This is an aspect of Bos- suet with which few are familiar. The Letti-es Spirituelles of F6n6lon have long held a recog- nised placed in French literature: but the Let- tees Spirituelies of Bossuet are buried in the voluminous recueil of his works and the reader is little inclined to ransack some forty volumes in order to pick out the letters to a Smur Cor- nuau, whose very existence, but for them, would never have been known to him. It is this col- lection of letters, along with the Traite de la Concupiscence, which M. de Sacy has selected for the two new volumes of the elegant Bibli- otlieque Spirituelle which he has undertaken to - edit. Those who are even superficially acquain- ted with the history of Bossuets public career will be somewhat surprised to learn that during four-and-twenty years of the busiest period of his life he kept up a regular correspondence with an obscure religieuse, quieting her dbubts, checking her vagaries, and solving her difficul- ties. When we compare this correspondence with the Leitres Spirituelles of the good Archbishop of Cambrai, we have no difficulty in under- standing how Bossuet got the best of it in the famous feud on Quietism. Learning, piety, e1oquence.~alI the~se Fdndlon possessed in a degree scarcely inferior to Bossuet. But the good sense of the Bishop of Menux, impervious to the seductions of the emotions or the imagina- tion, turned the balance in his favor. As M. do Sacy well remarks, with reference to the Lettees of the two prelates Pour dtre gouvern6 utile. ment par Fdndlon, ii fallait acoir presque autant desprit que Fenelon lui meme. Le paysan le plus grossier se serait aussi bien trouv6 de la direc- tion de Bossuet que les soenri du Due de Che- vreuse. The coldness, verging upon harsh- ness, with which Bossuet rebukes the mystical and ascetic tendencies of the Swur Cornuan is, to say the least of it, an instructive and season- able lesson for the French clergy of the nine- teenth century. We almost regret the great luxe with which these exquisite little volumes are got up; for it is much to be desired that such wholesome tuff were widely circulated, in order to neutralize the bad effects of the dele- terious trash current under the head of religious literature. It must be remembered, however, that the modern French Church considers Bos- suet a bit of a hereticSaturday Review. DUBUFES ADAM AND Evx. Some years ago, two pictures by the French artist M. Dubufe, the Temptation, and the Fall, excited immense interest in their tours of exhibition, and most especially in America. Duplicates, of these pic- turesdestined for another tour, which, we be- lieve, is to include Australiaare now on view at Messrs. Leggatt, Hayward, and Leggatts new Gallery in Coruhill. In the first, Eve, re- clined on a bank, is making the most of her fas- cinations to conquer the foreboding Adam: in the second, the violation of Divine command has worked its evilthe tempest roars, the sea- waves swell (in the Garden of Eden!) the lion prowls with glaring eye, and the sinners cower in horrible remorse. Both are life-sized works, in the ad captandum or scene-painting style, sustained by the clever unhesitating drawing and manner of a well-practised French artist. There is little enough in them, one might have thought, to excite either dismay or enthusiasmthough the wheedling Eve might well be distasteful to the more refined perceptions: but they are the kind of thing to make the uneducated beholder exclaim, How natural! How expressive! or How sublime ! Spectator. 94 From The Athena~um. EXPLORATION IN NORTH AMERICA. THE settlement of the boundary between ourselves and the United Statesthe impor- tance attached to Vancouvers Island, as well as the gradual extension of our population in the north-west of Canadamakes us desire to become acquainted with the countries lying to the north of the newly-defined frontier, and Sir Roderick Murchison, in his address at the Anniversary Meeting of the Royal Geographical Society this year, points out a region, including at least 112,000 square miles, extending from the head waters of the Assiniboine River to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and from the northern branch of the Saskatchewan to the 49th parallel of lati- tude, our boundary with the United States, which had remained almost completely unex- plored. It was the intention of Mr. Palliser, one of those Nimrods which Great Britain sends oc- easionally out to those regions, and whose bear-shooting exploits are well known, to proceed, at his own exi)ense, in order to explore this region. He, therefore, made application to the Royal Geographic~d Soci- ety for advice and information as to what was desirable to be known,the resultof which was, that the Council strongly recommended Her Majestys Government to aid the under- taking. The consequence of this application was, a grant of 6,000, so as to enable Mr. Palliser to be accompanied by Lieut. Blak- iston, of the Royal Artillery, on the recom- mendation of the President of the Royal Soci- ety, to conduct the astronomical and physical observations,Mr. Bourgean, an experienced ,botanist,and iDr. Hector, who, besides a knowledge of his profession, has thatof geology and zoology. Mr. Palliser was the leader of the expedition, from his previous success in dealing with the Indians; and the chief objects of the exploration were set down as follows: First. To survey the water parting be- tween the basins of the Missouri and Sas- katchewan; also the course of the south branch of the Saskatchewan and its tribu- taries. Secondly. To explore the Rocky Moun- tains, for the purpose of ascertaining the most southerly pass across to the Pacific within the British territory. Thirdly. To report on the natural fea- tures and general capabilities of the country, and to construct a map of the routes. EXPLORATIO~8 IN NO1Vf~H AMERICA. The expedition was~ delayed some time in consequence of the illness of Mr. Palliser,-~.- but at length he sailed on the 9th of May, with his companions, and, after arriving at New York, proceeded to Lake Superior, which on the 11th of June they found coy.- ered with masses of floating ice, which would have jammed their frail canoes, but they en- gaged to be taken in a steamer, through the ice floating about, to about four hours dis- tance from the Isle Royale, and arrived at Fort William. The following day, the 13th of June, they i~ecommenced their journey in canoes, and then went up the White Fish River, where they found the scenery magnifi- cent, but very difficult navigation and the labor severe; the rain fell in torrents; and on the second day a tree fell upon the canoe of Mr. Palliser, and he escaped by jumping out, and they encamped during the night in the rain. They then sent the two boats down the river with one of the Indians to the main camp at the mouth of the White Fish River to go round to the Falls of the Kakabaka, while Mr. Palliser and Dr. Hector, accompanied by two Indian lads, started to make their way across the forests by compass cour~e for the Falls, which journey was accomplished without material difficulty,the swollen riv- ers being crossed by cutting down trees and st6pping along them. They arrived at the Falls guided by the loud roar of the water, and pushing through the wood, climbed on a high ledge, from which they saw them to the greatest advantage. The height was meas- ured very accurately, which proved to be 171 feet 9 inches; and these falls, although not so extensive as those of Niagara, are accord- ing to Mr. Pallisers correspondence, much wilder and a great deal higher. He thinks them far finer than those of the American side of Niagara, which have too much the appearance of an overgrown milldam. On this tableland they were surprised to find two glaciers of hard snow on the 18th of June. The camp was very picturesque, surrounded by torrents and mountains, and in the midst of evergreens. They then began their arduous canoe route, rising at three in the morning, pad- dling till eight, then camping for breakfast going on till one, then camping for dinner, and at the paddle again from three till eight in the evening,the navigation being oftcxi EXPLORATIO~I8 IN NGRTK AMERICA. prevented by severe portages, where every At Pembina, which is a wretched place on thing must he carried, canoe and all, which the frontier, Mr. Palliser found an American is done by two men at a time, relieved every post-office. A wooden post driven into the eight or ten minutes, and this sometimes for ground marked the frontier, and was found a space of three or four miles. Mr. Palliser to be correct in latitude by the expedition. was shown one place where a man fell with The further route was to be the Saskatche.. the how end of the canoe on his shoulder, wan River, previous to wintering at Carlton and his head was completely severed from his House fort. The summer of 1858 is to be body. Thunderstorms were also severe; one employed in traversing the country of the on the 17th of July struck an Indian tent Blackfeet and Blood Indians between the close tottheir camp, and killed a man, three northern and southern Saskatchewan, and in women, and a cat,one body being fearfully tracing the southern branch up to its sources, burnt, actually charred, but the others not in order to get a knowledge of the practicable externally injured. Nor is human life en- passes in the Rocky Mountains, with a view tirely safe from the Indians,two instances to access to the Pacific, independent of what of men with French Canadian names having is within the American frontier or inconveni- been given who had been shot by the Sioux ently to the north on our own territory. The Indians. The Red River settlement is pro- time must come when the coast opposite nounced to he a curious example of the impos- Vancouvers Island will he connected with sibility of assisting people who will do nothing Canada overland. A thorough knowledge for themselves. The people, who are of Indian of the facilities or difficulties offered by the origin, are starving in a fertile country from Rocky Mountains, is, therefore, one of the greatest desiderata of North American physi- sheer indolence. From the Red River they cal geography. The detailed accounts of the went to Pembina with difficulty by horses progress of the Expedition have been corn- used to running buffaloes, hut not to draught. municated to the Royal Geographical Society. THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. Devoted to Literature, Arts, and Politics, November 1857. An American undertaking; with too little of America, and, with one exception, what there is wants orginality. The first number opens with a notice of no other person than the late Mr. Douglas Jerrold. The Manchester Exhibition, and the Indian Mutiny, or rather a notice of Anglo-Indian history touching upon the mutiny at the end, form the subject of two other articles. The Mosaics of Florence give rise to a fourth prose paper; and several poetic subjects are drawn from abroad. Five or six articles or tales are derived from home topics, so far as the scene being laid in America; but only two or three are so really American that you could not by slight alterations change the locality. Of these, Pendlam, a modern Reformer, is the most characteristic, and the best. It is a searching exposure of the folly of weak and extreme views in reli,ious and social reforms, and of the wretched results to which they lead; though the parties concerned do not seem to feel their wretchedness. There is a home paper on the financial crisis, but abstract, and throwing no special light on the subject. Every public must know its own wants best, and a stranger can only offer a superficial opinion. With much literary cleverness, The Atlantic M~nthly seems to us to want more var- iety and home life in its subjects, greater solidity in its matter.Spectator. WE read, through the Tuscan Correspondent of the Morning Post, a remarkable account of a disinterment of about sixty members of the Medici family, including seven sovereigns, who have been buried in the crypt of the stately pile of San Loreazo at Florence. It states that the wooden coffins in the vaults having been found mouldering away, orders were given to have them replaced, and consequently all the bodies, with the exception of two, were transferred into new receptacles under the direction of the Avvocato Regio, the Government architect, and Cavaliere Passerini. During these operations, the remains of the famous Giovanni delle Bande Neri and his son Cosimo, the first Grand Duke of Tuscany, were once more exposed to mortal gaze. The bodies of Eleanora di Toledo, wife of the latter, and her son Francis the First Were found to be so fresh as to appear only recently laid in the sepulchre; that of Francis especially, warranted the supposition of having died from some strong arsenical poison. By the side of Cosimo lay his dagger, possibly the one which he plunged into the breast of his son Garcia, the fratricide. Each body was accompanied with a medal, and ticketed and labelled with the most business-like precision. Grand dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses, were all ar rayed in the state costume of their day. Giovanni, the father of Cosimo, was the only one covered with a helmet. Gaston, the last of the house, closes the series..Athenceum. 9~3 From The Athensum. Minds Mirror: Poetical Sketches; with Minor Poems. By M. 3. 3n. (Edin- burgh, Hogg.) IT is not often that we have to chronicle the discovery of a new poet; but we have had a glimpse of one in Minds Mirror of guch singular originality that we feel fairly entitled to cry Eureka! if for this occa- sion only. Without any wish to exaggerate, we may assert that such strains, as these have not been heard in England for cen- turies; and it is quite possible that their like may not be heard again. Perhaps we ought not to have classed him with our Minor Minstrels, for he stands alone. The only person that occurs to us in comparison is a character, we think, in Dickens, who, when asked if he played the fiddle, said he had never tried, but he presumed he could. This is our poets position as an epic writer. The verse is certainly the worst that spasmodic criticism has hitherto spawned, and leaves the writer crowned king of all those who have been struck with the silver shafts of Luna instead of the arrows from Apollos golden bow. We have long wondered what verse would come to,and here we may see. In this volume we have only the first book of an epic of considerable magnitude. Al- though the title be unassuming, the scope of the poem is vast, and the theme is lofty nothing less than the Old and New Testa- ment done into rhyme. We have little doubt that our poet considers his forte to lie in description; and we need not scruple to say that it does. For example ~C By sense intoxicate to overfiush, Wealthd dear earth-things, supine wills energies Succumb, deliriums impassioned hush, Devotion-bowed unto the potencies, Do immolate ethereal Beings fire, Shall cope with angels loftiest aspire. Again: Lot Lightning-Recordsfascinate broading gaze Of shrinking thought; spells, shuddering word by word, The intricate, evolves a fearful maze Of dark delusions, manhoods passions stirred Pang, Davids bosom. A sketch of the Crucifixion is unique Horror: Sun bloods, a broad and fixed, in- tense Indignant cycdeads; terrors pitchy gloom MINDS MIRROR. Envelopes earth, swollen agonies, condense, Sulphuric ires, uptear its hoven womb. Steeds backward staggernumbed, ~he palsy throe Starks, shivering fore-limbs, shrunken haunches, pressed On tremlous ground, with glazing eyeballs glow Dilated whites, terrific fear impressed. The bellowing heifers blindly rushhela~ Scared, bleating flocks,~ demented mobs amass: The crouching dog, moons famished disk doth bay, As vague unearthly things, oncrowding pass. Page after page we cannot tell whether our author is swearing awfully or only stut- tering mentally, he seems so furiously saying the wrong thing. Listen! The coo of doves dissolving, mellow pout. Lipped, ribaldries, confirm aspersing haze, Opines, averments, fix the vulgar gaze. Around lifes total scored abiding pain. Not deadened moons profile, wall-eyed. It is recorded that Antigonus had his like- ness taken in profile because he had but one eye; but we did not expect that the moon only showed us one side of her face because she was wall-eyed. Phantom shades abound, Glooms palpable, Supernal broadly hoods. Splendors boundless vague. How bright! Concentric glorious lumines, radiate, show, Stern Beauty contemplate Times swift ilp- gliding. Lot flame-eyed suns full blaze Pales, fleecy cloudlet, horns to cressive moon. Stars, twinkling, rise in firmament, betrays Their myriad ardors thrill. Jehovahs shadow lustrates matter rife To varying phases. Radii Lustre brights A blinding flood, steeps, Edens central heights. Days orb, reds blood, moon blacks, awed stars wax pale. Orbed, pensile brilliance, rays; lone vespers star. We are not misquoting. Each of the above citations is perfect in itself, and we print each as we find it. We are informed that some of the Minor Poems have ap- peared in a Bengal Annual. If so, we can only say there is no telling what incitement to insurrection the Bengalese may have found in such proof of the imbecility of the Fer- inghees. NATURES GREATNESS IN 8MALIJ THINGS. From Household Words. NATURES GREATNESS IN SMALL THINGS. To the imagination of man, magnitude presents itself as one of the noblest and most impressive attributes with which material objects are clothed. The colossal grandeur of the Alps, amid the wonders of nature; or of the Pyramids among the master-pieces of Art, affects the sensuous nature of the be- holder with unmingled reverence and awe. But the refined intelligence seeks for a higher standard of value than size can afford. Sense bows before the majesty of sublime propor- tion; reason first seeks to investigate all the relations of matqrial things, and, in the end, exalts to the highest place those which a searching test has declared to possess the loftiest significance. Not unfrequently it is seen that forms the. most minute are most essential. They were the Titanic forces and grander features of nature which evoked the admiration and the worship of the earliest tribes of men. As we descend along the stream of time, we may discover a growing perception of the greatness of small things; the marvellous power of minor organisms to work immeasurable changes, and the exqui- site beauty of minute structures. Many centuries ago, thoughtful men fore- shadowed the full expression of this ripening truth, and anticipated the results of modern science in a profound axiomtota natura in minimisin smallest things is nature great- est. It was reserved for this century to de- velop a saying of the schools into a household precept. This age has cast down barriers that walled round the hi~iman vision, and has spread out before us a whole universe of created things, of which no man knew before our time. We see now, by the aid of the microscope, that greatness has no existence but as composed of infinite littleness. Who that bowed before the oak could have thought the lord of the forest to be a com- pound mass of many millions of independent organisms, of which thousands are combined within an acorn P Who that looked upon the mountain chains of western Asia, or the white cliffs of Dover, could surmise that they were the handiwork of infusorial ani- malcules, whose shells make up the mass in numbers of thirty millions to a cubic inch? These are the revelations of the microscope. Gifted with this new power, the naturalist DOOXI. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 7 97 has traversed the material universe as though armed with a magicians wand; and beneath all diverse shapes, amid all various structures he has found one simple and invariable unit, the beginning of all form; the first and main element of attenuated organisms. It is the organic cell. The loftiest trees have bowed their heads, and confessed this strange secret of their structure.* The stubborn rock has not withheld the same tale of antediluvian lore. The highest animal, and the lowliest plant have narrated the same self-imprinted story of their birth. Flowers have whis- pered it,the rustling leaves have breathed it. The butterfly has borne it on the dust of its wings, the fish upon its scales. It is writ- ten in the blood that circulates in our veins, it is imprinted on the muscle which gives motion, and the bones which afford support to our frame. All nature testifies to it. One secret that is the key of all shapely beauty, or deformed ugliness. A hidden unity amidst all variety. A common type for every form. One word which all creation perpetu.. ally utters; a witness to the one source whenee all derives. The waters teem with dissimilar forms of life. The air is darkened with inhabitants, not one of which has its exact counterpart. The mind actually shrinks from the contem- plation of endless dissimilarity, and appar- ently inharmonious difference. What a chasm gapes between the shape and function of the stately old chesnut-tree of Etna, whQm time has not subdued and age has not with- ered, and the ephemeral fungus that springs up to-day, flowers to-morrow, and dies ere another sun has visited it! A wider interval appears between the noble form of man him- self and the green mould that clothes 1~js tomb. But the microscope resolves this complexity, and bridges easily this chasAn. It resolves them alive into simplest elements, and finds beneath all the same type of crea- tion. It shows always, at the foundation, that common origin in cell-growth which binds all created things in one sublime con- nection; and proclaims a common law of growth, and a pervading fiat of creative power as .vice-regent over organic nature. It was our own distinguished countryw~, Robert Brown, who initiated the observations. whose fruitful results have led to the percep- - ~ See Household Words, Volume the Bigl~h,., pages 864 and 488. NATUI~ES GREATNESS IN SMALL THINGS. lion of this universal law. But not until the iesearches of Schleiden, in 1837, was any useful generalization obtained. The efforts of a aturalists had, before that time, been chiefly directed towards the perception of differences and the creation of species. But Schleiden saw that the philosophy of nature was dark- ened by our ignorance of the laws of natural development; and bravely devoting himself to the patient study of growth, and the laws which control it, he travelled through a tan- gled forest pf pricklyand entwined facts, till at last he saw the light, and could pr6claim It. He watched the secret processes of plants; traced them in their reproduction and their birth, analysed their structures, and observed the process of their functional activities. At the end of a long course of labor, he was able to tell the world, that, as the minor organisms, which are the lowliest members of the vegetable kingdom are each in them- selves an individual cell, having life and ac- tivity, nutrition and reproduction, so the I ~ighest plants are only congeries of such in- d. ividuals, heaped one upon another, moulded ifl to a thousand shapes, and ada~pted to dif- fer ent purposes. It was then that he enun- ciatted the principle, that the life-story of a idai xt is to be studied through the vital his- ory of its composing cell-elements; and, proclaiming the microscopic vegetable cell as Lhe iinit of vegetable creation, exalted it to th e p lace of honor among the obj ects of mi- crc. isccpic research. It was no small thing tliayt this key to the cabinet of vegetable phyt lology should be so discovered, and place A in our hands; but his researches led to yt t another result,for Schwann pro- ~eede~ I to apply to the animal world, the sam~i nethod of inquiry which Schleiden had inaugui ated among plants; and, at the close of two years, he made known, in his turn, the subL ;m e truth that the law of formation and repr oduction which prevails in the vege- table, ru 1es also over the animal creation. He showe d that the scheme is the same, and the cell sti 11 the primordial element of being. Bones, car\ ~ihges, muscles, nerves, and every tissue, wer traced to their origin in cell- growth; ins n himself appears as a congeries of cells; his growth the expression of the sum of their growth: the vital processes of ais body ~ar~ ied onby cell-action; secretion, absorption, exhalation, nutrition, chemical change, and vital change; so many names which only indicate phases in the history of cell-life, that epitome of all organic life. These splendid researches were the result of observations made with very iml)erfcct and inoffensiv~ instruments; they should encour- age the poorest and simplest student of mi- croscopic nature to think and to examine for himself. They should. inspire an abiding faith in the noble simplicity of the inner- most mysteries of nature, and the power of the human intellect to master the difficulties of all mere material problems in the exercise of its heaven-de.scended reason. Greatly should the microscopist rejoice to find, in his favorite instrument a facile power of unveil- ing these high secrets. The most inexpen- sive microscope gives him the power to inter- rogate all surrounding obj ects on this head, and to draw from them the confession of their obedience to cell-power. Sitting in the poorest room, even on the dullest day, he may cut a chip from the floor, take a leaf from a flower, a thread from the carpet, a hair from the chair, a fragment from his food, a coal-chip from the fire, or a drop of blood from the finger, and they will all speak to him in this same language. Their variety pill show up a higher unif6rmity, their com- plexity a simple cellular unit. Their multi- form shapes will betray one common type. Uttering many voices, they sing one grace and canticle of the same purport; the vast- ness and variety of the results produced by modifications of the same unvarying means; the universality of cell-power; the pervading existence of cell-growth, the million develop- meat of its resources, its shapes, its functions, its labors, and its value. This high law of unity stretches yet fur- ther. It has other applications, and has found other as illustrious exponents. Whilt Schleiden and Schwann were working humbly in their vocation amid the mysteries of struc- ture in far parts of Germany, our own coun- tryman, Owen, was studying the la~ of form here in the heart of London. The one was busied with his microscope and his needles, searching into the tissues of plants, ques- tioning their stem, their fibres, and their pol- len. The other, arranging ill-smelllpg bones, dissecting neglected carcases of wasted creatures, scorning nothing that once had life, and still possessed organization; making light of labor when it promised a newfact, NATURES GREATNESS IN SMALL THINGS. o~ a fresh illustration: looking for order f of the bird, and the fin of the fish, are new amidst confusion; waiting for light~ in the forms of the same element. TJius it is, that darkness. At either end of the web, patient truth, harmonises with truth, and law com- workers were unravelling the plaited thread bines with law. of science; each followed a widely separate This grand demonstration of unity in clue, hut in the end, as they held fast to the creation is a new bulwark to religion. The right, their paths have met, and they stand, proofs of desiga have long been a potent centrally amidst the toiling, scattered crowd weapon of defence, and an earnest source of of scientific laborers, the apostles of a great delight in the hands of rational and religious truth, men. But there were many things in nature What Schleiden had done for structural which it failed to explain. What of intelli- anatomy, Owen did for the anatomy of form. gent and economic design could be tra~ed The man, the bird, the reptile, and the fish, in the half-dozen bones hiddea beneath the the uncouth saurian, and the strange griffin skin of the seals flapper. Those joints of pre-Adamite times, seemed to be separated were useless, and those pieces unavailing. A by as wide an interval as any that distin- solid, single-hinged mass were apparantly guished the structure of the lichen from that far more to the purpose than this difficult of the palm-tree. But, the secret once fath- complexity of unused joints. We begin now omed, and the type established, their visible to see that the apparent anomalies bettr connection is read off from them as from reference to economy of type, and not of in- Natures own primer. Owen has demon- strument. They wear the livery of arche- strated to the satisfaction of the world, that, typal servitude, they are the servants of a by changes of one form alone, the archetypal double wisdom. vertebra, all world-wide varieties have been Thus, beyond and above the law of design effected. This is the key of the mammoth in creation, stands the law of unity of~ type, frameit is the secret of the shape of the and unity of structure. No function so van- fishy tribe. Those are expanded vertebrie ous, no labors so rude, so elaborate, so din-. which inclose the brain of man; they are similar, but this cell can build up the instru-. vertebral appendages which wall round his ment, and this model prescribes the limitsof heart, which afford levers of action for~ the its shape. Through all creation, the micro- arms,which supply bases of support, and scope detects the handwriting of oneness of cavities of protection for the organs of mo- power and of ordnance. It has become the instrument of a new revelation in science, and tion and sense, so multiform and variously speaks clearly to the soul as to the mind of endowed. The paddle of the seal, the wing man. THE Public Record Office is divided into several branches, one of the~ most important of which is that known as the Governmental De- partment, so styled because it receives all the accruing records and papers of the various Government Departments, and undertakes their custody, and the production of documents for Government purposes. This branch, which but a few years back was in comparative obscurity, has now increased to an amazing extent, having jurisdiction over some of the most valuable papers of the country; and its utility to the public service is fast beginning to manifest itself. The accumulations from the Treasury, the War Office, the Admiralty, the Audit Office, as well as other minor offices, form a nucleus of information which to succeeding ages, when the lapse of time shall have allowed all these papers to be opened to the public without detriment either to the Government or to individuals, will be found to be of the utmost historical value. The Treasury Solicitors Papers, which forifi one class of these documents, are now passing through the hands of Mr. Hart, who is engaged in forming a catalogue. They comprise all the law business of the Crown, from about 171 5~to nearly the present day; prosecutions of every kind, including a curious and interesting series of indictments for libel, sedition, and blasphem- ous books and speeches; examples from which we should he glad to be allowed to give to our readers, but that these documents are not open to public inspection. These papers are viewed in the same light as the papers of an attorney. But we venture to suggest that the Master of the Rolls might direct a selection to be made of such papers as could he opened without detrimetit. For instance, we would name the Rebellion papers of 1745. The whole of these papers might be made public without involving the honor of any living person. There can be no longer any secret about proceedings more thark a century old. Yet we happen to know that several curious questions in political and literary history wait the unsealing of these papers ~or their proper understanding.Atken~um. 100 FRENCH JUSTICE IN ALGERIA. Prom Chambers Journal. FRENCH JUSTICE IN ALGERIA. THE FELON BUSH. Scnnu 1.The interior audience-chamber, presided over by the French Resident, who is surrounded by his suite. Insidethe kaid~ and other native official personages; outside complainants, witnesses, messengers, and the whole medley of the Arab population. French Resident. (To his ehaoucha sort Qf beadle, constable, and crier united.) Ad- mit a compkiinant. The Chaouch. Instantly. (He opens the door, and leads in by the arm a young man tolerably well dressed, with a pale face, a sprouting beard, very restless eyes, and in ~general aspect timid and embarrassed. The youth casts an uncertain glance over the as- sembly, and begins shoutilig, without know- ing where to address himse1f~) Plaint ~ff I have been robbed! I have been robbed! F. R. Of what have you been robbed P And where did the robbery take place P P. (Without attending to the question.) I come to make a complaint. I have been robbed. (He turns his head in every direc- tion, not knowing to whom he has replied, and seems completely in a maze.) Ghaouch. But dont you see P Look to- wards the Agha (the title the Arahs gener- ally give to the chief officer of the bureau), since he is the person you have to address. There; see where he is! Turn yourself in that direction. P. I invoke Allah and his justice! I invoke Allah and his justice! I invoke Allah and his justice! I have been robbed! F. R. You have already said so. But answer me. Of what have you been robbed P and in what tribe did the robbery take place P P. 11 beg your pardon. I do not under- stand you. (Shouting) I do not under- stand French. F. B. But~ I fancied I spoke to you in the purest possible Arabic. You cannot have listened attentively. (Raising his voice) Open your ears; I am speaking to you in Arabic, and not in French. C. (To the plaintiff.) Hows this! Dont you know he is speaking Arabic P.~he speaks it better than you or I. By the head of the prophet, your senses must be turned topsey- turvy. P. (To the chaouch.) I thought that as ha was dressed French fashion, he talked in the same way. But I did understand the last words he said. True; he speaks Arabic. That will be convenient for the settlement of my business. F. B. Well, then, since you understand me now, jast answer my first questions. Of what have you been robbed P and where did the robbery take place P P. Bou Tekrouide has stolen my mule. F. B. What! Bou Tekrouide, the kaid of the Ouled Medaguin P You doubtless mean to say some of his people; for he himself has mules enough without stealing them on the highway. Bou Tekrouide. (To the plaintiff.) Ah! Si Hhamed, you are a milord (a title ordina- rily given by the Arabs to their marabos4,i, priests or saints); can you really assert that I have ever stolen any thing from any one P P. It was not you; but it was your people. F. B. Tell me how the affair. happened. that I may be a little enlightened upon the subject. P. (Somewhat more at ease.) I went ta borrow a sidi krelil (a law-book) from t~e Ouled Sidi Calhha, marabouts of the Ouled Medaguin. I arrived there in the evening at nightfall, and I tied up my mule without sus- picion, at the door of my hosts tent. The ground waif perfectly naked; there was not a single hiding-place for thieves. And, be- sides, I thought that the Ouled Medaguin, like other people, would respect the property of their marabouts, for fear of drawing down the vengeance of Heaven. I went to rest, then, in perfect tranquility. During the night, I arose to go and breathe the air, and went up to a bush which I met with at twenty paces distance from the tent. When I lay down again, the idea of this bush continued to haunt me. It appeared to me that I had not seen it on arriving the previous evening. Nevertheless, I went to sleep again. A few instants afterwards, I was once more awake and, casting a glance upon my mule, I per- ceived in front of her a bush, on which she seemed to be browsing. I looked towards the position of the other, and could see notjh- ing of it. The two bushes were so exactly alike, that the thought struck me that per- haps the ancestor of the Ouled Sidi Cafliha Allah have mercy upon him !had done me the favor to transport the former to my mule, to replace her straw, whichwas running PRi~NCII JUSTICE IN ALGERIA. 101 ehort. I coi~ld not, in fact, admit the possi- truth. The devil alone can have sent into bility of the bushs having travelled alone, the world such people as the Ouled Meda- without the aid of some supernatural power. gum. Is there no possibility of improving I was puzzled and absorbed in my reflections, them, except by utter extermination? still gazing at my animal. All on a sudden, B. T. 0, but they are greatly change~, I observed my bush to shake and tremble; ever since you have governed the country. and then a man got out of it, jumped upon Certainly, they would take good care now how the back of my mule, and started off at full they played such a trick. Some time ago gallop. I was robbed. The bush was a they decided, in their council of notables, tp man. It was an Ouled Medaguinmay give up bush-thieving, as carrying things a Allah curse them! I comprehended then to little too far; and therefore I am greatly my sorrow, the marvellous travels of that di- surprised to hear what has happened to S~ abolical bush; and that I should take the Rhamed. It is really incredible. air close by it, and see nothing all the while! F. B. It is perfectly credible, according to By the benediction of my grandfather, Si my ideas. It is, moreover, a very easy matter HhamedAllah have mercy upon him !it to set right; you will tell your people that I is too bad, allow them a fortnight to restore the mule F. B. It is certainly a singular mode of and to catch the thief. If, at the end qf stealing, that time, they have not done so, they shalt Bou Tekrouide. Gracious Allah! there is reimburse its value to the owner, and pay nothing at all surprising in it. The Ouled into the treasury a fine of ten times that Medaguin are always in that way. I am amount. (To Si Hhamed)How much was their kaid, but I do not attempt to con- your mule worth? ceal their little failings. They are thieves, P. My mule! She was the handsomest tis true; but that is the very reason why mule in the place. Every one will testify people should be cautious when they pass that such a mule was never seen for perfee- the night in their company. tion of form and swiftness of pace. She was F. B. A pleasant answer! Are you not worth at least two hundred douros. I re~. aware that it is your duty to protect stran- fused a hundred and eighty at the last mar- gers, and that the orders on this subject are ket. precise? And, then, who would mistrust a B. 1. Two hundred douros for your mule! bush, and suppose it to be the means of such May Sidi-Ben-Abd-Alla blind my eyes an4 diabolical tricks?, cripple my limbs, if she was worth so much B. 7. But bush-thieving is well known as thirty! throughout the whole country. (With some P. IBy the justice of the Master of Worlds! pride)The Ouled Medaguin are the invent- by the benediction of the Holy Chambei, ors of it. Under the Turks, when the police I have only spoken the truth! May Sidi. was inefficient, they practised it on a grand Bou-Krari wither my tongue, and punish m~ scale. I shall never forget the thirty camels to the twentieth generation, if I have lied I and seventeen mares that were carried off in F. B. In this fashion, I see it is impossib1~ this way in one single night, from a caravan to arrive at the truth by means of either te~. which came from the south to purchase grain. timony. You both of you swear with equa,I Forty-seven Medaguins, exactly the number facility; and the assertion of the one is as of the stolen animals, transformed themselves good as that of the other. I shall else- into bushes, and insensibly approached, to be where obtain information as to the value eaten by their future prey, under the very the mule; and as that is not required t41 noses of the masters and the watchmen the interval allowed the Ouled Medaguin ha~ whom they had appointed. Then, at a given elapsed, I shall have plenty of time for it. signal every bush sent forth its man, and (To Si Hhmed)You may now retire; yo~a every man took possession of his beast, to will return in a fortnight. (To Bou TekroTh the great astonishment of the people, who ide)And you, remember my conditions. believed the whole thing the work of the B. 7. I will do what Allah has writte4. 4evil, and took the Ouled Medaguins to be Do not require impossibilities. his ministering demons. F. B. I 8hall know how to appreciate y& u~~ F. B. Faith! they were not far from the efforts. - FRENCH JUSTICE IN ALGERIA. 102 ARAB LOVE. men of every description. They bound me ScENE 11.A female plaintiff is intro~ fast. Here; look at my arms still bruised by duced, a girl of eighteen, beautiful both in the rope, which I brokeor rather which (the face and figure, of the Arab type in its pur- plaintiff here falls into a most becoming state est form, and as simply and neatly dressed as of embarrassment)Which was broken for me. a woman of the middle rank can be. Un- For, without that aid, I know not what would like the plaintiffs of the other sex, she seems have become of me. perfectly competent to state her case, and ex- F. B. Let us see, my child; lay aside all presses herself with a clearness and decision bashfulness. It is desirable you should tell that are rarely met with in Arab womeii. It me what that aid was, although I fancy I is evident that she is under the influence of can guess it. Since you seem to understand some genuine and powerful sentiment; in our nation so well, you ought to know that other words, that her soul is illumined by a a sincere attachment is always respected and ray of faith. She commences speaking, with- honored amongst us, and that we despise ut requiring to be interrogated, only hypocrisy and falsehood. Speak with- Plaintiff. I am come to you, because here out hesitation. Tell me all you have on your kieither justice nor truth is to be found, ex- mind. cept amongst the French. It is useless for P. (XXTith a burst of natural feeling.) Yes; them to deceive us, and shut us up in our I will tell him. And why not? Ought I to tents; we see your works, and we know you conceal any thing from you? It was not I well. myself who broke my bonds; I had not suf- French Resident. My daughter, your ficient strength for that. It was Hhabib words impress me with a favorable opinion Oulid Galb, a brave horseman, and one of of you. Speak without fear; and be as- your Makrezen. sured that every thing possible shall be done F. B. Whom you prefer to Belasenan, do to aid you. you not? P. Oh! I do speak without alarm. It is P. Yes; I love him. Why not avow it P not here that a woman need be afraidI What harm is there in that? I had much have never felt more at ease. rather die at once, than belong to any other F. B. Quite right, my child. What com- man than him! plaint have you to make? Has any injus- F. B. Good, very good, my child; your tice been done to you? sincerity and openness of heart do you the P. 1 will tell you all, and that truly; for greatest possible honor. I give you my you are the only one who can understood word, you shall have satisfaction. But let me, and support my rights. My name is me have a full and clear explanation: did Ourida Bent Douni; I am the daughter of Oulid GaIb carry you off? Douni Ben, the khhab of the tribe of the P. Oh, I am not ashamed to tell you all. J~eni Todjar, and I have to complain of my We have loved each other for more than a own father, who wants to force me to marry year, ever since Ben Tams wedding, where his neighbor, Mammar Belasenan, an ugly he saw me dance with the women of the and infirm old man. tribe, and where I witnessed his perform- F. B. How came your father to entertain ance of the exercises better than any other so unfortunate an idea? Could he be se- rider of all the assembled goums. After- duced by the dowry offered by Belasenan? wards, being aware of my fathers violent Does he wish, like so many others, to sacri- temper, he often tried to persuade me to lice his child for a few crowns? elope with him. I always refused: but my P. No; the dowry has nothing to do with patience was at last exhausted. On finding this affair. My father wishes to marry )3e- myself bound fast and beaten, I sent Bent lasenans daughter; and Belasenan refuses to Soudan, our negress, to inform him; but I yield her, except on condition that I am swear, by the head of the prophet, that we given in exchange. I have resisted this came at once straight to you. with all my strength; because the man to F. B. I believe you. He accompanied you whom I am to be transferred fills me with hither. He is here, th~n? aversion. My refusal has brought upon me P. Yes, certainly, he is here; but of course my fathers anger, with blows and bad treat- he did not dare to present himself with me. FRENCh JUSTICE IN ALGERIA. Orders are immediately given for the in- tro4uction of Oulid Gaib, who does not keel) the court waiting long. He is a handsome young man, with a countenance at once mild and energetic, and in complete and or- derly horsemans costume. A glance is suf- ficient to justify the plaintiff in preferring him to the decrepit Belasenan. His attitude betrays a certain degree of uneasiness, hut only from th? fear lest his wishes should be disappointed. P. (To the cavalier). Fear nothing I have told the Agha all: he knows every thing. Oulid Gaib. (Evident~y more at his ease.) Glory to Allah! You were right to tell him; for, as for me, I should have found some dif- ficulty in doing so. F. B. Very welL I see I shall be able to make short work of it. (To Oulid)Will you marry this woman? (The young man shouts the most decided Yes! that ever was heard under like circumstances.) And you: will you take this man for your hus- band? (Ourida emits another Yes! not more pointedly affirmative, out certainly ~hriller, thau the former one.) After your mutual consent, in the name of Allah, who has inspired your love, I declare you man and wife. (To the kadi)IDraw up the act of marriage immediately. The Kadi. (A little out of countenance.) But, Sidi, Sidi Krelil, in the chapter on the union of the sexes F. B. My friend, I know very well what Sidi Krelil says. He would direct me to re- store the daughter to her father, and, in spite of her repugnance and her protestations, would make her marry a man whom she de- tests, and who is old enough to be her grandfather. But, then, you easily foresee what would happen if I were mad enough to follow his rules. Either Belasenan would murder this poor girl, or else she would elope with the man whom she loves, thereby causing a great public scandaL Is not the dilemma plain to you all? (Here a slight murmur of assent arises in the assembly, piercing the thick strata of prejudice which envelop it.) Now, since hy obeying the la~ you want to~revive, I cause an evil or a crime; and since by violating its directions, I pro- duce nothing but good, is it not better to take the latter alternative? The Kadi. But it is nevertheless written in the commentaries of Sidi El Khhal, that. F. B. Your Sidi El Khhal tells us no more about the matter than Sidi Krelil. Those who make laws, and those who write commentaries upon them. can say but on~ and the same thing; namely, that they must be obeyed. But when a law is not in bar. mony with the human heart, it is constantly violated, however cruel may be the penalties which enforce it. The law in question ha~ been absurdly enacted in flagrant oppositiot~ to the human heart: and one of the two either the law or the human heart, must nec- essarily sometimes give way. The law has yielded in the present instance, and whyi~ Because the law is the work of man, while7 the human heart is the work of Allah. Bu4~ I fear you do not understand this logic. The Chiefs (in chorus, nine-tenths of whois~ fancy they are listening to a Chinese oration). What admirable words! It is the spirit o~ Allah speaking by your mouth! F. B. (To the kadi.) Well! Does youi~ conscience now permit you to draw up the act in question? The Kadi (in a fit of common sense, which now and then seizes him). By the justice of Allah! With all my heart. It can d6 nothing but good. F., B. Note well, all you who hear me. I wish the Arabs practised less the crimes of falsehood, theft, and murder, and more fre.~ quently married the women they love. The Chiefs (in chorus, with a charming smile, before which the last layer of preju~ dice promises to vanish). Sidi Boukrari. I call that speaking! Beu Sail. Oh, certainly. You do quite right in marrying this poor girl. I kno* her father, who is an old curmudgeon that would skin his own child alive for a douro. F. B. I never had any donbts on that sub.. ject. (To the kadi.)Where is the a~t;? There is no need to mention any dowry for the father; for if he should come to claim it, you will tell him that the blows he gave hi~ daughter will be reckoned as a set-off against it. The kadi draws up the act, with the usual forms, gravity, and spectacles. The precious paper is then presented, by the French resi. dent himself, to the new-married couple, who in their eagerness to seize it, run a risk of tearing it to pieces. Glories to Allah, cries of joy, and innumerable benedictions, flow from their mouths. They depart at last, after two or three times mistaking their way Qut, in their delirium of happiness. The~ assem- bly, involuntarily affected by the scene, and unused to a sincere display of warm and natural sentiment, are decidedl3b satisfied with this daring violation of the law. 103 MARIE COURTENAY. Troen Household Words. MARIE COURTENAY. TowAltns the end of the eighteenth cen- tury, Lord William Courtenay, the young Earl of Devon, a descendant of the ancient imperial family of Constantinople, having been convicted of felony, having had his es- tates confiscated, and having been outlawed, left Powderham Castle, near Exmouth, and fled from his native land. A short time afterwards, a young stranger arrived upon the coast of France, near Lesparre, in the department of La Gironde, and took up his residence in the village of Saint Christoly. This foreigner, who lived in great seclusion, was first known by the name of Thomas; and afterwards was called citizen Thomas, or William Courtenay. While Thomas Courtenay was living at Saint Christoly, the great French Revolution of 1793 broke out; and his english accent having betrayed his foreign birth, Thomas Courtenay became an object of suspicion and persecution. At length, he was arrested as a supposed aristocrat, and conducted to the Convent of Beysac, which had been converted into a prison, and which the Reign of Terror had peopled with the noble families of the eounty. Although Thomas Courtenay de- clared himself to be an Irishman, he stood in a very perilous position. Happily for him, however, he had excited the interest and compassion of a young and beautiful woman, named Marguerite Titau, who was the widow of a peasant, named Jean Orry. Marguerite Titan walked six miles, from Saint Christoly to Beysac, every two days to carry clean linen and fresh food to the~unfortunate young pris- oiler. In those days to be poor was to be powerful, and Marguerite Titau, by exerting her influence with the local authorities and the country people, after some time obtained the release of Thomas Courtenay. Gratitude, it may be easily imagined, soon gave place to more tender sentiments in the breast of Thomas Courtenay, especially as his devoted liberatriec united to goodness of heart, the charms of youth and beauty. The simplicity of the republican forms making marriage easy, the youthful betrothed in the year 1795, repaired to Bordeaux; where their union was celebrated by Ysabeau, a representative of the people, under the flags (sons les drapeau~). Marriage under the flags, was the only existing form of marriage during the Reign of Wisdom. It consisted in the appearance of the contracting parties at the head of a regiment, under the flags; where, in presence of a representative of the people, their union was announced by bugle blast and tuck of drum. These marriages, were afterwards legalised by the Code Na- pok~on. Two children were the fruit of the union of Marguerite Tit~au and Thomas Courtenay: Jean Courtenay, born upon the twenty-first Flor6al, year V., and Marie Courtenay, born upon the twentieth Thermidor, year IX. of the Republic. Thouas Courtenay brought up his children modestly and respectably; and, when the Reign of Terror had passed, and tranquillity was restored, he announced to his friends that he was Lord William Courtenay, the outlawed Earl of Devon. This announce- ment procured him admission as an equal into the best families of the uleighborhood; and he henceforth signed his name, William, or Thomas Courtenay, Earl of Devon. Napoleon the First having been proclaimed First Consul, M. de Courtenay, after the rupture of the peace of Amiens, was suspected of being a spy of England and the French princes, the brothers of Louis the Sixteenth; and was obliged once more to seek his safety in flight. He wished to take his family with him; but his wife, having bad a daughter to whom she was much attached, by her first marriage, and who was settled in her village, refused to accompany him. Courtenay on embarking alone for England or America, promised. to provide for his family, and to re- turn to them as soon as the political horizon had somewhat cleared up. On arriving in England, Courtenay wrote to his wife, saying, that his family having repudiated him, he was living with a tailor in Oxford Street; but, would, as soon as he could, return to France, to pass the remainder of his days with his dear little children. lIe appeared to be particularly fond. of little Marie; who, strikingly