LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Vol CXXIII. ~tliSe~~~ ~ No, 1582. October 3, 1874. From Beginning, CONTENTS I. MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNE- VELDT II. THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. Part XII. III. ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. By G. F. Rodwell IV. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD By Thomas Hardy, author of Under the Greenwood Tree, A Pair of Blue Eyes, etc. Part X. V. THE LIFE OF FLOWERS VI. SICILY VII. THE FUTURE OF ROYALTY VIII. OUR RELATIONS WITH MOROCCO,. IX. To CHARLES SUMNER. IN MEMORIAM. By W. W. Story A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER, YEARS AFTER Edinburgh Review, Blachwoods Magazine, Macmillans Magazine, Cornhill Magazine, Chambers 7/ournal, Saturday Review, Spectator, Examiner, Blachwoods Magazine, POETRY. 21 RECOVERED, To CHARLES SUMNER, MISCELLANY .3 23 31 38 52 54 57 59 62 2 6z 64 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION~ For EbonT DOLLARS, remit/ed directly to the Publisleers, the Livuen AOE will be punctually forwarded for a vear,free ofposhege. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor when we have to pay commission for forsvarding the money; nor wlsen we club the Livuso Age with another periodical. An extra copy of Tux Livuso AOE is sent gratis to any one getting up a club of Five New Subscribers. Remittances should be made hy hank draft or check, or hy post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these tao he procured, the moi~y should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & GAY. 2 A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER, ETC. A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER. BY H. H. O WILD red rose, what spell has stayed Till now thy Summer of delights? Where hid the south wind when he laid His heart on thine, these Autumn nights? O wild red rose! Two faces glow At sight of thee, and two hearts share All thou and thy south wind can know Of sunshine in this Autumn air. O sweet wild rose! 0 strong south wind! The sunny roadside asks no reasons Why we such secret Summer find, Forgetting calendars and seasons! Alas! red rose, thy petals wilt; Our loving hands tend thee in vain; Our thoughtless touch seems like a guilt; Ah, could we make thee live again! Yet joy, wild rose! Be glad, south wind! Immortal wind! immortal rose! Ye shall live on in two hearts shrined, With secrets which no words disclose. Transcript. YEARS AFTER. I NEVER loved him; for awhile We two were passing friends; and yet I learned to prize the slow, sad smile Which touched his features when we met, His words of greeting, light and brief, The clasp his fingers left on mine, And saw, with vague, unspoken grief, The signs which marked his lifes decline. And when, awaiting certain doom, He lay at last, serene and calm, I often sought his lonesome room, With flowers and words of friendly balm; And when I bathed his aching brow, Or read, or talked still, all the while, His earnest eyes they haunt me now Repaid me with that slow, sad smile. At last, one day, when gathering shades Made the spring landscape chill and drear, lie said, Dear friend, the sunshine fades; To-morrow I shall not be here. And when you come, you will not see This trembling hand, this thinning face, you were always hind to me Grant me, I pray, one gift of grace. I cannot reach you where you stand, Come closer, while I say good-bye, Nay, closer let me hold your hand, And kiss you once before I die. Ah, why that sudden storm of tears? I did not love him wherefore then Would I have given all my~years To bring him back to life again? And when, next morn, beside the door, I waited in the soft May rain, They told me he had gone before, And I had culled my flowers in vain. Ah. why, when half a score of years Across his low, green grave have moved, Do I bedew with bitter tears The grave of one I never loved? We were but casual friends, at best; A word, a smile, and all was said; I stood not near his heart, nor guessed That I should grieve if he were dead. And yet, if on the earth there be One soul that holds me half so dear As his last blessing is to me, Or his sad memory, year by year, It will be all I ask or crave, To smooth my bed or bless my sleep, Even though the whisper haunt my grave, I did not love her wherefore weep? Argosy. RECOVERED. FORTH issuing from my long-kept cottage door, Released from recent agonizing pain, H~w -throbs my heart to tread these tracks once more, And breathe the untainted air of heaven again! I mind me how the die was all but cast, How like the unseen weapon was to fall, And the sad weeks of sickness overpast Be crowned with death, the issue of it all. And as I think of this, I feel a growth Of gratitude my heart and bosom swell, A sweet enlargement of the breast, that shewth More than the tongue may speak or words could tell ; The which God takes as a thank-offering, Frosn one who knows the notes, but cannot sing. Chambers Journal. From The Edinburgh Review. MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNE VELDT.* WE gladly welcome Mr. Motleys re- appearance in the arena of history; these two volumes are a fitting sequel to those which have already been so favourably received by the reading public in either hemisphere ; and without any suspicion of ingratitude we trust we may look upon this publication with a lively hope of sim- ilar favours yet to come. They contain in fact the history of Europe during the fitful twel;e years armistice which inter- vened between the ~var of forty years duration which established the independ- ence of the Netherlands and the war of thirty years duration which settled the religious peace of Europe. For the his- tory of that period is indeed the history of one man that of John of Barneveldt.t The pages before us are the result of long and arduous study in the archives of several countries, and especially in those of the Hague and of Brussels ; and we can hardly give too much appreciation to that subtle alchemy of the brain which has enabled him to produce out of dull, crabbed, and often illegible state papers the vivid, graphic, and sparkling narra- tive which he has given to the world. This history, which styles itself The Life and Death of John of Barneveldt, does occupy itself in reality only with the story of the great statesman during the last ten years of his existence. In his former historical works Mr. Motley had given a narrative of the revolution in the Netherlands, in which the great Advocate played so leading a part, and followed them down to the time at which, after forty years of hard fighting, Spain virtually acknowledged the independence of the Republic and concluded with her a truce of twelve years, by which she * The L and Death of ~ohn of Barneveldt, Ad- vocate of Holland, with a View of the Primary Causes and Mosements of the Thirty Years War. By JOHN LOTHNOP MOTLEY, DCL., LL.D. Two vols. tvo. London: 1874. f Mr. Motley has thought fit to drop the final t in spelling the name of his hero; hut we know not for what reason. He himself states that the Advocate was of the knigistly house of Oldenbarneveldt, and by most of the best English writers ~e true spelling of the name has been retained. We therefore adhere to it. 3 consented to treat with her former de- pendency as with an independent power. But singularly enough, this truce of twelve years had hardly been concluded when the death of the Duke of Cleves without an heir created a fresh crisis in European politics, which n9t only im- perilled the existence o~ the truce, so painfully patched up after nearly half a century of war, but seemed likely to in- volve all Europe in a new conflict. Few events in history have created so much interest among men as the vacan- cy of this inheritance of the Duke of Cleves. It was an apple of discord thrown directly between the two rival camps into which Christendom was divided. The duchies of Cleves, Berg, and Jillich and the counties and lordships of Mark, Ravensberg, and Raven- stein, formed a triangle political and geo- graphical, closely wedged between Catholicism and Protestantism, and between France, the United Provinces, Belgium, and Germany. Should it fall into Catholic hands, the Nether- lands were lost, trampled upon in every cor- ner, hedged in on all sides, with the House of Austria governing the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Scheldt. It was vital to them to exclude the Empire from the great historic river which seemed destined to form the perpetual frontier of jealous powers and rival creeds. Should it fall into heretic hands, the States were, vastly strengthened, the Archduke Albert isolated and cut off from the protection of Spain and of the Empire. France, although Catholic, was the ally of Holland, and the secret but well-known enemy of the House of Austria. It was inevitable that the king of that country, the only living statesman that wore a crown, should be appealed to by all parties, and should find himself in the proud but dangerous position of arbiter of Europe. In this emer- gency he relied upon himself, and on two men besides, Maximilian de B~thune (Sully), and John of Barneveldt. (Vol. i. pp. 6o, 61.) Among the many aspirants to the va- cant duchies the real competitors were the Emperor on the one side, and the Elector of Brandenburg and the Count Palatine of Neu~ijrg, on the other. These two princes, under the advice of Barneveldt and of a council of the Prot- estant princes of Germany, came to an arrangement that a Condo,;zinium should be provisionally established, by which MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 4 MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. the duchies should be held in common until the affair could be amicably settled. But meanwhile the Bishop Archduke Leopold, cousin of the Emperor, managed to instal himself in Jillich, and aimed at obtaining the sovereignty with the help of the Catholic League. The States, under the lead of Barneveldt and Henry IV., determined to support the rights of the possessory princes, the Elector of Brandenburg and the Count Palatine of Neuburg. The great hero of the first volume of this work is Henry IV., on whose figure Mr. Motley with perhaps some violation of the principle of unity has in the open- ing chapters bestowed as much labour as on Barneveldt himself later on in the story. Few characters indeed in all history ex- cite more interest and sympathy than the great king who was cut down in the plenitude of his strength and his power, on the very eve of entering actively upon the conduct of his great design for curb- ing the power of the House of Austria and establishing on a firm basis the peace of Europe. And we can imagine no better antidote to the doctrines of that modern school of history which would make the story of the world a mere resultant of the combined action of gen- eral social forces, uninfluenced by the workings of individual will and energy, than the study of this period. If Henry IV. and Barneveldt had not both of them been suddenly snatched away from the theatre of the ~vorld just as one of its most terri- ble dramas was about to commence it may with certainty be predicated that its subsequent history would have been greatly altered. Henry IV. at once saw that the ques- tion of the duchies of Cleves afforded him the long-desired opportunity for carrying out his grand design, and entered at once into the execution of his project with all the eaoer impetuosity of an indefatigably youthful nature. power of the Austrian House; to drive Spain back into her own limits, putting an end to her projects for universal monarchy, and taking the imperial crown from the House of Hapsburg. By thus breaking up the mighty cousinship which, with the aid of Rome, overshadowed Germany and the two peninsu- las, besides governin~, the greater part of both the Indies, he meant to bring France into the preponderant position over Christendom which he believed to be her due. It was necessary, he thought, for the continued existence of the Dutch Commonweahh that the opportunity should be taken once for all, now that a glorious captain commanded its armies, and a statesman unrivalled for experience, insight, and patriotism controlled its politics and its Iliplomacy, to drive the Spaniard out of the Netherlands. (Vol. i. p. 95.) No statesman of the present day, in the event of a general European war, would place much store by the alliance of Holland far otherwise was it in the days of Henry IV. and Barneveldt. The Seven Provinces of the Netherlands had then come out of a forty years struggle with one of the great powers of Europe, a struggle which was one long combat with foreign tyranny such as no people in history had ever waged before and they had come out of it with need of re- pose indeed to recruit their strength, but with a mighty prestige attached to their name. They stood in the rank of the foremost nations of the world. It is, in- deed, not easy, as Mr. Motley says, in imagination, to thrust back the present leading empires of the earth into the contracted spheres of their not remote past. And it is only by recalling to mind what Germany, Russia, Italy, and even ~re~t Britain were at that time, that we can comprehend how these small prov- inces, held together only by a loose and ill-defined treaty, contrived to play so leading a part among the powers of Europe. In point of wealth, indeed, alone, the Seven Provinces of the Neth- erlands could claim equality with the two Scarcely an afternoon passed that the King great rival pn~ers of Spain and France did not make his appearance at the Arsenal, 7 each of which contained something the residence of Sully, and walk up and down like treble their population. As con- the garden with him for hours, discussing the trasted with England their revenue was great project of wl4ch his brain was full. even larger the yearly income of Queen The great project was to crush forever the Elizabeth having barely amounted to MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 6oo,ooo?. or 70o,ooo?., while the Nether- lands had shown themselves capable of raising year by year a revenue amounting to one million sterling. Unfortunately, however, the league which bound these provinces together was of so loose a character as not to de- serve the name of a constitution. The ill-defined articles of the Union of Utrecht, established in 1579, still formed the foundation of the Commonwealth. This Union was a league between seven ostensibly sovereign states, in each of which states the sovereignty was dissem- inated through multitudinous boards of magistracy: close corporations each self-electedby which every city was governed. These boards sent deputies to each of the seven provincial assem- blies, and it was of deputies elected by these assemblies that their High Mighti- nesses the Lords States-General were composed. The province of Holland, by reason of its being richer and more pow- erful than its fellow provinces, took the lead in this confederacy, and its lead was practically allowed by the rest. The Advocate and Keeper of the Great Seal of that province was therefore~ virtually prime minister, president, attorney-general, finance minister, and minister of foreign affairs of the whole republic. This was Barueveldts position. He took the lead in the delibera- tions both of the states of Holland and the States-Gene ral, passed resolutions, advocated great measures of state, gave heed to their execution, collected the votes, summed up the proceedings, corresponded with and instructed ambassadors, received and negotiated with foreign ministers, besides directing and hold- ing in his hands the various threads of the home policy, and the rapidly growing colonial system of the republic. All this work Barne- veldt had been doing for thirty years. (Vol. i. p. so.) as soon as both confronted each otber as the two great leaders of their country in time of peace. This antagonism did re- sult finally in a settled enmity on the part of the Prince, which had no small share in bringing the statesman to his tragic end. In the portrait of Prince Maurice we recognize Mr. Motleys wbnted gift of graphic style for such sketches. Maurice was now in the full flower of his strength and fame, in his forty-second year, and of a noble, martial presence. The face, although unquestionably handsome, offered a sharp contrast with itself the upper half all intellect, the lower quite sensual. Fair hair growing thin, but hardly tinged with grey; a bright, cheerful, and thoughtful forehead, large hazel eyes within a singularly large orbit of brow; a straight, thin, slightly aquiline, well-cut nose. Such features were at open variance with the broad, thick-lipped, sensual mouth, the heavy, pendent jowl, the sparse beard on the glistening cheek, and the mole- skin-like moustachio and chin tuft. Still, upon the whole, it was a face and figure which gave the world assurance of a man, and a commander of men. Power and intelligence were stamped upon him from his birth. He had small love for the pleasures of the table, but was promiscuous and unlicensed in his amours. He was methodical in his household arrangements, and rather stingy than liberal in money matters. He personally read all his letters, accounts, despatches, and other docu- ments, trivial or important, but wrote few letters with his own hand; so that, unlike his illustrious fathers correspondence, there is little that is characteristic to be found in his own. He was plain, but not shabby, in attire, and was always dressed in exactly the same style, wearing doublet and hose of brown woollen, a silk under vest, a short cloak lined with v~lve~ a little plaited ruff, and very low boots. The only ornaments he indulged in, except of course on state occasions, were a gold hilt to his famous sword, and a rope of diamonds around his felt hat. (Vol. i. pp. 28, 29.) But there was yet another great figure in the state of the Netherlands, Prince Maurice of Nassau, the son of William the Silent, whose energetic life to the time of the conclusion of the truce, had been absorbed in the conduct of war in which he had gained imperishable re- nown, and between whom and the Advo- military discipline, and in his scientific cate it was impossible lyt that occasion campaigning, and to whose camp the for jealousy and antagonism should arise young aristocracy of Europe flocked as Such was Maurice, who had, with the exception of Henry IV., been during the war the most con~derable persona~e in Europe who had surpassed all generals before him in his encampments, in his S 6 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. to a university of war. Of Imperial descent, connected with the most illus- trious reigning houses of Europe, he had only been prevented from mounting the throne of Holland by the death of his father, and he believed that later the sovereignty of his country had been again within his reach, but that he had been prevented from attaining it by the ad- vice and by the envy of Barneveldt. When to this primary source of enmity to Barneveldt is added the considera- tion that at the peace Maurice found himself reduced from something like royal state, in which two hundred officers lived at his table, to one of little state at all, and in which he was constrained to play a passive l)art, while Barneveldt ac- tively moulded the politics of the country it will be understood that his primary grudge against the Advocate would find abundant nourishment from his altered position; his only public function in time of peace being that of the limited stadt- holder of five out of seven provinces, and a servant of the States-General. The portrait of Maurices great rival Mr. Motley draws in the following lines Barneveldt was tall and majestic of pres- ence, with large quadrangular face, austere blue eyes looking authority and command, a vast forehead, and a grizzled beard. Of fluent and convincing eloquence with tongue and pen, having the power of saying much in few words, he cared much more for the substance than the graces of speech or composition. This tendency was not ill exemplified in a note of his written on a sheet of questions addressed to him by a States ambassador about to start on an important mission. Item and principally (wrote the envoy) to request of M. de Barneveldt a formulary or copy of the soundest, wisest, and best couched despatches done by several preceding ambas- sadors, in order to regulate myself accordingly for the greater service of the Provinces, and for my uttermost rep:ttation. The Advocates answer, scrawled in his nearly illegible hand, was Unnecessary. The truth in shortest about matters of importance shall be taken for good style. At the time at which Mr. Motleys his- tory opens Barneveldt was sixty-two years of age, having been born in 1567 of the ancient and knightly house of Olden- barneveldt, and the proper appellation by which he was known to his cQuntry was Johann van Olden Barneveldt. He had studied much and ~vell in the Universi- ties of Holland, Fiance, Italy, and Ger- ~iany. He was at an early age one of the first civilians of his time. Having come to mans estate at the time at which the great war of freedom commenced, he served as a volunteer in several cam- paigns, and nearly lost his life at the dis- astrous attempt to relieve the siege of Haarlem. After practising the profes- sion of the law before the tribunals of Holland, he became at twenty-nine Chief Pensionary of Rotterdam, and one of the most trusted counsellors of William the Silent as long as he lived. After the assassination of William and the conse- quent failure of the negotiations for con- ferring on him the sovereignty, Barneveldt was at the head of both embassies which went to offer the sovereignty and l)rotect- orship of his country first to England and afterwards to France, and to both countries without success. Indeed he was the head of every embassy of import- ance to either country at this period of his career. As Advocate of the Province of Holland the story of his career be- comes the history of the Netherlands. It was not, however, the struggle for the succession of the Duke of Cleves which brought the chief statesman and the chief soldier of the Netherlands into an antago- nism which only ended in the death of the former. The great point of division be- tween them was the doctrine of Predes- tination as agitated in the Arminian and Gomarist controversy, and in this Mau- rice was entirely ignorant as to which of the sects was for Predestination and which against it. He knew noth- ing of Predestination, he was wont to say, whether it was green or whether it was blue. He only knew that his pipe and the Advocates were not likely to make music together. Mr. Motley is, however, justified in giving such prominence to the affair of the Duchy of Cleves in these volumes, and to the personality of Henry IV. For tJ~e ~olitics of that great Prince were strangely mixed up with the foibles of his character, and nothing can be more amusing than the passion of the elderly sovereign for the youthful Princess de Cond~, if indeed it was not (as some have supposed) in part assumed to mask his political designs. Sully, as we know, was his chief confidant and counsellor in these designs ; but there was one person whom he desi~d to see almost as much as Sully, and that was Barnevelfit. Again and again he pressed him to come to Paris with full powers to make arrange- ments; but it was impossible for Barne- veldt, on whom rested the whole burden MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. of affairs in the Netherlands, to leave the Hague; so as a sort of compromise a solemn embassy was despatched by Barneveldt to confer with the French King on the mighty undertaking he had in hand. An account of this embassy forms an interesting episode in these vol- umes. The reports of the conferences of the embassy with the King were taken down by the commissioners at the time and sent by them to the States-General, and from such reports Mr. Motley has drawn his narrative. The account of the interviews of these ambassadors with the King of France and his ministers and the whole story of the negotiations are of great interest to show that however deeply Henry might be in love with the Princess of Cond6, his passion for her was by no means the uppermost consideration in his mind at that moment. The narrative of their last interview with the King before their departure in May 6, idio, is extracted from their own official report, and is the more re- markable, as it is the last political utter- ance on record of Henry IV. previous to his assassination, which took place a few days afterwards. The King, indeed, had reason not to be entirely satisfied with the personnel of the embassy thus sent to him; and the Advocate had at length only sent his son-in-law, Cornelis van der Myle, with two colleagues, whose powers were limited by stringent instruc- tions from himself. Moreover, ~vhile contemplating a general ~var, and intend- ing to draw upon the States for unlimited supplies, the ambassadors haggled about the money to be paid for a couple of regiments which, though French, were virtually their own troops, since they were employed in their service. Turn- ing, however; towards the end of the interview, from the discussion of minor details, the King observed that the affair of Cleves had a much wider bearing than people thought. Therefore the States must consider well what was to be done to secure the whole work as soon as the Cleves business had been successfully accomplished. For how much good will it do, said the King, if we drive off Archduke Leopold without establishing the princes in security for the future? Nothing is easier than to put the princes in possession. Every one will yield or run away before our forces, but two months after we have withdrawn the enemy will return and drive the princes out again. I cannot always be ready to spring out of my kingdom, nor to assemble ~uch great armies. I am getting old, and my army costs me 400,000 crowns a month, which is enough to exhaust all the treasures of France, Spain, Venice, and the States-General together. He added that if the present occasion were neglected, the States would afterwards bitterly lament and never recover it. The Pope was very much excited, and was sending out his ambassadors everywhere. Only the previous Saturday the new nuncios destiAed for France had left Rome. If my lords the States would send deputies to the camp with full powers, he stood there firm and unchangeable; but if they remained cool in the business, he warned them that they would enrage him. The States must seize the occasion, he repeated. It was bald behind, and must be seized by the forelock. It was not enough to have begun well one must end well. Finis coronet t~j5us It was very easy to speak of a league, but a league was not to be made in order to sit with arms tied, but to do good work. The States ought not to suffer that the Germans should prove themselves more energetic, more coura- geous than themselves. And again the King vehemently urged the necessity of his Excel- lency and some deputies of the States coming to him with absolute power to treat. He could not doubt in that event of something solid being accomplished. There are three things (he continued) which cause me to speak freely. I am talking with friends whom I hold dear; yes, dearer perhaps than they hold themselves. I am a. great king, and say what I choose to say. I am old, and know by experience the ways of this worlds affairs. I tell you, then, that it is most important that you should come to me resolved and firm on all points. He was silent for a few minutes, and then spoke again. I shall not always be here, he said; nor will you always have Prince Maurice, and a few others whose knowledge of your Commonwealth is perfect. My Lords,. the States must be up and doinb while they still possess them. Next Tuesday I shall cause the Queen to be crowned at St. Denis. The following Thursday she will make her entry into Paris. Next day, Friday, I shall take my departure. At the end of this month I shall cross the Meuse at .Mezi~res, or in that neighb~url~od. He added that he should write immediately to 1-lolland to urge upon his Excellency and the States to be ready to make the junction of their army with his forces without delay. He charged the am- bassadors to inform their High Mightinesses that he was and should remain their truest friend, their dearest neighbour. He then said a few generous and cordial words to each of them, Warmly embraced each, and he bade them all farewell. (~l. i. pp. 2135.) These remarkable words, which have never before been made public, were ut- tered by Henry in the course of this in- terview, on Thursday, the 6th of May~ 7 8 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. On the 8th the ambassadors left Paris, termined that the Queen should be and reached the Hague on the i6th. crowned at St. Denis, on the 13th of May, Thus stood the King before the world two days before the Kings departure. and before history, prepared to strike his Henry himself was beset with strange great blow for the abasement of the and dark presentiments respecting this House of Austria the storm was all ceremony. He hated the very name of prepared the military arrangements it. Although he had despised the warn- were complete; regiments were every- ings of soothsayers and astrologers, he where hurrying hourly to the place of seems to have had sorpe strange fore- rendezvous. Six thousand Swiss, 20,000 bodings of projectsof treason and crime French infantry, and 6,ooo horse, were among the vile Italian intriguers and uniting at Mezi~res. Twelve thousand their associates who surrounded the foot and 2,000 cavalry, including the Queen. The coronation took place on French and English contingenta splen- the appointed day, a Thursday. On the did army led by Prince Maurice were following Sunday the Queen was to make ready to march from Holland to Diissel- her triumphant entry into Paris. On the dorf. The army of the possessory prin- Friday the King went to see the prepara- ces under Prince Christian of Anhalt, tions, and was, as all the world knows, numbered io,ooo men. The Duke of stabbed to the heart by Ravaillac, in a Savoy, with 25,000 men, under Marshal carriage with the Duke dEpernon by Lesdigui~res, was ready to aid in the his side in a narrow street, the Rue de la Milanese; and the Marshal de la Force, Ferroni~re, where the vehicle was stopped at the head of his forces in the Pyrenees, as though by accident. amounting to 12,000 foot and 2,000 horse, The history of Mr. Motley throws no was prepared to pass the Spanish fron- new light on the mysterious horror which tier. The portion of these military prep- surrounds this dark deed, yet he gives in arations to which Sully had especially de- the Appendix two letters of Pecquius, voted himself, and in which he took the envoy of the Archduke Albert, writ especial pride, was the artillery. ten from Paris, which contain evidence of Never, he said, was seen in France, the horrible suspicions then commonly and perhaps never will be seen again, whispered about Paris ; and certain it is artillery more complete and better fur- that a woman named Escomans, who had nished. Sullys son, the Marquis de denounced Epernon as one of the chief Rosny, was placed at its head as Grand conspirators, was brought to trial and Master, while the father was to follow condemned to prison for life while the soon as its chief, and as superintendent evidence aoainst her was carefully sup- of finance. As to finance, Sully had pre- pressed. The assassin himself, before pared unknown to his master such a sup- expiring on the Grave, made a declaration ply thirty millions that when the which was taken down by the Greffier of latter heard the sum mentioned he the courtand this declaration also was jumped from his chair and hugged and suppressed although it is, according to kissed him with delight. To complete Mr. Motley, said still to exist, and to con- the account of the stren~th and position tam the names of the Queen and the of France, there remained to be taken Duke dEpernon. But it is obvious that into consideration the alliance of Swe- the removal of the chief and prime den, Denmark, the Hanse Towns, Hol- mover of this grand political combina- land, Savoy, and the whole Protestant ti~n .~y the foulest means, was an ob- force of Germany. ject of primary importance to the party To oppose to this array the forces at against which Henry was about to take the disposition of Austria and of the up arms, and it is certain that the Queen Papacy were comparatively insignificant, took part against her husband witLi the while they had but a bankrupt treasury Pope and with Spain. to draw upon for supplies. Mr. Motley draws a very obvious com- The shadow, however, of a coming parison between the effects produced by catastrophe at the court of France dark- this assassination of Henry IV. and those ened as the crisis approached. The produced by the murder of William the Queen had been appointed regent in the Silent, comm ted just twenty-six years Kings absence, and, partly to strengthen before b alt asar G6rard, which failed her position and as a precaution against so completely in producing its aim, while the sinister designs which Condd and the blow of the knife of Ravaillac was others were suspected of entertaining followed in France by what was equiva- against the propos~d regency, it was de- lent to a political revolution. MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. On the i4th of May, France, while in spirit- ual matters obedient to the Pope, stood at the head of the forces of Protestantism through- out Europe, banded together to effect the downfall of the proud House of Austria, whose fortunes and fate were synonymous with Catholicism. The Baltic powers, the majority of the Teutonic races, the kingdom of Britain, the great Republic of the Nether- lands, the northernmost and most warlike governments of Italy, all stood at the disposi- tion of the warrior-king. Venice, which had hitherto, in the words of a veteran diplomatist, shunned to look a league or confederation in the face, if there was any Protestant element in it, as if it had been the head of Medusa, had formally forbidden the passage of troops northwards to the relief of the assailed power. Savoy, after direful hesitations, had committed herself body and soul to the great enterprise. Even the Pope, who feared the overshadowing personality of Henry, and~ was beginning to believe his houses private interests more likely to flourish under the protection of the French than the Spanish king, was wavering in his fidelity to Spain and tempted by French promises. Most pitiful was the condition of France on the day after, and for years after, the murder of the king. Not only was the kingdom for the time being effaced from the roll of nations, so far as external relations were concerned, but it almost ceased to be a kingdom. The ancient monarchy of Hugh Capet, of Saint Louis, of Henry of France and Navarre, was transformed into a turbulent, self-seeking, quarrelsome, pillaging, pilfering, democracy of grandees. The Queen Regent was tossed hither and thither at the sport of the winds and waves, which shifted every hour in that tempestuous court. (Vol. i. p. 229.) The news of the murder of Henry, however, effected no more change in the policy and resolves of the leaders of the Dutch Republic than the assassination of William of Orange had done a quarter of a century before and with Barneveldt as its political and Maurice as its mili- tary chief it courageously faced the im- mense responsibility which immediately devolved upon it, and proved equal to the task. For it soon became apparent to the States-General that they could place lit- tle reliance on help either from France under her new rulers or on Great Britain. The secret desire of the Queen Regent and the clique who had succeeded Henry in the government of France was to es- cape altogether from the engagements entered into by the French king; and all that a fresh embassy sent to France after the accession of Louis XIII. could ob- tain from the new government was the promise that the conting~nt of 8,ooo men 9 and 2,000 horse, which Henry IV. by the Treaty of Hall had bound himself to sup- ply to the possessory princes, should not be withdrawn. The embassy which was despatched to the English Court could extract no more promise of assistance from James and his ministers there than had been obtained from Marie de Medici and 1~he Concini faction. It was indeed the misfortune of England to have at her head at that time the most contemptible sovereign who figures in her long line of monarchs ; and if Mr. Motley in his former vdlumes has dissipated the halo of prestige with which Queen Elizabeth was surrounded, it may now be said that he has made still more despicable the character of James I. we are rendered still more sensible of the change from the England of Elizabeth, of Walsingham, Raleigh, and the Cecils, to the Great Britain of James, with his Carrs and Carletons, his Nauntons, Lukes, and Winwoods. Elizabeth had indeed treated the Netherlands .with suf- ficient hauteur, but James I., with his Spanish leanings and his besotted no- tions of divine right, regarded the re- volted people with little less than detes- tation. As Mr. Motley says, It is pa- thetic to see such men as Barneveldt and Hugo~ Grotiu s obliged on great critical occasions to use the language of respect, affection, and submissiveness to one by whom they were hated and whom they thoroughly despised to a man both frivolous and pedantic, at once a con- ceited theologian and a licentious liver. The royal pedant, in fact, was at this time, by his abuse of his royal preroga- tive and by the contempt he was bring- ing on the crown, preparing the catas- trophe of the next reign. Amid all the strange tricks and turns of his tortuous policy, he remained only constant to one delusion, the hope of a Spanish marriage. Gond~ar~ the Spanish ambassador, continually held before his eyes the bait of a Spanish Infanta and her two millions of dowry, and played with him as one plays with a child by the offer of a cherry. Any shadow of a promise of the Infanta if he should behave well, rendered him supple as a glove to all the purposes of Spain. It was from this Spanish infat- uation that James drew strength for that obstinate resolve w~Ji which he resisted one of the most generous impulses which ever moved the English Parliament and the English nation, who desired nothing so much at this time as to take the lead of the Protestant cause in Europe, and to I0 MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. espouse the cause of Jamess own son-in- law to the death. For seven years James clung to his chimerical projects, in spite of the advice of his ministers, the remon- strances of Parliament, and the prayers of his allies. The account of the interviews of the envoys of the Netherlands with the king, which Mr. Motley has extracted from the reports of the ambassadors sent by Dame- veldt to England after the death of Henry IV., are highly instructive as to Jamess character. All propositions of any close alliance were coldly declined ; the only concession they obtained was that the English troops which were already in the service of the Provinces might be em- ployed in the cause of the possessory princes. The commissioners who formed the embassy were, however, graciously received by the king, and they dined with him. No one sat at the table but His Majesty and themselves, and they all kept their hats on their heads. James, after expressing regret for the tragic death of the King of France, and some general political conversation, began to touch on the religious controversies then raging in the Netherlands, and made in- quiry as to their character he was in- formed that Predestination with its con- sequences formed the chief point at issue between the theological combatants. The ans~ve~ of the King, spoken with the con- viction of the man who thought himself the most profound theologian of his time, is most characteristic. I have studied that subject, said James, as well as anybody, and have come to the conclusion that nothing certain can be laid down in regard to it. I have myself not always been of one mind about it; but I will bet that my opinion is the best of any, although I would not hang my salvation upon it. My Lords the States would do well to order their doctors and teachers to be silent on the topic. I have hardly ventured moreover to touch upon the matter of Justification in my own writings, because that also seemed to hang upon Predestination. (Vol. i. p. 251.) The King, however, knighted the com- missioners before they left ; and as Mr. Motley says The barren burthen of knighthood and a sermon on Predestina- tion were all he could bestow upon the commissioners in place of the alliance which lie eluded anti the military assist- ance which he point-blank refused. The Republic was thus constrained to take upon herself the whole brunt of the defence of liberty~and Protestantism in Europe. But we forbear to follow further Mr. Motley in his narrative of the move- ments of diplomatists and armies, and the general cause of European politics of all these Barneveldt was the soul and leader on the Protestant side, and under his direction it was that the forces of the Netherlands, commanded by Prince Maurice, took possession, of Jillich in a bloodless campaign, md the Treaty of Xanten was concluded which arranged for the temporary occupation of the duchies, and remained in force, with a precarious existence, until the famous Fenstersturz or windowfall of the Imperial Counsellors from the Hradschin gave the signal for the Thirty Years War. It was not Bamneveldts action in these matters which afforded the chief pretext for the calumnies that brought him to his death it was his impartial and states manlike bearing amid the violence of contending religious factions which sent him to the scaffold, and as it was to the great question of the antagonism of Church and State that Barneveldt be- came a victim, it is necessary to set forth briefly the origin of the feud between the Arminians and the Gomarists, which threw all the provinces of the Nether- lands into a state of religious convulsion, and placed them on the very verge of civil war, when they had need of all their united forces to face the storms gather- ing against them in Europe. The Union of Utrecht, by which the Provinces were gathered together, was based on the toleration of all the various creeds in the States. In the provinces the burning, hanging, and burying alive of culprits guilty of holding another creed than their judges was become ob- solete. The established creed of the States was the Reformed religion founded on the Netherlands Confession and the Heidelberg Catechism, although the Catholics still in some of the provinces were supposed to form two-thirds of the inhabitants. Now the maxim on which the religious peace of Europe had been temporarily based was that of Gujus re- glo elus religlo, by ~vhich the sovereign of a country who had appropriated to himself the revenues of the ancient church prescribed his own creed to his subjects. This maxim applied to the Netherlands, who possessed no personal sovereign, m~st inevitably end in a struggle of force the creed of the domi- nant party would become the creed of the country but who ~vere the dom- inant party in the Netherlands, and what was their creed? MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. The Reformed Church in the Nether- lands was split up into two parts the chief difference of doctrine between the two portions consisting in the matter of Predestination. The Predestination or ultra-Calvinistic party was the most popu- lar, and, as is usual, the most fanatical; but the magistrates and the States of Holland, with Barneveldt at their head, were mostly on the side of free-will and it was the appointment of Arminius, a free-will theologian, by the States of Holland in 1603 to a chair of theology which aroused the terrible wrath of Gomar, the chief of the ultra-Calvinists, and created a schism which shook the whole Commonwealth and ended in the judicial murder of its greatest statesman. The gist of this great controversy was in truth the old question whether priests should control the state, or the state con- trol the priests. The two parties were already sufficiently embittered against each other, when Arminius, the genial and tolerant chief of the free-will party, died, leaving his chair vacant in the Uni- versity of Leyden. The magistrates and civil authorities being throughout the land chiefly Arminian, the heads of the Leyden University appointed Conrad Vorstius in the place of Arminius. This appointment made as violent a stir throughout the land as the original appointment of Arminius. The preachers of the Arminian caste now, with Uyten- bogaert at their head, drew up the fa- mous Remonstrance addressed to the States of Holland, defending themselves against the imputations of their adver- saries, and laying down their doctrines in the matter of Predestination in five points. To this Remonstrance their ad- versaries replied by a Counter-Remon- strance in seven points, and the two parties became no longer known as Arminians and Gomarists, but as Re- monstrants and Counter-Remonstrants. Thenceforward the Seven Provinces were one scene of fierce theolo~ical combat. In burghers mansions, peasants cottages, mechanics back parlours on board herring smacks, canal boats, and East Indiaincn ; in shops, counting-roome, farinyards, guard- houses, ale-houses ; in the exchange, in the tencis-conit, in the mail at banquets, at burials, christenings, or bridals; wherever and whenever human creatures met each other, thcrc was ever to be found the fierce ~vrangie of Remonstrant arid Contra-Remonstrant, the hissing of red-hot theological rhetoric, the pelrin~ of hosile texts. The blacksmiths iron cooled down on the anvil, the tinker II dropped a kettle half-mended, the broker left a bargain unclenched, the Scheveningen fish- erman in his wooden shoes forgot the cracks in his pinkie, while each paused to hold high converse ~vith friend or foe on fate, free-will, or absolute foreknowledge, losing himself in wandering in mazes whence there was no issue; province against province, city against city, family against family; it was one vast scene of bickering, denunciation, heartburn- ings, mutual excommunications, and hatred. (Vol. i. p. 338.) The great political question between the two parties became this, whether or no there should be a national synod to settle the creed of the country. The Counter-Remonstrants, who gradually at- tained the majority of voices in the prov- inces, and consequently in the States- General, were for the synod. The Re- monstrants, who still held the majority in the States of Holland, were against it; feeling with Barneveldt that the estab- lishment of a religious synod in the coun- try with a Calvinistic majority was virtu- ally the establishment of a theocracy. As for Prince Maurice, Barneveldts second in influence and popularity in the States, he was, as has been already stated, at first entirely ignorant as to which of the sects was predestinarian and which was for free-will; or, so far as he had any opinion at all in the matter, it would seem to have been at first Arminian, for Uyten- bogaert, one of the chief leaders among the Arminians, was his favourite preacher until the Prince became estranged from him because the preacher, on an occa- sion of public scandal, had thought it his duty to make severe remarks on the equivocal female society which was in the habit of entering Maurices apart- ments by night. Nevertheless it was not until 1617, after brooding long ovem~ fan- cied wrongs endured at the hands of Barneveldt, and goaded more and more by the ~pi4t of enmity towards his rival, that he withdrew himself from the minis- try of Uytenbogaert, and uttered to Carle- ton, the ambassador of James, the fol- lowing words There are two factions in the land, that of Orange and that of Spain; and the two chiefs of the Spanish faction are those l)Olitical and priestly Arininians, Uytenbogaert and Olden ]3arneveldt. Maurice had at t~at time put himself at the head of the Counter- Remonstrants, and gave open countenance to the machi- nations which ended in the death of Bar neveldt. By a master-strolde of political malice by a sort of Jesuitical coze~ de 12 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 7arnac the adversaries of Barneveldt fixed upon him the charge of Hispani- olisin~, or playing false to his country, in order to bring back its provinces under the yoke of Spain. It seems almost in- credible that even his bitterest enemies should have dared to bring such a charge against the venerable statesman who was the founder of the independence of the Netherlands, and bad spent his life in opposing the projects of Spain; but it is still more incredible that the majority of the nation should have been brought to believe in such a calumny yet such is the fact. Spanje, Oranje Spain and Orange became henceforward the faction-cries hurled at each other by the antagonistic parties. But besides the Stadtholder Barne- veldt had another bitter enemy, whose in- fluence was exercised to bring the great advocate to his ruin and this was the royal theologian, James I. The falla- cious hope of a Spanish marriage was not the only crotchet which swayed James in his relations with the Netherlands. The odium t/zeologicztu: which he felt towards a rival professor of theology gave in- creased malignity to his odious character. For Barneveldt, in despite of his aver- sion to theological discussions, was necessarily obliged to become as much master as he conld of this mazy subject of Predestination, and was constrained at times to reply to long exhortations of the royal pedant on this subject, and in his replies had a clever but exasperating knack of quoting passages from the very theological disquisitions of his royal opponent in favour of his own views. The wrath of the King, who, as we know, told the Dutch ambassadors that he con- sidered himself the chief human authority on the matter of Predestination, may be imagined. Moreover the University of Leyden had the audacity to place in their theological chair Conrad Vorstius, who.~e opinions James had condemned as utterly unorthodox. He at once ordered Vors- tins books to be burnt at St. Pauls Churchyard, and at both Universities. So detestable were the new professors treatises in the eyes of the English King, that when one of them was handed to him one clay on his return from hunting, he was so struck with horror on looking into it that he instantly sent to Sir Ralph Winwood to order him to insist that the blasphemous monster should be at once driven from the Netherlands. The King took the pains to prepare a catalogue of the blasphemies, heresi Cs, and atheism of the heretical professor, and transmit- ted them to the English ambassador, who delivered a long sermon to the States of Holland on the appointment, and complained that the man, in full assembly of the States of Holland, had found means to palliate and plaster the dung of his heresies, andthus to dazzle the eyes of good people, a phrase in all probability dictated to Winwood by King James himself. The friendship of the King and the heresy of Vorstius were quite incompatible, said the envoy while, by another stran be inconsistency, the man who persecuted furiously the Puritan holders of the opinions of Calvin and Beza in England, declared that no other opinions were tolerable in Holland. Nor was the inconsistency of the King confined tomatters of dogmafor while in England he claimed, as head of the State, to bold the Church in complete subjection, in Holland he used all his influence to emancipating the professors of advanced Calvinism from all subjection to the State. If the obnoxious professor was not at once removed, it seemed irn- minent at one time that the English King would even have declared war on the States. Winwood, in an interview with Barneveldt, declared that no contentment could be given to his Majesty but by the banishment of Vorstius. If the town of Leyden should understand so much, replied Barneveldt, I fear the magistrates would retain him still in their town. If the town of Leyden should retain Vors- tins, answered Win~vood, to brave or despite his Majesty, the King has the means, if it please him to use them, and that without drawing sword, to range them to reason, and to make the magistrates on their knees de- mand his pardon, and I say as much of Rot- terdam. To such insolent language Barnevelfit re- ~ ie~in anger and with dignity, I was born in liberty. I cannot digest this kind of lan- guage. The King of Spain himself never dared to speak in so high a style. I xvell understand that logic, retorted Winwoocl, with a touch of the pedantry of his master. You hold your argument to be drawn~i ma/on co lalaus; but ~ pray you to believe that the King of England is peer and coml)anion to the King of Spain, and that his motto is, Acma mc imp une lacessit and he addedl, on goin~ out of the room, XVhatso- ever I PdOPO5~ tb you in his Majestys name, can find neither goust nor grace. (Vol. i. p. 28i.) In truth Barneveldts dignified opposi- tion to the Kings arrogant persecution MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 3 of Vorstius, and the quiet way he had of by thaime selfis lyke substantiues) and dliii- refuting the King out of his own theolo- dantur inter nos. I meane lette thaire cuntreys gical writings, was heaping up against be deuydet betuene france and me, otherwayes himself coals of wrath in the spirit of the king of spaine shall be sure to consume James; and Winwood, his ambassador, us. (Vol. ii. pp. 450, 451.) rendering himself the careful minister of Excluding all other considerations, it the Kings petty spirit of vengeance, did is impossible to reflect without some not fail to league himself with all the humiliation on tbe circumst4nce that the malcontent spirits, whose envy and jeal- foreign policy of England, was, at a great ousy of the commanding superiority of crisis of the history of Europe, swayed the great Advocate were already becom- by reasoning couched in such jargon as ing dangerous. this. But besides the question of Predesti- To pay the whole of the sum due was nation there were other political consid- at this time impossible for the Republic erations which inflamed the jealousy and but Barneveldt knew how James was hatred of James towards the Republic. pressed by his minions, who were as in- A large sum of money, eight millions of satiable in their demands for money as of forms (about 750,000/.), had been ad- the parasites of the Queen Regent in vanced by Elizabeth to the Republic, France, and by a clever stroke of policy and this was secured by the mortgage he managed, by paying down in one of the important seaports and fortified lump sum 250,000/., to deliver the Coin- towns of Flushing, Brielle, Rammekens, monwealth from the incubus of the and other strong places which were held English mortgage. The cautionary towns by English garrisons. The possession were thus restored into the hands of the of these places by England, under such a Netherlanders, and the English garrisons monarch as James, was a constant source withdrawn ; but James, however anxious of danger and trouble to the States. to touch the 250,0001. for the benefit of James with his Spanish infatuation might himself and his parasites, did not regard hand them over to Spain at any moment ; the Advocate with any kindlier feeling nevertheless as he was forever being hard for thus taking advantage of his own pressed for money by his minions, he greed to get back the cautionary towns himself in turn was continually pressing by a payment of one third of the sum the Republic for repayment he even actually due. Barneveldt had been care- went so far as to hint that if he were not ful to smooth over and settle all these repaid speedily, he should propose to di- numerous difficulties in order to prepare vide the Republic between himself and the way for the alliance of which he saw France. The following passage, ex- the States would stand most sorely in tracted from the correspondence of James need. In his prophetic soul he felt the with Cecil, preserved among the valua- great storm gathering whose ravages ble archives of Hatfield, and now pub- were to nevastate Europe for thirty years. lished by Mr. Motley for the first time, All the world was preparin~ for war. is highly curious ; and shows, in the In fact the Thirty Years War may be strange orthography of the time and the said to have begun by the coronation of man, that some such catastrophe might the sombre bigot Ferdinand of Gratz as be apprehended. King of Bohemia. This precocious pupil of the Jesuits, who on leaving school If thayc be so weake, as thaye cannot sub- made~ f~lgrimage to Loreto to make siste ather in peace or ~varre without I ruyne vows to the Virgin for the extirpation of myselfe for upholding thaime, in that cace sureime 7flhiiUS ma/urn est elm5 endurn, the nearest the heresy, was the monarch above all harme is to be first eschewid; a man will leape others to reduce to a fearful reality the out of a burning shippe & drowne himselfe fr~ maxim, Gujus reglo ejus relzgio. Hs the sea, and it is doubtless ~. farrer of (farther election and his refusal to include the off) harme trom me, to suffer thaime to fall Mc4/estdt-Brief and the Compromise again into the handis of Spaine & lette God (which gave toleration to the Protestants) prouide for the dainger that maye thairhy among the privileges of his own subjects with tyme fall upon me or my posteritie then acting as a xvar-cr~ throughout Europe, presentlie to stcrue m~selfe and mnyne with of which the famo Fensterslurz of his putting the meate in thaire mouthe, naye councillors Slowaz and Martinitz from rather, if thaye he so weake as thay can nather the windows of the Hradschin was but sustaine thaime selfis in peace nor warre, lette thaime leaue this nainegloriouse thursting for the faint and first reverberation. Had the tytle of ~ free (quhi~he no people are the Protestant powers but been united, worthie or able to enjoye that cannot stande the balance of force was vastly on their 14 MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. side. Even in Austria, in the lands un- der the dominion of the younger branch, the Protestants outnumbered the Cath- olics by nearly ten to one. Bohemia, Upper and Lower Austria, Moravia, Silesia, Hungary, were all pregnant with the spirit of Huss, of Luther, and even of Calvin. In Italy, Venice and Savoy were induced to take part with the Protestants. In France, the very flower of her nobility and people were either of the Reformed faction, or prepared to oppose the House of Austria ; so that a firm alliance be- tween the Netherlands, Great Britain, and the Protestant princes of Germany would have a large, solid, and invulner- able nucleus of force, which would have gathered strength from all quarters. By a strange fatality in the very year of the coronation of Ferdinand, 1617, the jubilee of the centenary of the Reformation was celebrated by the Protestant powers of Europe; the Pope responded by ordain- ing a jubilee at Rome, and the occasion was seized by the polemical doctors of divinity, and pamphlets uf both sides ex- changed blasts and counter-blasts of hatred, which seemed only capable of being set at rest by havoc and extermiria- tion. Of the activity of Barneveldt, and of the value of his correspondence during this period, Mr. Motley thus speaks: No man can thoroughly understand the complication and precession of phenomena attending the disastrous dawn of the renewed xvar, on an even more awful scale than the original conflict in the Netherlands, without studying the correspondence of Barneveldt. The history of Europe is there. The fate of Christendom is there. The conflict of ele- ments, the crash of contending forms of reli- gion and of nationalities is pictured there in vivid if homely colours. The Advocate, while acting only in the name of a slender confed- eracy, was in truth, so long as he held his place, the prime minister of European Protes- tantism. There was none other to rival him, few to comprehend him, fewer still to sustain him. As Prince Maurice was at that moment the great soldier of Protestantism, without clearly scanning the grandeur of the field in which he was a chief actor, or foreseeing the vastness of its future, so the Advocate was its statesman and its prophet. Could the two have worked together as harmoniously as they had done at an earlier day, it would have been a blessing for the common xveal of Europe. But, alas! the evil genius of jealousy, which so often forbids cordial relations between soldiers and statesmen, already stood shrouded in the distance, darkly menacing the strenuous patriot, who was wearin0 his life out in exer tions for what he deemed the true cause of progress and humanity. (Vol. ii. p. 28.) To the last Barneveldt maintained hope in an alliance with England, and more especially with the Commons of England; and the study of his corre- spondence with Caron, the envoy of the Netherlands at the Er~glish Court, has especial interest foi- the English reader. From all his letters there breathes the assurance, which he was justified in en- tertaining from the prevailing temper of the English nation, that if his Majesty would only appeal to the Commons of England the alliance he sought for was a certainty. Day by day, he writes even in 1604, the Archdukes are making greater and greater enrolments of riders and infantry in ever-in- creasing mass, and therewith vast provision of artillery, and all provisions of xvar. Within ten or twelve days they xviii be before Julich in force. . . . If the King of England will lay these matters earnestly to heart for the pres. ervation of the princes, electors, and estates of the religion, J cannot doubt that Parlia- ment would co-operate well with his Majesty, and thus occasion should be made use of to redress the whole state of affairs. (Vol. ii. p. 12.) He writes again : I am amazed and distressed that the states- men of England do not comprehend the perils into which their fellow-religionists are every. where threatened, especially in Germany and in these States. To assist us with bare ad- vice, and sometimes xvith traducing our actions, while leaving us to bear alone the burthens, costs, and dangers, is not serviceable to us. (Vol. ii. p. i6.) And again on June 19, i6i6 : We receive advices every day that the Spaniards and the Roman League are going forward with their design. They are trying to amuse the British King and to gain time, in order to be able to deal heavier blows. Do alrpo~ible duty to procure a timely revolu- tion there. To wait again until we are an- ticipated will be fatal to the cause of the Evangelical electors and princes of Germany, and especially of his Electoral Highness of Brandenburg. . . . So long as Parliament is not convoked in order to obtain consents and subsidies for this most necessary purpose, so Jo g Ifail to believe tkat the great common cause of Uhiristendom, and especially of Germany, is taken to keartby ~gland. (Vol. ii. pp. 22, 23.) Thus we find Barneveldt in his corre- spondence ever active, ever busy in op- posing those machinations of Spain for complicity in which he xvas put to death by his countrymen. Nothing can be MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 15 more pathetic than the despatches, which exhibit him as preparing himself to gather strength on all sides for the de- fence and consolidation of the Protes- tant cause in Europe, while we know that he who was most capable of taking its direction ~vas removed by a judicial mur- der before the crisis came, and that the world was thus deprived of his energy, wisdom, and experience. For contem- poraneously with the growth of deadly hatred between Catholic and Protestant in Europe proceeded the growth of ha- tred between Remonstrant and Counter- Remonstrant in the Netherlands, till it reached such a pitch that the country seemed on the verge of civil ~var. The controversies between the chiefs waxed hotter and hotter, and fiercer and fiercer grew the faction-fights of the rival par- ties near their churches on Sundays, preachers and magistrates being often too glad to escape with a whole skin. The leaders on the different sides were now Uytenbogaert for the Remonstrants and Henry Ros~us for the Counter-Re- monstrants; and the rivalry was as bitter between these preachers as it grew to be between Maurice and Barneveldt. Amid this state of smouldering civil war the an- tagonism between the Advocate and the Stadtholder reached its climax. The Prince attended public worship for the last time under Uytenbogaert on July 10, i6i8. The chief point in dispute be- tween the two parties was the proposition of a national synod. This Uytenbogaert denounced with bitterness in a sermon ~vhich enraged the Prince beyond meas- ure. He is the enemy of God, he said to his mother on coming out of the church. He never afterwards sat under a Remonstrant minister, and on the next Sunday attended divine service at the Cloister Church, then in the hands of the Coun ter-Remonstran ts. This first attendance of the Prince at the Cloister Church assumed the air of a public demonstration. The Prince was attended by his cousins, Count William Lewis of Nassau, the Stadtholder of Friesland, and by all the chief house- holders and members of his staff. The military chief emerged from the old moated palace in which he dwelt and passed along the drawbridge in the pres- ence of an immense crowd, who pressed around him and accompanied him to the church. The whole proceeding had the air of a military demonstration ; the pro- cession passed the hous. of the Advo- cate, and a tale was got up that he vowed vengeance against the ringleaders who had seized on the Cloister Church and got up this menacing demonstration. Four men of the Counter-Remonstrant persuasion, one of them the Princes book-keeper, were to be seized in their beds in the dead of night, and then exe- cuted and their heads and headless bod- ies made a spectacle and a Warning to the inhabitants of the capital. It is need- less to say that the whole tale was the invention of one Trigland, a Counter- Remonstrant preacher, who has handed it down in the chronicle which he left behind him. The great question, as before observed, between the two rivals was that of the proposed synod should there or should there not be a national synod convoked by the authority of the States-General, to enforce a creed on the whole country, in violation of the i3th article of the Union of Utrecht, which secured the reg- ulation of the religious affairs of each province to such province itself? One of the most interesting points in this his- tory for an American historian is that the conflict which arose between Dame- veldt and Maurice, and ended in the tragic end of the former, turned on the very antagonism at issue in the great civil war in America the antagonism of state rights and national sovereignty. This antagonism existed in a still more prominent form in the States of the Netherlands than it did in America, for in the former the very notion of a people and of a national sovereignty had not been formed, and the Union of the Neth- erlands was in fact but an ao~reement for offence and defence between sovereign states. Barneveldt used every endeavour to oppose the convocation of a national synod, entertaining as he did the con- viction that each State was sovereign in referen~ t~ its own form of religion and under his guidance the States of Holland passed a measure known as the Sharp Resolve, which rejected the national synod, and the regents of cities were authorized to enrol men-at-arms, called Waarzgelders, to keep the peace, the Waartgelders being inded a sort of Remonstrant militia. This measure of the Sharp Resolve, and the enrolment of Waartgelders e~ecially, incensed Maurice, who, early in the year i6i8, re- solved at any cost to settle matters with the Advocate. One by one he took for- cible possession of such towns as were still in the I3arneveldtite interest. He i6 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. appeared at the head of a body of troops drive him from the country; all these and in the midst of his lifeguards in the foul and bitter charges, and a thousand town of Nymegen, surrounded the whole similar ones, were rained almost daily board of magistrates, who were Barne- upon that grey head. One of the worst veldtians, in the townhall ,gave them all of these libellers was a drunken notary notice to quit, and replaced them by named Danckaerts, a resident of Am- functionaries of his own choosing. Less sterdam, who declared that the life of the show of violence succeeded at Arnheim ;~ Advocate was forfeited, and that he must and having thus revolutionized Gelder- soon answer for his crimes. The Advo- land, the Prince proceeded to Overyssel, cate was so roused by this production and thus succeeded in synodiz ing that he got the States of Holland to sum- five provinces out of the seven, leaving mon the libeller to the Hague to answer two still waartgeldered. The ch~irac for his offence ; but the town covered ter of the conflict between the two parties him with her shield, and with her writ was well symbolized by a smart carica- de no;z evocando set the writ of the ture of the time, representing a pair of States of Holland at defiance; indeed, scales hung up in a great hall. In the some of the richest merchants of Am- one was a heap of parchments, gold sterdam had contributed to the expense chains, and magisterial robes, the whole of publishing the libel. bundle being marked the holy rights of In this state of things the Advocate each city. In the other lay a big, addressed a straightforward manly letter square,solid,iron-claspedvolume,marked of explanation to the Prince, containing Institutes of Calvin. Each scale was a justification of his bearing towards his respectively watched by Gomar and by rival, and enclosing a letter of remon- Arminius. The judges, gowned, furred, strance he was about to lay before the and ruffled, were looking decorously on, States of Holland, which set forth a sum- when the Stadtholder, in full military at- mary review of the whole events of his tire, burst into the apartment and flung life, and which amounted to the history his sword into the scale holding the In- of his country, and indeed of Europe, stitutes. Maurice too affected to be- during that period, broadly and vividly lieve in the absurd calumny that Dame- touched by the hand of a master. This veldt was secretly in league with Spain letter to Prince Maurice was delivered to impose again the Spanish yoke on the into the hands of the Prince himself by country. The Advocate is travelling Cornelis van der Myle, the son-in-law of straight to Spain, he was heard to say Barneveldt; but the reception which it on one occasion on another, I will received at the hands of the Prince was grind the Advocate and all his party into brutal. No reply was ever sent, but sev- fine meal. eral days afterwards the Stadtholder Encouraged by the avowed hostility of called from his open window to Van der Maurice, a crowd of virulent and detest- Myle as he was passing by. able pamphleteers assailed day by day He then informed him that he neither ad- the fair fame of the Advocate, and mitted the premises nor the conclusion of the brought infamous accusations, not only Advocates letter, saying that many things set against the great statesman himself, but down in it were false. He furthermore told also against his family. His whole life him a story of a certain old man, who having was ripped up and slandered from the in his youth invented many things, and told commencement; and the greatest pa-i th~m for truth, believed them when he came triot of the time the man who next to to old age to be actually true, and was even XVilliam the Taciturn had wrought more ready to stake his salvation upon them. for the independence of his country than Whereupon he shut the window and left Van any other was denounced as a traitor, 1 der Myle to make such application of the parable as he thought proper, vouchsafing no a pope, a tyrant, and a venal hucksterer further answer to Barneveldts communica- of the liberties of his people ; every tion. (Vol. ii. p. 201.) member of his family was accused of abominable crimes. He had received The Stadtholder continued meanwhile waggon-i o ads of Spanish pistoles ; he had his triumphant procession from city to been paid 120000 ducats by Spain for city of theV4etherlands. After having negotiating the truce ; he was in secret moulded to his will the assemblies of treaty with Archduke Albert to bring Gelderland and Overyssel, he sailed i8,ooo Spanish mercenaries across the across the Zuyderzee to the Venice of border to defe~t the machinations of the North, Amsterdam. Tie was escorted Prince Maurice, destroy his life1 or thither by a fleet of yachts, and received by an immense assemblage of vessels of every class, hung with the Orange colours, and with cheering crowds clinging like bees everywhere to the rigging. From ship and fort a volley of artillery burst forth at his approach, and the national melody, Wilhelmus van Nassauwen, rang through the air; orange favours were everywhere, and the whole civic militia, amounting to three or four thousand, with orange plumes in their hats, and with orange scarves, were drawn up to do him honour; the burgomasters in official robes and chains were waiting to receive him at the Dam, on a high scaffolding covered with blue velvet, in front of the stately medixval town-hall; tedious and eulogistic harangues were made, and a series of gorgeous proces- sions and spectacles, got up in true Dutch taste, were arrano~ed for his crrati- fication. Utrecht henceforth became the point at which both partiesthe States-Gen- eral with Maurice at their head, and the States of Holland with Barneveldt at their head endeavoured to establish their influence. Both parties sent com- missioners there ; Maurice was appoint- ed chairman of the commission of the States-General, Grotius the chairman of that of its rival. Here in this ancient and imposing city had been signed, forty- one years before, those famous Articles of Union, whence it had been styled the Gunabulcz Liberia/is, but the difference of interpretation of which was now threat- ening to deluge all the cities of the Neth- erlands with a blood-bath. It was then the ker;nis or annual fair ; all the world was keeping holiday at Utrecht, and Mr. Motley seizes the occasion to give us one of those pages of vivid de- scription into which he throws something of the genius of Teniers or Ostade. The pedlars and itinerant merchants from all the cities and provinces had brought their wares je~vellery and crockery, ribbons and laces, ploughs and harrows, carriages and horses, cows and sheep, cheeses and butter- firkins, doublets and petticoats, guns and pis- tols everything that could serve the city and country side for months to come and dis- played them in t2nmporary booths or on the ground in every street and along every canal. rhe town was one vast bazaar. The peasants came from the country with their gold and silver tiaras and the years rent of a com- fortable farm, in their earrings and necklaces, and the sturdy Frisian l)easants, many of whom had borne their mateblocks in the great wars which had lasted throug~ their own and their fathers lifetime, trudged through the LiVING AGE. vo~. viii. 366 7 city, enjoyin~ the blessings of peace. Bands of music and merry-go-rounds in all the open places and squares, and open-air bakeries of pancakes and waffles; theatrical exhibitions, raree shows, jugglers and mountebanks, at every corner all those phenomena which had been at every kermis for centuries, and were to repeat themselves for centuries after- wards, now enlivened the atmosphere of the grey episcopal city. (Vol. ii. p. 228.) Into the midst of this scene of merri- ment and bustle the Stadtholder and his fellow-commissioners entered, on July 25, i6i8. You hardly expected such a guest at your fair, he said to the magis- trates of the town with a grim smile. Conferences were held without effect, and on July 31, i6i8, Maurice quietly organized his coup d ~Az/ for the town of Utrecht. At the break of day he took possession of the Neu, the chief square of the town, with regular troops ; cannon were placed to command all the streets; all the Waartgelders in the town were summoned to the Neu, and told to lay down their arms at the feet of the Prince. Charter books [writes Mr. Motley], parch- ments, m3th Article, Barneveldt.~ teeth, Ar- minian forts, flowery orations of Grotius, tavern talk of Van Ostrum, city communities, States rights, provincial laws, Waartgelders and all the martial Stadtholder, with the orange plume in his hat and the sword of Nieuwport on his thigh, strode through them as easily as through the whirligigs and mounte- banks, the waffles and fritters, encumbering the streets of Utrecht on the night of his arrival. (Vol. ii. p. 255.) The leading Barneveldtians of Utrecht, and of the commission of the States of Holland, with Grotius at their head, now took a precipitate departure ; indeed had they tarried an hour later they would have found themselves in prison. Four days later the Prince, who gave himself all the airs of ~m 4solute sovereign, dismissed the old magistracy and appointed a new one devoted to the synod, to the States- General, and to the St~dtholder; he ap- pointed them moreover to remain in office for life, although the board had previously been changed every year. The cathedral church, too, was at once given over to the use of the Counter-Remon- strants, and this process was repeated through all the cities ~ the two insubor- dinate provinces of Utrecht and Holland, till the Counter-Remonstrants were in possession of all the churches and all the seats of authority. Even after matters had reached this pass, Count Lewis of Nassau, the Stadtholder of Friesland, MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. i8 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. contrived to bring about an interview sured them that the arrest w~s the work between Maurice and Barneveldt, without; of the States-General, and that no harm however, entertaining much hope of suc- should come to the prisoner more than to cess. This was the last time that the two himself. great chiefs of the Republic stood face The States-General, eight of whom the to face, and Mr. Motley thus portrays day previously had authorized the arrest their respective apppearances by a secret resolution, now took the re- The Advocate with long grey beard and sponsibility of the proceedings on them- stern blue eye, haggard with illness and selves. On August 29 they passed a anxiety, tall but bent with age, leaning on his resolution that a document to this effect, staff, in black velvet cloak, an imposing entitled a Billet, should be printed and magisterial figure the florid plethoric Prince circulated among the community, and in brown doublet, big russet boots, narrow this Billet was without date or signa- ruff, and shabby felt hat with its string of ture! The deputies of Holland, however, diamonds, with hand clutched on sword-hilt, protested against the address, and by a and eyes, full of angry menace, the very type vote of the majority sent a committee to of the high-born imperious soldier thus remonstrate with the Stadtholder, who they surveyed each other as men, once friends, answered to the effect that what had between whom a gulf had opened. (Vol. ii. 240.) happened was not by his order but had been done by the States-General, who Barneveldt defended the proceedings must be supposed not to have acted with- at Utrecht on constitutional grounds, he out good cause. Touching the laws and repeated also his arguments against the jurisdiction of Holland he would not him- synod. The Prince replied, however, in self dispute, but the States of Holland his sternest tone that the national synod would know how to settle that matter was a settled matter, spoke with indiana- with the States-General. tion of the proceedings at Utrecht, and It is curious but humiliating to notice finally relapsed into silence. The two the different effects which the news of leaders parted never to meet again, the arrest of the Advocate created in Soon after, indeed, Barneveldt was ar- France and England. Since a Spanish rested. He had been warned of the im- marriage had in France not remained in pending danger, but he refused to fly as the phantom state in which it did in Eng- he might have done. The venerable land, but was really brought to pass be- statesman was arrested, too, in the tween Louis XIII. and Anne of Austria, Princes very apartments, ~vithin the the relations between Spain and France iBinnenhof. He was on his way across had abain become cold, the ancient spirit the court to the States-General, when a of rivalry had revived, so that France chamberlain of the Prince accosted him again took up the policy inaugurated by and told him the Prince desired to speak Henry IV., of strict alliance with the with him ; he followed the functionary to Netherlands. In France, therefore, the Princes room, and there was taken where the Advocate was honoured and prisoner and locked up in a room belong- beloved, the news of his arrest created ing to Maurices apartments. Grotius great sorrow, and instructions were sent and Pensionary Hoogerbeets were made to the French envoys to use every en- prisoners at nearly the same time and in deavour to effect his liberation, and their precisely the same manner. The news exertions in his behalf were unceasing of this arrest of course filled different per- x~tions, however, which were steadily sons with different feelings. Even Dud- opposed by the ex-ambassador of the ley Carleton, the English ambassador, Netherlands to Paris, Francis Aerssens, reported that impartial persons consid- who nourished a malignant hatred of his ered the proceeding as superfluous now old patron, the Advocate, because he that the synod had been voted and the suspected him wrongly of having been Waartgelders disbanded. On the same the cause of his recall. In England, on afternoon the eldest son of the impris- the other hand, the British king was now oned Advocate, William, the Seignior van drawing closer his r~lations with Spain; Groeneveld, accompanied by his two the lure of a Spanish bride for his son brothers-in-law, Van Huyzen and Van der was again d~ngled before his eyes, and Myle, obtained an interview with the he felt a vindictive pleasure which he Stadtholder, and earnestly entreated that failed not to express through his ambas- the Advocate, in consideration of his ad- sador at the overthrow of a rival who had vanced age, migl~t be kept a prisoner in dared to oppose him in theological argu- his own house on bail. The Prince as- ment, and he appears to have used his MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 9 power to frustrate the efforts of the infallible Netherland Catechism. The French envoys and bring on the catas- conclusion of the synod was celebrated by trophe. a great festival at Dordtrecht, in which After a few days the Advocate was re- the labours of the Synod and the canons moved from the chamber in the apart- it established were eulogized in long ment of Maurice to a room in which the Latin speeches and prayed for in long Admiral of Arragon had been confined by Latin prayers, and the main orator did the command of the Prince after the not forget to render thanks ~to the most battle of Nieuwport. His faithful ser- magnanimous King James of Great Brit- vant, Jan Franken by name, was allowed am, through whose godly zeal, fiery sym- to attend him, while a sentinel stood con- pathy, and truly royal labour, God had so stantly before his door. His papers often refreshed the weary synod in the were taken away and he was deprived of midst of their toil. all writing materials, and neither friend While the magnanimous King James of nor relative permitted to see him. Great Britain was refreshing the weary A tragic circumstance, too, still more synod with his godly zeal, his fiery sym- prejudiced superficial minds against Bar- pathy, and truly royal labour, the victim neveldt. Secretary Ledenberg, a citizen of of his rancour and his spite had been Utrecht, who had been imprisoned by or- sitting in prison for nearly seven months der of the States-General at the same time waiting for trial. For nearly all this time as the Advocate, through fear of torture he had received no intelligence from the and to escape confiscation of his prop- outward world, except such as could be erty, committed suicide, leaving a paper conveyed to him inside of a quill con- behind him, which shows what sort of cealed in a pear and by such devices. justice he anticipated from the tribunal Nothing, indeed, could be more illegal or who held his fate at their mercy. arbitrary than the proceedings against I know that there is an indication to set an the Advocate from beginning to end. H example in my person, to confront me with my is very arrest itself was a gross viola- best friends, to torture me afterwards to con- tion of law he was a great officer of the vict me of contradiction and falsehood as they States of Holland; he had been taken say, and thus to found an ignominious sentence under their especial protection ; he was upon points and trifles, for this it will be neces- on his way to the High Council. The sary to do in order to justify the arrest and States-General were only guests on the imprisonment. To escape all this I am going soil of Holland and had no jurisdiction to God by the shortest road. Against a dead there. He was arrested in time of peace man there can be pronounced no sentence of by no warrant or form of law The confiscation of property. Done 17th Septem- greatest civil dignitary of Holland was ber, o.s., ifii8. entrapped under pretence of a conference The great Advocate had been impris- by its first military officer and impris- oned on August 29, i6i8; his trial did oned by force. A tribunal had to be not begin till March 7 in the following created for judging the Advocate for year; it had been purposely delayed in the States-General had no tribunal at all order that the work of the synod, which so they appointed twenty-four coin- had met at Dordtrecht, might approach missioners, twelve from Holland and two completion. In this synod the spirits of J from each of the other six provinces. Gomar and of Calvin were triumphant; But th~tr~unal was a mere l)acked jury, predestination to life and predestination for though there was an affectation of to damnation had been preordained, ac- concession to Holland, care was taken cording to the decree of the Assembly, that the worst enemies of Barneveldt from the beginning of time. A select should be included in the nominations portion of the Netherlanders and of man- and some of them were ignorant men, kind was to be eternally blessed, and all totally unacquainted with law, or with others were to be eternally damned, and any but their own mother-tongue. The especially the Arminians and the be- trial las.ted nearly three months, and for lievers in the Five Points. The Armin- the whole of this time the venerable and ians were declared heretics, schismatics, illustrious statesm~ daily descended teachers of false doctrines. They were from the mean and desolate garret in pronounced to be incapable of filling any ~vhich he was confined to the apartment clerical or academical post. No man below, where he had to confront the henceforward was to teach, lecture, or mean crew who were constituted his preach, unless he was a s~bscriber to the judges without appeal. The atrocities of infallible Netherland Conference and the the French Revolution present no greater 20 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. as well as the Verhooren? of Hugo Grotius, by Professor Fruin; and from these documents Mr. Motley has made a few extracts to show the nature of the charges brought against the statesman. The truth is that the illustrious founder of the Republic of the Netherlands was a victim to a revolution which set at naught the Articles of Union of the Prov- inces of the Netherlands, as signed at Utrecht. These Articles were miserably defective, it is true, regarded as a polit- ical constitution ; nevertheless, nothing could be more stringent than the provi- sions by which the right of regulation of all matters relating to religion was reserved to each province. No province was to interfere with another in such matters, and every individual in them all was to remain free in his religion, no man being molested or examined on ac- count of his creed. It was moreover declared that no provinces or cities which held to the Roman Catholic reli- gion were to be excluded from the League provided they conformed to its condi- tions. Nothing, in deed, can be more clear than that the framers of the Articles of the League had excluded religious affairs altogether from this act of polit- ical union ; and now the very Assembly, which had no powers except by virtue of the Articles of the League, were hunt- ing one of its chief framers to death, for opposing their endeavours to inflict one uniform doctrine respecting the subtlest point of theology on the whole nation. The best answer of the Advocate to the accusations of his judges was the recital of his whole life. Sufficient rec- ords remain to show that the old man, deprived as he was of all writing mate- rials and even of a clerk to assist him, proved himself fully the master of his accusers on every point in which they assailed him. He protested from the ~ut~t against the jurisdiction of the tribunal and the manner of his arrest Out of the confused mass of documents he denied and the denial of course which have lately come to light respect- roused the fury of the bigots who sat ing this trial, and out of the wilderness upon him to frenzythat the central of interrogatories and answers therein government had any right to meddle contained, it would be vain to attempt to with religious matters at all; neverthe- draw a connected and interesting narra- less he condescended to enter into the tive. Mr. Motley has examined these theological question of Predestination papers, all of which were long kept secret which had en the thorniest hedge of and only a portion of which have yet division for s5 many creeds, and lay at been published. Among these latter are the bottom of the terrible convulsion especially noteworthy the publication by then raging in the Netherlands ; and the Historical Society of Utrecht, of the after examining both sides of the ques- Verhooren, or Interrogatories of the tion with all the skill of a practised theo- hidges, and the replies of Barneveldt gian, he concluded that a spirit of mod- example of the perversion of the spirit and the forms of justice. The trial was carried on without any attention to or even pretence of form: there was no bill of indictment, no arraignment, no coun- sel, no witnesses, and no arguments. The whole process consisted of a ram- bling and tangled mass of interrogations reaching over forty years, presented to the prisoner by a nondescript court with- out order or method. The prisoner asked for a list in writing of the charges brought against him, he asked also for pen, ink, and paper but every request was refused, and his papers and books were taken from him. He was allowed to consult neither with an advocate nor even with a single friend. Alone in his chamber of bondage he was to meditate on his defence. Out of his memory and brain, and from these alone, he was to supply him- self with the array of historical facts, stretch- ing over a longer period than the lifetime of many of his judges, and with the proper legal and historical arguments upon these facts for the justification of his course. That memory and brain were capacious and powerful enough for the task. It was well for the judges that they had bound themselves at the onset by an oath never to make known what passed in the court-room, but to bury all the prbceedings in profound secrecy forever. Had it been other- wise; had that been known to the contem- porary public which has only been revealed more than two centuries later; had a portion only of the calm and austere eloquence been heard in which the Advocate set forth his de- fence ; had the frivolous and ignoble nature of the attack been comprehended, it might have moved the very stones in the street to mutiny. Hateful as the statesman had been made by an organized system of calumny, which was continued with unabated vigour and increased venom since he had been imprisoned, there was enough of justice and of gratitude left in the hearts of Netherlanders to resent the ty- ranny practised against their greatest man, and the obloquy thus brought against a nation always devoted to their liberty and laws. (Vol. ii. pp. 3167.) MOTLEY S LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. 21 eration and kindness should govern the conduct of brethren of the Reforme d Church who thought differently on so difficult a subject. In setting forth his defense to these and other charges, the old statesman at times surveyed nearly half a century of European history in which he had himself played so promi- nent a part, and expounded the ancient laws and customs of his country with unerring strength and accuracy of memory. The patience [Mr. Motley writes] with which the venerable statesman submitted to the taunts, ignorant and insolent crossquestioning and noisy interruptions of his judges, was not less remarkable than the tenacity of memory which enabled him thus day after day, alone, unaided, by books, manuscripts, or friendly counsel to reconstruct the record of forty years, and to expound the laws of the land by an array of authorities, instances, and illustra- tions, in a manner which would be deemed masterly by one who had all the resources of libraries, documents, witnesses, and secretaries at command. (Vol. ii. p. 321.) Only when insidious questions were put, tending to impute to him corruption, venality, and treacherous correspondence with the enemy for they never once dared formally to accuse him of treason did that almost superhuman patience leave him. The popular slander against him was that he was secretly in league with Spain to restore the Provinces to the Spanish yoke; and he was ques- tioned by his judges about a certain pay-. ment said to have been made by him to a certain man of business, Van der Vecken, in Spanish coin. Premising briefly that it was impossible to remember in what coin he had always paid a man with whom his business transactions had lasted twenty or thirty years, he burst forth into a storm of indignation, declaring that it seemed impossible to him that any dis- passionate man of moderate intelligence could imagine him, whose whole life had been a perpetual offence to Spain, to be in suspicious relations with that power. From his youth, he said, he had made him- self, by his honourable and patriotic deeds, hopelessly irreconcilable with the Spaniards. He was one of the advocates practising in the Supreme Court of Holland, who in the very teeth of the Duke of Alva had proclaimed him a tyrant, and had sworn obedience to the Prince of Orange as the lawful governor of the land. He was one of those who in the same year had promoted and attended private gatherings for the advancement of the Re- formed religiob. He had helped to levy, and had contributed to, funds for the national de fence in the early days of the revolt. These were things which led directly to the Council of Blood and the gibbet. He had borne arms himself on various bloody fields, and had been perpetually a deputy to the rebel camps. He had been the original mover of the Treaty of Union which was concluded between the Provinces at Utrecht. He h ad been the first to draw up th9 declaration of Netherland in- dependence and the abjuration of the King of Spain. He had been one of those who had drawn and passed the Act establishing the late Prince of Orange as Stadtholder. Of the sixty signers of these memorable declarations none were now living save himself and two others. When the Prince had been assassi- nated, he had done his best to secure for his son Maurice the sovereign position of which murder had so suddenly deprived his father. He had been member of the memorable em- bassies to France and England, by which in- valuable support for the struggling Provinces had been obtained. (Vol. ii. p. 30S.) These and other arguments addressed to his judges during the two months of the trial were of no avail ; of as little avail was an energetic address delivered by Du Maurier, the French envoy, to the States-General in presence of the Prince of Orange. It seems, however, almost certain that if the friends or relatives of the Advocate had been willing to implore pardon for him his sentence would have been commuted or cancelled; but al- though Count William of Nassau and the Princess Dowager Louise, the mother-in- law of the Princess of Orange, interested themselves to get the children of the Advocate to apply to the States for pardon, they steadfastly refused to do so. They would not move one step in it no. not if it cost him his head; they, like the Advocate himself, considered such a step would be an admission of his guilt ; they possessed moreover, like the Advocate himself, all the stoicism and the pride of the Hollanders, and they knew That~his enemies would prefer the loss of his honour even to the loss of his head. The terms of the voluminous sen- tence passed upon him were as unique as the whole proceedings of the trial. He was condemned on his own defence, which was styled his confession for no testi- mony & r evidence of any kind had been brought against lid. Whereas the prisoner John of ~arneveldt, said the sentence, without being put to the tor- ture, and without fetters of iron, has con- fessed to having perturbed reli~ion, greatly afflicted the Church of God, and carried into practice exorbitant and per- 22 MOTLEYS LIFE AND DEATH OF BARNEVELDT. nicious maxims of State . . . inculca- ting by himself and accomplices that each province had the right to regulate religious affairs within its own territory, and that other provinces were not to concern themselves therewith, there- fore, and for a score of other reasons communicated in a series of vague, tan- gled generalities, the judges, in the name of the Lords States-General, con- demned the prisoner to be taken to the Binnenhof, there to be executed with the I sword, that death may follow, and they declared all his property confiscated. The last day on which Barneveldt had appeared before his judges was May I. His sentence was not communicated to him till about half-past five on Sunday afternoon, May 12. The Advocate was busy drawing up notes which he had in- tended to make use of in the future prog- ress of his trial. Although taken thus unprepared, and told he was to die, the next morning he behaved with his usual stoicism, and kept the same undaunted air. To a clergyman who caine to offer him consolation he said, I am a man, have come to my present age, and I know how to console myself. I must write, and have now other things to do. Sitting down, he wrote a short pathetic letter to his wife and children, whom he had not been allowed to see since the beginning of his trial, and whom he was not even now allowed to see. The con- demned statesman was executed at half- past nine the next morning, about six- teen hours elapsing from the time at which the sentence was communicated to him to that at which it was carried into effect. He supped as usual, and even invited the provost marshal and the clergyman who had been sent to see him to join him at supper, and pledged the health of each of them in a glass of beer. After this two soldiers were added to his watch, who kept him always under their eyes. Other preachers visited him after supper, and he held much talk with them on political and religious matters. At eleven oclock he went to bed as usual, but was unable to sleep, so he asked his servant to read to him from a prayer-book. This was not allowed, nor was John Franken permitted even to speak to him except in a loud voice, so that all their conversation might be overheard. A clergyman was sent for, who read to him the Consolations of the Sick. After some talk he tried again to sleep but he passed the~whole night in wake- fulness, reading from time to time in a French psalm-book. At five. oclock he got up and dressed for the final scene. To the last the treatment to which he was subjected was harsh and cruel. His wife and children had continued to hope for his acquittal, and had sent in three elaborate petitions prepared by counsel in his favour. Of these no notice had been taken. Late in the evening of May 12 they heard that he was t3 die on the inornin~ of the 13th, and they at once addressed a last appeal to the judges. The afflicted wife and children of M. van Barneveldt humbly show that having heard the sorrowful tidings of his coining execution, they humbly beg that it may be granted them to see and to speak to him for the last time. Barneveldt was never informed of this petition of his wife and children, but was asked if he desired to see them ; this he now de- clined on the plea that it would cause him too great emotion. The French en- voy made too a third and last appeal to save the life of the great statesman, at five oclock in the morning. It may be imagined, indeed, that few of either Barneveldts friends or enemies, after hearing of the sentence, slept much on this eventful night, but like himself passed those hours in watchfulness. The execution was fully equal in its want of form and solemnity to the trial. The scaffold ~vas a shapeless mass of rough unhewn planks nailed together in one night. A heap of sand was piled on the spot where he was to be beheaded, beside which lay his coffin, a coarse dirty box of rough boards originally prepared for a murderer, who had been lately con- demned but pardoned on the eve of exe- cution Not this man, but Barabbas and that the scene might be complete, two common ruffians of soldiers fit subjects for the pencil of Ostade or Cal- lotsat on this coffin playing dice and ~ett~ng whether God or the devil should have the soul of the doomed man. When the august and venerable states- man, leaning on his staff, stepped out on the scaffold from a window in the house in which he h~d been confined, and saw the preparations and the thousands of wolfish eyes of the crowd waiting to see him die, he lifted his eyes to heaven and murmured, 0 God, what does man come to ! a~l then uttered in bitterness of heart, This then is the reward of forty years service to the States I After kneeling on the bare planks and praying for a quarter of an hour with a clergyman named Lamotte beside him, THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 23 he was undressed by his valet; then he turned to the crowd and declared that he died a true patriot, and a minute or two later his bead was cut off by the execu- tioner with a double-handed sword, and body and bead were immediately hud- dled into the box beside him. He was then seventy-one years seven months and eighteen days of age. Grotius, as is well known, effected his escape from prison two years afterwards with the help of a brave wife and a brave servant-girl, Elsie, in a manner not un- befitting the great publicist, by taking the place of the heavy books of the Professor Erpenius, which he was in the habit of having conveyed to him in a big chest and the story of his escape furnishes the subject of one of Mr. Motleys most. en- tertaining chapters. As for the family of Barneveldt, the desolation of his wife was rendered not yet complete even by the execution of her husband. The property of the states- man having been confiscated, and his two sons reduced, both to obscurity and one to beggary, although Maurice had prom- ised to take care of them, they were fren- zied by the spirit of revenge, and con- spired against the life of the Stadtholder, were discovered, the one executed and the other escaped into exile. The guilt of the sons naturally recoiled on the. stainless fame of the great Advocate, and has doubtless had something to do with the tardy justice which has been rendered to his memory, while the power, popu- laritv, and influence of the Stadtholder were rendered thereby still more trium- phant. We cannot do better than conclude our review of this tragic story by quoting the final phrase of Mr. Motley, in which he characterizes its effect on the States of the Netherlands The Republic that magnificent common- wealth which in its infancy had confronted, single-handed, the greatest empire of the earth, and had wrested its independence from the ancient despot after a forty years struggle had noxv been rent in twain, although in very unequal portions, by the feud of polemi- cal and political hatred. Thus crippled, she was to go forth to take her share in that awful couflict now in full blaze, and of which after ages were to speak with a shudder as the Thirty Years War. there expressions which seemed to us to be somewhat extravagant or out of place, and a want of method and skill in mar- shalling the facts of the narrative ; but these are slight blemishes in the xvork considered as a whole. One considera- tion has proved itself especially attractive to us in perusing the volumes, and that is the earnest love of political, and reli- gious liberty which animate~ every page, and which has made the citizen of the great Republic of the West the ardent admirer and the fitting historian of that Republic of the Netherlands to which the liberties of Europe remain so deeply indebted. We trust that Mr. Motley will not fail to present us in due time with that completion of his labours to which we are informed the present vol- umes form so brilliant an introduction the History of the Thirty Years War. From Blackwoods Magazine. THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. CHAPTER XXII. VALS letter was of a character sufli- ciently exciting to have made Dick for- get anything less important than the crisis which had thus happened. Its object was to invite him to Oxford, to a place somewhat similar to that which he had held at Eton, in one of the great boating establishments on the river. The master was old, and wanted somebody of trust to superintend and manao~e his business, with a reasonable hope of succeeding to him. You had better come up and talk it over, wrote Val, ever peremptory. I have always said you must rise in the world, and here is the opportunity for you. They have too much regard for you at Eton to keep you from doing what woul~b~ so very advantageous; there- fore come up at once and look after it. Dicks heart, which had been beating very low in his honest breast, over- whelmed with fear and forebodi ogs, gave one leap of returning confidence; but then he reflected that his mother must be made the final judge, and with a sick- eningpan~ of suspense he knocked i off his work, anQ rowed himself across The volumes which we have just re- to the little house at the corner. His viewed contain so much that is new and mother was wcaried and languid with her interesting that we have abstained from long walk on the day before. She had criticising the conduct and character of paused in the midst of her mornin occu- the work. We have noticed here and pations, and Dick found her seated in 24 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. the middle of the room, with her back turned to the window, and her face sup- ported on her hands. She was gazing at the ~vall opposite, much as she gazed into the distant landscape, not seeing it, but longing to see through it to see some- thing she could not see. She started when Dick came in, and smiled at him deprecating and humble. I was rest- ing a moment, she said with an air of apology that went to his heart. Have you forgotten something, Dick No, mother, but Ive heard of some- thincr he said, taking out his letter. This made her sit upright, and flushed her cheek suddenly with a surprised alarm for which he could not account for which she herself could not account for it was perhaps the first time in her. life that it had occurred to her what would happen if Dick found out the secret of his own story. The possibility of Valentines doing so had crossed her mind, and she had shrunk from it. But what if Dick should find out? the idea had never entered her imacrination be- fore. Its a letter from Mr. Ross, mother, said Dick, steadily looking at her. He says he has heard of a place for me at Oxford ~vhere he is himself a place where I should be almost master at once, have everything to manage, and might succeed, and get it into my own hands. Mother, that would please you? Now to think you should like that when you~ cant endure this! It would be the same kind of place. Dont be hard upon me, Dick, she said, faltering, and turning away her eyes that he might not see the strange light in them which she was herself aware must be too remarkable to be overlooked. I cant answer for my feelings. Its a change, I supposea change that I want. My old way I cant go back to, for more things than one. Im too weak and old; and more than that, Im changed in my mind. Dick, I think it will be a comfort to you to tell you. It aint only my limbs, boy, nor my strength. My minds changed; I couldnt go on the tramp again. No, smother ? thank God ! I dont thank God, she said, shaking her head. Im not glad; but so it is and I want a change. Let us go, boy. Please God, Ill be happier there. Mother, said Dick, anxiously, your looks are changed all at once. Im going. to ask you a curious question. Has it anything to do with~ Mr. Ross ? She made no answer for the moment, but leant her head upon her hands, and looked vaguely at the wall. I know its a curious question, re- peated Dick, with an attempt at a smile. But you were satisfied as long as he was here; and since hes gone you have fallen backonly since hes gone! You never got that longing sort .of look while he was here. XVhat ha~ Mr. Ross to do with you and me? Motherdont you suppose I think its anything wrong, for I dont but what has he to do with you and me? Nothingnothing, Dick~ she cried nothing; never will have, never can have. Dont ask me. When I was young, when I was a girl, I knew his people his father. There, thats all. I never meant to have said as much. There is nothing wrong. Yes,I suppose its him I miss somehow. Not that he is half to me, or quarter to me, that you are or anything to me at all. Its very strange, said Dick, troubled; and somehow Ifeel for him as I never felt for anybody else. You knew his father ~ I wont have any questions from you, Dick, she cried, passionately, rising from her chair. I told you I knew his people. Some time or other Ill tell you how I knew them; but not now. I wonder does he know anything about it, said Dick, speaking more to himself than her. Its very strange he said he thought you were a lady, mother, and that he had seen you be- fore Did he ? God bless him ! cried the woman, surprised by sudden tears. But I aint a lady I aint a lady, she added, under her breath ; he was wrong there. You have some lady ways, mother, now and again, said Dick, pondering. It is strange. If you knew his people, a~yo~i say, does he know? Not a word, Dick, and he mustnt know. Remember, if it was my last word he mustnt know! Promise me youll not speak. If he knew and they knew theyd I dont know what they mightnt do. Dick, you will never betray your mother ? you will never never Hush, mother dear ; you are worry- ing yourself f~ nothing, said her gentle boy. If thei~es nothing wrong, what could they or anybody do? Of course, I wont say a word. All the safer, he added, with a laugh, because I dont know the words to say. When you keep THE STORY OF VALENTINE AND HIS BROTHER. 25 me dark, mother, I cant give out any light to other people, can I ? Its the surest way. She took no notice of this implied reproof, the most severe that had ever come from Dicks gentle lips. She was another creature altogether from the lan- guid woman waom he had found sitting there in the midst of the untidy room. A new light had come into her eyes all her stupor and weariness were over. Dick was startled, and he was a trifle hurt at the same time, which was natural enough. If there had been any material for jealousy in him, I think it must have come into being at that moment, for all his love had not called forth from his mother one tittle of the feeling which to all appearance an utter stranger awoke. Dick sighed, but his nature was not in the smallest degree self-contemplative and he shook the momentary feeling away ere it had time to take form. If I can get leave, Ill ~o up to Oxford and see about it to-morrow, he said. When he had come to this conclusion, he wefrt towards the door to return to his work, leaving her active and revived, both in mind and body. But he stopped before he reached it, and turned back. Moth- er, he said, with a little solemnity, Mr. Ross will be only about two years at Oxford. What shall we do when he goes away? We cannot follow him about wherever he goes. God knows, she said, stopping short in her sweeping. Perhaps the world may end before then perhaps We cant tell, she added solemnly, bowing her head as if to supreme destiny, what may happen any day or any year. Its all in Gods hand. Dick ~vent away without another word. He arranged to go to Oxford, and did so, and found Val, and finally made an agree- ment to take the situation offered him but the little prick to his pride and affec- tion rankled in his mind. Why should Mr. Ross be so much more to her than himself, her son, who had never left her side ? It is strange, he said, with a sense of injury, which grew fainter every moment, yet still lingered. He looked at Val with more interest than ever, and a curious feeling of somehow belonging to him. XVhat could the link be? Dick knew very little about his own history; he did not know whose son he ~vas, nor what his mother had been. The idea, indeed, gleamed across his mind that Vals father might have been his own father, and this thougl~ gave him no such thrill of pain and shame as it would naturally have brouaht to a young man brought up in a different class. Dick, with the terrible practical knowledge of human nature which beion~s to the lower levcls of society, knew that such things happened often enough; and if he felt a little movement in his mind of unpleasant feeling, he was neither horrified. by the suggestion of such a poss ibil~ty, nor felt his mother lowered in his eyes. What- ever the facts were, they were beyond his ken and it was not for him to jud~e them. Pondering it over, however, he came to feel with a little relief that this could not be the solution. He knew what the manners of his class were, and he knew that his mother had always been surrounded by that strange abstract at- mosphere of reserve and modesty which no one else of her degree resembled her in. No, that could not be the explana- tion. Perhaps she had recognized in Val the son of some love of her youth whom she had kept in her thoughts throughout all her rougher life. This was a strange- ly visionary hypothesis, and Dick felt how unreal it was but what other ex- planation could he make? The situation at Oxford was a great rise in the world to Dick. It was a place of trust, with much better wages than he had at Eton, and a little house close to the river-side. His Eton em- ployer grumbled a little, and said some- thing about a want of gratitude, as em- ployers are so apt to do; but eventually it was all arran~ed to Dicks satisfaction and benefit. He and his mother took possession of the little house in May, so quickly was the bargain made ; and when she made her first appearance at Oxford, she had put off the last lingerin~ rem- nants of the tramp, and looked after the furniture and fittings-up with a languid show of pleasure in them, such as she had never exhibited before. She changed her dre~s,~oo, to Dicks infinite pleasure. She put off the coloured handkerchief permanently from her head, and adopted ahead-dress something of the same shape, a kerchief of white net tied under her chin, which threw ul) her still beautiful face, and impressed every one who saw her with Vals idea that she had been a lady once. This strange head-gear, and the plain black gown ~ ithout flounces or ornament whic hsI~e wore constantly, made people think her some sort of a nun ; and the new man at Styles and his mother became notables on the river- side. They had a little garden to the 26 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. house, and this seemed to please her. deed, Dick might almost have been said She filled it with common sweet-smelling to have attained all that a person of his flowers, and worked in it, with a new- class could ever attain ; he might make a born love for this corner of earth which great deal more money, but he could not she could call hers; and every day she, materially advance his position. Val stood looking over her little garden wall, was still, and perhaps more than ever, and saw Val and his boat go by. This above him, since as they both progressed kept the rhythm of her life in cadence, into manhood, their respective positions and she was livelier and more ready in began to be more sharply defined: and conversation and intercourse with her nothing in the world chuld ever make it good son than she had ever been. possible for Lord Esksides heir to say As for Val, after the kind thought to the young boat-builder, Come up which made him send for Dick and hiTher And yet Vol had lost all power warmly plead his cause with the boat- of treating him as an inferior. It was a builder on the river-side, there were mo- curious problem, infinitely more difficult, meats when he felt a certain embarrass- as was natural, to the generous young ment about what he had done. Dick, fellow on the higher level, than to the too, had changed, as well as himself. He lowlier lad who made no pretensions to could not speak to him as of old, or give any sort of dignity, and never stood him half-crowns, or trust to him to do upon a quality which he did not sup- whatever he wished. In the last case, pose himself to possess. There hap- indeed, he might have trusted Dick en- pened, however, a curious incident in tirely for his gratitude, and what is Vols last summer at Oxford, which he more, his affection, for his young patron, indeed did not know, but which affected was unbounded. But Val no longer Dick strangely enough. One summer liked to suggest what Dick would have morning (it was in Commemoration week, been but too happy to do. The vagrant i when the morniu~s are somewhat lan- whom he had taken up had become in a quid) Dicks mother was seated m the manner Vals equal. He was wiser than little parlour facing the river, which her the other, though he did not know a son had furnished with all the care of an tenth part so much ; and though he untaught conizoisseur. Half the things owed everything he was to Vals boyish in it were of his own making ; but there interposition in his favour, yet he had a were many trifles besides which he had great deal in him which Val had not on- picked up, with that curious natural ginated, and which, indeed, was quite fancy for things pretty and unusual which beyond him. The undergraduate of high was innate in him. It was a strange in- degree did not kno\v how to treat the1 congruous room. The floor was covered young man who was still so lowly. He with a square of old Turkey carpet, the could not ask him to his rooms, or bid subdued harmonious colours of which, him to eat at his own table, half out of a and soft mossy texture, were Dicks de- lingering social prejudice, half because light. The little table, covered with the he had an uncomfortable knowledge of old faded embroidered shawl, stood in the what people would say. He Was as window; an old-fashioned glass which much his friend as ever, but he did not Dick had picked up was on the man- know how to show it. Now and then he telpiece, reflecting some china vases xvent to the little house, but Dicks which his mother had bought, and which mother gave him sensations so very showed her taste to be of a different strange that he did not care to go often ; ~h~acter from his. Prettily carved and had he gone very often, his tutor, no bookcases of his making were fitted into doubt, would have taken notice of the the corners ; and a common deal table, fact, and set it down to a lov~ of low without any cover, stood just under one society, as his Eton tutor had done. Al- of them, with a large brown earthenware together, the situation was full of em- basin on it, before which his mother sat barrassment, and the intercourse not half shelling peas for Dicks dinner. She so easy as it had been. To be sure, the had a girl now to help her with the external advantages were certain Dick ~vork, and it was her sons d~sire that she had a much better situation and a bright should sit iin~ the parlour. But as it was before I and this tl tl~ prospect ~mm, was so not xvwmn poor souls possibilities to much gained. Vals advice to him about shut herself up to needlework or any rising in the world had been wonderfully lady-like occupation, she brought in her carried out. He had risen in the world, peas to shell there, and sat alone, con- and got on the s~ps of the ladder. In- tented enough, yet oppressed with the THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 27 sense that within a few days the same his kind young face than the loveliest blank which she had before experi- summer morning or the loveliest sun enced would fall on the earth and skies. could have shown her all combined to It was a bright morning, still cool but make everything fair to Lady Eskside. full of sunshine, which just touched the She was going to visit his humble friends old-fashioned window-sill, upon which lay to seal with her approbation that kind- Dicks carving materials, and a book or ly patronage of the deserving poor, two not, I am sorry to say, books in- which is as creditable to their superiors tended to be read, but only to get de-1 as a love of low society is tliscreditable. signs out of, and suggestions for work. They stood together talking for a minute The river lay broad in the sunshine, re- at the open door. lieved by here and there the bright green At that same moment Dick was on his of some willows the softened sounds way to the back door which communi- outside, the soft silence within, were har- cated with the boat-building yardbut monious with the subdued sensations of was met, to his wonder and dismay, by the lonely woman, in whom all seemed his mother, flying from the house with a stilled too for the moment. The shadow face blanched to deadly paleness, and a hung on her, but it had not yet fallen, precipitate haste about her, which noth- and her mind was less excited than it ing but fear could have produced. She had been more able to endure, less seized him by the arm without a word intolerant of pain. Thus she sat absorbed indeed she was too breathless and pant- in her homely occupation, when she ing to speak and dragged him with her, heard voices approaching through the too much amazed to resist. For Gods soft air. One of them she recognized at sake, what is the matter, mother ? he once with a thrill of pleasure to be Vals. said, when surprise would let him speak. He was coming slowly along, pointing She made no answer, but holding fast by out everything to some one with him. him, took refuge in a boat-house built The woman dropped the peas out of her against the side wall of the little back hands, and listened. The window was yard through which she had flown. Dick, open, and so near the road that every who was a patient fellow, not easily ex- sound was distinctly heard. It was some cited, stood by her wondering, but re- time before any one replied to Val, and frainino to question xvhen he saw the the listener had leisure enough for many state of painful excitement in which she ~vild fears and throbs of anxious sus- was. Listen! she said, under her pense. At last the answer camein a breath ; and presently he heard Vals ladys voice, which she knew as well as voice in the yard calling her. Mrs. if she hid heard it yesterday, with its Brown ! cried Val, though it was the soft Scotch accent, its firm tone and first time after her disavowal of it that character, unlike any other she knew. he had used that name, which was now The woman rose suddenly, noiselessly, to adopted by everybody else, as of course her feet she grew white and blanched, the name of Dick Browns mother. I as with deadly terror. cant think where she can have gone to, Here is where Brown lives, said he added, with some vexation and I Val, in his cheery voice and his wanted you to see her specially almost mother, whom I want you particularly to more than Brown himself. see. A nice little house, isnt it ? Stop Well, my dear, it cannot be helped, and look at the boats down the river be- said ~e~voice of Lady Eskside, much fore we go in. Isnt it pretty, grandma? more composed than Vals for I can- not like our Esk, to be sure, but with a not say that she was deeply disappointed. beauty of its own. No doubt the honest woman has run Far gayer and brighter than Esk, out about some needful business - leav- certainly, said Lady Eskside, quite will- ing her peas, too. Come, Val, since you ing to humour the boy though her own cant find her your grandpapa will be opinion of the broad, flat, unshadowed, waiting for us, my dear. and unfeatured Thames was not too flat- I cant see Brown, either, he said, terinr. She stood leaning upon his arm, with still greater annoyance, coming back wrapt in a soft Elysium of pride and hap- after an expeclitio~into the yard. The piness. The lovely morning, arid the men say he went home. I cant tell you good account she had been hearing of how annoyed I am. her boy, and the fact that he was going Well, well, I can see them another home with her, and that she was teaning time, my dear, said my lady, smiling on his arm, and seeing more beauty in within herself at the boys disappoint- 28 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. mentand we must be going to meet your grandfather. I wonder where she got that cover on her table. I had a shawl just like it once but come, dear, come ; think of my old lord waiting. We must not lose any more time, Val. Dick put his arm round his motber he thouoht she was going to faint, so deadly white was her face white as the kerchief on her head. She laid her head on his shoulder, and moaned faintly. Her closed eyes, her blanched cheeks, her lips falling helplessly apart, gave Dick an impression of almost death. Mother, tell me, for Gods sake who is this, and what is the matter with you ? he cried. CHAPTER XXIII. You must hold yourself ready to be called back at a moments notice, Val, said the old lord. It must he some time nextyear, and it maybe any day. That is to say, we can scarcely have it, I suppose, before Parliament meets, except in some unforeseen case. Therefore, see all you can as soon as you can, and after Febru- ary hold yourself in readiness to be re- called any day. Certainly, sir, said Val, with a blithe assent which was trying to his grand- father. He was quite ready to do any- thing that was wanted of him to make up his mind on any political subject on the shortest notice, and sign anything that was thought desirable; but as for personal enthusiasm on the subject, or excitement in the possibility of being elected member for the county, I am afraid Val was as little moved as the ter- rier he was caressing. Perhaps. how- ever, he was all the more qualified on that account to carry the traditionary principles of the Rosses to the head of the poll, and to vote as his fathers had voted before him, when they had the chance,or would have voted, had they had the chance. Val was setting out on his travels when this warning was given. He was going to see his father in Flor- ence, and, under his auspices, to visit Italy generally, which was a very pleas- ant prospect. Up to this time he had done the whole duty of boy in this world and now he had taken his degree, and had a right to the I)rouder title of man. Not that Val was very much changed from his Eton days. He was still slim and slight, notwithstanding all his boat- ing. His brown complexion was a trifle browner, if that were possible, with per- petual exposure to the sun his hair as full of curls, and as easily ruffled as ever, rising up like a crest from his bold brown forehead ; and I do not think he had yet got his temper under command, though its hasty flashes were always repen ed of the moment after. A quick temper, not an ill-temper, Lady Eskside said; and she made out that Valentine Ross, the tenth lord, her husbands father he whose portrait in the library her son called a Raeburn, and between whom and Val she had already attempted to es- tablish a resemblance was very hasty and hot-tempered too; which was an in- finite comfort to her, as proving that Val got his temper in the legitimate way from his own family and not through that inferior channel, his mothers blood. He was sligl itly ex- cited about the visit to his father, and about his first progress alone into the great world much more excited, I am sorry to say, than he was about repre- sen tin g the county; but on that point Lord Eskside did everything that was necessary, filling up what was wanting on Valentines part in interest and emo- tion. He had again filled Rosscraig with a party which made the woods ring with their guns all morning, and talked poli- tics all night; and there was not a voter of importance in the whole county who had not already been . sounded, one way or other, as to how he meant to dis- pose of his vote. The first thing to b~ done is to make sure of keeping the Rad- icals out, Lord Eskside said ; for, in- deed, a Whig lawyer was known to be poising on well-balancing wing, ready to sweep down upon a constituency which had always been stanch faithful among the faithless known. The present Mem- ber, I must explain, was in weak health and but for embarrassing his party, and thwarting the cherished purpose of Lord Eskside, who was one of the leading i~ml~rs of the Conservative party in the county, would have retired before now. Vals term of residence at home was not, therefore, much more than a visit. He did what an active youth could do to renew all his old alliances, and climbed up the brae to the Hewan many times without seeing any of the family there, except the younger boys, who were mend- ing of some ~uthful complaint under Mrs. Moffatts care, and who looked up to him with great awe, hut were not other- wise interesting to the young man. Are any of the others coming is your mother coming or Vi? said Valen THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 29 tine; but these youthful individuals could son to make an excellent stepmother afford him no information. Oh, ay, to his seven children. Mary, who was theyre maybe coming next month, said conscious in some small degree of the old Jean, who took a feminine pleasure worthy mans meaning, was grateful to in the dismay that was visible in Valen- Val for once ; and enjoyed, as the quiet- tines face. They were here a the est of women do, the discomfiture of her summer, June and July; and I wouldna would-be suitor. wonder but well see them all October Yes, she said, smiling ; ~ what of it, if its no too cauld, the old woman you unruly boy? added, with a twinkle in her eye. I am not a proper subject for such What good will that do me? said epithets, said Val. I have attained Val; and he leaped the dyke, and went my majority, and made a speech to the home through the ferns angry with disap- tenantry. I say, Mary, do you know, pointment. And yet he ~vas not at all in thats a lovely spot, that linn. I was love with Violet, he thought, but only liked her as the nicest girl he knew. When he remarked to Lady Eskside that it was odd to find none of the Prin- gles at the Hewan, my lady arose and slew him on the spot. Why should the Pringles be at the Hewan ? she said; they have a place of their own, where it becomes them much better to be. To leave Violet there so long by herself last year ~vas a scandal to her mother, and gave much occasion for talking. Why should it give occasion for talk- ing? said Val. A boy like you knows nothing about the matter, the old lady answered, put- ting a stop to him decisively. Perhaps that was true enough; but it was also true that Val took a long walk to the linn next day, and sat down under the bushes, and mused for half an hour or so, without quite knowing what he was thinking about. How clearly he remembered those two expeditions, mingling them a little in his recollection, yet seeing each so dis- tinctly ! the small Violet in her blue cloak, sleeping on his shoulder (which thought made him colour slightly and laugh in the silence, such intimate com- panionship being strangely impossible to think of nowadays), and the elder Violet, still so sweet and young, younger than himself, though he was the very imper- sonation of Youth, repeating all the ear- lier experiences except that one. By Jove, how jolly Mary is! said Valentine to himself at the end of this reverie and when he xvent home he devoted himself to Miss Percival, who was again at Ross- craig, as she always was when Lady Esk- side was exposed to the strain and fa- tigue of company. Do you remember our picnic at the linn last year? he said, standing over Mary in a corner after dinner, to the great annoyance of an elderly admirer, who had meant to take this opportunity of makin~ himself agree- able to a woman who seemed the very per- there to-day Oh, you were there to-day? Yes, I was there. Is there anything wonderful in that? said Val, not sure whether he ought not to take offence at the lauThin~ tone, which seemed to imply something. Tell Violet, when you see her, that it was uncommonly shabby of her not to come this year. Wed have gone again. Theres a virtue in three times, Val, said Mary. If you go again, it will be more than a joke ; and I dont think Ill give your message to Vi. Why should it be more than a joke ? Or why should it be a joke at all ? said Val, reddening, he scarcely knew why. He withdrew after this, slightly confused, feeling as if some chance touch had got at his heart, giving it a dinizie which was half pleasure and half pain. Do you know what a dinizie is, dear English reader ? It means that curious sensation which you, in the pov- erty of your language, call striking the funny bone. You know what it is in the elbow. Valentine had that kind of sen- sation in his heart ; and I think if this half-painful jar of the nerve lasted, and suggested quite new thoughts to the boy, it was all Mary Percivals part. I am happy to say that her widower got at her on Vars withdrawal, and made himself most overpoweringly agreeable for the rest of the night. And then the boy xvent away on his grand tour, leavIn.g the old people at home rather lonely, longing after him though Lord Eskside was too much occu- pied to take much notice of Vals de- parture: My lady was very busy, too, paying visits over ~ll the country, and paying court to great and small. She promised the widower her interest with Mary, but judiciously put him off till Miss Percivals next visit, saying, cun- ningly, that she must have time to pre- pare her young friend for the idea, and 30 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. trosting in Providence that the election might be over before an answer had to be given. It was gratifying to the Esk- sides to find a devoted canvasser for Val- entine in the person of Lord Hightowers, the only possible competitor who could have divided the party in the county. Hightowers, however, was not fond of politics, and had no ambition for public life ; it would have suited him better to be a locksmith, like Louis Seize. And among them all, they got the county into such a beautiful state of preparation that Lord Eskside could scarcely con- tain his rapture and having laid all his trains and holding his match ready, sat down, in a state of excitement which it would be difficult to describe, to wait until the moment of explosion came. In other places, too, Valentines de- parture had caused far more excitement than he was at all aware of. He had seen and said good-bye to Dick, with the most cordial kindness, on the day he left Oxford. But Val had not failed to re- mark a gravity and preoccupation about his humble friend which troubled him in no small degree. When he recounted to Dick the failure of Lady Eskside and himself on the day before, the young man had received the information with a pain- ful attempt to seem surprised, which made Val think for a moment that Dicks mother had avoided the visit of set pur- pose. But as he knew of no hidden im- portance in this, the idea went lightly out of his head and a few days after he remembered it no more. Very much more serious had been the effect upon Dick. His mothers flight and her panic were equally unintelligible to him. The thought that there must be somethino- wrong involved, in order to produce such terror, was almost irresistible and Dicks breeding, as I have said, had been of that practical kind which makes the mind accustomed to the commoner and vulgarer sorts of wrong-doing. He did not insist upon knowing what it was that made her afraid of Vals o-randmoth er; but her abject terror, and the way in which she dragged ~ too, out of sight, as if he had been a partner of her shame, had the most painful effect upon the young man. In the rudimentary state of morals which existed among the class from which he sprang, and where all his primitive ideas had been formed, dis- honesty was the one crime short of mur- der ~vhich could bring such heavy shame along with it. He~vho steals is shunned in all classes, except among the narrow professional circles of thieves them- selves and Dick could not banish from his thoughts a painful doubt and uncer- tainty about his mothers relations with Mr. Rosss people. She herself was so stunned and petrified by the great danger which she seemed to herself to have escaped, that she was very little ca- pable of giving a ra tiodal explanation of her conduct. You knew this lady be- fore, mother? said Dick to her, half pitifully, half severely, as he took her back to the parlour and placed her in a chair after the visitors were gone. Yes, she answered, but no more. He asked her many other questions, but nothing more than repeated Yes or No could he get in reply. I do not know what wild sense of peril was in the poor creatures heart. She feared, perhaps, that they could have taken her up and punished her for run- ning away from her husband; she felt sure that they would separate her from her remaining boy, though had they not the other, whom she had given up to them? and in her panic at the chance of being found out, all power of reasoning (if she ever had any) deserted her. Ah, she thought to herself, only a tramp is safe! As soon as you have a settled habitation, and are known to neighbours, and can be identified by people about, all security leaves you only on the tramp is a woman who wishes to hide herself safe. In her first panic, the thought of going a~~ay again, of deserting every- thing, of taking refuge on those open roads those outdoor bivouacs which are full in the eye of day, yet better refuges than any mysterious darkness came so strongly over her, that it was all she could do to withstand its force. But when she looked at her son, active and trim, in his boat-building yard, or saw him studying the little house at night, ~th~his tools in his hand, to judge where he could put up something or im- prove something, his mother felt her- self for the first (or perhaps it was the second) time in her life, bound as it were by a hundred minute threads which made it impossible for her to please herself. It was something like a new soul which had thus developed in her. Iy~ forn~ r times she had done as the spirit mo ~ed her, obeying her im- pulses whenever they were so strong as to carry everything else b~fore them. Now she felt a distinct check to the wild force of these impulses. The blood in her veins moved as warmly as ever, impel- ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. 3 ling her to go, and she knew that she was free to go if she would, and that Dick too could be vanquished, and would come with her, however unwillingly. She was free to go, and yet she could not. For the first time in her life she had learned consciously to prefer another to herself. She could not ruin Dick. The struggle that she maintained with her old self was violent, but it was within herself, and was known to nobody; and finally, the new woman, the higher creature, vanquished the old self-willed and self-regarding ~vanderer. She set herself to meet the winter with a dogged resolution, feeling less, perhaps, the absence of that vision- ary solace which she had found in the sight of Val, in consequence of the hard and perpetual battle she had to fight with herself. And, to make it harder, she had not the cheery gratitude and tender appreciation of the struggle, which had rewarded her much less vio- lent effort before. Dick was gloomy, overcast, pondering upon the strange thing that had happened. He could not get over it it stood between him and his mother, making their intercourse constrained and unhappy. Had she robbed the old lady from whom she had fled in so strange a panic? Short of that, or something of that kind, why, poor Dick thought, should one woman be so des- perately afraid of another? He did not, it is true, say, or even whisper to him- self, this word so terrible to one in his insecure position, working his way in the world with slow and laborious ad- vances but the suspicion rankled in his heart. From Macmillans Magazine. ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. As a rule a man puts absolute faith in his senses. A large proportion per- haps ninety-nine out of a hundred of the human race, recognize in all that be- longs to the natural world those things only which can be handled or seen ; the two most common attributes of that which we call matter. Tell a half-edu- cated man that the piece of chalk in his hand is principally composed of the re- mains of some millions of creatures which once lived; that the glass of clear water before him contains some thou- sands of animalcul~e, and lie answers that he will believe it when ~e sees it. Am I not to believe the evidence of my senses ? is a common enough expres- sion. The world existed for centuries before its rotundity was recognizedit appeared flat to the senses, the sun seemed to move across the heavens, while the earth was at rest. We know with what opposition the fact that the earth moves around the sun was received by all classes. How many fully realize it even now? In the sixteenth century, there were but ten Copernicans in the world. The early ideas of all races rela- tive to things beyond their ken, indicate that the tendency has ever been to iden- tify the unknown and the unknowable with those things which are more famil- iar to the senses. Thus, savages see the storm-demon rushing wildly over the skies ; to them the sun is endowed with life, and climbing the solid vault of heaven ; while lightning becomes fire generated by the collision of clouds, after the manner of a flint and steel. The thinking and observing man is, however, perpetually reminded of the fact that his senses are limited in their capabilities of perception. Their opera- tions are finite ; and the limit, as regards the observation and examination of ex- ternals, is reached much sooner than we generally imagine. The existence of such instruments as the microscope, tel- escope, and spectroscope, in itself indi- cates the limited action of the unassisted senses. The star-depths cannot be pen- etrated, the structure of the diatomace~ nay, often the diatom itself cannot be perceived by the unaided eye; while the dark lines of the spectrum, and the wonderful system of celestial analysis re- sulting therefrom, would have remained undiscovered had it not been for the prism, the substitution of the thin slice, for the circular beam, of light, employed by Newton, and the tutored eye of Wol- laston. But~it f~ not our intention to discredit the senses because theVr faculty of per- ception is limited. The senses are spe- cially devoted to the composite organism of which they form a part. In all that directly concerns that organism they are perfect ; but when we~endeavour to press them into some special service apart from the welfare of the organism, ~vhen we require our s ~ses to discern and investigate certain~ phenomena of the external world, we find at once that their capabilities are finite. Now, the special functions of the senses are to guard and protect our bodies, to give warning of impending dangers both from internal 32 ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. and external sources; to enable us to repel the adverse assaults of the forces of nature ; to benefit by all that Nature offers us bright sunlight, pure air, beautiful scenery. Gravity would drag us over the edge of a precipice ; the senses give warning, and we are safe accumulated snow would numb us into the long sleep, but so long as the senses remain sentinel over the organism, we resist the adverse influence. When the senses cease to give warning we per- ish ; the sense-bereft madman dashes out his brains. The senses enable us to comply with all the conditions requisite for the maintenance of life, and they transmute for us various actions of the external world, such as certain move- ments of the molecules of air, and of the luminiferous ether, into actions capable of being recognized in a d efinite form, by the centre of perception the brain. To these various sensations we give such names as Light, heat, and Sound. A horse runs away with a carriage a hundred yards behind us; the ear catches the sound, and conveys the impression quick as thought, not quick as light- ning * to the brain; the latter issues its orders, the body turns round, the eye sees the horse, and communicates this new impression to the brain, which puts in action the muscles of the legs, and thus we jump aside and avoid being run over the whole set of actions having occupied a remarkably small portion of ~ minute. As in the story of the belly and the members, each organ works with, and for, the entire composite organism; the senses are faithful and loyal servants of the kingdom of the whole body. But when we ask that same faithful eye which so recently helped to save us from de- struction, to see the nature of the motion we call heat, or to distinguish a molecule of oxygen gas, it can no longer serve us. These unwonted tasks bear the same rela- tion to it as did the mcs egg in the palace of Aladdin to the Genius of the Lamp ; but the eye does not reply to us as the Ge- nius replied to Aladdin: What, wretch * The velocity of a sensory impulse travelling to the brain has been determined tJbe about 44 metres (14432 feet) a second in man, white the velocity of a motor im- pulse travelling from the brain is believed to be 33 metres (10324 feet) a second. The motion is slowest in the case of sight, less slow in hearing, least slow in touch. According to Donders it takes about one twenty-sixth rart of a second to think fATature, vol. ii. p. 2). The duration of a flash of lightning has been calculated by Sir Charles Wheatssone to be less than a thousandth part of a second4 The velocity of electricity through short lengths of copper wire is, according to the same observer, 288,000 miles a second. is it not enough that I and my com- panions have done everything thou hast chosen to command, but that thou repay- est our services by an ingratitude that is unequalled ? It rather replies : I can- not indeed see a molecule of oxygen gas, or discern the nature of the motion of heat ; but I will do n~y best to distin- guish them if you will help me. And thus we are led to augment the action of the senses, by using them in conjunc- tion with suitable instruments of obser- vation. Let us be more precise as to this mat- ter of the limited cipacities of our senses. About us and around us, at all times and in all places, float myriads of harmonies which we hear not, myriads of images of things unseen. The idea is very old: the Pythagoreans asserted that the music of the spheres is not heard by man because the narrow portals of the ears cannot admit so great a sound. The peopling of the air with spirits, the ex- istence of the idea of Djin, Kobold, and Fairy, all point to the prevalence of the idea that unseen agencies are forever about us. Ten thousand motions sweep by, bathing us in their current, and we cannot recognize them. There are, if we may so express it, sounds which the ear cannot hear; light xvhich the eye cannot see ; heat which does not affect the sen- sory nerves. We mean simply that there are actions precisely similar in kind to those which constitute ordinary sound, light, and heat, which do not affect our senses. The difference is one of degree, not of form or kind. In fact, the differ- ence is no more than this : let us sup- pose that a railway train passes us with a velocity which allows us clearly to dis- tinguish the face of a friend in one of the carriages ; next let us suppose the velocity to be increased until we can no lo~ge.~ distinguish him. These are dif- ferences of degree, n otof kind; for the motion of the train is the same in kind and in direction, but of another degree, and this just makes the difference be- tween recognizing our friend and not do- ing so. In the one instance the observa- tion falls within the possible powers of the eye; in the other the augmented ve- locity of the train passes the limit of ob- servation. Th~~s also with the motions of light, heat, and sound. Let them pass certain well-defined limits, and the un- aided senses cease to recognize them. Our ears are deaf to sounds produced by more than 38,000 vibrations in a second; our eyes are blind to light produced by ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. 33 more than 699ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo vibrations in a second. Each organ singles out a certain limited range of vibrations, sharp- ly bounded in both directions, beyond which the organ ceases to recognize vi- brations similarly generated, and differ- ing from the recognized vibrations only in rate of motion. This limited range is amply sufficient for the wants of the or- ganism; but the vibrations beyond the range in both directions, although they may not influence us, often influence matter external to ourselves, as pro- foundly as those which we recognize by our unaided senses. Hence, once more, the necessity of exalting the action of the senses when we investigate external matter. Admitting therefore the limited capa- bilities of the senses, let us now go one step further. When applied to the in- vestigation of Nature, the unaided senses may not only fail us, but they may posi- tively deceive us by conveying false im- pressions. A point of light (say the glowirtg end of a lighted stick) if held at rest appears as a point of light; if moved rapidly in a line, as a line of light; if whirled in a circle, as a circle of light yet we know that the point of light can only be in one place at one and the same instant of time. Or take the less evident case of the motion of heat. We have before us a mass, say a cubic foot, of iron. It appears to be as solid and as motionless as anything we can well im- agine. Yet all the observations of sci- ence point to the conclusion that its small particles or atoms are not in con- tact with each other; and that they are all moving with great relative velocity, not directly forward with motion of trans- lation, but vibrating about a position of rest. If we cool our mass of iron we observe that it occupies less bulk than before; hence clearly the atoms could not have been in contact before cooling, for they have approached each other, and matter is iml)enetrable two things can- not be in the same place at the same time. If we continue to cool the mass of iron, it continues to get smaller, the atoms approach closer and closer, and we have never been able to cool a body until it contracts no longer; in fact, we do not know of any substance whose atoms are in contact. Yet our senses of sight and of touch assure us that the iron consists of continuous matter. Now if the atoms are not in contact, and if they are perpetually mo~ing, why, we may ask, is it not possible to thrust our LiVING AGE. VOL. Viii. 367 band into the midst of them, to see then moving, or at least at the bounding sur- faces of the mass to feel the movement? Only because our senses are not suffi- ciently acute for this. The atoms move with excessive velocity, so that, as in the case of the whirled stick, they are, as far as the sense of sight is concerned, appar- ently in two places at the ~am~ time; so also the nerves of touch are not suf- ficiently delicate to recognize the mi- nute moment of time required by an atom to complete a vibration. For aught we can tell to the contrary, that which to our senses is a cubic foot of iron may be generated by the rapid vibration of a thin plate of iron one foot square within the limits of a foot in length. One more example a very familiar one of the fallacy of the senses, and we pass on to the more immediate subject of our dis- cussion. Place three basins in a row: pour cold water into the left-hand basin, hot water into that on the right, and a mixture of equal parts of the hot and cold water into the central basin. If ~ve now dip our left hand into the cold water, and our right hand into the warm water, simultaneously remove them, and place them in the central basin, the luke- warm water in it will feel warm to the left hand, and cold to the right. Here, then, we have two absolutely antithetical sen- sations communicated to the brain by similar sets of nerves, and originated by the same medium. Are we to believe the evidence of the right hand or of the left, or are we to disbelieve both? The old story of the man who cooled his por- ridge and warmed his hands with the same breath is equally to the point. We must recognize the fact that namberless actions of the external world, as con- veyed and interpreted to us by the senses, are relative rather than absolute. We call a thing hot or cold according as it happensi4o~.ffect our senses at any par- ticular time. A traveller descending Chimborazo complains at a certain eleva- tion of the heat; a traveller who is as- cending, and who meets him at the same place, complains of the cold. Change of impression, says Professor Bain, is necessary to our being conscious. . The sensation of light supposes a transi- tion from darkness or shade, or from a less degree of illum~hation to a greater The principle of Relativity, or the necessity of change in order to our being conscious, is the groundwork of Thought, Intellect, or Knowledge, as well as of Feeling... Our knowledb e begins, as 34. ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. it were, with Difference. The inter- assumption of heat by a mass of metal, l)retation of an external action by any and the reception of sound and light by particular sense, and the transmutation the brain. Having recognized from the of an external impression into an im- foregoing remarks the fact that the senses pression capable of being recognized are limited in their capabilities of obser- by the brain, involves this principle of vation, and otherwise may often give fal- Relativity. The process of sifting the lacious results, we must at the outset relatively absolute from the absolutely provide ourselves with a. suitable organ relative, or of stating the relative in terms of observation. And~ here we must beg of the absolute, should be diligently at- the reader to grant us a few important tempted in the investigations of nature. concessions ; we must divest ourselves Although, as we have attempted to of this muddy vesture of decay, if we show, we are surrounded by numberless wish to hear the music of the spheres; unseen actions, we can, to some extent our bodies will be in the way if we wish faintly and dimly indeed visualize them to glide amongst ultimate atoms. We in our minds eye ; and whenever this will therefore dispossess ourselves of the can be done without hypothesizing too material part of us, retaining only the eye wildly, without going too far out of the and the ear, associated with our normal world of real existences, we think it be- intellectual powers. But the eye can hoves us to do so. There can be no only be directed towards one point at doubt that those impressions are best once, and if a rapidly moving body passes realized which are seen by the eye of the it, the moving body (like the whirled body, or, if invisible to it, are by mental stick) will appear to be drawn out on action wrought into the similitude of account of the persistence of its image things seen. Throughout the history of on the retina ; hence we must have a Natural Philosophy no matter how more complete instrument of vision. Let subtle the entity this attempt to vis- us then imagine a sphere ~vhose entire ualize the invisible has always been surface is studded with eyes, and let us apparent: the motion-giving aW~p of Aris- call this organ of vision, for the avoid~ totle, the & ~iioto~tpetat of Anaxagoras, the ance of repetition, the ocuills. We must materia cwlestis of Descartes, the igneous grant it, moreover, the power of con- motion, gyratorious sen verticillaris tracting to the size of an atom, and of of Stahl, the glutinous effluvium of penetrating where the luminiferous ether the old electricians, the invisible can penetrate ; the faculty of seeing in threads by which, according to Father the dark; infinite velocity in any direc- Linus, the mercury is held suspended in tion, or across any position of rest; the barometer, have not the authors of power of clearly distinguishing the most one and all of these pushed imagination rapid motion, and of seeing the imagined to its furthest limit in the attempt to but ordinarily unseen ; and lastly, power visualize the unseen ? And have not the of resisting any extremes of temperature. proposers of subtle effluvia, attractive These gifts being conceded, we have an and repulsive fluids, polarized media instrument of vision well suited to our for the conveyance of forces, striven to purpose, an all-powerful eye ; potent as do the same? They have wisely endeav- the winged eye which hovers over the oured to save their conceptions from head of Osiris in the Hall of Perfect Jus- being dry metaphysical dogmas, unrecog- tice, when the heart of the deceased nized and unremembered save by ab- tr~ribles in the balance. stract mental means, and to fix them in We will now accompany the oculus on our memories by images, however crude its first voyage of discovery. We have they may be, drawn from the more oh- before us a little ingot of silver: we mag- vious and material world about us. In nify it a few billion times, until for regard to those actions of light, heat, and example it is as large as Australia, and sound, of which we have spoken above, enter it as an oculus. We make our- do we not try, and ought we not to try selves as small as possible and perfectly yet more, to realize each phase of their elastic, or all our eyes will be put out, existence under any particular condition and we sh ~jl be ponnded to pieces, for their generation by the vibrating body, we are surro~nded on every side by small, their transferrence by the elastic medium, black, elastic atoms of silver, nearly as their final rest in the brain? large as peas. They are whirling round Let us endeavour to visualize some of and round in various planes with exceed- the invisible ac4ions which are perpet- ing rapidity, in circles about ten feet ually taking place around ~ such as the diameter. It reminds us a little of the ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. effect produced when we look up at a heavy snow-storm accompanied by just enough wind to give the flakes a whirl- ing motion in mid-air; only here the ~vhite flakes are exchanged for little black spheroids which move rhythmically. We soon perceive that the velocity augments, the circles become larger, a lurid light surrounds the atoms, the mass no longer preserves its shape: it has exchanged the solid for the liquid condition, and settles down as a vast lake of molten silver. The circles of revolution of the atoms are but slightly larger, they appear now to be eleven or twelve feet diameter. The motion still increases ; in other words, the molten silver continues to ac- quire heat, when suddenly it commences to boil; the atoms, whose velocity has considerably augmented, leave the circu- lar path in which they had hitherto moved, and fly off tangentially, moving recti- lineally through space. Now we fix our eyes on an atom, and notice that although its velocity is enormous, it does not make so much progress as we might have ex- pected, because it perpetually comes into collision with other atoms ; thus it does not get even a hundred feet of contin- uous rectilinear motion, its path through space is zigzag, because it is constantly diverted from its straight course by col- lision with neighbouring atoms. Thus the direction of its motion is chancred several hundred times in,a second. The atoms are perfectly elastic, and bound off from each other whenever collisions oc- cur. The oculus now leaves the interior of the mass, and having reached the out- side, notices a vast greenish cloud of silver gas floating above it. Presently the rectilinear motion slackens; the gas is cooling; the atoms approach each other until at length they come within the range of their cohesion, which com- pounds its own rectilinear attractive force with the motion of the atoms into the former circular motion : they aban- don their rectilinear for angular velocity. The cloud of silver vapour condenses a gigantic rain of molten silver falls the drops are spheroidal and ellipsoidal masses as large as the dome of St. Pauls; they solidify into a lengthened ridge of silver mountains. Again the Odil/US enters the mass, and finds the atoms still actuated by their ceaseless circular motion of heat. But on lookino- towards one end of the ridge, the incep- tion of a new kind of motion is per- ceived ; the particles ar~assimilating an elliptical motion, which travels rapidly 35 from end to end: the mass is con~ieying an electric current. The atoms of silver, still retaining their elliptical motion, now assume a peculiar helicoidal motion in varying planes : the mass is under the influence of a magnet. The oczdus then goes outside again and stations itself near the base of one of the sliming silver mountains ; it looks up at the bright lus- trous sides, and sees the ether waves dashing down upon them from infinite space ; it notices also that the motion of the waves differs from that of the atoms they cannot assimilate it. Conse- quently the ether-waves are dashed back, like great se a-waves dashing on a rock- bound coast; in a word, they are re- flected, and to some extent scattered, as eth er-foam. Once again, the ingot of silver is placed in a Cyclopean melting-pot, to- gether with some sulphur: the oculus places itself at the bottom of the mass, and diligently watches. The melting- pot is placed in a furnace ; motion is rapidly assimilated by the atoms, more quickly by the sulphur than by the sil- ver; at length a white atom of sulphur and two black atoms of silver are seen to coalesce, separate from the rest of the mass, and sink to the bottom as a mole- cule of sulphide of silver. The molecule continues the motion of heat which the individual atoms had before possessed, but the three coalesced atoms now act as one. The motion is observed to differ altogether, both in kind and velocity, from that of the single atoms ; and the oculus no longer recognizes either the sulphur or the silver as separate bodies the compound molecule now forms in- deed a new substance. The individual atoms of the molecule also move rela- tively to each other. The combination of the two atoms of silver with one atom of sul~hu~ continues until the whole mass of silver has become a new sub- stance. A few million atoms of sulphur remain in the melting-pot in excess they move more and more rapidly as the heating continues, and ultimately float away and are seen no more. Here ends our first voyage with the oculus. We have seen some actions which dre fairly familiar to many of us. We have endeavo ~ed to visualize the assumption of heat by a mass of melted metal; the continued assumption result- ing in fusion and vaporization ; the sub- sequent condensation of the vapour;, the conveyance of an electric current by the metallic mass ; the action of a m-~net 36 ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. upon it; the reflection of light from its polished surface; and finally, its union with sulphur under the influence of the force of chemical affinity. Whither shall we travel now? To the fiery maelstr6ms of the sun ? To the zone of Saturn? To a cloud of plane- tary matter condensino~ into new worlds Or shall we float with the light of Arc- turus and a Lyr~ into the spectroscope of Mr. Huggins? Since we have at- tempted to visualize the infinitely little, let us now transport the oculus to the in- finitely great, and place it in the midst of a new solar system about to be formed. The oculus speeds through space ; it sees an earth-lit moon ; it reaches Mars during mid-winter, it examines the belt of Saturn with interest, and it gains some entirely new ideas about space of four dimensions. It passes the region where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand. At length, far out of sight of our solar system, it comes to a firmamental desert, and sees beneath it an extended nebu- lous mass, some ten trillion miles in ex- tent; the mass is hazy and cloud-like, and is gradually contracting its limits, until at length it condenses into a semi- solid spherical mass, intensely radiant, in fact still white-hot. The sphere assumes rotatory motion, and as the motion aug- ments it bulges out more and more in the direction of its motion ; then some dozens of masses of molten matter of dif- ferent sizes are given off from the cir- cumference of the rotating mass. These fly out in orbits more or less eccentric, and revolve around the great central body, the remans of the original parent mass, and still far larger than any of its offspring. These new worlds possess ro- tatory motion of their own; one has a girdle; one is accompanied by little moons; some follow a very elliptical path; some rush off into infinite space in hyperbolic curves. The great central mass, now the sun of a vast system, keeps his attendant worlds in order; the greater number revolve about him with regularity. But one of the worlds, a few times larger than our moon, has by the velocity of its impulse been projected into a large and very elliptical orbit, which brings it within the sphere of attraction of a distant, but enormous, sun. Then, as a.ship is drawn into a whirlpool, is the errant world drawn to its destruction. It circulates about the greater body, not in a curved path which returns into itself, but an in ever-narrow- ing spiral. At last comes the final crash it rushes into the sun with a velocity of more than a million miles a second, and the heat generated by the collision vola- tilizes the destroyed planet.. A thin fiery cloud is now all that retnains of what had a short time before been a world. All this, and much more, the oculus per- ceives, and then returns to earth. With our organ of observation we might now visit those profound depths of the ocean, of which the Ghallenger is tell- ing us so much; we might swim through a di-electric subject to electrostatic in- duction ; we might inhabit a Geisslers tube, or bury ourselves in a slice of tour- maline, about the time when a high- priest of Nature cries Fiat e~,z5erimentu;n in the matter of polarized light. Let us rather visit with the oculus those obscure regions in which perception itself origi- nates. Let us float with a sound-wave into the ear, and with an ether-wave en- ter the portals of the brain itself. Behold, then, the oculus within the dim porches of the ear, tapping upon the tympanum, through which it passes, and entangles itself among those complicated little bones which anatomists call the malleus, the incus, and the stares. The tympanum is quivering, and the little bones appear to accept its motion, and to transmit it. As the oculus passes on it sees beneath it what appears to be a deep narrow well the Eustachian tube; then it looks through the fenestra ro- tunda, and floats through the fenestra ovalis into the perilymph, a clear liquid mass agitated by waves ; then it nearly loses itself in the labyrinth and cocklear, a sort of place like the maze at Hampton Court ; escaping from this it swims through the endolymph ; and finally eor~s in sight of the cortian fibres, the scala media. and the ends of the auditory nerves. The oculus fails not to see how each particular fibre vibrates to one par- ticular tone or semitone, and it hears the transmitted vibrations around it ; as, standing in the belfry at Bru~es the dreaming listener hears about him, now one bell, now another, bursting into song, and at last a gre at symphony poured from fifty thr~ats of bronze. The oculus now returns to the outer world, and makes friends with an atom of luminiferous ether which is about to enter the eye. But before they can join company the oculus has to shrink to a ON THE PERCEPTION OF THE INVISIBLE. 37 smaller size than ever before. It has sent off by another line of wires; where now to enter very microscopical chan- sometimes the messages originate in the nels, to which a particle the size of a office itself, while at other times clerks grain of sand would he as a cricket-ball rush in breathlessly with messages for to the channel of a small straw. We instant despatch. The most distant next find it with the ether-wave dashing nerves conveyed messages and received upon the outer surface of the eye. It back answers, whereupon bodily motions enters the organism by a gate of horn resulted. Thus the will said, I want to the cornea and enters the brain itself move the arm, and the nece~saPv direc- by a gate of ivory the oft/ic forarnen. tions having been given the arm moved. We are a little reminded of Virgils idea Or the stomach said, I am hungry of the two gates there is food in the jaws, let them com- mence operations, and forthwith the Sunt gemin~ somni port~, quarum altera fertur jaws began to masticate, and all the aux- Cornea. . . . iliary apparatus of deglutition was simul- Altera, candenti perfecta nitens elephanto. taneously set in motion. Or the mind said, I send you these important facts; Having passed the aqueous humour, copy them carefully, and store them away the oculus perceives an increase of re- in a chamber, until I want them. But sistance as it encounters the lens, and on some of these chambers appeared to have emerging enters a vaulted chamber filled very defective locks, and sometimes ~vith a substance as clear as crystal. Im- broken doors. pulses are speeding through this with Thus it was that messages continued to extreme velocity, and delivering their be received and transmitted by the brain. messages to the brain. Of all the won- It was apparently a kind of head-quar- derful things that the oculus saw in that ters, to which every action was referred crystal chamber, with black walls, and a before being executed. No nerve or window, not yet darkened, which looked muscle ventured to act upon its own ac- upon the external world, it would take us count without first obtaining leave from too long to tell. It saw there varied head-quarters, which leave, once given, images reflected upon the walls, of things ~vas responded to by the whole mental distant, and things near; it saw too the and bodily system. The heart and the movements of the ciliary muscles which respiratory apparatus were frequent in cause the front surface of the lens to their demands, and had a vast number of change its curvature, and much more. separate telegraph wires for their special It could have lingered there longer, but use and behoof. Soon the will said, I its guide, the ether-wave, hurried it on, want to read aloud, and the brain at till it reached the far end of the chamber, once commenced to receive communica- and saw the commencement of the optic tions, and to issue the necessary instruc- nerve. The particles of the nerve were tions. There were the muscles of the seen to be rapidly vibrating under the arm to be directcd, in order that the influence of the ether-waves, and to be book might be held at a proper distance finally yielding up the motion to the par- from the eyes ; and the muscles which tides of the brain. The oculus floats be- cause the eyes to move horizontally tween the nerve fibres into the brain from the beginning to the end of a line, itself. But there it sees no more. In and vertically from the top to the bottom vain it endeavours to comprehend how of a pate ~vand the vibrations of the par- the delicate impulses of the ether be- tides of the optic nerve conveying the come transmuted into the sensation of impression of the letters to be received, light; how the images of the external and then communicated to the muscles world are recognized by the centre of of the larynx, and the muscles of the perception. tongue, and the muscles of the lips, and Although now within the most private the respiratory muscles, and their varied chambers of the great domed palace, the auxiliary apparatus all these concur- oculus can understand but little of its rent causes combined to one end, and inner life. It is reminded somewhat of a thus the words seen by the eye came to central telegraph office, ~vhere messages be spoken by the n~uth, and the organ- are perpetually being received, and as ism performed the act of reading aloud. perpetually being sent; where some- Now the passage which was read was times a message is retained, carefully this It is likewise certain that, ~vhen copied, and stored away ~ a safe; where we approve of any reason which we do again a message, as soon as received, is not apprehend, we are either deceived, 38 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. or, if we stumble upon the truth, it is only by chance, and thus we can never possess the assurance that we are not in error. I confess it seldom happens that we judge of a thing when we have ob- served we do not apprehend it, because it is a dictate of the natural light, never to judge of what we do not know. But we most frequently err in this, that we presume upon a past knowledge of much to which we give our assent, as to some- thing treasured up in the memory, and perfectly known to us ; whereas, in truth, we have no such knowledge.* Then the reading ceased, and the will some- what peremptorily asked the brain the precise meaning of the passage. Where- upon the molecules of the brain nota- bly the corpuscles of the grey matter became strangely agitated; they moved with wonderful motions in wonderful planes ; they described in their motions space of four dimensions ; they moved in vortices which rolled over each other in a word, the whole organ was in a state of intense molecular activity. !47as this Thought? At all events the will re- ceived no answer to its question, and having requested the brain to cudgel it- self no more, the subject was dropped, and the reading continued. The oculus was endeavouring to thread its way through the countless corridors and chambers which surrounded it, when it came upon a small cell out of which came the Genius of the place, who conducted it in safety to the frontier. Our typical man, who says, I will be- lieve it when I see it, has after all a good deal of reason on his side, for we cannot speak with any certainty of invisi- ble things; we can only say what we be- lieve them to be, or what they may be. It is thus that we must regard the revela- tions of the oczdus. G. F. RODWELL. * Descartes, Princzz5ia, Pars s, 44. From The Corohill Magazine. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. CHAPTER XXXIX. COMING HOME: A CRY. ON the turnpike-road between Caster- bridge and Weatherbury, and about a mile from the latte~place, is one of those steep long ascents which pervade the highways of this undulating district. In returning from market it is usual for the farmers and other gig-gentry to alight at the bottom and walk up. One Saturday evening in the month of October Bathshebas vehicle was duly creeping up this incline. She was sitting listlessly in the second seat of the gig, whilst walking beside Mr in a farmers marketing suit of ~inusually fashionable cut was an erect, well-made young man. Though on foot, he held the reins and whip, and occasionally aimed light cuts at the horses ear with the end of the lash, as a recreation. This man was her husband, formerly Sergeant Troy, who, having bought his discharge with Bath- shebas money, was gradually transform- ing himself into a farmer of a spirited and very modern school. People of unalterable ideas still insi~ted upon call- ing him Sergeant when they met him, which was in some degree owing to his having still retained the well-shaped moustache of his military days, and the soldierly bearing inseparable from his form. Yes, if it hadnt been for that wretch- ed rain I should have cleared two hun- dred as easy as looking, my love, he was saying. Dont you see, it altered all the chances? To speak like a book I once read, wet weather is the narrative, and fine days are the episodes, of our countrys history ; now isnt that true ? But the time of year is come for changeable weather. Well, yes. The fact is, these autumn races are the ruin of everybody. Never did I see such a day as twas Tis a wild open place, not far from the sands, and a drab sea rolled in towards us like liquid misery. Wind and raingood Lord Dark? Why, twas as black as my hat before the last race was run. Twas five oclock, and you couldnt see the lgrs~s till they were almost in, leave alone colours. The ground was as heavy as lead, and all judgment from a fellows experience went for nothing. Horses, riders, people, were all blown about like ships at sea. Three booths were blown over, and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon their hands and knees; apd in the next field were as many as a dozen hats at one time. Aye, Pimpernel regularly stu~& fast when about sixty yards off, and when I saw Policy step- ping on, it did knock my heart against the lining of my ribs, I assure you, my love ! And you mean,I Frank, said Bath- FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 39 sheba, sadly her voice was painfully lowered from the fulness and vivacity of the previous summerthat you have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadful horseracing? Oh, Frank, it is cruel it is foolish of you to take away my money so. We shall have to leave the farm that will be the end of it Humbug about cruel. Now, there tis again turn on the water-works thats ju~t like you. But youll promise me not to go to Bud mouth races next week, wont you? she implored. Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, but she maintained a dry eye. I dont see why I should; in fact, if it turns out to be a fine day, I was think- ing of taking you. Never, never ! Ill go a hundred miles the other way first. I hate the sound of the ver~y word! But the question of going to see the race or staying at home has very little to do with the matter. Bets are all booked safely enough before the race begins, you. may depend. Whether it is a bad race for me or a good one, will have very little to do with our going there next Monday. But you dont mean to say that you have risked anything on this one too she exclaimed, with an agonized look. There now, dont you be a little fool. Wait till you are told. Why, Bathsheba, youve lost all the pluck and sauciness~ you formerly had, and upon my life if I had known xvhat a chicken-hearted crea- ture you were under all your boldness, Id never have I know what. A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathshebas dark eyes as she looked resolutely ahead after this reply. They moved on without further speech, some early-withered leaves from the beech-trees which hooded the road at this spot occasionally spinning down- ward across their path to the earth. A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. The ridge was so abrupt that she was very near the husband and wife be- fore she became visible. Troy had turned towards the gig to remount, and whilst putting his foot on the step the woman passed behind him. Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of eventide enveloped them in gloom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern the extreme poverty of the womans garb, and the sadness of her face. Please, sir, do you know at what time Casterbridge Union-house closes at night ? The woman said these words to Troy over his shoulder. Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice ; yet he seemed to recover presence of mind sufficient to prevent himself from giving way to his impulse to suddenly turn and facet her. He said slowly I dont know. The woman, on hearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the side of his face, and recognized the soldier un- der the yeomans garb. Her face was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony both among its ele- ments. She uttered a hysterical cry, and fell down. Oh, poor thing! exclaimed Bath- sheba, instantly preparing to alight. Stay where you are, and attend to the horse ! said Troy, peremptorily, throwing her the reins and the whip. Walk the horse to the top: Ill see to the woman. But I Do you hear? Clk Poppet! The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on. How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, or dead! Why didnt you write to me? said Troy to the woman, in a strangely gen- tle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up. I feared to. Have you any money? None. Good Heaven I wish I had more to give you! Hereswretchedthe merest trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none but what my wife gives me, you know, and I cant ask her now. The woman made no answer. I have only another moment, con- tinued ~ro~ and now listen. Where are you going to-night? Casterbridge Union? Yes ; I thought to go there. You shant go there: yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for to-night; I can do nothing betterworse luck. Sleep there to-night and stay there to-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have ; and on Mon- day morning at ten exactly meet me on Casterbridge Brid~e~ Ill bring all the money I can muster. You shant want Ill see that, Fanny; then Ill get you a lodging some where. Good-bye till then. I am a brute but good-b ye! After advancing the distance which 40 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. completed the ascent of the hill, Bath- sheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, and Bathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going fee- bly down the hill. Troy then came on towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand, and with- out making any observation whipped the horse into a trot. He was rather pale. Do you know who that woman was? said Bathsheba, looking searchingly into his face. I do, he said, looking boldly back into hers. I thought you did, said she, with an- gry hauteur, and still regarding him. \Vho is she ? He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of the women. Nothing to either of us, he said. I know her by sight. What is her name ? How should I know her name? I think you do. Think if you will and be . The sentence was completed by a smart cut of the whip round Poppets flank, which caused the animal to start forward at a wild pace. No more was said. CHAPTER XL. ON cAsTERBRIDGE HIGHWAY. FOR a considerable time the woman walked on. Her steps became feebler, and she strained her eyes to look afar upon the naked road, now indistinct amid the penumbr~ of night. At length her onward walk dwindled to the merest totter, and she opened a gate within ~vhich was a haystack. Underneath this ~he sat down and presently slept. When the woman awoke it was to find herself in the depths of a moonless and starless night. A heavy unbroken crust of cloud stretched across the sky, shut- ting out every speck of heaven; and a distant halo xvhich hung over the town of Casterbridge was visible against the black concave, the luminosity appearing the brighter by its great contrast with the circumscribing darkness. Towards this weak, soft glow the woman turned her eyes. If I could only get there she said. Meet him the day after to-morrow God help me Perhaps I shall be in my grave before then. A clock from the far depths of shadow struck the hour, ~ne,in a small, attenu- ated tone. After midnight the voice of a clock seems to lose in breadth as much as in length, and to diminish its sono- rousness to a thin falsetto. Afterwards a light two lights arose from the remote shade, and grew larger. A carriage rolled along the road, and passed the gate. It probably contained some late diners-out. The beams from one lamp shone for a moment upon the crouching woman, and threw her face into vivid relief. The face was young in the groundwork, old in the finish; the general contours were flexuous and child- like, but the finer lineaments had begun to be sharp and thin. The pedestrian stood up, apparently with a revived determination, and looked around. The road appeared to be famil- iar to her, and she carefully scanned the fence as she slowly walked along. Pres- ently there became visible a dim white shape ; it ~vas a milestone. She drew her fingers across its face to feel the marks. Three she said. She leant against the stone as a means of rest for a short interval, then bestirred herself, and again pursued her way. For a lengthy distance she bore up bravely, afterwards flagging as before. This was beside a lone hazel copse, wherein heaps of white chips strewn upon the leafy ground showed that woodmen had been faggoting and making hurdles during the day. Now there was not a rustle, not a breeze, not the faintest clash of twigs to keep her company. The woman looked over the gate, opened it, and went in. Close to the entrance stood a row of fag- gots, bound and unbound, together with stakes of all sizes. For a few seconds the wayfarer stood with that tense stillness which signifies itself to be not the end, but merely the suspension, of a previous motion. Her attitude was that of a person who listens, either to the external world of sound, or ~ tile imagined discourse of thought. A close criticism might have detected signs proving that she was intent on the latter alternative.. Moreover, as was shown by what followed, she was oddly exercising the faculty of invention upon the special- ity of the clever Jacquet Droz, the de- signer of automatic substitutes for human limbs. By the ai& of the Casterbridge aurora, and by feelin~with her hands, the woman selected two sticks from the heaps. These sticks were nearly straight to the height of three or four feet, where each branched into a fork like the letter Y. She sat down, snapped off the small FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 4 upper twigs, and carried the remainder with her into the road. She placed one of these forks under each arm as a crutch, tested them, timidly threw her full weight upon them so little that it ~vas and swung herself forward. The girl had made for herself a material aid. The crutches answered well. The pat of her feet, and the tap of her sticks upon the highway, were all the sounds that came from the traveller now. She had passed a second milestone by a good long distance, and began to look wistfully towards the bank as if calculating upon another milestone soon. The crutches, though so very useful, had their limits of power. Mechanism only transmutes la- bour, being powerless to abstract it, and the original quantum of exertion was not cleared away it was thrown into the body and arms. She was exhausted, and each swing forward became fainter. At last she swayed sideways, and fell. Here she lay, a shapeless heap, for ten minutes and more. The morning wind began to boom dully over the flats, and to move afresh dead leaves which had lain still since yesterday. The woman des- perately turned round upon her knees, and next rose to her feet. Steadying herself by the help of one crutch she essayed a step, then another, then a third, using the crutches now as walking-sticks only. Thus she progressed till the begin- ning of a long railed fence came into view. She staggered across to the first post, clung to it, and looked around. Another milestone was on the opposite side of the road. The Casterbridge lights were now indi- vidually visible. It was getting towards morning, and vehicles might be hoped for if not expected soon. She listened. There was not a sound of life save that acme and sublimation of all dismal sounds, the bark of a fox, its three hol- low notes being rendered at intervals of a minute with the precision of a funeral bell. One mile more, the woman mur- mured. No, less, she added, after a pause. The mile is to the Town Hall, and my resting-place is on this side Cas- terbridge. Three-quarters of a mile, and there I am After an interval she again spoke. Five or six steps to a yardsix perhaps. I have to cro twelve hundred yards. A hundred times six, six hundred. Twelve times that. 0 pity me, Lord l Holding to the rails she advanced, thrusting one hand f~rward upon the rail, then the other, then leaning over it whilst she dragged her feet on beneath. This woman was not given to soliloquy; but extremity of feeling lessens the indi- viduality of the weak, as it increases that of the strong. She said again in the same tone, Ill believe that the end lies five posts forward, and no further, and so get strength to pass them. This was a practical appli~ation of the principle that a half feigned and fictitious faith is better than no faith at all. She passed five posts, and held on to the fifth. Ill pass five more by believing my longed-for spot is at the next fifth. I can do it. She passed five more. It lies only five further. She passed fivemore. But it is five further. She passed them. The end of these railings is the end of my journey, she said, when the end was in view. She crawled to the end. During the effort each breath of the woman ~vent into the air as if never to return again. Now for the truth of the matter, she said, sitting down. The truth is, that I have less than half a mile. Self-be- guilement with what she had known all the time to be false had given her strength to come a quarter of a mile that sh~ would have been powerless to face in the lump. The artifice showed that the wo- man, by some mysterious intuition, had grasped the paradoxical truth that blind- ness may operate more vigorously than prescience, and the short-sighted effect more than the far-seeing; that limitation, and not comprehensiveness, is needed for striking a blow. The half-mile stood now before the sick ~nd xveary woman like a stolid Jug- gernaut. It was an impassive King of her world. The road here ran across a level ~Iat~au with only a bank on either side. She surveyed the wide space, the lights, herself, sighed, and lay down on the bank. Never was ingenuity exercised so sorely as the traveller here exercised hers. Every conceivable aid, method, stratagem, mechanism, by ~vhich these last desperate eight hundred yards could be overpassed by human being unper- ceive(I, was revolves in her busy brain, and dismissed as impracticable. She thought of sticks, wheels, crawling she even thought of rolling. But the exer- tion demanded by either of these latter FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 42 two was greater than to walk erect. The faculty of contrivance was worn out. Hopelessness had come at last. No further! she whispered, and closed her eyes. From the strip of shadow on the op- posite side of the way a portion of shade seemed to detach itself and move into isolation upon the pale white of the road. It glided noiselessly towards the recum- bent woman. She became conscious of something touching her hand; it was softness and it was warmth. She opened her eyes, and the substance touched her face. A dog was licking her cheek. He was a huge, heavy, and quiet crea- ture, standing darkly against the low ho- rizon, and at least two feet higher than the present position of her eyes. Whether Newfo: ndland, mastiff, bloodhound, or what not, it was impossible to say. He seemed to be of too strange and myste- rious a nature to belong to any variety among those of popular nomenclature. Being thus assignable to no breed he was the ideal embodiment of canine great- ness a generalization from what was common to all. Night, in its sad, solemn, and benevolent aspect, apart from its stealthy and cruel side, was personified in thiS form. Darkness endows the small and ordinary ones among mankind with poetical power, and even the suffer- ing woman threw her idea into figure. In her reclining position she looked up to him just as in earlier times she had, when standing, looked up to a man. The animal; who was as homeless as she, re- spectfully withdrew a step or two when the woman moved, and, seeing that she did not repulse him, he licked her hand again. A thought moved within her like light- ning. Perhaps I can make use of him I might do it then She pointed in the direction of Caster- bridge, and the dog seemed to misunder- stand: he trotted on. Then, finding she could not follow, he came back and whined. The ultimate and saddest singularity of womans effort and invention was reached when, with a quickened breath- ing, she rose to a stooping posture, and, resting her two little arms upon the shoulders of the dog, leant firmly there- on, and murmured stimulating words. Whilst she sorrowed in her heart she cheered with her voice, and what was stranger than that the strong should need encouragement fron~ the weak was that cheerfulness should be so well simulated by such utter dejection. H.er friend moved forward slowly, and she ~vith small mincing steps moved forward beside him, half her weight being thrown upon the animal. Sometimes she sank as she had sunk from walking erect, from the crutches, from the rails. The dog, who now thoroughly understood her desire and her incapacity, was frantic in his distress on these occasions ; he would tug at her dress and run forward. She always called him back, and it was now to be observed that the woman listened for human sounds only to avoid them. It was evident that she had an object in keeping her presence on the road and her forlorn state unknown. Their progress was necessarily very slow. They reached the brow of the hill, and the Casterbridge lamps lay beneath them like fallen Pleiads as they walked down the incline. Thus the distance was passed, and the goal was reached. On this much desired spot outside the town rose a picturesque building. Ori- ginally it had been a mere case to hold people. The shell had been so thin, so devoid of excrescence, and so closely drawn over the accommodation granted that the grim character of what was be- neath showed through it as the shape of a body is visible under a winding-sheet. Then Nature, as if offended, lent a hand. Masses of ivy grew up, complete- ly covering the walls, till the place looked like an abbey; and it was discovered that the view from the front, over the Casterbridge chimneys, was one of the most magnificent in the county. A neighbouring earl once said that he would give up a year~ s rental to have at his own door the view enjoyed by the in- mates from theirs and very probably the inmates would have given up the view for his years rental. This green edifice consisted of a cen- tr~l i~ss and two wings, ~vhereon stood as sentinels a few slim chimneys, now gurgling sorrowfully to the slow wind. In the middle was a gate, and by the gate a bell-pull formed of a hangino wire. The woman raised herself as high as possible upon her knees, and could just reach the handle. She moved it and fell forwards in a bowed attitude, her face upon her bosom. It was gettin~ on towards six oclock, and sounds of movement were to be heard inside the building which was the haven of rest to this wearied soul. A lit- tle doorin thelarge one was opened, and FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 43 a man appeared inside. He discerned the panting heap of clothes, xvent back for a light, and came again. He entered a second time and returned with two wo- men. These lifted the prostrate figure and assisted her in through the doorway. The man then closed the door. How did she get here? said one of the women. The Lord knows, said the other. There is a dog outside,~~ murmured the overcome traveller. Where is he gone? He helped me. I stoned him away, said the man. The little procession then moved for- ward the man in front bearing the light, the two bony women next, support- ing between them the small and supple one. Thus they entered the door and disappeared. CHAPTER XLI. StJSPIcION: FANNY IS SENT FOR. stay at home. Say yes to your wife say yes ! The tenderest and softest phases of Bathshebas nature ~vere prominent now advanced impulsively for his accept- ance, without any of the disguises and defences which the wariness of her character when she was cool too fre- quently threw over them. Few men could have resisted the aith yet dignified entreaty of the beautiful face, thrown a little back and sideways in the well- known attitude that expresses more than the words it accompanies, and which seems to have been designed for these special occasions. Had the woman not been his wife Troy would have suc- cumbed instantly; as it was, he thought he would not deceive her longer. The money is not wanted for racing debts at all, he said. What is it for? she asked. You worry me a great deal by these myste- rious responsibilities, Frank. Troy hesitated. He did not now love BATHSHEBA said very little to her hus- her enough to allow himself to be carried band all that evening of their return from too far by her ways. Yet it was neces- market, and he was not disposed to say sary to be civil. You wrong me by such much to her. He exhibited the unpleas- a suspicious manner, he said. Such ant combination of a restless condition strait-waistcoating as you treat me to is with a silent tongue. The next day, not becoming in you at so early a date. which was Sunday, passed nearly in the I think that I have a right to grumble same manner as regarded their taciturn- a little if I pay, she said, with features ity, B athsheba going to church both between a smile and a pout. morning and afternoon. This was the Exactly; and, the former being done, day before the Budmouth races. In the suppose we proceed to the latter. Bath- evening Troy said suddenly, sheba, fun is all very well, but dont go l3athsheba, could you let me have too far, or you may have cause to regret twenty pounds? somethino Her countenance instantly sank. She reddened. I do that already, Twenty pounds ? she said. she said, quickly. The fact is, I want it badly. The What do you regret ? anxiety upon Troys face was unusual That my romance has come to an and very marked. It was a culmination end. of the mood he had been in ab the day. All romances ends at marriage. ~Ah for those races to-morrow. I wish you wouldnt talk like that. Troy for the moment made no reply. You g4ev~ me to my soul by being smart Her mistake had its advantages to a man at my expense. who shrank from having his mind iii- You are dull enough at mine. I be- spected as he did now. Well, suppose lieve you hate me. I do want it for races ? he said, at last. Not you-~--only your vices. I do ~ Oh, Frank! Bathsheba replied, and hate them. there was such a volume of entreaty in the Twould be much more becoming if words. Only such a few weeks a~o you you set yourself to cure them. Come, said that I was far sweeter than all your lets styike a balance with the twenty other pleasures put together, and that pounds, and be friends. you would give them all up for me ; and She gave a sigl~of resignation. I now, wont you give up this one, which have about that sum here for household is more a worry than a pleas ure? Do, expenses. If you must have it, take it. Frank. Come, let me fascinate you by Very good. Thank you. I expect I all I can do by pretty ~ords and pretty shall have gone away before you are in to looks, and everything I can think of to breakfast to-morrow. 44 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. And must you go? Ah! there was a time, Frank, when it would have taken a good many promises to other people to drag you away from me. You used to call me darling, then. But it doesnt matter to you how my days are passed now. I must go, in spite of sentiment. Trov, as he spoke, looked at his watch, and, apparently actuated by ;ion lucendo principles, opened the case at the hack, revealing, snugly stowed within it, a small coil of hair. Bathshebas eyes had been accidentally lifted at that moment, and she saw the action, and saw the hair. She flushed in pain and surprise, and some words escaped her before she had thought whether or not it was wise to utter them. A womans curl of hair! she said. Oh, Frank, whose is that ? Troy had instantly closed his watch. He carelessly replied, as one who cloaked some feelings that the sight had stirred. Why, yours, of course. Whose should it be? I had quite forgetten that I had it. What a dreadful fib, Frank! I tell you I had forgotten it! he said, loudly. I dont mean that it was yellow hair.~~ Nonsense. Thats insulting me. I know it was yellow. Now whose was it? I want to know. Very well Ill tell you, so make no more ado. It is the hair of a young woman I was going to marry before I knew you.~~ You ought to tell me her name, then. I cannot do that. Is she married yet ? No. Is she alive ? Yes. Is she pretty ? Yes. It is wonderful how she can be, poor thing, under such an awful affliction. Affliction what affliction U he in- quired, quickly. Having hair of that dreadful colour. Oh ho I like that ! said Troy, recovering himself. Why, her hair has been admired by everybody who has seen her since she has worn it loose, which has not been long. It is beautiful hair. People used to turn their heads to look at it, poor girl Pooh ! thats nothing thats noth- ing! she ex ciaime4, in incipient accents of pique. If I cared for your love as much as I used to I could say people had turned to look at mine. Bathsheba, dont be so fitful and jealous. You knew what married life would be like, and shouldnt have entered it if you feared these contingencies. Troy had by this time driven her to bitterness: her heart was bio- in her throat, and the ducts to her eyes were painfully full. Ashamed as she was to show emotion, at last she burst out : This is all I get for loving you so well! Ah ! when I married you your life was dearer to me than my own. I would have died for you how truly I can say that I would have died for you! And now you sneer at my foolishness in mar- rying you. Oh! is it kind to me to throw my mistake in myface? Whatever opin- ion you may have of my wisdom, you should not tell me of it so mercilessly, now that I am in your power. I cant hell) how things fall out, said Troy ; upon my heart~ women will be the death of me ! Well, you shouldnt keep peoples hair. Youll burn it, wont you, Frank ? Frank went on as if he had not heard her. There are considerations even be- fore my consideration for you; reparation to be made ties you know nothing of. If you repent of marrying, so do I. Trembling now, she put her hand upon his arm, s4ying, in mingled tones of wretchedness and coaxing, I only re- pent it if you dont love me better than any woman in the world. I dont other- wise, Frank. You dont repent because you already love somebody better than you love me, do you ? I dont know. Why do you say that? You wont burn that curl. You like the woman who owns that pretty hair yes it is pretty more beautiful than my miserable black mane! Well, it is n ~u~e; I cant help being ugly. You must like her best, if you will Until to-day, when I took it from a drawer, I have never looked upon that bit of hair for several months that I am ready to swear. But just now you said ties; and then, that woman we met? Twas the meeting with her that re- minded me of ~ie hair. Is it hers, t ~en ? Yes. There, now that you have wormed it out of me, I hope you are con- tent. And what are the ties ? FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 45 Oh! that meant nothinga mere jest. A mere jest she said, in mournful astonishment. Can you Jest when I am so wretchedly in earnest? Tell me the truth, Frank. I am not a fool, you know, although I am a woman, and have my womans moments. Come ! treat me fairly, she said, looking honestly and fearlessly into his face. I dont want much ; bare justice thats all. Ah once I felt I could be content with noth- ing less than the highest homage from the husband I should choose. Now, any- thing short of cruelty will content me. Yes ! the independent and spirited Bath- sheba is come to this For Heavens sake dont be so des- perate ! Troy said, snappishly, rising as he did so, and leaving the room. Directly he had gone, Bathsheba burst into great sobs dry-eyed sobs, which cut as they came, without any softening by tears. But she determined to repress all evidences of feeling. She was con- quered ; but sh.e would never own it as long as she lived. Her pride was indeed brought low by despairing discoveries of her spoliation by marriage with a less pure nature than her own. She chafed to and fro in rebelliousness, like a caged leopard her whole soul was in arms, and the blood fired her face. Until she had met Troy, Bathsheba had been proud of her position as a woman ; it had been a glory to her to know that her lips had been touched by no man s on earth that her waist had never been encircled by a lover s arm. She hated herself now. In those earlier days she had always nourished a secret contempt for girls who were the slaves of the first good-looking young fellow who should choose to salute them. She had never taken kindly to the idea of marriage in the abstract as did the majority of women she saw about her. In the turmoil of her anxiety for her lover she had agreed to marry him; but the perception that had accompanied her hap- piest hours on this account was rather that of self-sacrifice than of promotion and honour. Although she scarcely knew the divinitys name, Diana was the god- dess whom Bathsheba instinctively adored. That she had never, by look, word, or sign, encouraged a man to ap- proach her that she had felt herself sufficient to herself, and had in the in- dependence of her girlish heart fancied there was a certain degradation in re- nouncing the simplicity Qf a maiden ex- istence to become the humbler half of an indifferent matrimonial whole ~ were facts now bitterly remembered. Oh, if she had never stooped to folly of this kind, respectable as it was, and could only stand again, as she had stood on the hill at Norcombe, and dare Troy or any other man to pollute a hair of her head by his interference The next mornino~ she ros& earlier than usual, and had the horse saddled for her ride round the farm in the customary way. When she came in at half-past eighttheir usual hour for breakfasting she was informed that her husband had risen, taken his breakfast, and driven off to Casterbridge with the gig and Poppet. After breakfast she was cool and col- lected quite herself, in fact and she rambled to the gate, intending to walk to another quarter of the farm, which she still personally superintended as well as her duties in the house would permit, continually, however, finding herself pre- ceded in forethought by Gabriel Oak, for whom she began to entertain the genuine friendship of a sister. Of course she sometimes thought of him in the light of an old lover, and had momentary ima- ginings of what life with him as a husband would have been like; also of life with Boldwood under the same conditions. But Bathsheba, though she could feel, was not much given to futile dreaming, and her musings under this head were short and entirely confined to the times when Troys neglect was more than ordi- narily evident. She saw coming up the hill a man like Mr. Boldwood. It was Mr. Boldwood. Bathsheba blushed painfully, and watched. The farmer stopped when still a lono way off, and held up his hand to Gabriel Oak, who was in another part of the field. The two men then approached each other and seemed to engage in earnest conver- sation.~ i. Thus they continued for a long time. Joseph Poorgrass now passed near them, wheeling a barrow of apples up the hill to Bathshebas residence. Boldwood and Gabriel called to him, spoke to him for a few minutes, and then all three parted, Joseph immediately coming up the hill with his barrow. Bathsheba, who bad seen this panto- mime with some s~rprise, experienced great relief when Boldwood turned back again. Well, whats the message, Jo- seph ? she said. He set down his barrow, and, putting upon himself the refined aspect that a 46 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. conversation with a lady required, spoke bury her according to the rites of the to Bathsheba over the gate. Board of Guardians, as by law or- Youll never see Fanny Robin no dained. more use nor principal maam. Dear me Casterbridge Union Why? and is Fanny come to this! said Bath- Because shes dead in the Union. sheba, musing. I wish I had known of Fanny dead never! it sooner. I thought she was far away. Yes, ma am. How long has she lived there ? What did she die from? Ony been there a~day or two. I dont know for certain but I should Oh ! then she has not been stay- be inclined to think it was from general ing there as a regular inmate? neshness of constitution. She was such No. Shes been picking up a living a limber maid that a could stand no hard- at seampstering in Melchester for several ship, even when I knowed her, and a months, at the house of a very respect- went like a candle-snoff, so tis said. She able widow-woman who takes in work was took bad in the mornin~g, and, being of that sort. She only got handy the quite feeble and worn out, she died in the Union-house on Sunday moning a blieve, afternoon. She belongs by law to our and tis supposed here and there that she parish and Mr. Boldwood is going to had traipsed every step of the way from send a waggon this afternoon to fetch her Melchester. Why she left her place I home here and bury her. cant say, for I dont know and as to a Indeed I shall not let Mr. Boldwood lie, why, I wouldnt tell it. Thats the do any such thing I shall do it. Fanny short of the story, maam.~~ was my uncles servant, and, although I Ah-h! only knew her for a couple of days, she No gem ever flashed from a rosy ray belongs to me. How very, very sad this to a white one more rapidly than changed is ! the idea of Fanny being in a work- the young wifes countenance whilst this house. Bathsheba had begun to know word came from her in a long-drawn what suffering was, and she spoke with breath. Did she walk along our turn- real feeling . . . Send across to Mr. pike road? she said, in a suddenly rest- Boldwoods and say that Mrs. Troy ~vill less and eager voice. take upon herself the duty of fetching an I believe she did . . . Maam, shall I old servant of the family . . . We ought call Liddy? ~You baint well, maam, not to put her in a waggon well get a surely? You look like a lily so pale hearse. and fainty! There will hardly be time, maam, will No dont call her; it is nothing. there ? When did she pass Weatherbury? Perhaps not, she said, musingly. Last Saturday night. XVhen did you say we must be at the That will do, Joseph now you may door three oclock ? go. Three oclock this afternoon, maam, Certainly, maam. so to speak it. Joseph, come hither a moment. What Very wellyou go with it. A pretty was the colouP of Fanny Robins hair? waggon is better than an ugly hearse, Really, mistress, now that tis put to after all. Joseph, have the new spring me so judge-and-jury-like, I ca~at call waggon with the blue body and red to mind, if yell believe me.~, wheels, and wash it very clean. And, ~Never mind; go on and do what I Joseph. told you. Stopwell no, go on. Yes, ma am. She turned herself away from him, that Carry with you some evergreens and he might no longer notice the mood which flowers to put upon her coffin indeed, had set its sign so visibly upon her, and gather a great many, and completely bury went indoors with a distressing sense of her in them. Get some boughs of lau- faintness and a beating brow. About an rustinus, and variegated box, and yew, hour after she heard the noise of the and boys-love; ay, and some bunches of waggon and xvent out, still with a painful chrysanthemum. And let old Pleasant consciousne ~s of her bewildered and draw her, because she knew him so troubled loo ~. Joseph, dressed in his well. best suit of clothes, was putting in the I will, maam. I ought to have said horse to start. The shrubs and flowers that the Union, in the form of four la- were all piled in the waggon, as she had bouring men, will .iieet me when I gets to directed. Bathsheba hardly saw them our church-yard gate, and take her and now. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 47 Whose sweetheart did you say, Jo- seph I dont know, ma~ ~ Are you quite sure? Yes, maam, quite sure. Sure of what U I am sure that all I know is that she arrived in the morning and died in the evening without further parley. What Oak and Mr. Boidwood told me was only~ these few words. Little Fanny Robin is dead, Joseph, Gabriel said, looking in my face in his steady old way. I was very sorry, and I said, Ah and how did she come to die ? Well, shes dead in Casterbridge Union, he said and perhaps tisnt much matter about how she came to die. She reached the Union early Sunday morning, and died in the afternoon thats clear enough. Then I asked what shed been doing lately, and Mr. Boldwood turned round to me then, and left off spitting a thistle with the end of his stick. He told me about her having lived by seam j3stering in Melchester, as I mentioned to you, and that she walked therefrom at the end of last week, passing near here Saturday night in the dusk. They then said I had better just name a hent of her death to you, and away they went. Her death might have been brought on by biding in the night wind, you l~ow, maam; for people used to say shed go off in a de- cline: she used to cough a good deal in winter time. However tisnt much odds to us about that now, for tis all over. Have you heard a different story at all ? She looked at him so intently that Josephs eyes quailed. Not a word, mistress, I assure you, he said. Hardly anybody in the parish knows the news yet. I wonder why Gabriel didnt bring the message to me himself. He mostly makes a point of seeing me upon the most trifling errand. These words were merely murmured, and she was looking upon the ground. Perhaps he was busy, maam, Joseph suggested. And sometimes he seems to suffer from things upon his mind con- nected with the time when he was better off than a is now. As rather a curious item, but a very understanding shepherd, and learned in books. Did anything seem upon his mind whilst he was speaking to you about this ? I cannot but say that there did, ma am. He was terrjjole down, and so was Farmer Boldwood. Thank you, Joseph. That will do. Go on now, or youll be late. Bathsheba, still unhappy, went indoors again. In the course of the afternoon she said to Liddy, who had been informed of the occurrence, What was the colour of poor Fanny Robins hair? Do you know? I cannot recollect I only saw her for a day or two. It was light, maam but she wore it rather short, and packed away under her cap, so that you would hardly notice it. But I have seen her let it down when she was going to bed, and it looked beautiful then. Real golden hair. Her young man was a soldier, was he not ? Yes. In the same regiment as Mr. Troy. He says he knew him very well. What, Mr. Troy says so? How came he to say that? One day I just named it to him, and asked him if he knew Fannys young man. He said, Oh yes, he knew the young man as well as he knew himself, and that there ~vasnt a man in the regi- ment he liked better. Ah ! Said that, did he ? Yes, and he said there was a strong likeness between himself and the other young man, so that sometimes people mistook them Liddy, for Heavens sake stop your talking! said Bathsheba, with the ner- vous petulance that comes from worrying perceptions. CHAPTER XLII. JOSEPH AND HIS BURDEN: BUCKS HEAD. A WALL bounded the site of Caster- bridge Union-house, except along a por- tion of the end. Here a high gable stood prominent, and it was covered like the front with a mat of ivy. In this gable was flo4vindow, chimney, ornament, or protuberance of any kind. The single feature appertaining to it, beyond the expanse of dark green leaves, was a small door. The situation of the door was peculiar. The sill was three or four feet above the ground, and for a moment one was at a loss for an explanation of this exceptional altitude, till ruts immediately beneath suggested that th~ door was tised solely for the passage of articles and persons to and from the level of a vehicle standing on the outside. Upon the whole, the door seemed to advertise itself as a spe- cies of Traitors Gate translated to an- 43 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. other element. That entry and exit hereby was only at rare intervals became apparent on noting that tufts of grass were allowed to flourish undisturbed in the chinks of the sill. As the clock from the tower of St. Georges Church pointed at three min- utes to three, a blue spring waggon, picked out with red, and containing boughs and flowers, turned from the high road and halted on this side of the build- ing. Whilst the chimes were yet stam- mering out a shattered form of Mal- brook, Joseph Poorgrass rang the bell, and received directions to back his wag- gon against the high door under the gable. The door then opened, and a plain elm coffin was slowly thrust forth, and laid by two men in fustian along the middle of the vehicle. One of the men then stepped up beside it, took from his pocket a lump of chalk, and wrote upon the cover the name and a few other words in a large scrawling hand. (We believe that they do these things more tenderly now, and provide a plate.) He covered the whole with a black cloth, threadbare, but decent, the tail-board of the waggon was returned to its place, one of the men handed a cer- tificate of registry to Poorgrass. and both entered the door, closing it behind them. Their connection with her, short as it had been, was over forever. Joseph then placed the flowers as en- joined, and the evergreens around the flowers, till it was difficult to divine what the waggon contained ; he smacked his whip, and the rather pleasing funeral car crept up the hill and along the road to Weatherbury. The afternoon drew on apace, and, looking to the left towards the sea as he walked beside the horse, Poorgrass saw strange clouds and scrolls of mist rolling over the high hills which girt the land- scape in that quarter. They came in yet greater volumes, and indolently crept across the intervening valleys, and around the withered papery Wigs of the sloughs and river brinks. Then their dank spongy forms closed in upon the sky. It was a sudden overgrowth of at- mospheric fungi which had their roots in the neighbouring sea, and by the time that horse, man, and corpse entered Yal- bury Great Wood, these silent ~vorkings of an invisible hand had reached them, and they were completely enveloped. It was the first arrival of the autumn fogs, and the first fog of the series. The air was as an~eye suddenly struck blind. The waggon and its load rolled no longer on the horizontal division be- tween clearness and opacity. They were imbedded in an elastic body of a mo- notonous pallor throughout. There was no perceptible motion in the air, not a visible drop of water fell upon a leaf of the beeches, birches, and firs composing the wood on either side~ The trees stood in an attitude of intentness, as if they waited longingly for a wind to come and rock them. A startling quiet over- hung all surrounding things so com- pletely, that the crunching of the wag- gon-wheels was as a great noise, and small rustles, which had never obtained a hearing except by night, were distinctly mdi viduahzed. Joseph Poorgrass looked round upon his sad burden as it loomed faintly through the flowering laurustinus, then at the unfathomable gloom amid the high trees on each hand, indistinct, shadow- less, and spectre-like in their mono- chrome of grey. He felt anything but cheerful, and wished he had the company even of a child or dog. Stopping the horse, he listened. Not a footstep or wheel was audible anywhere around, and the dead silence was broken only by a heavy particle falling from a tree through the evergreens and alighting with a smart rap upon the co~n of poor Fanny. The fog had by this time saturated the trees, and this was the first dropping of water from the overbrimming leaves. The hollow echo of its fall reminded the wag- goner painfully of the grim Leveller. Then hard by came down another drop, then two or three. Presently there wa; a continual tapping of these heavy drops upon the dead leaves, the road, and the travellers. The nearer boughs were beaded with the mist to the greyness of aged men, and the rusty-red leaves of the beeches were hung with similar drops, lilj~ d~monds on auburn hair. Situated by the roadside in the midst of this wood was the old inn, called Bucks Head. It was about a mile and a half from Weatherbury, and in the meridian times of stage-coach travelling had been the place where many coaches changed and kept their relays of horses. All, the old stabling was now pulled down and little remained besides the habita- ble inn, itselNwhich, standing a little way back from the road, signified its ex- istence to people far up and down the highway by a sign hanging from the hori- zontal bough of an elm on the opposite side of the way. FAR FROM TIlE MADDING CROWD. 49 Travellers for the variety tourist had since breakfast time this morning, and hardly developed into a distinct species that was no more than a dew-bit afield. at this date sometimes said in passing, Then drink, Joseph, and dont re- when they cast their eyes up to the sign- strain yourself! said Coggan, handing bearing tree, that artists were fond of him a hooped mug three-quarters full. representing the sign-board hanging thus, Joseph drank for a moderately long but that they themselves had never before time, then for a longer time, saying, as noticed so perfect an instance in actual he lowered the jug, Tis pretty drinking working order. It was near this tree that very pretty drinking, and i~ more than the waggon was standing into which Ga- cheerful on my melancholy errand, so to briel Oak crept on his first journey to speak it. Weatherbury; but, owing, to the dark- True, drink is a pleasant delight, ness, the sign and the inn had been un- said Jan, as one who repeated a truism observed. 50 familiar to his brain that he hardly The manners of the inn were of the I noticed its passage over his tongue; and, old-established type. Indeed, in the (Ii fting the cup, Coggan tilted his head minds of its frequenters they existed as gradually backwards, with closed eyes, unalterable formulle : e.g. that his expectant soul might not be di- verted for one instant from its bliss by Rap with the bottom of your pint for more irrelevant surroundings. liquor. Well, I must be on again, said Poor- For tobacco, shout. grass. Not but that 1 should like In calling for the girl in waiting, say, another nip with ye; but the country Maid I might lose confidence in me if I was seed Ditto for the landlady, Old Soul! here. & c. & c. Where be ye trading ot to to-day then, Joseph? It was a relief to Josephs heart when Back to Weatherbury. Ive got poor the friendly sign-board came in view, little Fanny Robin in my waggon outside, and, stopping his horse immediately be- and I must be at the churchyard gates at neath it, he proceeded to fulfil an inten- a quarter to five with her. tion made a long time before. His spirits Ay Ive heard of it. And so sh& s were oozing out of him quite. He turned nailed up in parish boards after all, and the horses head to the green bank, and nobody to pay the bell shilling and the entered the hostel for a mug of ale. grave half-crown. Going down into the kitchen of the The parish pays the grave half-crown, inn, the floor of which was a step below but not the bell-shilling, because the the passage, which in its turn was a step bells a luxury: but a can hardly do below the road outside, what should Jo- without the grave, poor body. However, seph see to gladden his eyes but two cop- I expect our mistress will pay all. per-coloured discs, in the form of the A pretty maid as ever I see I But countenances of Mr. Jan Coggan and Mr. whats yer hurry, Joseph? The pore Mark Clark. These owners of the two womans dead, and you cant bring her to most appreciative throats in the neigh- life, and you may as well sit down corn- bourhood, on this side of respectability, fortable and finish another with us. were now sitting face to face over a three- I dont mind taking just the merest legged circular table, having an iron rim thimble~l ~ imagination more with ye, to keep cups and pots from being acci- sonnies. But only a few minutes, be- dentally elbowed off; they might have cause tis as tis. been said to resemble the setting sun and Of course, youll have another drop. the full moon shining vis-ci-vis across the A mans twice the man afterwards. You globe, feel so warm and glorious, and you whop Why, tis neighbour Poorgrass I and slap at your work without any said Mark Clark. Im sure your face trouble, and everything goes on like dont praise your mistresss table, Jo- sticks a-breaking. Too much liquor is seph. bad, and leads us to that horned man in Ive had a very pale companion for the smoky house; b~t, after all, many the last five miles, said Joseph, indul- people havent the gift of enjoying a soak, ging in a shudder toned down byresigna- and since we are highly favoured with a tion. And to speak the truth, twas power that way, we should make the beginning to tell upon me. I assure ye I most ot. hant seed the colour of victuals or drink True, said Mark Clark. Tis a LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 368 50 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. talent the Lord has mercifully bestowed upon us, and we ought not to neglect it. But, what with the parsons and clerks and school-people and serious tea-parties, the merry old ways of good life have gone to the dogs upon my carcase, they have Well, really, I must be onward again now, said Joseph. Now, now, Joseph; nonsense! The poor woman is dead, isnt she, and whats your hurry ? Well, I hope Providence wont be in a way with me for my doings, said Joseph. again sitting down. ive been troubled with weak moments lately, tis true. Ive been drinky once this month already, and I did not go to church a- Sunday, and I dropped a curse or two yesterday; so I dont want to go too far for my safety. Your next world is your next world, and not to be squandered lightly. I believe ye to be a chapel-member, Joseph. That I do. Oh, no, no! I dont go so far as that. For my part, said Coggan, Im stanch Church of England. Ay, and faith, so be I, said Mark Clark. I wont say much for myself: I dont wish to, Coggan continued, with that tendency to talk on principles which is characteristic of the barley-corn. But Ive never changed a single doctrine: Ive stuck like a plaster to the old faith I was born in. Yes, theres this to be said for the Church, aman can belong to the Church and bide in his cheerful old inn, and never trouble or worry his mind about doctrines at all. But to be a meet- inger, you must go to chapel in all winds and weathers, and make yourself as fran- tic as a skit. Not but that chapel-mem- bers be clever chaps enough in their way. They can lift up beautiful prayers out of their own heads, all about their families and shipwracks in the newspaper. They can they can, said Mark Clark, with corroborative feeling; but we Churchmen, you see, must have it all printed aforehand, cr, dang it all, we should no more know what to say to a great person like Providence than babes ui-iborn. Chapel-folk be more hand-in-glove with them above than we, said Joseph thoughtfully. Yes, said Coggan. We know very well that if anyb~ly goes to heaven, they will. Theyve worked hard for it, and they deserve to have it, such as tis. Im not such a fool as to pretend that we who stick to the Church have the same chance as they, because we know we have not. But I hate a feller wholl change his ancient doctrines for the sake of getting to heaven. Id as soon turn kings-evidence for the few pounds you get. Why, neighbours; when every one of my taties were frosted, our Parson Thirdly were the man who gave me a sack for seed, though he hardly had one for his own use, and no money to buy em. If it hadnt been for him, I shouldnt hae had a tatie to put in my garden. Dye think Id turn after that ? No, Ill stick to my side ; and if we be in the wrong, so be it : Ill fall with the fallen ! Well said very well said, observed Joseph. However, folks, I must be moving now: upon my life I must. Par- son Thirdly will be waiting at the church gates, and theres the woman a-biding out- side in the waggon. Joseph Poorgrass, dont be so mis- erable ! Parson Thirdly wont mind. Hes a generous man ; hes found me in tracts for years, and Ive consumed a good many in the course of a long and rather shady life ; but hes never been the man to complain of the expense. Sit down. The longer Joseph Poorgrass remained, the less was his spirit troubled by the duties which devolved upon him this afternoon. The minutes glided by un- counted, until the evening shades began perceptibly to deepen, and the eyes of the three were but sparkling l)oints on the surface of darkness. Coggans watch struck six from his pocket in the usual still small tones. At that rr~ment hasty steps were heard in the entry, and the door opened to admit the figure of Gabriel Oak, followed l~y the maid of the inn bearing a candle. 1-Ie~tared sternly at the one lengthy and two round faces of the sitters, which con- fronted him with the expressions of a fiddle and a couple of warming-pans. Joseph Poorgrass blinked, and shrank several inches into the background. Upon my soul, Im ashamed of you; tis disgraceful, Joseph, disgraceful said Gabriel, indignantly. Coggan, you call yoursel a man, and dont know bet- ter than t his~ Coggan looked up indefinitely at Oak, one or other of his eyes occasionally opening and closing of its own accord, as if it were not a member but a dozy individual with a distinct personality. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. Dont take on so, shepherd ! said Mark Clark, looking reproachfully at the candle, which appeared to possess spe- cial features of interest for his eyes. Nobody can hurt a dead woman, at length said Coggan, with the precision of a machine. All that could be done for her is done shes beyond us: and why should a man put himself in a tearing l~urry for lifeless clay that can neither feel nor see, and dont know what you do with her at all ? If shed been alive, I would have been the first to help her. If she now wanted victuals and drink, Id pay for it, money down. But shes dead, and no speed of ours will bring her to life. The womans past us time spent upon her is throwed away: why should we hurry to do whats not required? Drink, shepherd, and be friends, for to- morrow we may be like her. We may, added Mark Clark, em- phatically, at once drinking himself to run no further risk of losing his chance by the event alluded to. Jan meanwhile merging his additional thoughts of to- morrow in a song: To-mor-row, to-mor-row! And while peace and plen-ty I find at my board, With a heart free from sick-ness and sor- row, With my friends will I share what to-day may afford, And let them spread the ta-ble to-mor-row. To-mor-row, to-mor Do hold thy horning, Jan! said Oak; and turning upon Poorgrass, As for you, Joseph, who do your wicked deeds in such confoundedly holy ways, you are as drunk as you can stand. No, Shepherd Oak, no! Listen to reason, shepherd. All thats the matter with me is the affliction called the mul- tiplying eye, and thats how it is I look double to youI mean you look double to me. A multiplying eye is a very distress- ing thino said Mark Clark. It always comes on when I have been in a public-house a little time, said Joseph Poorgrass, meekly. Yes, I see two of every sort, as if I were some holy man living in the times of King Noah and entering into the ark. . . . Y-y-y-yes, he added, becoming much affected by the picture of himself as a person thrown away, and shedding tears, I feel too good for England: I ought to have lived in Genesis by rights, like the other men of sacrifice, and tl~en I shouldnt have b-b-been called a d-d-drunkard in such a way! I wish youd show yourself a man of spirit, and not sit whining there Show myself a man of spirit ? Ah, well! let me take the name of drunk- ard humblylet me be a man of con- trite knees let it be ! I know that I always do say Please Godafore I do anything, from my getting up to my go- ing down of the same, and I am willing to take as much disgrace as belongs to that holy act. Hah, yes! . . . But not a man of spirit? Have I ever allowed the toe of pride to be lifted against my per- son without shouting manfully that I question the right to do so? I enquire that query boldly! We cant say that you have, Joseph Poorgrass, said Jan, emphatically. Never have I allowed such treat- ment to pass unquestioned! Yet the shepherd says in the face of that rich testimony that I am not a man of spirit well, let it pass by, and death is a kind friend. Gabriel, seeing that neither of the three was in a fit state to take charge of the wao~on for the remainder of the jour- ney, made no reply, but, closing the door again upon them, went across to where the vehicle stood, now getting indistinct in the fog and gloom of this mildewy time. He pulled the horses head from the large patch of turf it had eaten bare, readjusted the boughs over the coffin, and drove along through the unwhole- some night. It had gradually become rumoured in the village that the body to be brought and buried that day was all that was left of the unfortunate Fanny Robin who had followed the Eleventh from Casterbridge to Melchester. But, thanks to Boldwoods reticence and Oaks gen- erosity, the loVer she had followed had never ~be~n individualized as Troy. Gabriel hoped that the whole truth of the matter might not be published till at any rate the girl had been in her grave for a few days, when the inter- posing barriers of earth and time, and a sense that the events had been some- what shut into oblivion, would deaden the sting that revelation and invidious remark would hav\for Bathsheba just now. By the time that Gabriel reached the old manor-house, her residence, which lay in his way to the church, it was quite dark. A man came from the gate 5 52 THE LIFE OF FLOWERS. and said through the foo which hung, covenanted mercies are extended towards between them like blown flour, her, and that she is a member of the flock Is that Poorgrass with the corpse? of Christ. Gabriel recognized the voice as that of The parsons words spread into the the parson. heavy air with a sad yet unperturbed ca- The corpse is here, sir, said Gabriel. dence, and Gabriel shed an honest tear. I have just been to inquire of Mrs. Bathsheba seemed unmoved. Mr. Third- Troy if she could tell me the reason of ly then left them, and Gabriel lighted a the delay. I am afraid it is too late lantern. Fetching th?ee other men to now for the funeral to be performed assist him, they bore the unconscious tru- with proper decency. Have you the ant indoors, placing the coffin on two registrars certificate ? benches in the middle of a little sitting- No. said Gabriel. I expect Poor- room next the hall, as Bathsheba directed. grass has that; and hes at the Bucks Every one except Gabriel O~tk then Head. I forgot to ask him for it. left the room. He still indecisively lin- Then that settles the matter. Well gered beside the body. He was deeply put off the funeral till to-morrow morn- troubled at the wretchedly ironical aspect ing. The body may be brought on to that circumstances were putting on with the church, or it may be left here at the regard to Troys wife, and at his own farm and fetched by the bearers in the powerlessness to counteract them. In mornino. They ~vaited more than an spite of his careful manceuvring all this hour, a~d have now gone home. day, the very worst event that could in Gabriel had his reasons for thinking any way have happened in connection the latter a most objectionable plan, not- with the burial had happened now. Oak withstanding that Fanny had been an imagined a terrible discovery resulting inmate of the farmhouse for several from this afternoons work that might years in the lifetime of Bathshebas un- cast over Bathshebas life a shade which cle. Visions of several unhappy contin- the interposition of many lapsing years gencies which might arise from this delay might but indifferently lighten, and flitted before him. But his will was not which nothing at all might altogether re- law, and lie went indoors to inquire of move. his mistress what were her ~vishes on the Suddenly, as in a last attempt to save subject. He found her in an unusual Bathsheba from, at any rate, immediate mood: her eyes as she looked up to him anguish, he looked again, as he had were suspicious and perplexed as with looked before, at the chalk writing upon some antecedent thought. Troy had not the coffin-lid. The scrawl ~vas this sim- yet returned. At first Bathsheba assent- ple one, Fanny Robin and child. Ga- ed with a mien of indifference to his briel took his handkerchief and carefully proposition that they should go on to the rubbed out the two latter words. He church at once with their burden ; but then left the room, and went out quietly immediately afterwards, following Ga- by the front door. briel to the gate, she swerved to the ex- treme of solicitousness on Fannys ac- count, and desired that the girl might be brought into the house. Oak argued upon the convenience of leaving her in the ~vaggon, just as she lay now, with her flowers and green leaves about her, merely wheeling the vehicle into the coach-house till the morning, but to no purpose. It is unkind and unchristian, she said, to leave the poor thing in a coach-house all night. Very well, then, said the parson. And I will arrange that the funeral shall take place early to-morrow. Perhaps Mrs. Troy is right in feeling that we can- not treat a dead fellow-creature too thoughtfully. We must remember that Yet, for the imagination and the feel- though she may have erred grievously in ings, there is a sense in which the saying leaving her home,~he is still our sister I is true. We are in the habit of imputing and it is to be believed that Gods Un- to flowers a sort of .~5ersonali/y, in a much From Chambers Journal. ~ 4 THE LIFE OF FLOWERS. A/ni/a planta sine ani;n2 (No plant without a soul), Aristotle is said to have observed. The proposition can certainly not be maintained on scientific grounds and even the great German poet, who glorifies the flowers as decked with the hues of a splendour divine, is obliged at l~st to address to them the invocation: Weep, kii~ly children of the Spring, To you has Heaven a soul denied. THE LiFE OF FLOWERS. 53 higher degree than to other inanimate of the woods. A/rota Belladonna! It things. It is not only that the love we bear suggests some Florentine countess of the them for their beauty, their frailty, and middle ages with dark, alluring eyes, who tenderness, lifts them above the category wooed but to destroy, subtle, poison- of things, to rank t hem in a higher they ous perfumes exhaling from her luxuriant have so much more to say to the feelings, hair I and say it so much more specially, than But to descend from the realms of fancy any other class of natural objects, that to those of fact, there really are many we get to speak of them in terms de- phenomena connected with the life of scriptive not merely of form, size, colour, plants closely resembling those of animal, hearing, & c., hut in such as attribute to not to say of conscious existence. The them personal character, human qualities pim~ernel, prescient of the coming show- and passions. Each one seems to breathe er, closes its petals an hour or two be- a sentiment and speak a language of its fore it descends; the sensitive plant own. We need not go to the poets for shrinks from a foreign touch, and huddles proof and illustration of our point; the lan- its pairs of leaflets together, as if cower- guage of common life will supply us with ing under the presence of a foe; the both. It does not restrict itself to such water-lilies, at the approach of evening, epithets as tall, stately, slender, and the draw down their white or yellow beads like, in referring to the flowers; we hear of beneath the surface, and so await the re- the flaunting foxglove, the lowly violet, the turn of day. Such phenomena are usu- modest daisy, the deadly nightshade, the ally referred to automatic movement. weeping willow. Sometimes the name But call them what we will, they are the itself, without the addition of any adjec- first faint suggestions, the dim prophe- tive, bears witness to some single, dis- cies of that fully developed, glorious con- tinct, and powerful impression of quali- sciousness, of which the complex and ties in the plant, other than those which magnificent phenomena of intellect and appeal to the senses. Days-eye, eye- will are part and parcel. The plant-life bright, nightshade, are all of this class, is but the life of man in its elementary We know not how and when such names and undeveloped state. came into being; but we all feel their fit- We might go a little farther, without ness. They must have had some single losing hold of the ground of safe specula- inventor, we suppose, but the universal tion. The flowers are planted by the acceptation of them is a proof of the roots fast down in the earth ; yet, through sameness and universality of the impres- the stiffest clay and marl, winding round sion made by each individual flower rocks, displacing stones, they struggle upon the common heart and imagination, upwards to the light of day. By a similar Nay, sometimes even Science itself yields necessity, man, too, climbs upwards to the fascination, and in reconstructing towards the ideal. The soul is uncon- floral nomenclature for its own purposes, tented with what is low and dark, and, like instead of conferring upon a plant a name the plant, struggles towards the heaven founded upon some characteristic pecul- of truth, and the light of Gods presence. iarity (difflerentia, as the logicians say), Once more, how nearly the plant- which shall serve as a basis for classifica- life resembles our own in its periods, tion into order, genus, species, it does but its seasons, its epochs! Like us, they translate the old poetical name, or embody flave their period of childhood, in which the conception it conveys under a new they ~ut~forth buds only; in youth, image. Thus the magnificent plant with they attain to fuller beauty and strength; the lurid blossoms, and the black, lus- in the ripe autumn of their days, they cious, poisonous, berries, which pre- bring their fruit to perfection; and then sented itself to the imagination of our fade away. As their vital energies, be- forefathers as some baleful shadow of tween the beginning and end of their night, beneath which all life expires, lives, first grow, and then decline, so each becomes in scicntific terminology Atro~a individual day witnesses a corresponding Belladonna, which we shall venture to waxing and waning. With sunrise, they translate as Fate-fraught, beautiful awaken, bloom airijy throughout the day; Damsel. Science recognizes the truth and, like us, shut their eyes wearily to- of the idea expressed by the old name, gether, when the night is come. but does justice to the incomparable At the approach of Night all Nature beauty of this the largest of the English puts on an attitude of expect~ tion. A herbaceous plants (not excepting the bur- deep silence settles down on lands, and dock), in size and aspect the real queen woods, and waters. Hushed are all the SICILY. 54 living creatures that with song, or burn, and thousandfold other voices of restless- ness, or passion, or pain, made vocal the hours of day. They all slumber in the high grass, on lofty boughs, or whereso- ever they have built their houses, nests, or other habitations. Over the whole plant-kingdom, too, has the Night poured out the cup of her drowsy enchantments. Vanished are all the flowers which in the sunlight beamed upon us like merry, laughing, joyous human faces. Here and there, a single one lingers half-open in the deepening shades. But most of them have folded their petals close together, and returned to the bud-like form of their infancy ; just as human faces in sleep put off the marks of thought, and care, and guilt, and wear once more childhoods look of innocence and calm. This phenomenon is called the sZe~~ of Nanis, which, supposing that they really sleep, have certainly different manners of sleeping. To speak familiarly, some go to sleep with their eyes open, others with their eyes shut. They do not allfold their petals close together, in the manner we have described ; but all exhibit sleep- phenomena of some kind. Of those which do thus close and assume the bud-form, the various species of the Composite family are the most numerous, and, by reason of their bright yellow and white, or wholly yellow flowers, the most conspicuous. Members of this family are the Dande- lion, Daisy, Hawkbit, Hawkweed, and Cats Ear. Our readers may soon see for themselves (if they have not noticed al- ready) how the ligulate florets of the ray, at the approach of night, close up over the tubular florets of the disk, like some fond mother bending over a child, and lulling it to sleep. But monopetalous flowersthose whose corolla is formed of a single piece can- not do this. They keep their corolla opet~ by night, as by day; but they do not wholly resist the soothing sleep-sugges- tions of the darkness, nevertheless. See how the foxglove and the stately mul- lein droop their proud heads, like a man thoroughly tired by a long days toil or travel; and how the Euphorbias, or the masses of tiny-flowered wood-galium, bend their blossoms towards each other, like a group of children crouching to- gether for mutual warmth and comfort during nocturnal cold and rain! So, too, like children seeking protection beneath their mothers apron, the tender blos- soms of the touch-me-not balsam at night- fall cover and hiJe beneath their own leaves. The phenomena of plant-life, then, during the night are diverse ; but all remind us of something human, and, generally, of something connected with sleep. But, again, this so-called sleep of plants, extends to all their parts ; to the foliage- leaves for instance. In general, they press more closely to~ the stem ; some fold up like the flowers ; others hang more loosely on to the stem, and lie one over another, just as our limbs are prone to dispose themselves when the tension of the muscles is relaxed in slumber. In this manner, the feather-like leaflets of the Mimosas, Acacias, Cassias, and of all similar Papilionaceous plants, arrange themselves by night ; while the leaves of the trefoil, and still more of the wood- sorrel, cling together by the edges, and remain thus till daylight. Besides these day-flowers, there are uzghl -flowers, chiefly tropical. These are generally very short-lived. They will bloom, and load the air with perfume a summers night through, and then drop off. Of night-flowers, the most magnifi- cent and striking is the Gerens grandi- flora, or Night-blowing Cereus. At about midnight, its broad white blossoms, six or eight inches in diameter, burst forth so suddenly that you can almost see them unf old. At the same instant, the con- servatory is filled with a delicious odour, which we have heard compared to va- nilla. We cannot end more satisfactorily this little essay upon flowers than with Hem- rich Heines beautiful words about their odours Odours are the feelings of flowers ; and as the human heart in the night-time, when it believes itself alone and unlistened to, feels more profoundly than by day; so the flowers, too modest to utter themselves in the light, seem to wait for the covering of darkness to ~p~ss their feelings completely, and breathe them out in soft odours. From The Saturday Review. SICILY. EVERY nation has some thorn in its side, and Italy has more than one ; but, of all its th~ns, Sicily is perhaps the most troublesome. Sicily has had a mel- ancholy history, and has been going downwards ever since it ceased to be the granary of Rome. It has been con- quered, pillaged, overrun by its numer SICILY. 55 ous oppressors, but never has bad any good done to it; and its last holders be- fore it was annexed to the kingdom of Victor Emmanuel, the Neapolitan Bour- bons, adopted the simple plan of allow- ing it to do exactly as it pleased, and get on as it best could with its inveterate abuses, provided it yielded a handsome annual revenue for the King to spend. From time immemorial there has existed in Sicily a peculiar species of brigandage, which is even now one of the greatest powers in the island. The brigands are not like the Neapolitan brigands. They do not form bands, and swarm about dis- tricts which they have made their own. They are part and parcel of ordinary Sicilian society, and seem to pursue the ordinary avocations of life in the four western provinces, and especially in the city of Palermo. When they are wanted by their chiefs to act they are ready, and meanwhile they do a large amount of robbery and murder on their own ac- count in a quiet way, and with almost perfect impunity. If they commit smaller crimes they are, indeed, punished when they are caught, but if they go high enough in crime to be tried by a jury, they are acquitted as a matter of course. From time immemorial, also, the brig- ands have been the allies of the clergy not always the political allies, for the brigands joined Garibaldi with conspicu- ous enthusiasm, but the social and do- mestic allies, and now they and the priests are sworn friends, and hate with equal intensity the Italian Government. Formerly the Sicilian Church had a sort of independence of Rome, but since the proclamation of the Popes Infallibility this independence has been abandoned, and the Sicilian priests are the obedient tools of the directing authorities of Ul- tramontanism. The soil of Sicily is for the most part the property of great hold- ers, and such cultivation as is bestowed on it is the work of peasants who live in towns and go out to labour for a few hours in the day. There are no villa~es, no farmhouses, and scarcely any roads, so that there is no rural population to ~vithstand the brigands, or to be op- pressed by them. The great proprietors have long been accustomed to live on very comfortable terms with the brigands and the priests, with both of whom they made satisfactory bargains. Were it not that Eastern Sicily is more advanced in civilization than Western, and that even in Western Sicily th~e is some sort of commercial life which asks the Italian Government to protect it, society in Sicily would be arrayed altogether against the Italian Government. And what troubles England with regard to Ireland also troubles Italy with regard to Sicily. A Constitutional Government must respect the forms of freedom, and as Sicily returns deputies to the Italian Parliament, these deputies,~althougl~ p0- litically they may not belong to the party in Sicily hostile to the Government, nat- urally seek to please their local friends by calling out that Sicily is enslaved and oppressed whenever means adequately strong are taken to repress crime. It is not therefore to be wondered at that Sicily annoys and embarrasses each Italian Ministry in turn; and of no part of the Italian Kingdom is it more true than of Sicily that Ultramontanism is for Italy a political danger, and not merely a preposterous creed, and that it means the central energy of a great force which is doino~ its utmost to shake off a civiliza- tion it detests, and to restore the beloved reign of every kind Qf abuse. A writer in the Revue des deu~rAfondes, M. Louis-Lande, has collected front Italian sources many curious facts bear- ing on the recent history of Sicily. Be- fore Garibaldi arrived in i86o to make Sicily the basis of those operations which were to end in imposing on Sicily the Government of Victor Emmanuel, there was a state of things, even in the bad parts of the island, which had a strange outside show of order. The police were the brigands, and the brigands were the po- lice and there was a kind of organize-d robbery which made things not so very bad for those xvho had no choice but to submit to be fleeced. The public force consisted of what were termed compa- nies of arms, relics of the times when each feudal owner had his retainers to fight for him and carry on his quarrels with~hi~ neighbours. The captain of a company undertook to be responsible for the peace of a district. If any very great outrage was committed, or if the injured person had sufficient social stand- ing to call with effect for redress, the captain paid an indemnity. No one ever thought of following up the offender by any process of law but if the criminal was one of the friends of the brigand police, the capt~n repaid himself by spoiling as quickly as he could some in- habitant of a neighbouring district, while if the criminal was a stranger trespass- ing on the sacred ground of the company, then he was killed off at the first oppor~ SICILY. tunity, and the Judge of the district for the farce of having Judges was kept up was merely informed that there had been a death, and no more trouble was taken. For eleven years the whole p0- lice of Sicily was under the direction of a ~rst-class brigand, who, until he got excited by adverse political news in 1859, was the mildest of men, and made every- thing as comfortable as possible. There was a sort of security under his administration. Travellers paid to be safe, and they were safe. And it was only towards the close of this supreme police-brigands reign that he lost his authority, because a brigand in a very inferior position ventured to try to as- sassinate him in open day as he was walking with his wife, and was allowed to escape with impunity. When Gari- baldi arrived, the brigands generally took his side, and, as a good way of showing their enthusiasm for his sacred cause, broke open all the prisons, and restored their suffering brethren to a liberty by which they profited so much that Garibaldis regiments were quite in- conveniently full of convicts. But Gari- baldi was not the sort of man to let his followers pursue their own devices; and while his Dictatorship lasted he made the brigands feel they had a master. At last, however, the Italian Government took possession of Sicily, and behaved as a regular government is bound to do. It introduced law and trial by jury, and ~eforms in the police and in the magis- tracy, and did its very best to put down brigandage by main force. But its suc- cess has been very imperfect, for the brigands gained more by having juries to try them than they lost by having soldiers to hunt them down. It is indeed most difficult to hunt brigands down in Sicily, for almost every one is a brigand or a friend of a brigand, and no one would dream for a moment of doing anything so unhandsome, so dishonourable, and so un-Sicilian as helping Justice to catch and punish a murderer. There is, too, a strong local spirit in Sicily, and the Sicilians are indignant that they have not Home Rule after their own fashion, and that strangers like the Italians per- sist in interfering and forbidding them to cut each others throats. Sicily for the Sicilians is the cry of the brigands; and as Sicily for the Sicilians means Sicily for the Ultramontanes, it is the cry of the priests too, and the sort of treason which Prince Bismarck s~ much dislikes is quite the fashion in Sicilian pulpits. It is a bad state of things, but it must be said, in justice to the Italian Govern- ment, that it is a state of things ~vhich it has worked hard to mend. General Medi- ci, one of Garibaldis companions, was sent to Palermo in i868, and for four years held the chief civil and military authority in his hands, and made even the brig- ands respect him. But there were loud outcries against this unconstitutional union of the civil and military l)owers, and it unfortunately happened that some of the leaders of the Parliamentary Op- position who had joined in these out- cries came into office, and had to see the result of their clamour in the resignation of General Medici, and in things getting much worse in Palermo since he left. The Palermo brigands tried the experi- ment in i866of an open outbreak against the Government, and for about a week the city was in their hands. But when a sufficient number of troops could be col- lected, the insurgents received so severe a lesson that it will be with very great hesitation that they will again openly defy Italy. If Italy xvent to war and encoun- tered disasters of any kind, a Sicilian in- surrection would be a certainty. But, as things are at present, there is more of a sulen opposition to everything the Government does than risk of a violent catastrophe. The law is looked upon as a foreign and evil invention by the true Sicilian, and he resists it as much as he dares, and gains glory and social esteem by the amount of resistance that he ven- tures to show. If a new law is intro- duced which is distasteful to the brig- ands and the priests, it is simply ignored, unless the penalties of disregarding it are too heavy. The people of Palermo for the most part decline to go through the form of civil marria~e, without which the religious ceremony has no legal effect. The Government can make their chil- di~n ~legitin:ate in point of law, but it cannot make them marry otherwise than as they please. In fact, it is not those who are at present confronting it that the Government can hope to do much with, or reduce to order and obedience. It is obliged to look to the future, to ed- ucate children, to make roads. to im- prove ports, to lay the foundations of a new era of material prosperity. It has done much mo~ in this way for Sicily than could have been expected, consid- ering the great disadvantages under which it has to work. It has built a great number of schools, and got a fair proportion of children to attend them; THE FUTURE OF ROYALTY. it has spent large sums on public works; it xviii soon open up the interior of the island, which is at present almost un- known to the dwellers on the coast; it is making PalermQ an excellent commercial harbour, and a very considerable commer- cial centre. In the meantime, if it only will abolish trial by jury and give up all attempts to govern Sicily according to Sicilian ideas, then, as M. Louis-Lande says, there may be hopes for Sicily even in this generation. He invites his French readers to look at Ireland and see the happy effects produced there by Coer- cion Acts. Perhaps Irishmen xvould not think the comparison complimentary; but it is only when foreign critics ex- amine carefully into the difficulties under which government is often actually carried on that they can recognize that measures must often be taken which Liberal Gov- ernments honestly regret. From The Spectator. THE FUTURE OF ROYALTY. THE Confirmation of Prince Frederick William Albert Victor of Hohenzollern, the eldest son of the Croxvn Prince of Prussia, would hardly have been de- scribed in such detail, or by telegraph, but for the dulness of the season, but still it has an interest of a kind for all speculative politicians. The lad is the future heir of the greatest throne now ex- isting in the world, but it may be forty years before he ascends it, and it is dif- ficult to avoid a moments speculation whether, xvhen his turn has arrived, the throne xvill be there to receive him. In other words, xviii the extraordinary ar- rangement under xvhich the control, or leadershp, or presidency of most Euro- pean States is entrusted to a minute hereditary caste, comprising at most only three families the Catholic House, the Protestant House, and the House of Othman endure through the active. lives of txvo more generations ? It is the custom of the hour to think that it will not, as it is the custom of the hour to fancy that Christianity is dying; but we are by no means confident that the be- lief is founded upon anything better than an d Anon assumption that the age, i~e., the general temper of Western mankind, is hostile to hereditary claims. No one knoxvs or can know very much of the general temper of European peoples, for they have only to-day b~egun to have a 57 chance of displaying a political temper at all. The masses have only just begun to xviii about politics, and nobody can pretend to state accurately xvhat their xviii is, to assert that it is not conservative, or to maintain that the new depositaries of power xvill not come to much the same conclusions as the old depositaries did. We are always hearing of socialism and communism, and the like ; but Jacqueries have occurred before without much politi- cal result, and after all, outside England a heavy majority of the European peoples are in some form or other possessed of landed property. They have not shoxvn as yet anything like a strong inclination to be rid of individual rulers, or except in France to eject the families which his- toric events have placed in the position of hereditary leaders. Even in France, if the eldest Bourbon had been a person of modern ideas a man, for example, like the head of the American branch of the Bragauzas, the sort, of King Mr. Huxley would make, he would be at this moment on a throne, with the acqui- escence of a large majority of the effect- ive males of France; and that he is not is, after all, very much an accident. His cousin of Aumale in his place xvould have been Sovereign almost to a certainty. The peoples may shoxv an active dis- like to Royalty one day, possibly will show it, but they have hitherto been at most undecided, and a very little cban,,e might reawaken everywhere the loyalty xvhich military success has reaxvakened in Prussia. It is hardly txventy-six years yet since belief in the Hoheuzollern seemed extinct in Prussia, and now uni- versal suffrage returns a nearly un- broken majority of loyalists. The dispo- sition to make new dynasties is no doubt extinct, but then that indisposition tends to protect rather than to assail the caste which actually possesses sovereign poxv- er, the~p~ples xvhen they elect turning to the old race with an impulse which is, xve confess, to us almost unintelligible. Only one new family now occupies a throne, and that tUe family of Berna- dotte has been, so to speak, adopted and absorbed by the European family; and in all Europe, xvith its roomful of Pretenders, there is not a nexv man who can be fairly said to be, even secretly, a pretender to a throi~ ; not a General, not a statesman, not a demagogue. Bis- marck for King is as impossible as Caste- lar, Gambetta rpore impossible than the Comte de Chambord, Ricasoli as com- pletely out of the running for that prize THE FUTURE OF ROYALTY. 53 as Marshal von Moltke. For all that ap- world, who are with few exceptions the pears, the caste may endure, if it does picked men of professioi~s twenty er not perish by decay, and we do not re- thirty times more numerous than the member a time when the signs of decay caste but if we remember the Em- were less visible to ordinary eyes. By peror of Germany, his eliest son, the all the laws of physiologists, the Royal Emperor of Brazil, Archduke Albrecht of caste, which intermarries much, which is Austria, the late King of Denmark, the bred unavoidably in luxury, and which is Duc dAumale, and King Oscar, it seems at least as dissolute as any aristocratic useless to assert that the caste is men- group, ought to be losing its physical tally worn out. They will have strength, vitality, but it is not losing it at all. The if their people will let them be, to go on Sovereigns, actual or l)otential, of Europe being and as yet there is no proof quite would make a formidable squadron of beyond question that their people do not dragoons. The Emperor of Germany is intend to let them be, that they are sen- perhaps the finest man physically who ously prepared to supersede them by has reigned since Charlemagne. Any other Chiefs. On the contrary, the evi- Colonel in the Guards would accept his deuce, though too slight as yet for coo- son as a most hopeful recruit. His clusions, points to the theory that they, nephew, the Red Prince, is as formidable these Hereditary Royalties, are the only a hussar as ever rode. The Emperor of chiefs large populations will endure that Austria is as stately of presence as an the alternatives lie between them and ideal King. The eldest Wittelbach is a mere officers, selected almost by chance, wild rider, who delights in furious mid- and sent back by popular jealousy very night galloping. The Prince of Wales, quickly into obscurity. In the whole whose pedigree stretches, if not to Odin, series of Republics now covering both far past Eghert, rides as straight to Americas outside Brazil, there cannot be hounds as a professional whip. The said to be a single figure occupying any- King of Italy, the coronet of whose ances- thing like the position that, for instance, ton was closed before Charlemagne died, Wellington occupied in this country; not is a successful chamois-hunter, a good one who is an accepted force, a person- cavalry officer, and a man for whom age whose in~uence will endure for life. danger has an actual charm. His eldest Of course institutions can be made to son is as strong as himself and his take the place of men, but the masses younger son, Amadeo, a man of reckless now assuming power may not be more personal gallantry. The eldest Roma- willing than the influential classes who noff is almost gigantic, and endures un- preceded them to build those institu- complainingly fatigues which try the con- tions up, may, on the contrary, be much stitutions of his aide-de-camps. The less willing to take all the trouble and Bourbons seem more worn, but one of make all the sacrifices which impersonal them, the Duc dAumale, is the very type institutions involve. The popular notion of the cultivated, but over-stern General; that they will, may prove to be an as- Don Carlos is six feet one another, Don sumption, resting upon nothing better Carloss. soldier-brother, is a Murat a than the fact that for some years past the third, the Comte dEu, is believed in artisans of cities have been very eager Brazil to be a General of unusual capa- for more comfort, and much inclined to city and a fourth served with distinction think that they can secure it, by chan throughout the Frauco-German war. It ~in~ certain political and social arrange- is very well to write about cr6tins, but ments which they think stand in their there is no evidence whatever that the way. The artisans of the cities cannot ~caste is crdtin physically, and not much govern Europe, and it is by no means that it is wearing out in mind. It is proved yet that if their desire for more badly bred, no doubt, particularly in comfort were abated by circumstances, Catholic countries, and has a certain ha- as has been the case to some extent in bihity to brain-disease, while it is men- Great Britain, they would remain perma- tally bothered by the clash between nently desirous of a change the first steps modern ideas and the ideas it is conven- towards which would intensify all the ient for a reigning caste to hold ; but if evils of their~coudition. the whole of it were shovelled into our May not, however, to exhaust the own Upper House, the Peers as a body speculative possibilities, a movement would be abler than they are. Few of break out within the Royal Caste itself, the Royal Families may be able to coin- a sort of epidemic of Abdication, p~- pare with the gr~at statesmen of the duced either by weariness, or discontent, OUR RELATIONS WITH MOROCCO. 59 or actual terror of the throne? Weari- ness was the solution of Monarchy im- agined many years ago by a clever novel- ist, who predicted that in the year 2,500, or thereabouts, a single capitalist would be owner, and therefore ruler of. the world, and that the Kings would be ham- pered by constitutional etiquettes, till abdication would be a pleasant escape from an intolerable position and there is this to justify his idea, that thrones do go begging when their conditions are un- pleasant. Belgium was refused, Greece was refused, Spain was refused, the latter under circumstances which made the refusal but little creditable to the refuser. Leopold of Coburg refused Bel- gium for months because of her constitu- tion Prince Alfred of England refused Greece and Ferdinand, Ex-King of Portugal, declined Spain, though proba- bly the one man in Europe whom Span- iards would have cordially suoported. But the abdication of a born King has yet to occur, though the last King of Dennvark who also possessed Schles wig- Holdein, threatened to run for President if the Hohenzollerns worried him too much. Nobody steps down voluntarily out of his caste, and Kings have quite as much pride of caste as other men, more, because they are never in their own minds quite sure that their rank is not part of a Providential scheme, that their right of birth is not, on some inter- pretation or other and in some sense, divine. Kings hold on very hard, un- der all circumstances, and wouid hold on, we imagine, even if the Crown ceased to be sufficiently or even decently gilded, or if the work were exceedingly severe. We could imagine, indeed, a King com- pelled to do work which he could not accomplish, feeling as Lord Althorp used to say he felt, and resolving to abdicate but before the resolution became fixed he would learn to trust some one with the work, and patiently to await results. The self-conceit of Kings, Prince Bis- inarck once said, knows no laws. Even Ferdinand of Austria thought himself fit to govern, and it is said, received in the Hradschin the news of the cession of Lombardy with the malicious remark, that after all his nephew had not made so much of his work. As to terror, Kings feel it like other people, but they do not often abdicate from fear. The certainty of assassinationand as Dc Quincey has shown, it amounted to that did not diminish the number~f candidates for the Clesarship of Rome, and the inces sant danger in which Czars must live has produced no abdication. The caste will hold on, we imagine, until opinion is so modified, even in armies, that thrones are no longer possible, and the interval may easily be long enough to allow two Victors to become crowned rulers in Germany and Great Britain. From The Examiner. OUR RELATIONS WITH MOROCCO. THERE is scarcely a country on the face of the globe concerning which we seem to know and care less than ~ve do about Morocco. It is high time, how- ever, that a new leaf be turned over in this matter, and a little of the public at- tention demanded for a country which, from the value of its natural resources, proximity within two hours sail of a British portand other causes, ought to be of the greatest importance to us. The advancement of com~nerce and the suppression of slavery have hitherto been the two chief objects of all our dealings with African nations, except Morocco. It is true, though probably little known, that we keep up a costly ambassadorial and consular establishment in that coun- try, but as yet we have kept it up for noth- ing. The splendid field for commerce which Morocco should afford to our mer- cantile enterprise is practically closed against us, while the trade in human flesh flourishes there unheeded under the very shadow of the English flag. A short statement of the present con- dition of our commercial and other rela- tions with the Moorish empire will plainly show the necessity that exists for a radi- cal alteration in the policy we pursued in our dealings with Sidi Mohammed, and have hitherto continued with his son and si~c~tssor. By our present treaty made some eighteen years ago British subjects in Morocco are entitled to the same privileges that are enjoyed by the subjects or citizens of the most favoured nations. These privileges are more amply defined in the treaties since made by Morocco with France, Spain, the Unitod States, & c. But though by these treaties trade is. nominally permitted, it is placed under re~trictions that in reality keep it at a complete standstill. For instance, Morocco is a grain-growing country, and from its great fertility in that respect might be made to produce wheat enough to supply all Europe 6o OUR RELATIONS WITH MOROCCO. and yet the exportation of wheat is alto- gether prohibited. It is known that gold, silver, copper, lead, and quicksilver, exist in the country in large quantities,but no attempt to reach this mineral ~vealth by the opening and ~vorkingof mines will be permitted. Besides wheat, several other valuable articles of commerce are placed under prohibition notably palmetto, which grows in Morocco in the greatest abundance. But even with the trade that is allowed, difficulties are thrown in the way, so great as to be completely inter- dictory. Chief of these is, that it is not allowed at all with several, and some of these the best, of the Moorish ports. Santa Cruz, the flujest port in the Em- pire, is altogether closed to Europeans, whilst at others, where it is permitted, the anchorage is most insecure ; some also being faced by reefs of rocks, which often prevent vessels communicating with the shore for many weeks at a time. Some of these ports might be greatly iml)roved at a small outlay, but the late Sultan would neither undertake this him- self nor allow it to be done by foreign- ers. For example, at Tangier the foun- dations stiil remain of the moles con- structed by the English in the reign of Charles II., but afterwards destroyed on our evacuation of the place. These might be nude serviceable again at a trifling expense, but the Sultan had always refused to permit it as it ~vould interfere with the profits of those of his subjects who now make it their business to carry goods and passengers from ves- sels on shore on thair backs. Another and most serious impediment to trade is the fact that the supply of lighters for unloading Sill ps cargoes is kept as an imperial monopoly. A very few are placed at each l)ort, and vessels have to wait, in some cases for weeks, to take their turn to be loaded or unloaded. But even such as these treaties are, it has been found that the Sultan has not hesitated to break them. For instance. By one treaty-stipulation subjects of for- eign l)X~r5 were allowed to trade with any Moorish subjects, and they were em- powered to recover debts from them. Acting on this, many European mer- chants advanced money or goods to gov- ernors of Moorish provinces, on the security of legal and official acknowledg- ments of the debts, and written promises for their repayment at the time of har- vest or sheepshearing, when the govern- ors would collect the tithe-taxes from the people. When, hox~ever, the debts be- came due the debtors for tile most part repudiated them, and on the matter being laid before tile Sultan by the diplomatic representative, he supported the debtors by saying that tile treaty clause did not apply to Government officials, such as the debtors were. Yet it was on the strength of their being men in official position, and, as such, n~en of standing and substance, that the European mer- chants had made the advances. After some negotiation the Sultan consented that the claims of the merchants (amount- ing to a very considerable gross sum) should be adjudicated upon by a legal tribunal. But in this tribunal the law was administered by Slzraa, the law of the Koran. By this law of Shraa no evi- dence is admitted from witnesses of other than the Mohammedan faith ; and as in this casse tile claimants were all of them either Christians or Jews, their evidence was not received, and no fair decisions were arrived at. The claims are there- fore for the most part still outstinding, and in all probability will never be set- tled. Tile following affords another instance of evasion. By treaty the goods of European merchants are not liable to pay any tax or duty after they have passed tllrough tile custom-house and paid the import duty. According to this stipulation a European merchant might remove Ilis goods from one port to anotiler by land witilout additional impost. But tile Moorisil Government Ilas lately evaded this by cilarging a duty on every camel, or mule, or donkeys load of goods which enters tile gates of a Moorish town. It declares, ilowever, that the duty is paid on tile cz;zim!zl, not on tile goods ile carries, and tilat it is cilarged to tlle driver, who, being a Moorisil subject, may be taxed a! libitum. But of course the camel or mule driver has to cilarge tile duty to Ilis European employer, and th~ i~ virtually equivalent to tile mer- cilants paying an additional duty. Tile last instance whicil we silall give, tIlougli not concerned with trade, is an equally unfair and vexatious proceeding on tile part of tIle Moorisil Government towards tIle subjects of foieign nations. By treaty tile Sultan of Morocco engages tilat Britisll subjects resid~n~ ill ilis dominion slIall enjoy tileir personal secu- rity in as fulb~ind ample a manner as subjects of tile Sultan are elltitled to do witOill tile territories of iler Britannic Majesty. But now tile Moorisll Gov- ernment declares that no foreigner slIall travel anywhere outside of a Moorish OUR RELATIONS WITH MOROCCO. 6i town unless acGompanied by a Moorish soldier, or, if he does, he does it on his own responsibility. So that if an Eng- lishman were robbed in the market-place of Tangier just outside the gates he could obtain no redress, unless he were under the charge of a Moorish soldier, the cost of which escort is from four to eight shillings a day l That England, through her representatives, should meekly~ubmit to such flagrant violation of the rights of her subjects as this, shows a sl)irit of gentleness and lono-sufferin~ for which, judging from her ordinary dealings with African potentates, few would have been inclined to give her credit. In another matter, that of slavery, gen- erally supposed to arouse the deepest feelings of horror in the English mind, we have shown ourselves equally com- placent and forbearing in Morocco. There negro slavery is one of the most cherished of domestic institutions, the slaves being mostly brought from Tim- buctoo and Soudan, but sometimes from the East, and sold in open market in the towns. Now it might not be possible, nor if it were would it probably be ex- pedient, for any European Power to get the Sultan of Morocco to suppress the traffic in slaves throughout his domin- ions. But England has quite sufficient power and influence if she chose to exercise itwith the Maroquine Court to obtain the introduction of many salu- tary restrictions in this irade, the only one which at present appears to be quite free in Morocco. The sale of slaves in open market in those townS where Eng- lish diplomatic establishments are main- tained, might be prohibited. A firm in- sistance on such a restriction as this would only be consistent from a nation like ours, which has lavished millions for of the slave trade in the suppression other parts of Africa. But so far from any attempt of the kind having yet been mane, it would appear as if as regards Morocco we took a different view of the matter, and rather approv~4 of slavery than otherwise. The efforts of the late Mr. Richardson, who was commissioned by the Anti-Slavery Society to present a memorial on the subject to the Sultan, received neither assistance nor sympa- thy from our chief representative on the contrary, the project was speedily drowned in the profusion of cold water thrown on it. But worse than this, slaves have actually been brought into Morocco in English vessels. Mr. Richardson, in his Travels in Morocco, quotes a case in which slaves were brought from Gib- raltar to Tangier in the English mail boat, and like instances have occurred quite recently. The reason for this excessive submis- siveness on our part to the violation of our treaty rights by the Moorish Govern- ment, as well as our complat~nt attitude towards slavery and slave traffic in this part of Africa, is not far to seek, and is a very mean one when found. The fact is that we keep up an enormous garrison at Gibraltar, which we feed chiefly and cheaply from Tangier; so in order to save a few pounds yearly in butchers meat for our soldiers we sacrifice our honour and our principles, and make peace at any pricey our motto in Mo- rocco. So long as our government can get as much cheap beef as it wants for Gibraltar, our merchants may be thwart- ed, and bullied, and cheated in their commercial transactions as much as the Moorish Sultan pleases; and not even by a frown or a shake of the head will we infer that we see anything to disap- prove of in the good old custom of slavery. To show the importance over all else which is attached to this mat- ter of buying cheap meat for Gibraltar, it is enough to say that at Tangier the port from which the meat is shipped we have a Minister Plenipotentiary and a Consul, both receiving high salaries and each with his staff of paid assistants whilst at all the other ports of the Empire there are only unpaid vice-Consuls, or Consular agents ; and at Mogador the British Consular business has been trans- acted since last August by the French Consul, nor up to a recent date had the Foreign Office taken steps to appoint any one to relieve him of the duties. And yet Mogador is the most important trading station on the Coast, both on ac- count~f~4he number of English mer- chants resident there, and also because it is the chief port for the exportation of all native produce other than fresh pro- visions. That such a state of things is not creditable to England will be readily admitted ; and that the sooner it is rem- edied the better will be the natural con- clusion. But the remedy must consist not only in a new treaty though the need for that is ~nperative toobut in such an unflinching insistance on the observance of its stipulations on the part of our chief representative as will inspire the Moorish Government with respect, instead of, as now, contempt for our 62 TO CHARLES SUMNER. Government, with also, as. regards such matters as slavery, a course of conduct on our part which, while not disputing the rights of other nations to their own social and domestic arrangements, shall not make it appear that our own much- vaunted moral professions are nothing more than shams. From Blackwoods Magazine. TO CHARLES SUMNER. IN MEMORIAM. FOR years, dear friend, but rarely had we met, Fate in a different path our feet had set, Space stretched between us, yet you still were near, And friendship had no shadows of regret. The ocean drear divided us, hut nought Obscured the interchange of word and thought; The unbroken line of sympathy still throbbed, And unto both its constant message brought. And so I felt you were not far away, The mere material distance seemed to lay Brief barrier to our meeting, and I dreamed That some day we should meet; ay, any day That we again should clasp each others hand, Speak as of old, and face to face should stand; Renew the past, and plot and plan again, As in years past we plotted and we planned. That hope is vanished now a sudden change Hath borne you from me far beyond the range Of that familiar life that here we knew Into a region dim and far and strange. A vaster sea divides us now a stretch Across whose space we vainly strive to reach, Whose deeps man passes never to return, Fron. whose far shores there comes no human speech. In one swift moment you have passed and gone Out on the blind way all must tread alone, Uncompanied, unfriended, none knows where, Gone out into the vague and vast unknown. Gone where no mortal sense can track your fight Gone where Faith casts a weak and wavering light, Where trembling Hope and Fear bewildered stray, Lost in the pathless silent shades of night. Vanished forever from this world away, From all the accidents of Night and Day, The seasons chance or change, the voice of man, And all Lifes passh~n, joy, hope, pain, and play. Gone in an instant like a breath o.f wind, Leaving the dead dumb instrument behind Through which the spirit, with such wondrous art, Thrilled its fine harmonies of sense and mind. Gone ? what is gone, and whither has it fled? What means this dreadful utterance he is dead! What is this strange mysterious tie called Life, That bindeth soul to sense by such slight thread? Loves grasp is strong, and yet it could not hold The somewhat that it loved; and thought is bold, Yet strove in vain to follow where it fled, And sank to earth, the secret all untold. Where and what are you now? what do you know, See, feel? Is all that was so dark below Cleared up at last? Does memory still re- main, And do you long for us who loved you so? In this new life does human feeling last? Or has oblivion blotted out the Past, All the glad joys of this warm life of sense, And all the lights and shadows oer it cast? Or are you nothing now ? gone like a tone Tjaat dies to silenceor a light that shone One gleaming moment, swift to disappear, By deaths cold breath to utter darkness blown? To all these questions comes a silence drear Stretched oer Lifes utmost verge with long- ing ear The still soul listens, but no answer comes Save the low heart-beats of its hope or fear. So we return to earth we laugh and weep, Love, hope, despair. Time in its silent sweep Bears us along till, tir~d out at last, Gladly we lay us down in deaths deep sleep. 1 No matter what it brings at least it wears A peaceful charm of rest from all our cares. Why should we wish to toil and struggle more? Is not sleep sweet if no dark dreams it bears? Look at this face where death has laid its hand, How calm it looks ! how sorrowless, how grand I Lifes fever over, all the passions fled, All the lines si~oothed they burned as with a brand. Not Joys glad smile in happiest hours it bore, Not Loves enchanted look that once it wore, Could lend a grace so noble, so refined, As now it wears when Joy and Love are oer. TO CHARLES SUMNER. 63 And yet that peace will never soothe our And if tis all a dream so let it be; Who shall decide when all is mystery? And yet I rather choose this heavenly dream Than deaths dark horror of inanity. At least your noble thoughts can never die They live to stir and lift humanity They live to sweeten life and cheer us on: If they are with us, surely you are nigh. I Yes, in our memory, long as sense remains, That stalwart frame shall live, that voice whose strains To lofty purpose pitched, struck like a fire Into our blood, and thrilled through all our veins. That full sonorous voice, whose high-strung key Was tuned to Justice and to Liberty That sounded like a charge to rouse the world From the deep slumber of its apathy. Nor these alone ; we shall remember too The kind familiar tones of love we knew, The genial converse and the storied lore, The cultured charm that every listener drew. The gladsome smile, the gleam of quick sur- prise, That thrilled the face and lightened through the eyes; The uplifting brow, the utterance frank and clear, And allthat sullen death to sight denies. Alas! how idle are the words we say! How poor the tribute on your grave we lay Nor praise nor blame shall cheer or trouble more The parted spirit or the insensate clay. Vain friendships voice, and vain the loud lament A nation breathed as oer your bier it bent; Vain unto you, that as you passed away A shadow darkened down a continent. Rest, then, brave soldier, from the well-fought fight! Rest, genial scholar, from the dear delight Of arts and books ! Rest, steadfast, stainless 1~fri~id! Forever ours though lost to sense and sight. Stern Dutys champion, at thy bier we bow Brave, honest, faithful to the end thy vow To God and Freedom kept unbribed, un- bought: Rest thee or rise to loftier labours now. W. XV. Sroav. pain; He whom we loved is lost. Come back again, Come back, we cry: no, never all our love And all our grief cry out for him in vain. That pictured memory graced with treasures fair, That stored experience rich with learning rare, Those garnered thoughts and those affections fine Are they all squandered, lost, dispersed in air? Seek as you will blind creature never eye Of mortal man shall pierce this mystery. This, this alone we know, that nought we know; And yet we feel life surely cannot die. Change it may suffer vanish from us here, In forms beyond our ken to reappear. Pass up the finite scale of seed, stalk, flower, To odour then exhale beyond this sphere. But death blank nothing! at the very thought Reason recoils Faith shudders Hope, dis- traught, Reels back aghast; no wild imagining Can shape a shapeless empty void of naught. To somewhat, vague and dim howeer it be, The soul must cling mere blank inanity Defies our utmost stretch of wildest thought, And here at least Hope, Reason, Faith agree. Then wby with nightmare dreams our spirits scare? If we will dream how sweeter and more fair Hopes promise of a loftier life beyond, With larger loving and an ampler air! Of vaster regions lifted from the sphere Of doubt and struggle that harass us here, Where the freed spirit, moving ever on, Breathes a diviner, purer atmosphere. So will I dream, since nothing we can know, Your soul, enfrarbchised, wanders to and fro On some Elysian plain beyond our sense, Communing with great spirits as you go. That oft a tender memory, turning, strays To us who tread below these earthly ways, Not mourning for us as we mourn for you, But seeing clear above th~ cloudy maze. That, purged of Time, your spirit laiger grows In that new being ask4hg not repose, But with new aims and more expanded powers, On, on, forever with glad purpose goes. 64 MISCELLANY. WHAT THE HESSIANS OF 1776 WERE says, after several unsuccessful attempts, at THOUGHT OF NY THE FATHER OF THEIR last I succeeded in securing afi uninjured COUNTRY. The prince of Hesse-Cassel sent captive, which to my inexpressible delight the following letter, dated Feb. 8, 1777, to the proved to be one of the ruby-throated species, the most splendid and diminutive that comes commander of the Hessian troops in America: north of Florida. It immediately suggested Baron Hohendorif At Rome, on my re- itself to me that a mixtu1re of two parts of loaf turn from Naples, I received your letter of the sugar with one of fine honey, in ten of water, 27th December of the past year. With inex- would make about the nearest approach to the pressible delight I learned of the courage dis- nectar of flowers. While my sister ran to played by my troops at Trenton, and you can prepare it, I gradually~ened my hand to look imagine my joy when I read that of 1950 Hes- at my prisoner, and saw, to my no little amuse- sians engaged in the fight, only 300 escaped. ment as well as suspicion, that it was actually According to this, exactly 1650 have been playing possum, feigning to be dead most slain, and I cannot recommend to your atten- skilfully. It lay on my open palm motionless tion too much the necessity of sending an for some minutes, during which I watched it exact list to my attorneys in London. This in breathless curiosity. I saw it gradually care is necessary, because the list sent to the open its bright little eyes to peep whether the English minister shows a loss of only 1455. way was clear, and then close them slowly as In this way I should suffer a loss of 160,050 it caught my eye upon it. But when the man. forms! According to the account rendered ufactured nectar came, and a drop was touched by the lord of the treasury I should receive upon the point of its bill, it came to life very but 483.450 forms instead of 643,500 forms, suddenly, and in a moment was on its legs, You will see at once that it is their intention drinking with eager gusto of the refreshing to make me suffer a loss by an error in calcu- draught from a silver teaspoon. When sated lation, and therefore you must take the utmost it refused to take any more, and sat perched pains to prove that your list is correct and with the coolest self-composure on my finger, theirs false, and plumed itself quite as artistically as if on The English Government objects that one its favorite spray. I was enchanted with the hundred are wounded only, for which it can- bold, innocent confidence with which it turned not be expected to pay the same price as for up its keen black eyes to survey us, as much killed. as to say, Well, good folks, who are you? Remember that of the three hundred Lace- By the next clay it would come from any part d~monians who defended the pass of Ther- of either room, alight upon the side of a white mopyl~, not one returned. I should be happy china cup containing the mixture and drink if I could say the same of my brave Hessians. eagerly, with its long bill thrust into the very Tell Major Miedorif that I am extremely base. It would alight on my fingers, and seem displeased with his behavior, to conduct into to talk with us endearingly in its soft chirps. camp the three hundred which fled the battle- Mr. Webber afterward succeeded in taming field at Trenton. Durin~, the whole campaign several of the same species. He gave them he has not lost ten of his whole command, their liberty occasionally, and they returned regularly. At the time for migration they left for the winter; but the next spring they sought their old quarters, and accepted the delicious nectar kindly provided for them, and by de- grees brought their mates. As a commentary to this outrageous letter, which indirectly asks the major to see that his men are butchered, it is necessary to state that the count [landgraf] of Hesse-Cassel rece~vod for every man furnished by him thirty thalers (about $21.00) and for every man killed in battle twenty pounds sterling, a sum which one hundred years ago equalled at least $140.00. This money was not devoted to the care of the unfortunate ones left desti- tute by the death of their protectors, but it went into the private purse of their illustrious lord. A similar state of affairs existed in Braun- schweig, Hanau, Anspach, Waldeck and Zerbst. According to Schlotzers statistics there were 29,106 men sold, of whom 11,843 were killed. Transcript. TAMING THE HUMMING BIRD. The ruby throat has sometimes been tamed. Mr. Web- ber, in his Wild Sc.nes and Song Birds, Popular Science Monthly. THE Municipal Council of Geneva has at la~ d~ided on the question of paying legacy duty to the canton on the Brunswick bequest. The cantonal authorities demanded twelve per cent. on the succession, which would amount to no less than 2,471,4oIf. This was com- bated by a section of the council, who argued that the law exempting public institutions from paying a tax on legacies barred the claim of the canton. The matter then resolved itself into a question if a municipality could be termed a public institution. In its sitting of Saturday the ~nncil resolved, by 16 Yotes to 14, to pay the sum demanded. One member abstained from voting, and nine were absent. A third debate on tbe subject was, however, demanded by M. Turritini on behalf of the Administrative Council of the town.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No, 1583. October 10, 1874. From Beginning, Volume VIII. (Vol. CXXIII. CONTENTS. I. PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. On the Hypothesis that Animals are Automata, and its History, Nature, II. THREE FEATHERS. By William Black, au- thor of The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, The Princess of Thule, etc. Part II., THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS, THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD Conclu- sion ROBERT SOUTHEYS SECOND WIFE, THE DISAPPOINTING BOY THE VICE OF READING, . CHINESE PROVERBS TEN POINTS OF A GOOD WIFE, BIBLE SYNONYMS: PERFECT, UPRIGHT, COMPLETE, PERFECTED III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. Ix. x. Corn/zill Magazine, Nature, Chambers 7ournal, Cornhill Magazine, Blackwoods Magazine,. Temj5le Bar, All Tile Year Round, Leisure Hour, Sunday Magazine, P0 E TRY. MELANCHOLIA 66IIKNEXVA FACE, MISCELLANY 123 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. V TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTIO~ For EIGHT DOLLARS, remit/ed directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of ps/age. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor when we have to pay commission for forwarding the money; nor when we club the LIVING Age with another periodical. An extra copy of THE LIVING AGE iS sent gratis to any one getting up a cluh of Five New Subscribers. Remittances should be Glade by hank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the mos~y should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters wisen requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & GAY. 77 8g 101 loS 115 9 123 126 127 66 66 MELANCHOLIA, ETC. From The Cornhill Magazine. MELANCHOLIA. I. SAIDST thou, The night is ending, day is near? Nay now, my soul, not so; We are sunk back into the darkness drear, And scarcely soon shall know Even remembrance of the sweet dead day; Ay, and shall lose full soon The memory of the moon, The moon of early night, that cheered our sunless way. II. Once, from the brows of Might, Leapt with a cry to light Pallas the Forefighter; Then straight to strive with her She called the Lord of Sea In royal rivalry For Athens, the Supreme of things, The company of crownless kings. A splendid strife the Queen began, In that her kingdom making man Not less than equal her own line Inhabiting the hill divine. Ah Fate, how short a span Gayest thou then to god and godlike man! The impious fury of the stormblasts now Sweeps unrebuked across Olympus brow; The fair Forefighter in the strife For light and grace and glorious life They sought and found not; she and hers Had yielded to the troublous years; No more they walked with men, heavens high interpreters. III. Yet, oer the gulf of wreck and pain, How softly strange there rose again, Against the darkness dimly seen, Another face, another queen, The Maiden Mother, in whose eyes The smile of God reflected lies; Who saw around her gracious feet The maddening waves of warfare meet, And stretching forth her fingers fair Upon the hushed and wondering air Shed round her, for man s yearning sight, A space of splendour in the night. Are her sweet feet not stayed? Nay, she is also gone, the Mother-maid: And with her all the gracious company That made it hope to live, and joy to die. The Lord is from the altar gone, His golden lamp in dust oerthrown, The pealing organs ancient voice Hath wandered to an empty noise, And all the angel heads and purple wings are flown. IV. Wherefore in this twice-baffled barrenness, ~This unconsoled twice.desolate distress, For our bare wo~d and bleak We only dare to seek A little respite for a little while, Knowing all fair things brief, And ours most brief, seeing our very smile, Mid these our fates forlorn, Is only child of grief, And unto grief returneth, hardly born. V. We will not have desire for the, sweet spring, Nor mellowing midsummer We have no right to her The autumn primrose and late-flowering Pale-leaved inodorous Violet and rose shall be enough for us: Enough for our last boon, That haplv where no bird belated grieves, We watch, through some November afternoon, The dying sunlight on the dying leaves. VI. Ah, heard I then through the sad silence fall. ing Notes of a new Orphelin melody, Not up to earth but down to darkness calling, Down to the fair Elysian company, Ah then how willing an Eurydice The kindly ghosts should draw, with noiseless hand, My shadowy soul into the shadowy land; For on the earth is endless ~vinter come, And all sweet sounds, and echoes sweet, are dumb. ERNEST MYERS. I KNEW A FACE. I KNEW a face, though now I know it not; Tis gone, but not the love that linked it to my lot. It used to smile on me, but now its smile Neer lights my dreary soul, and my lone heart the while Lives on its image. Once those sparkling eyes Had eer a loving glance for me each look a prize! But now the sunshines gone that beamed in them; And gone is all the daylight from my eyes, which seem As though afflicted with the shading blight Which coldly shades the colours warmed by beautys light. Those lips, which breathed of bliss twin rubies they Are sealetl and cold; no thrilling accents softly stray From them as once they did. She is no more! Beauty hath called her sweetest image to its shore ;~ And all that dinThled symmetry of grace, Ovalled by Nature into such a perfect face Too fair, alas, to bloom on mortals eyes Now blossoms in the ripning light of native skies. Tinsleys Magazine. PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS. 67 From Nature. PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. ON THE HYPOTHESIS THAT ANIMALS ARE AU TOMATA, AND ITS HISTORY.* AT this period of the meeting of the British Association I am quite sure it is hardly necessary for me to call to your minds the nature of the business which takes place at our sectional meetings. We there register the progress which science has made during the past year, and we do our best to advance that progress by original communications and free discussion. But when the honour- able task of delivering this evenings lec- ture was imposed upon me, or rather as my friend the President has just said, when I undertook to deliver it, it occurred to me that the occasion df an evening lecture might be turned to a different purpose, that we might with much pro- priety and advantage turn our minds back to the past to consider what had been done by the great men of old, who had gone down into the grave with their weapons of war, but who had fought bravely for the cause of truth while they yet lived to recognize their merits, and to show ourselves duly grate- ful for their services. I propose, there- fore, to take a retrospect of the condition of that branch of science with which it is my business to be more or less familiar - not to a very remote period, for I shall go no further back than the seventeenth century, and the observations which I shall have to offer you will be confined almost entirely to the biological science of the time between the middle of the seventeenth and the middle of the eigh- teenth centuries. I propose to show what great ideas in biological science took their origin at that time, in what manner the speculations then originated have been developed, and in what rela- tion they stand to what is now understood to be the body of scientific biological truth. The middle of the sixteenth cen- tury, or rather the early part of it, is one of the great epochs of biological science. It was at that time that an idea, which * Address by Prof. Huxley, F.R.S., at the British Association, Belfast. Aug. 24. had been dimly advocated previously, took the solid form which can only be given to scientific ideas by the definite observation of fact I mean the idea that vital phenomena, like all other phe- nomena of the physical world, are capable of mechanical explanation, that they are reducible to law and order,~and that the study of biology, in the long run, is an application of the great sciences of phys- ics and chemistry. The man to whom we are indebted for first bringing that idea into a plain and tangible shape, I am proud to say, was an Englishman, William Harvey. Harvey was the first clearly to explain the mechanism of the circulation of the blood, and by that re- markable discovery of his, and by the clearness and precision with which he reduced that process to its mechanical elements, he laid the foundation of a scientific theory of the larger part of the processes of living beings those pro- cesses, in fact, which we now call pro- cesses of sustentationand by his studies of development he, further, first laid the ,foundation of a scientific knowledge of reproduction. But besides these great powers of living beings, there remains another class of functions those of the nervous system with which Harvey did not grapple. It was, indeed, left for a contemporary of his, a man who, as he himself tells us, was mainly stimulated in these inquiries by the brilliant researches of Harvey R6n6 Descartes to play a part in relation to the phenomena of the nervous system, which, in my judg- ment, is equal in value to that which Harvey played in regard to the circula- tion. ~Ani1 when we consider who Des- cartes was, how brief the span of his life, I think it is a truly wonderful circumstance that this man, who died at fifty-four, should be one of the recognized leaders of philosophy that, as I am informed by competent authority, he was one of the firs.t and most original mathematicians who has ever live ~ and that, at the same time, the fertility o~ his intellect and the grasp of his genius should have been so great that he could take rank, as I be- lieve he must, beside the immortal Har- vey as a physiologist. And you must 68 PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS recollect that Descartes was not merely, from these soft white masses. for such as some had been, a happy speculator. He was a working anatom ist and physiol- ogist, conversant with all the anatomical and physiological lore of his time, and practised in all methods by which ana- tomical and physiological discoveries were then made and it is related of him and a most characteristic anecdote it is, and one which should ever put to silence those shallow talkers who speak of Descartes as a merely hypothetical and speculative philosopher that a friend once calling upon him in Holland hegged to be shown his library. Des- cartes led him into a sort of shed, and, drawing aside a curtain, displayed a dis- secting-room full of bodies of animals in course of dissection, and said, There is my library. It would take us a very long time if I were to attempt to pursue the method which would be requisite for the full establishment of all that I am about to say; that is to say, if I were to quote the several passages of Descartes works which bear out my ascription to him of the several propositions which I am going to bring before you. And I must beg you, therefore, to be so good as to take it on my authority for the pres- ent, although for the present only, that there are to be found clearly expressed in Descartes works the propositions which I shall proceed to lay before you, and each of which I shall compare as we go on, as briefly as may be, with the exist- ing state of physiological science, in order that you may see in what position with respect to physiology ay, even to the advanced physiology of the present time this man stood. And, happily, the matters with which we shall treat are such as to require no extensive knowl- edge of anatomy no more, in fact, than such as, I presume, must be familiar to almost every person. I think I need only premise that what we call the nervous system in one of the higher animals consists of a central ap- paratus, composed of the brain, which is lodged in the skull, and of a cord pro- ceeding from it, which is termed the spinal marrow, and which is lodged in the vertical column or spine, and that they are there proceed cords which are termed nerves, some of which nerves end in the muscles, while others end in the organs of sensation. That bare and bald statement of the fundamental com- position of the nervous system will be enough for our present purpose. The first proposition culled from the works of Descartes which I have to lay before you, is one which will sound very familiar. It is the view, which he was the first, so far as I know, to state, not only definitely, but upon sufficient grounds, that the brain is the organ of sensation, of thought, and of emotion using the word organ in this sense, that certain changes which take place in the matter of the brain are the essential antece- dents of those states of consciousness which we term sensation, thought, and emotion. Nowadays that is part of popu- lar and familiar knowledge. If your friend disagrees with your opinion, runs amuck against any of your pet prejudices, you say, Ah poor fellow, he is a little touched here ~ by which you mean that his brain is not doing its business prop- erly, and, therefore, that he is not think- ing properly. But in Descartes time,. and I may say for 150 years afterwards, the best physiologists had not reached that point. It remained down to the time of Bichat a question whether the passions were or were not located in the abdominal viscera. This, therefore, was a very great step. It is a statement which Descartes makes from the begin- ning, and from which he never swerves. In the second place, Descartes lays down i~e proposition that all the movements of animal bodies are effected by the change of form of a certain part of the matter of their bodies, to which he ap- plies the general term of muscle. You must be aware of this in reading Des- cartes ; you must use the terms in the sense in which he used them, or you will not understa u~d him. This is a proposi- tion which is w placed beyond all doubt whatever. If I move my arm, that move- ment is due to the change of this mass of flesh in front called the biceps muscle it is shortened and it becomes thicker. AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. 69 If I move any of my limbs the reason is the same. As I now speak to you, the different tones of my voice are due to the exquisitely accurate adjustment of the contractions of a multitude of such por- tions of flesh ; and there is no consider- able and visible movement of the animal body which is not, as Descartes says, re- solvable into these changes i nthe form of matter termed muscle. But Descartes ~vent further, and he stated that in the normal and ordinary condition of things, these changes in the form of muscle in the living body only occur under certain conditions; and the essential condition of the change is, says Descartes, the mo- tion of the matter contained within the nerves, which go from the central appa- ratus to the muscle. Descartes gave this moving material a particular name the animal spirits. Nowadays we should not talk of the existence of animal spir- its, but we should say that a molecular change takes place in the nerve, and that that molecular change is propagated with a certain velocity, from the central appa- ratus to the muscle. Nevertheless, the modification of the idea is not greater than that which has taken place in our view of electricity, in our change of con- ception of it as a fluid to our concep- tion of it as a condition of propagated molecular change. Modern physiology has measured the rate of the change to which I have referred ; it has thrown marvellous light upon its nature ; it has increased our knowledge of its charac- ters, but the fundamental conception re- mains exactly what it was in the time of Descartes. Next, Descartes says that, under ordinary circumstances, this change in the contents of a nerve, which gives rise to the contraction of a muscle, is produced by a change in the central ner- vous apparatus, as, for example, in the brain. We say at the present time ex- actly the same thing. Descartes said that the animal spirits were stored up in the brain, and flowed out along the motor nerves. We say that a molecular change takes place in the brain that is propagat- ed along the motor nerve. The evidence of that is abundantly sup~4ied by exper- mental research. Further, Descartes stated that the sensory organs, or those apparatuses which give rise to our feel- ings when acted upon by the influences which produce sensation, caused a change in the sensory nerves, which he described as a flow of animal spirits along those nerves, which flow was propa,gated to the brain. If I look at this candle which I hold before me, the light falling on the retina of my eye gives rise to an affection of the optic nerve, which affection Des- cartes described as a flow of the animal spirits to the brain. We should now speak of it as a molecular change propa- gated along the optic nerve to the brain but the fundamental idea is the same. In all our notions of the operations of nerve we are building upon Descartes foundation. Not only so, but Descartes lays down over and over again, in the most distinct manner, a proposition which is of paramount importance not only for physiology but for psychology. He says that when a body which is competent to produce a sensation touches the sensory organs, what happens is the production of a mode of motion of the sensory nerves. That mode of motion is propagated to the brain. That which takes place in the brain is still nothing but a mode of mo- tion. But, in addition to this mode of motion, there is, as everybody can find by experiment for himself, something else which can in no way be compared to motion, which is utterly unlike it, and which is that state of consciousness which we call a sensation. Descartes insists over and over again upon this total dis- parity between the agent which excites the state of consciousness and the state of cons~ioi~sness itself. lie tells us that our sensations are not pictures of external things, but that they are symbols or signs of them ; and in doing that he made one of the greatest possible revolutions, not only in physiology but in philosophy. Till his time it was conceived that visible bodies, for example, gave from themselves a kind of film which~ntered the eye and so went to the brain, ~rfrcies intentionales as they were called, and thus the mind received an actual copy or picture of things which were given off from it. It is to Descartes we owe that ccmplete PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS 70 revolution in our ideas, which has led us being affected by the present danger, to see that we have really no knowledge cause so me change in his brain, which whatever of the causes of those phenom- determines the animal spirits to pass ena which we term external things, and thence into the nerves in such a manner that the only certainty we possess is as is required to produce this motion, in that they cannot be like those phenom- the same way as in a machine, and with- ena. In laying down that proposition out the mind being able to hinder it. upon what I imagine to be a perfectly I know in no modern treatis.e of a more irrefragable basis, Descartes laid the clear and precise stateii~ent, of a more foundation of that form of philosophy perfect illustration than this of what we which is termed idealism, which was sub- understand by the automatic action of sequently expanded to its uttermost by the brain. And what is very remarkable, Berkeley, and has since taken very van- in speaking of these movements which ous shapes. arise by a sensation being as it were re- But Descartes noticed not only that flected from the central apparatus into a under certain conditions an impulse made limb as, for example, when ones finger by the sensory organ may give rise to a is pricked and the arm is suddenly drawn sensation, but that under certain other up, the motion of the sensory nerve conditions it may give rise to motion, and travels to the spine and is again reflected that this motion may be effected without down to the muscles of the arm Des- sensation, and not only without volition, cartes uses the very phrase that we at but even contrary to it. I trouble you this present time employ; he speaks of with as little reading as I can, because it the es~rits r4flicliis, the reflected spir- occupies so much time but I must ask its ; and that this was no mere happy -our patience for one very remarkable phrase lost upon his contemporaries will passage which is contained in the answer be obvious if you consult the famous that Descartes gave to the objections work of Willis, the Oxford professor, raised by the famous Port Royalist Ar- De Anima Brutorum, which was pub- nauld to his Fourth Meditation. Des- lished about 1672. In giving an account cartes says: It appears to me to be a of Descartes views he borrows this very very remarkable circumstance that no phrase from him, and speaks of this re- movement can take place either in the flection of the motion of a sensory nerve bodies of beasts or even in our own, if into the motion of a motor nerve, sicut these bodies have not in themselves all undulatione refle~a, as if it were a wave the organs and instruments by means of thrown back so that we have not only which the very same movement would be the thing reflex action described, but we accomplished in a machine, so that, even have the phrase reflex recognized in in us, the spirit or the soul does not its full significance. directly move the limb, but only deter- And the last great service to the phys- mines the course of that very subtle iology of the nervous system which I liquid which is called the animal spirits, have to mention as rendered by Des- which, running continually from the heart cartes was this, that he first, so far as I by the brain into the muscles, is the know, sketched out a physical theory of cause of all the movements of our limbs, memory. What he tells you in sub- and often may cause many different mo- stance is this, that when a sensation tions, one as easily as the other. And it takes place, the animal spirits travel up does not even always exert this deter- the sensory nerve, pass to the appropri- mination, for, among the movements ate part of the brain, and there, as it which take place in us, there are many were, find their way through the pores of which do not depend upon the mind at the substance of the brain. And he says all, such as the beating of the heart, the that when this has once taken place, digestion of food, the nutrition, the respi- when the particles of the brain have them- ration of those who sleep, and, even in selvesbeen,asitwere,shovedasidealittle those who are awake, walking, singing, by a single passage of the animal spirits, and other similar actions when they are the passage is made easier in the same performed without the mind thinking direction for ~y subsequent flow of ani- about them. And when one who falls mal spirits; and that the repetition of from a height throws his hands forward this action makes it easier still, until, at to save his head, it is in virtue of no ra- length, it becomes very easy for the ani- tiocination that he performs this action; mal spirits to move these particular parti- it does not depen~ upon his mind, but des of the brain, the motion of which takes place merely because his senses, gives rise to the appropriate sensation AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. and, finally, the passage is so easy that almost any impulse which stirs the an- imal spirits causes them to flow into these already open pores more easily than they would flow in any other direction; and the flow of the animal spirits recalls the image, the state of consciousness called into existence by a former sensory im- pression. This view is essentially at one with all our present physical theories of memory. That memory is dependent upon a physical process stands beyond question. The results of the study of disease, the results of the action of poi- sonous substances, all conclusively point to the fact that memory is inseparably connected with the integrity of certain ma- terial parts of the brain and dependent upon them, and I know of no hypothe- sis by which this fact can be accounted for except by one which is essentially similar to the notion of Descartes, a notion that the impression once made makes subsequent impressions easier and therefore allows almost any indi- rect disturbance of the brain to call up this particular image. So far, the ideas started by Descartes have simply been expanded, enlarged, and defined by modern research ; they are the keystones of the modern physi- ology of the nervous system. But in one respect Descartes proceeded further than any of his contemporaries, and has been followed by very few of his succes- sors in later days, although his views were for the best part of a century large- ly dominant over the intellectual mind of Europe. Descartes reasoned thus: I can account for many of the actions of living beings mechanically, since reflex actions take place without the intervention of consciousness, and even in opposition to the ~vill. As, for example, ~vhen a man in falling mechanically puts out his hand to save himself, or when a person, to use another of Descartes illustrations, strikes at his friends eye, and although the friend knows he does not mean to hit him, he nevertheless cannot prevent the muscles of his eye from winking. In these cases, Descartes said, I have clear evidence that the nervous system acts mechanically without the interven- tion of consciousness and without the in- tervention of the will, or, it may be, in Opposition to it. Why, then, may I not extend this idea further ? As actions of a certain amount of complexity are brought about in this way, why may not actions of still greater complexity be so produced? Why, in fact, may it not be 7 that the whole of mans physical actions are mechanical, his mind living apart as it were, and only occasionally interfering by means of volition? And it so hap- pened that Descartes was led by some of his speculations to believe that beasts had no souls, and consequently could have no consciousness ; and thus, his two ideas harmonizing together, he developed that famous hypothesis of the automatism of brutes, which is the main subject of my present discourse. What Descartes meant by this was that animals are abso- lute machines, as if they were mills or barrel-organs; that they have no feel- ings ; that a dog does not see, and does not hear, and does not smell, but that the impressions which would produce those states of consciousness in our- selves, give rise in the dog, by a mechan- ical reflex process, to actions which cor- respond to those which we perform when we do smell, and do taste, and do see. On the face of it this appears to be a sur- prising hypothesis, and I do not wonder that it proved to be a stumbling-block even to such acute and subtle men as Henry More, who was one of Descartes correspondents ; and yet it is a very sin- gular thing that this, the boldest and~ most paradoxical notion which Descartes; broached, has received as much and as; strong support from modern physiologi- cal research as any other of his hypothe- ses. I will endeavour to explain to you in as few words as possible, what is the nature of that support, and why it is that Descartes hypothesis, although I am bound to say I do not agree with it, nevertheless, remains at this present time not only quite as defensible as it was in his own time, but I should say, upon the whole, a little more defensible. If it should happen to a man that by accident his spinal cord is divided, he would become paralyzed below the point of inju~y. 41n such case his limbs would be absolutely paralyzed; he would have no control over them, and they would be devoid of sensation. You might prick~ his feet, or burn them, or do anything else you like with them, and they would be absolutely insensible. Conscious- ness, therefore, so far as we can have any knowle~lge of it, would be entirely abol- ished in that part of the central nervous apparatus which li~ below the injury. But although the m~n under these cir- cumstances is paralyzed in the sense of not being able to move his own limbs, he is not paralyzed in the sense of their be~ ing deprived of motion, for if you tickle 72 PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS the soles of his feet with a feather the limbs will be drawn up just as vigorously, perhaps a little more vigorously, than when he was in full possession of the consciousness of what happened to him. Now, that is a reflex action. The im- pression is transmitted from the skin to the spinal cord, it is reflected from the spinal cord, and passes down into the muscles of the limbs, and they are dragged up in this mannerdragged away from the sources of irritation, though the action, you will observe, is a purely automatic or mechanical action. Suppose we deal with a frog in the same way, and cut across the spinal cord. The frog falls into precisely the same condi- tion. So far as the frog is concerned, his limbs are useless ; but you have merely to apply the slightest irritation to the skin of the foot, and the limb is in- stantly drawn away. Now, if we have any ground for argument at all, we have a right to assume that, under these cir- cumstances, the lo~ver half of the frogs body is as devoid of consciousness as is the bwer half of the mans body; and that the body of the frog below the in- jury is in this case absolutely devoid of consciousness, is a mere machine like a musical box or a barrel-organ, or a watch. You will remark, moreover, that the movement of the limbs is purposive that is to say, that when you irritate the skin of the foot, the foot is drawn away from the danger, just as it would be if the frog were conscious and rational, and could act in accordance with rational consciousness. But you may say it is easy enough to understand how so sim- pIe an action might take place mechan- ically. Let us consider another experiment. T4ke this creature, which certainly can- not feel, and touch the skin of the side of the body with a little acetic acid, a little vinegar, which in a frog that could feel would give rise to great pain. In this case there can be no pain, because the application is made below the point of section ; nevertheless, the frog lifts up the limb of the same side and applies the foot to rubbing off the acetic acid and, what is still more remarkable, if you hold down the limb so that the frog can- not use it, he will, by and by, take the limb of the other side and turn it across the body, and use it for the same rub- bing process. it is impossible that the frog, if it were in its entirety and were reasoning, could perform actions more purposive than thes~, and yet we have most complete assurance that in this case the frog is not acting frofn purpose, has no consciousness, is a mere automat- ic machine. But now suppose that in- stead of making your section of the cord in the middle of the body, you had made it in such a manner as to divide the hindermost part of the brain from the foremost part of the br~in, and suppose the foremost two-thirds of the brain en- tirely taken away, the frog is then abso- lutely devoid of any spontaneity; it will remain forever where you leave it ; it will not stir unless it is touched ; it sits upright in the condition in which a frog habitually does sit; but it differs from the frog which I have just described in this, that if you throw it into the water it be- gins to swim swims just as well as the perfect frog does. Now, swimming, you know, requires the coml)ination, and in- deed the very careful and delicate com- bination, of a great number of muscular actions, and the only way we can account for this is, that the impression made upon the sensory nerves of the skin of the frog by the contact of the water con- veys to the central nervous apparatus a stimulus which sets going a certain ma- chinery by which all the muscles of swimming are brought into play in due order and succession. Moreover, if the frog be stimulated, be touched by some irritating body, although we are quite certain it cannot feel, it jumps or walks as well as the complete frog can do. But it cannot do more than this. Suppose yet one other experiment. Suppose that all that is taken away of the brain is what we call the cerebral hemispheres, the most anterior part of the brain. If that operation is l)roperly performed, the frog may be kept in a state of full bodily vigour for months, or it may be for years ; but it will sit forever in the same spot. It sees nothing; it hears nq~hi~. It will starve sooner than feed itself, although if food is put into its mouth it swallows it. On irritation it jumps or walks ; if thrown into the water it swims. But the most remarkable thing that it does is this you put it in the flat of your hand ; it sits there, crouched, perfectly quiet, and would sit there for- eve.r. Then if you incline your hand, doing it very gently and slowly, so that the frog would~aturally tend to slip off, you feel th~ creatures fore-paws getting a little slowly on to the edge of your hand until he can just hold himself there, so that he does not fall; then, if you turn your hand, he mounts up with great care AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. 73 and deliberation, putting one leg in front and then another, until he balances him- self with perfect precision upon the edge of your hand ; then if you turn your hand over, he goes through the opposite set of operations until he comes to sit in perfect security upon the back of your hand. The doing of all this requires a delicacy of co-ordination, and an adjustment of the muscular apparatus of the body which is only comparable to that of a rope- dancer among ourselves; though in truth a frog is an animal very poorly con- structed for rope-dancing, and on the whole we may give him rather more credit than we should to a human dancer. These movements are performed with the utmost steadiness and precision, and you may vary the position of your hand, and the frog, so long as you are reason- ably slow in your movements, will work backwards and forwards like a clock. And what is still more wonderful is, that if you put the frog on a table, and put a book between him and the light, and give him a little jog behind, he will jump take a long jump, very possibly but he wont jump against the book; he will jump to the right or to the left, but he will get out of the way, showing that al- though he is absolutely insensible to or- dinary impressions of light, there is still a something which passes through the sensory nerves, acts upon the machinery of his nervous system, and causes it to adapt itself to the proper action. Can ~ve go further than this? I need not say that since those days of com- mencing anatomical science when crimi- nals were handed over to the doctors, we cannot make experiments on human be- ings, but sometimes they are made for us, and made in a very remarkable man- ner. That operation called war is a great series of physiological experiments, and sometimes it happens that these physio- logical experiments bear very remarkable fruit. I am indebted to my friend Gen- eral Strachey for bringing to my notice an account of a case which appeared within the last four or five days in the scientific article of the 7ozrnal des D6- bats. A French soldier, a sergeant, was wounded at the battle of Bazei~es, one, as you recollect, of the most fiercely con- tested battles of the late xvar. The man was shot in the head, in the region of what we call the left parietal bone. The bullet fractured the bone. The sergeant had enough vigour left to send his bayo- net through the Prussian who shot him. Then he wandered a few~hundred yards out of the village, fell senseless, but, after the action, was picked up and taken to the hospital, where he remained some time. When he c tine to himself, as usual in such cases of injury, he was para- lyzed on the opposite side of the body, that is to say, the right arm and the right leg were completely paralyzed. That state of things lasted, I think, the be~ter part of two years, but sooner or later he recov- ered from it, and now he is able to walk about ~vith activity, and only by careful measurement can any difference between the two sides of his body be ascertained. The inquiry, the main results of which I shall give you, has been conducted by ex- ceedingly competent persons, and they report that at present this man lives two lives, a normal life and an abnormal life. In his normal life he is perfectly well, cheerful, does his work as a hospital at- tendant, and is a respectable, xvell-con- ducted man. This normal life lasts for about seven-and-twenty days, or there- abouts, out of every month; but. for a day or two in each month he passes sud- denly and without any obvious change into his abnormal condition. In this state of abnormal life he is still active, goes about as usual, and is to all appear- ance just the same man as before goes bed and undresses himself oets u to ~ makes his cigarette and smokes it, and eats and drinks. But he neither sees, nor hears, nor tastes, nor smells, nor is he conscious of anything whatever, and he has only one sense organ in a state of activity, namely, that of touch, which is exceedingly delicate. If you put an ob- stacle in his way, he knocks against it, feels it and goes to the one side ; if you push him in any direction, he goes straight on until something stops him. I have said that he makes his cigarettes, but you may supply him with shavings or with anything else instead of tobacco, and still he~vil~go on making his cigarettes as usual. II is actions are purely me- chanical. He feeds voraciously, but whether you give him aloes or assaf~tida, or the nicest thing possible, it is all the same to him. The man is in a condition absolutely parallel to that of the frog I have just described, and no doubt when he is in this condition the functions of his cerebral hemispheres are, at arry rate largely, annihilated. ~He is very nearly I dont say wholly, but very nearly in the condition of an animal in which the cerebral hemispheres are extirpated. And his state is wonderfully interesting to me, for it bears on the phenomena of 74 PROFESSOR HUXLEYS ADDRESS mesmerism, of which I saw a good deal to suppose that any natural p~eno:n~na when I was a young man. In this state can come into existence suddenly and he is capable of performing all sorts of without some precedent, gradual modifica- actions on mere suggestion. For exam- tion ten cling towards it, and taking into pie, he dropped his cane, and a person account the incontrovertible fact that the near him putting it into his hand, the lower vertebrated animals possess, in a feeling of the end of the cane evidently less developed condition, that part of produced in him those molecular changes the brain which we have every reason to of the brain which, had he possessed believe is the or~ an of consciousness in consciousness, would have given rise to ourselves, it seems vastly more probable the ideaof his rifle for he threw himself on that the lower animals, although they may his face, began feeling for his cartridges, not possess that sort of conscious,ness went through the motions of touching which we have ourselves, yet have it in a his gun, and shouted out to an imaginary form proportional to the comparative de- comrade, Here they are, a score of velopme nt of the organ of that conscious- them but we will give a good accouit ness and foreshadow more or less dimly of them. But the most remarkable fact those feelings which we possess our- of all is the modification which this in selves I think that is the most rational jury has made in the mans moral nature conclusion that can be come to. It has In his normal life he is an upright and I this advantage, though this is a consider- honest man. In his abnormal state he is ation which could not be urged in dealing an inveterate thief. He ~vill steal every- with questions that are susceptible of thing he can lay his hands upon, and if demonstration, but which is xvell ~vorthy he cannot steal anything else, he will of consideration in a case like the I)rC5- steal his own things and hide them away. ent that it relieves us of the very terrible Now, if Descartes had had this fact ences of making any mistake on before him, need I tell you that ~is consequ this subject. I must confess that, look- theory of animal automatism would have ino at the terrible struggle for existence been enormously strengthened? He xv ich is everywhere going on in the would have said: Here is a case of a animal world, and considering the fright- man performing actions more compli- ful quantity of pain with which that pro cated, and to all appearance more depend- cess must be accompanied, if animals are ent on reason, than any of the ordinary sensitive, I should be glad if the probabil- operations of animals, and yet you have ities were in favour of the view of Des- positive proof that these actions are cartes. But, on the other hand, consid- purely mechanical. What, then, have ering that if we were to regard animals you to urge against my doctrine that all as mere machines, we might indulge in animals are mere machines? In the unnecessary cruelties and in careless words of Malebranche, who adopted I treatment of them, I must confess I think Descartes view, In dogs, cats, and it much better to err on the right side, other animals, there is neither intelli- and not to concur with Descartes on this gence nor spiritual soul as we understand point. the matter commonly; they eat without But let me point out to you that al- pleasure, they cry out without pain, they though we may come to the conclusion grow without knowing it, they desire that Descartes was wrong in supposing nothing, they know nothing, and if they that animals are insensible machines, it act xvith dexterity and in a manner which dq~s ~ot in the slio-l indicates intelligence, it is because God that they are - ~, ~test degree follow not sensitive and conscious having made them with the intention of automata in fact, that is the view which preserving them, He has constructed is more or less clearly in the minds of their bodies in such a manner that they every one of us. When we talk of the escape organically, without knowing it, lower animals being provided with in- everything which could injure them and stinct, and not with reason, what we which they seem to fear. Descartes really mean is, that although they are put forward this hypothesis, and I do not sensitive and although they are con- know that it can be positively refuted. scious, yet they act mechanically, and We can have no direct observation of that their diff~nt states of conscious- consciousness in any creature but our- ness, their sensations, their thoughts (if selves. But I must say for myself1 they have any), their volitions (if they looking at the matter on the ground of have any), are the products and conse- analogy taking into account that great quences of their mechanical arrange- doctrine of continuiry which forbids one ments. I must confess that this popular AT THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION. view is to my mind the only one which can be scientifically adopted. XVe are bound by everything we know of the op- erations of the nervous system to believe that when a certain molecular change is brought about in the central part of the nervous system, that change, in some way utterly unknown to us, causes that state of consciousness that we term a sensa- tion. It is not to be doubted that those motions which give rise to sensation leave in the brain changes of its sub- stance ~vhich answer to what Haller called vestigia reruni, and to what that great thinker, David Hartley, termed vibratiuncules. The sensation which has passed away leaves behind molecules of the brain competent to its reproduc- tion sensigenous molecules, so to speak which constitute the physical foundation of mcmory. Other molecular changes give rise to conditions of pleas- ure and pain, and to the emotion which in ourselves we call volition. I have no doubt that is the relation between the physical processes of the animal and his mental processes. In this case it follows inevitably that these states of conscious- ness can have no sort of relation of cau- sation to the motions of the muscles of the body. The volitions of animals will be simply states of emotion which pre- cede their actions. To make clear what I mean, suppose I had a frog placed in my hand, and that I could make it, by turning my hand, perform this balancing movement. If the frog were a philoso- pher, he might reason thus I feel myself uncomfortable and slipping, and, feeling myself uncomfortable, I put my legs out to save myself. Knowing that I shall tumble if I do not put them further, I put them further still, and my volition brings about all these beautiful adjust-. ments which result in my sitting safely. But if the frog so reasoned, he would be entirely mistaken ; for the frog does the thing just as well when he has no reason, no sensation, no possibility of thought of any kind. The only conclusion, then, at which there seems any good ground for arriving is that animals are machines, but that they are conscious machines. I might with propriety consider what I have now said as the conclusion of the observations which I have to offer con- cerning animal automatism. So far as I know, the problem which we have hitherto been discussing is an entirely open one. I do not know that thec~ is any reason why any person, whatever his opinions 75 may be, should be prevented, if he be so inclined, from accepting the doctine which I have just now put before you. So far as we know, animals are conscious automata. That doctrine is perfectly consistent with any view that we may choose to take on the very curious spec- ulation Whether animals possess souls or not, and if they possess 5O~i5, whether those souls are immortal or not. The doctrine to which I have referred is not inconsistent with the perfectly strict and literal adherence to the Scripture text concerning the beast that perisheth, nor, on the other hand, does it prevent any one from entertaining the amiable convictions ascribed by Pope to his un- tutored savage, that when he passed to the realms of the blessed his faithful dog should bear him company. In fact, all these accessory questions to which I have referred involve problems which cannot be discussed by physical science, inasmuch as they do not lie within the scope of physical science, but come into the province of that great mother of all science, Philosophy. Before any direct answer can be given upon any of these questions we must hear what Philosophy has to say for or against the views that may be held. I need hardly say es- pecially having detained you so long as I find I have donethat I do not propose to enter into that region of discussion, and I might, properly enough, finish what I have to say upon the subject espe- cially as I have reached its natural limits if it were not that an experience, now, I am sorry to say, extending over a good many years, leads me to anticipate that what I have brought before you to-night is not likely to escape the fate which, upon many occasions within my recollec- tion, has attended statements of scientific doctrine and of the conclusions towards ~vhich science is tending, ~vhich have been ~a~e in a spirit intended at any rate to be as calm and as judicial as that in which I have now laid these facts be- fore you. I do not doubt that the f te which has befallen better men will befal me, and that I shall have to bear in pa- tience the reiterated assertion that doc- trines such as I have put before you have very ev.il tendencies. I should not ~von- der if you were tQ be told by persons speaking with aut%rity not, perhaps, with that authority which is based upoa knowledge and wisdom, but still with authority that my intention in bringing this subject before you is to lead you to apply the doctrine I have stated, to maii 76 PROFESSOR HUXLEY S ADDRESS. as ~vel1 as brutes, and it will then cer- fore the bar of public opinion, I shall tainly be further asserted that the logical not stand there alone. On my one hand tendency of such a doctr!ne is Fatalism, I shall have, among theologians, St. Au- Materialism, and Atheism. Now, let me gustine, John Calvin, and a man whose ask you to listen to another product of name should be well known to the Pres- that long experience to which I referred. byterians of Ulster Jonathan Edwards Logical consequences are very impor- unless, indeed, it he the fashion to tant hut in the course of my experience neglect the study of the great masters of I have found that they are the scarecrows divinity, as many other great studies are of fools and the beacons of wise men. neglected nowadays and I should have Logical consequences can take care of upon my other hand, among philosophers, themselves. The only question for any Leibnitz ; I should have Pare Male- man to ask is Is this doctrine true, branche, who saw all things in God I or is it false? No other question can should have David Hartley, the theo- possibly be taken into consideration until. logian as well as philosopher; I should that one is settled. And, as I have said, have Charles Bonnet, the eminent natu- the logical consequences of doctrines can ralist, and one of the most zealous de- only serve as a warning to wise men to fenders Christianity has ever had. I ponder well whether the doctrine sub- I think I should have, within easy reach, at mitted for their consideration be true or j any rate, John Locke. Certainly the not, and to test it in every possible direc- school of Descartes would be there, if tion. Undoubtedly I do hold that the not their master; and I am inclined to view I have taken of the relations be- think that, in due justice, a citation would tween the physical and mental faculties have to be served upon Immanuel Kant of brutes applies in its fulness and himself. In such society it may be better entirety to man ; and if it were true to be a prisoner than a judge ; but I would that the logical consequences of that ask those who are likely to be influenced belief must land me in all these terrible by the din and clamour which are raised consequences, I should not hesitate in about these questions, whether they are allowing myself to be so landed. I should more likely to be right in assuming that conceive that if I refused I should those great men I have mentioned the have done the greatest and most abomi- fathers of the Church and the fathers nable violence to everything which is of Philosophyknew what they ~vere deepest in my moral nature. But now I about ; or that the pigmies who raise the beg leave to say that, in my conviction, din know better than they did what they there is no such logical connection as is meant. It is not necessary for any man pretended between the doctrine I accept to occupy himself with problems of this and the consequences which people pro- kind unless he so choose. Life is full fess to draw from it. Some years ago enough, filled to the brim, by the per- I had occasion, in dealing with the phi- formance of its ordinary duties; but let losophy of Descartes, and some other me warn you, let me beg you to believe, matters, to state my conviction pretty that if a man elect to give a judgment fully on those subjects, and, although I upon these great questions ; still more, know from experience how futile it is to if he assume to himself the responsi- endeavour to escape from those nick- bility of attaching praise or blame to his names which many people mistake for fellow-men for the judgments which they argument, yet, if those who care to inves- i~y ~enture to express then, unless tigate these questions in a spirit of can- he would commit a sin more grievous dour and justice ~vill look into those writ- than most of the breaches of the Deca- ings of mine, they will see my reasons logue, he must avoid a lazy reliance upon for not Imagining that such conclusions the information that is gathered by preju- can be drawn from such premises. To dice and filtered through passion. Let those who do not look into these matters him go to those great sources that are with candour and with a desire to know open to him as to every one, and to no the truth, I have nothing whatever to say, mv~ more open than to an Englishman except to warn them on their own behalf let him go back to the facts of nature, what they do ; for assuredly if, for and to the tho~ghts of those wise men preaching such doctrine as I have who for generations past have been the~ preached to you to-night, I am cited be- interpreters of nature. THREE FEATHERS. From The Corohill Magazine. THREE FEATHERS. CHAPTER V. THROWING A FLY. I-LARRY TRELYON had a cousin named J uliott PenalQna, who lived at Penzance with her father, an irascible old clergy- man, who, while yet a poor curate, had the good fortune to marry Mrs. Trelyons sister. Miss Juliott was a handsome, healthy, English-looking girl, with blue eyes and brown hair, frank enough in her ways, fairly well-read, fond of riding and driving, and very specially fond of her cousin. There had never been any con- cealment about that. Master I-larry, too, liked his cousin in a way, as he showed by his rudeness to her ; but he used plainly to tell her that he would not marry her ; whereupon she would be angry with him for his impertinence, and end by begging him to be good friends again. At last she ~vent, as her mother had done before her, and encouraged the attentions of a fair, blue-eyed, pensive young curate, who was full of beautiful enthusiasms and idealisms, in which he sou~ht to interest the mind 4af this ex- ceedingly practical young woman, who liked cliff-hunting, and had taught her- self to swim in the sea. Just before she pledged her future to him, she wrote to Harry Trelyon, plainly warning him of ~vhat was going to happen. In a fashion she asked for his advice. It was a timid letter for her to write, and she even showed some sentiment in it. The reply, written in a coarse, sprawling, schoolboy hand, was as follows Trelyon Hall, Monday Afternoon. Dear Jue, All right. Youre a fool to marry a parson. What would you like for a wedding present Affectionately yours, HARRY TRELYON. Posts dont go very fast in Cornwall; b~, just as soon as a letter from Pen- zance could reach him, Master Harry had his answer. And it was this The Hollies, Penzance, Wednesday. Dear Harry, I am glad to receive a letter from you in which there i:; no ill spelling. There is plenty of ill-temper, however, as usual. You may send your wedding presents to those who care for them I dont. JULIOTY PENALUNA. Master Harry burst into a roar of laughter when he receixThd that letter; but, all the same, he could not get his cousin to write him a line for months thereafter. Now, however, she had come to visit some friends at Wade- bridge ; and she agreed to drive over and join Mrs. Trelyons little dinner-party, to ~vhich Mr. Roscorla had also been in- vited. Accordingly, in the afternoon, when Harry Trelyon was seated on the stone steps outside the Hall door, en- gaged in making artificial flies, Miss Penaluna drove up in a tiny chariot drawn by a beautiful little pair of ponies and when the boy had jumped down and gone to the ponies heads, and when she had descended from the carriage, Master Harry thought it was time for him to lay aside his silk, rosin, feathers, and ~vhat not, and go forward to meet her. How are you, Jue ? he said, offer- ing to kiss her, as was his custom ; and wheres your young man? She drew back offended; and then she looked at him, and shrugged her shoul- ders, and gave him her cheek to kiss. He was only a boy, after all. Well, Harry, I am not going to quar- rel with you, she said, with a good- natured smile ; although I suppose I shall have plenty of cause before I go. Are you as rude as ever? Do you talk as much slang as ever? I like to hear you talk of slang! he said. Who calls her ponies Brandy and Soda? Werent you wild, Jue, when Captain Tulliver came up and said, Miss Penaluna, how are your dear Almonds andR isins? If I had given him a cut with my whip, I should have made him dance, said Miss Juliott, frankly ; then he would have forgotten to turn out his toes. Harry, go and see if that boy has taken in my things. I wont. Theres plenty of time and I want to talk to you. I say, Jue, what ~ad~ you go and get engaged down in Penzance ? Why didnt you cast your eye in this direction ? Well, of all the impertinent things that I ever heard ! said Miss Juliott, very much inclined to box his ears. Do you think I ever thought of marry- ing you ? Ye~, I do, he said, coolly; and you would throw over that parson in a min- ute, if I asked y~i you know you would, Jue. But Im not good enough for you. Indeed, you are not, she said, with a toss of the head. I would take you for a gamekeeper, but not for a husband. 77 78 THREE FEATHERS. Much need youll have of a game- keeper when you become Mrs. Tressi- der I said he, with a rude laugh. But I didnt mean myself, Jue. I meant that if you were going to marry a parson, you might have come here and had a choice. We can show you all sorts at this house fat and lean, steeples and beer-barrels, bandy-legged and knock- kneed, whichever you like youll always find an ample assortment on these ele- gant premises. The stock is rather low, just now, I think weve only two or three but youre sul)plied already, aint you, Jue ? Well, I never expected it of you. You were a good sort of a chap at one time but I suppose you cant climb trees any more now. There, Ill let you go into the house all the servants are ~vaitin~ for you. If you see my grand- mother, tell her she must sit next me at dinner if a parson sits next me, Ill kill hini. Just as Miss Juliott passed into the Hall, a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced wo- man, dressed wholly in white, and step- ping very softly and silently, came down the staircase, so that, in the twilight, she almost appeared to be some angel de- scending from heaven. She came for- ward to her visitor with a smile on the pale and wistful face, and took her hand and kissed her on the forehead ; after which, and a few words of enquiry, Miss Penaluna was handed over to the charge of a maid. The tall, fair woman passed noiselessly on, and went into a chamber at the further end of the hall, and shut the door ; and, presently, the low, soft tones of a harmonium were heard, appearing to come from some considerable distance, and yet filling the house with a melan- choly and slumberous music. Surely it could not be this gentle music which brought to Master Harrys face a most un-Christian scowl ? What harm could there he in a solitary widow wrap- ping herself up in her imaginative sorrow, and saturating the whole of her feeble, impressionable, and withal kindly nature with a half-religious, half-poetic senti- ment ? W mat although those days which she devoted to services in memory of her relatives who were deadand, most of all, in memory of her husband, whom she had really loved resembled, in some respects, the periods in which an opium- eater resolves to give himself up to the strange and beautiful sensations beyond which he can imagine no form of happi- ness ? Mrs. Trely~n was nothing of a zealot or devotee. She held no particular doctrines; she did not even countenance High Church usages, except in so far as music and painting and dim religious lights aided her endeavours to produce a species of exalted intoxication. She did not believe herself to be a wicked sinner, and she could not understand the earnest convictions and pronounced theology of the Dissenters around her. But she drank of religious sentiment as other persons drink in beautiful music and all the aids she could bring to bear in pro- ducing this feeling of blind ecstacy she had collected together in the private chapel attached to Trelyon Hall. At this very moment she was seated there alone. The last rays of the sun shone through narrow windows of painted glass and car- ried beautiful colours with them into the dusk of the curiously furnished little building. She hers elf sate before a large harmonium, and there was a stain of rose- colour and of violet on the white silk costume that she wore. It was one of her notions that, though black might well represent the grief immediately following the funeral of ones friends, pure white was the more appropriate mourning when one had become accustomed to their loss, and had turned ones eyes to the shining realms which they inhabit. Mrs. Trelyon never xvent out of mourning for her hus- band, who had been dead over a dozen years ; but the mourning was of pure white, so that she wandered through the large and empty rooms of Trelyon Hall, or about the grounds outside, like a ghost; and, like a ghost, she was ordi- narily silent, and shy, and light-footed. She was not much of a companion for the rude, impetuous, self-willed boy whose education she had handed over to grooms and gamekeepers and to his own very pronounced instincts. The frown that came over the lads handsome face as he sate on the door- step; resuming his task of makino- trout flies, was caused by the appearance o~a clergyman, who came ~valking forw~d from one of the hidden paths in the garden. There was nothing really clis- tressi ng or repulsive about the look of this gentleman ; although, on the other hand, there ~vas nothing very attractive. He was of middle age and middle height; he wore a rou~h brown beard and mous- tache ; his f~e was grey and full of lines; his forehead was rather narrow; and his eyes were shrewd and watchful. But for that occasional o-lance of the eyes, you would have taken him for a very ordinary, respectable, common-place THREE FEATHERS. 79 person, not deserving of notice, except kiss her. He could manage correspond- for the length of his coat. When Master ence better than a personal interview. harry saw him approach, however, a dia- He sate down and wrote her a very kind bolical notion leapt into the young gen- and even affectionate letter, telling her tiemans head. He had been practising that he would not intrude himself too the throwing of flies against the wind soon upon her, especially as he had to go and on the lawn were the several pieces up to Trelyon Hall that evening; a rd of pal)er, at different distances, at which saying, too, that, in any case, he could he had aimed, while the slender trout-rod, never expect to tell her how thankful he with a bit of line and a fly at the end of was to her. That she would find out it still dangling, was close by his hand. from his conduct to her during their Instantaneously he put the rod against married life. the wall, so that the hook was floating But, to his great surprise, Mr. Roscorla in front of the door just about the height found that the writing and sendin~ off of of a mans head. Would the Rev. Mr. that letter did not allay the extraordinary Barnes look at the door-steps, rather than nervous excitement that had laid hold of in front of him, in passing into the house, him. He could not rest. He called in and so find an artificial fly fastened in his his housekeeper, and rather astonished nose ? Mr. Barnes was no such fool. that elderly person by saying he was It is a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Trel- much pleased with her services, and yon, he said, in grave and measured ac- thereupon he presented her with a soy- cents, as he came up. ereign to buy a gown. Then he went Harry Trelyon nodded, as he smoothed into the garden, and meant to occupy out a bit of red-silk thread. Then Mr. himself with his flowers ; but he found Barnes xvent forward, carefully put aside himself staring at them without seeing the dangling fly, and ~vent into the house. them. Then he ~vent back to his parlour The fish wont rise to-night, said and took a glass of sherry to steady his Master Harry to himself, with a grin on nerves but in vain. Then he thought his face. But parsons dont take the he would go down to the inn, and ask to fly readily ; youve got to catch them with see Wenna but again he changed his bait and the bait they like best is a mind, for how was he to meet the rest of widows mite. And now, I suppose, I the family without being prepared for the must go and dress for dinner; and dont interview? Probably he never knew how I wish I was going down to Mrs. Rose- he passed these two or three hours: but warnes parlour instead at length the time came for him to dress But another had secured a better right for dinner. to go into Mrs. Rosewarnes parlour. And, as he did so, the problem that occupied his mind ~vas to discover the CHAPTER VI. probable reasons that had induced Wenna THE TAILORS. Rosewarne to promise to be his wife. THE AMONG Had her parents advised her to marry a Tills other gentleman was also dressing man who could at least render her future for ~\lrs. Trelyons dinner-party, and he safe ? Or, had she taken pity on his was in a pleased frame of mind. Never loneliness, and been moved by some hope before, indeed, had Mr. Roscorla been so of reforming his ways and habits of distinctly and consciously happy. That thinking ? Or, had she been won over forenoon, when his anxiety had become by his ~ic~res of her increased influence almost distressing partly because he I among the people around her? lie could hdnestly liked Wenna Rosewarne and not tell. Perhaps, he said to himself, she wanted to marry her, and partly because said yes because she had not the courage to he feared the mortification of a refusal say no. Perhaps she had been convinced her letter had come ; and, as he read by his arguments that the wild passion of the trembling, ingenuous, and not-very- love, for which youth is supposed to long, well-composed lines and sentences, a is a dangerous thing ; and was there not great feeiing of satisfactibn stole over constantly before her eyes an example of him, and he thanked her a thousand the jealousy, and quarrelling, and misery times, in his heart, for having given him that may follow thaf~atal delirium ? Or, this relief. And he was tie more l)leased it might be and here Mr. Roscorla that it was so easy to deal with a written more nearly approached the truth that consent. He ~vas under no embarrass- this shy, sensitive, self-distrustful girl ment as to how he sh~dd express his had been so surprised to find herself of gratitude, or as to whether he ought to any importance to any one, and so grate- 8o THREE FEATHERS. ful to him for his praise of her, and for this highest mark of appreciation that a man can bestow, that her sudden grati- tude softened her heart, and disposed her to yield to his prayer. And who could tell but that this present feeling might lead to a still warmer feeling, under the generous influence of a constant kindness and appreciation ? It was with something of wonder and almost of dismayand with a wholly new sense of his own un- worthiness that Mr. Roscorla found himself regarding the possibility of his winning a young girls first love. Never before in his life not even in his younger days, when he had got a stray hint that he would probably meet a duchess and her three daughters at a particular party had he dressed with so much care. He xvas, on the whole, well pleased with himself. He had to admit that his grey hair was changing to xv hite; but many people considered white hair, with a hale complexion, rather an orna- ment than otherwise. For the rest, he resolved that he would never dress again to go to any party to which Miss Wenna Rosewarne was not also invited. He would not decorate himself for mere strangers and acquaintances. lie put on a light top-coat and went out into the quiet summer evening. There was a scent of roses in the air, and the great Atlantic was beautiful and still; it was a time for lovers to be walking through twilight woods, or in honeysuckle lanes, rather than for a number of people, indifferent to each other, to sit down to the vulgar pleasures of the table. He wished that Wenna Rosewarne had been of that party. There were two or three children at his gate bright-cheeked, clean, and well-clad, as all the Eglosilyan children areand xvhen they saw him come out, they ran away. He was ashamed of this; for, if Wenna had seen it, she would have been grieved. He called on them to come back ; they stood in the road, not sure of him. At length a little xvoman of six came timidly along to him, and looked at him with her big, wondering, blue eyes. He patted her head, and asked her name, and then he put his hand in his pocket. The others, finding that their ambassador had not been be- headed on the spot, came up also, and formed a little circle, a cautious yard or two off. Look here, he said to the eldest; here is a shillin* and you go and buy sweetmeats, and divide them equally among you. Or, wait a bit come along with me, the whole of you, and well see whether Mrs. Deane has got any cake for you.~~ He drove the flock of them into that ladys kitchen, much to her consterna- tion, and there he left them. But he had not got half way throuoh the little garden again, when he turnecfback, and xvent to the door, and called in to the children Mind, you can swing on the gate whenever you like, so long as you take care and dont hurt yourselves. And so he hurried away again ; and he hoped that some day, when he and Wenna Rosewarne were passing, she would see the children swinging on his gate, and she would be pleased that they did not run away. Your Polly has never been false, she de. dares he tried to hum the air, as he had often heard Wenna hum it, as he walked rap- idly down the hill, and along a bit of the valley, and then up one of the great gorges lying behind Eglosilyan. He had avoided the road that went by the inn he did not wish to see any of the Rose- warnes just then. Moreover, his rapid walking was not to save time, for he had plenty of that ; but to give himself the proud assurance that he was still in ex- cellent wind. Miss Wenna must not imagine that she was marrying an old man. Give him but as good a horse as Harry Trelyons famous Dick, and he would ride that dare-devil young gentle- n-ian for a wager to Launceston and back. Why, he had only arrived at that period when a sound constitution reaches its maturity. Old, or even elderly? He switched at weeds with his cane, and was conscious that he was in the prime of life. At the same time, he did not like the ~inof~n of younger men than himself lounging about Mrs. Rosewarnes par- lour; and he thought he might just as well give Harry Trelyon a hint that Wenna Rosewarne was engaged. An excellent opportunity ~vas offered him at this moment ; for as he went up through the grounds to the front of the Hall, he found Mastem~Harry industriously throw- ing a fly at ~ertain bits of paper on the lawn. He h ~l resumed this occupation, after having gone inside ~nd dressed, as a handy method of passing the time until his cousin Juliott should appear. Flow do you do, Trelyon? said Mr. Roscorla, in a friendly way; and Harry THREE FEATHERS. 8i nodded. I wish I could throw a fly like you. By-the-bye, I have a little bit of news for you for yourself alone, mind. All right; fire away, said Master Harry, still making the fine line of the trout-rod whistle through the air. Well, it is rather a delicate matter, you know. I dont want it talked about; but the fact is, I am going to marry Miss Rosewarne. There was no more aiming at those bits of paper. The tall and handsome lad turned and stared at his companion as if the latter had been a maniac; and then he said Miss Rosewarne? Wenna Rose- warne? Yes, said Mr. Roscorla, distinctly conscious that Harry Trelyon was re- garding his white hair and general ap- pearance. The younger man said nothing more, but began to whistle in an absent way; and then, just as if Mr. Roscorla had no existence whatever, he proceeded to reel in the line of his rod, he fastened the fly to one of the rings, and then walked off. Youll find my mother inside, he said ; and so Mr. Roscorla ~vent into the Hall, and was soon in Mrs. Trelyons drawing-room, among her six or eight guests. Harry Trelyon did not appear until dinner was announced; and then he was just in time to take his ,grandmother in. He took care, also, to have his cousin Juliott on his other side; and, to both of these ladies, it was soon apparent that something had occurred to put Master Harry into one of his most insolent and rebellious moods. Harry? said his mother, from the other end of the table, as an intimation that he should say graces. There was no response, despite Miss Juliotts appealing look; and so Mrs. Trelyon had to turn for assistance to one of the clergymen near her, who went through the prescribed form. Isnt it shocking? said Miss Pen- aluna, across the talle, to Harrys grand- mother, who was not nearly so severe on him, for such conduct, as she ought to have been. Grace before meat takes too much for granted, said the young ma n,witha cool impudence. How can you tell whether you are thankful until you see what sort of dinner it is? And whats the use of feeding a dog, and barking yourself? Aint there Jhree parsons down there ? LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 370 Miss Juliott, being engaged to a clergy- man, very naturally resented this lan- guage; and the two cousins had rather a stormy fight, at the end of which Master Harry turned to his grandmother and declared that she was the only woman of common sense he had ever known. Well, it runs in the blood, Harry, said the old lady, that dislike to clergy- men ; and I never could find out any reason for it, except when your grand- father hunted poor Mr. Pascoe that night. Dear, dear! what a jealous man your grandfather was, to be sure; and the way he used to pet me when I told him I never saw the man Id look at after see- ing him. Dear, dear ! and the day he sold those two manors to the Company, you know, he came back at night and said I was as good a wife as any in Eng- landhe did, indeedand the bracelet he gave me then, that shall go to your wife on your wedding-day, Harry, I prom- ise you, and you wont find its match about this part of the country, I can tell you. But dont you go and sell the lord- ship of Trelyon. Many a. time your grandfather was asked to sell it, and he did well by selling the other two ; but Trelyon he would never sell, nor your father, and I hope you wont either, Harry. Let them work the quarries for you that is fair enough and give your your royalty ; but dont part with Trel-- you, Harry, for you might as well be part-. ing with your own name. Well, I cant, grandmother, you~ know; but I am fearfully in want of a. big lump of money, all the same. Money? what do you want with; a lot of money? Youre not going to take to gambling or horse-racing, are you? I cant tell you what I want it for not at present, any way, said the lad, looking rather gloomy; and, with that, the subject dropped, and a brief silence ensued.t 1~at end of the table. Mr. Tressider, however, the mild and amiable young curate to whom Miss Ju- liott was engaged, having been rather left out in the cold, struck in at this mo- ment, blushing slightly. I heard you say something about the lordships of manors, he observed, ad- dressing- himself rather to Trelyons grandmother. Did it ever occur to you what a powerfuNhing a word from William the Conqueror must have been, when it could give to a particular person and his descendants absolute possession of a piece of the globe ? Mrs. Trelyon stared at the young man. 82 THREE FEATHERS. Had a relative of hers gone and engaged gentleman, who was more outrageously herself to a dangerous Revolutionary, rude and capricious than ever, except who, in the guise of a priest, dared to when addressing his grandmother, to trifle with the tenure of land ? Mr. whom he was always courteous, and even Tressider was as innocent of any such roughly affectionate. That old lady eyed intention as the babe unborn but he him narrowly, and could not quite make was confused by her look of astonish- out what was. the matter. Had he been ment, he blushed more violently than privately engaged in some betting trans- hefore, and only escaped from his em- action that he should \vant this money? barrassment by the good services of When the ladies left the room, Trel- Miss Penaluna, who turned the whole yon asked Mr. Roscorla to take his place matter into ridicule, and asked what Wil- for a few minutes, and send round the ham the Conqueror was about when he xvines; and then he went out and called let a piece of the world come into the his mother aside into the study. hands of Harry Trelyon. Mother, he said, Mr. Roscorla is And how deep down have you a hold going to marry Wenna Rosewarne. on it, Harry ? she said. How far The tall, fair, pale lady did not seem does your right over the minerals of the much startled by the news. She had earth extend? From the surface right very little acquaintance with the affairs down to the centre ? of the village; but she knew at least that Mr. Tressider was smilino vaguely the Rosewarnes kept the inn, and she when Master Harrys eye fell upon him. had, every Sunday morning, seen Mrs. What harm had the young clergyman, or Rosewarne and her two daughters come any other clergyman present, done him, into church. that he should have felt a sudden dislike That is the elder one, is it not, who to that ingenuous smile ? sings in the choir ? Oh, no, said Trelyon, with a care- Its the elder one, said Master less impertinence, and loud enough for Harry, who knew less about the choir. two or three to hear. William the Con- It is a strange choice for Mr. Ros- queror didnt allow the rights of the lord corla to make, she observed. I have of the manor to extend right down to the always considered him very fastidious, middle of the earth. There were a good and rather proud of his family. But many clergymen about him; and they some men take strange fancies in choos- reserved that district for their own pur- ing a wife. poses. Yes, and some women take precious Harry, said his cousin to him, in a strange fancies in choosing a husband, low voice is it your wish to insult me? said the young man, rather warmly. If so, I will leave the room. Why, shes worth twenty dozen of him. Insult you, he said, with a laugh. I dont know what the dickens made her Why, Jue, you must be out of your listen to the old fool it is a monstrous senses. What concern have you in that shame, thats what I call it. I suppose warmish region ? hes frightened the girl into it, or bought - I dont appreciate jokes on such sub- over her father, or made himself a hypo- jects. My father is a clergyman, my crite, and got some parson to intercede, husband will be a clergyman and scheme, and tell lies for him. The greater fool you, he observed, Harry, said his mother I dont frankly, but so that no one could hear. ~ understand why you should interest Harry, she said ; what do you yourself in the matter. rnearrby your dislike to clergymen ? Oh, dont you? Well, its only this Is that a conundrum ? said the un- that I consider that girl to be the best regenerate youth. sort of woman Ive met yet thats all; For a moment, Miss Penaluna seemed and, Ill tell you what I mean to do, really vexed and angry ; but she hap- n~other I mean to give her five thou- pened to look at Master Harry, and, 1 sand pounds, so that she shant come to somehow, her displeasure subsided in-I that fellow in a dependent way, and let to a look of good-natured resignation. him give ii~mself airs over her because There was the least little shrug of the hes been bern a oentleman shoulders ; and then she turned to her Five thousand pounds ! Mrs. Trel- neighbour on th~ right, and began to talk I yon repeated, wondering whether her son about ponies. I had drank too much wine at dinner. It was certairTly not a pleasant dinner- Well, but look here, mother, he said, party for those who sate near this young quite prepared for her astonishment. THREE FEATHERS. 83 You know Ive spent very little Ive for you, and a much better companion never spent anything like what Im en- than a lot of lonb -coated sneaks of par- titled to ; and next year I shall be of sons. age: and all I want now, is for you to Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly, and help me to get a release, you know said, with clear emphasis and I am sure I shall be able to per- I presume that I am best fitted to suade old Colonel Ransome to it, for say what society I shall keep; and I hell see it is not any bit of extravagance shall have no acquaintance thrust upon on my part speculation, or ahything of me whom I would rather not reco,,nize. that sort, you know Oh, very well, said the lad, with the My dear child, said Mrs. Trelyon, I proud lips givin evidence of some sud- startled, for once, into earnestness, you den decision. And you wont help me will make people believe you are mad. to get that five thousand pounds? To give five thousand pounds to the I will not. I will not countenance daughter of an innkeeper, a perfect any such folly. stranger, as a marriage dowrywhy, Then I shall have to raise the money Harry, what do you think people would myself. say of such a thing? What would they He rang the bell, and a servant ap- say of her ? peared. He looked puzzled for a moment, as Tell Jakes to saddle Dick and bring though he did not understand her. It him round directly. was but for a moment. If you mean His mother let him have his own way, what one of those parsons would say of without word or question; for she was her, he said, impetuously, while a sud- deeply offended, ~and her feeble and sen- den flash of anger sprang to his face, I sitive nature had risen in protest against dont care; but my answer to it would his tyranny. He xvent off to put on a be to kick him round the grounds and pair of riding boots and a top-coat; and out at the gate. Do you think Id care a by-and-by he came down into the hall brass farthing for anything these cnn- again, and went to the door. The night ging sneaks might say of her, or of me, was dark, but clear; there was a blaze of or of anybody? And would they dare to stars overhead; all the world seemed to be say it if you asked her here, and made a quivering with those white throbs of fire. friend of her? The horse and groom stood at the door, Make a friend of her! repeated their dusky figures being scarcely black- Mrs. Trelyon, almost mechanically. She er than the trees and bushes around. did not know what length this terrible Harry Trelyon buttoned up the collar of son of hers might not go. his light top-coat, took his switch in his If she is going to marry a friend of hand, and sprung into the saddle. At the yours, why not ? same moment the white figure of a lady Harry, you are most unreasonable suddenly appeared at the door~ and came if you will think it over for a moment, down a step or two, and said you will see how this is impossible. If Harry, where are you going? Mr. Roscorla marries this girl, that is To Plymouth first, the young man his own affair; he will have society answered, as he rode off; to London enough at home, without wishing to go afterwards, and then to the devil! out and dine. He is doing it with his eyes open, you may be sure: he has far ~ CHAPTER VII. more knowledge of such affairs than you SOME NEW EXPERIENCES. can have. How could I single out this girl from her family to make her a friend? WHEN the first shock of fear and anxi- I should have to ask her parents and her ety was over, Wenna Rosewarne discov- sister to come here also, unless you wish ered to her great delight that her en- her to come on sufferance, and throw a gagement was a very pleasant thing. reflection on them. The ominous doubts and regi~ets that She spoke quite calmly, but he would had beset her mind when she ~vas asked not listen to her. He chafed and fidget- to become Mr. Ro~ corlas wife seemed ed, and said, as soon as she had fin- to disappear like clc~ ds from a. morning ished sky; and then followed a fair and happy You could do it very well, if you day, full of abundant satisfaction and liked. When a woman is willing she calm. With much inward ridicule of her can always smooth makers down, and own vanity, she found herself nursing a you might have that girl as a companion notion of her self-importance, and giving 84 THREE FEATHERS. herself airs as if she were already a mar- used to enjoy the malicious pleasure of ned woman. Although the en~a~ement watching him shape his talk to suit the was kept a profound secret, the mere presence of a third person. For of consciousness that she had attained to course Miss Mabyn had read in books of this position in the world lent a new as- the beautiful manner in which lovers surance to her as she xvent about the vii- speak to each other, and of their tender lage. She was gifted with a new author- confidences as they sit by the sea or go ity over despondent mothers, and frac- rambling through the summer woods. tious children, and selfish fathers, as she XVas not the time o~5portune for these went her daily rounds and even in her idyllic ways? All the uplands were yel- own home Wenna had more attention lowed with tall-standing corn the sea paid to her, now that she was going to was as blue and as still as the sky over- marry Mr. Roscorla. head; the gardens of Eglosilyan were There was but one dissentient, and sweet with honeysuckle and moss-roses, that ~vas Mabyn Rosewarne, who fumed and in the evenings a pale pink mist and fretted about the match, and some- hung around the horizon, while the silver times was like to cry over it, and at sickle of the moon came up into the violet other times grew vastly indignant, and sky, and the first pale stars appeared in would have liked to have gone and given the east. Mr. Roscorla a bit of her mind. She If our Wenna had a proper sort of pitied her poor weak sister for having lover, Miss Mabyn used to say to her- been coaxed into an engagement by this self, bitterly, wouldnt I scheme to have designing old man ; and the poor weak them left alone I would watch for them sister was vastly amused by her compas- like a watch-dog, that no one should sion, and was too good-natured to laugh come near them, and I should be as at the valiant protection which this cour- proud of him as Wenna herself and ageous young creature of sixteen offered how happy she would be in talking to me her. Wenna let her sister say what she about him! But this horrid old wretch pleased about herself or her future, and I wish he would fall over Black Cliff used no other argument to stop angry some day ! words than a kiss, so long as Mahyn She was not aware that, in becoming spoke respectfully of Mr. Roscorla. But the constant companion of her sister, she this was precisely what Miss Mabyn was was affording this dire enemy of hers a disinclined to do; and the consequence vast amount of relief. Mr. Roscorla was was that their interviews were generally in every way satisfied with his engage- ended by Wenna becoming indignant, ment; the more he saw of Wenna Rose- drawing herself up, and leaving the room. warne, the more he admired her utter Then Mabyn would follow, and make up self-forgetfulness, and liked a quaint and the quarrel, and promise never to offend shy sort of humour that infused her talk again ; l~ut all the same she cherished a and her ways ; but he greatly preferred deadly animosity towards Mr. Roscorla not to be alone with her. He was then in her heart, and, when her sister was beset by some vague impression that not present, she amused her father and certain things were demanded of him, in shocked her mother by giving a series of the character of a lover, which ~vere ex- imitations of Mr. Roscorlas manner ceedingly embarrassing; and which, if he which that gentleman would scarcely did not act the part well, might awaken like to have seen. he~ ridicule. On the other hand, if he The young lady, however, soon invent- omitted all those things, might she not ed what she considered a far more effect- be surprised by his lack of affection, ual means of revenging herself on Mr. begin to suspect him, and end by dislik- Roscorla. She never left Wennas side. ing him? Yet he knew that not for ten No sooner did the elder sister prepare to thousand worlds could he muster up go out, than Miss Mabyn discovered that courage to repeat one line of sentimental she, too, would like a walk ; and she so poetry to her. persistently did this that Wenna soon - He had never even had the courage to took it for granted that her sister would kiss her. ~e knew that this was wrong. go with her wherever she went, and in- In his own 1~ use he reflected that a man variably waited for her. Accordingly engaged to a woman ought surely to give Mr. Roscorla never by any chance went her some such mark of his affection say, walking with Wenna Rosewarne alone; in bidding her good-night; and thereupon and the younger sister herself too sulky Mr. Roscorla would resolve that, as he to enter into conversation with him left the inn that evening, he would en- THREE FEATHERS. deavour to kiss his future bride. He never succeeded. Somehow Wenna always parted from him in a merry mood. These ~vere pleasant evenings in Mrs. Rosewarnes parlour; there was a good deal of quiet fun going on ; and, if Wenna did come along the passage to the door with him, she was generally talking and laughing all the way. Of course he was not going to kiss her in that mood as if, to use his own expres- sion, he had been a jocular ploughboy. Good-night, dear, he managed to say to her on one occasion, and for ten minutes thereafter as he walked home through the darkness, he felt that his face was burning. He had kissed her hand once. That was on his first meeting her after she had written the letter in which she promised to be his wife, and Mrs. Rosewarne had sent him into the room where she knew her daughter was alone. Wenna rose up to meet him, pale, frightened, with her eyes downcast. He took her hand and kissed it ; and then, after a pause, he said, I hcpe I shall make you happy. She could not answer. She began to tremble violently. He asked her to sit down, and begged of her not to be dis- turbed. She was recalled to herself by the accidental approach of her sister Mabyn, who came along the passage, singing, Oh, the men of merry, merry England, in excellent imitation of the way in which Harry Trelyon used to sing that once famous song as he rode his black horse along the highways. Mabyn came into the room, stared, and would have gone out, but that her sister called to her and asked her to come and hold down a pattern while she cut some cloth. Mabyn wondered that her sister should be so diligent when a visitor was present. She saw, too, that Wennas fingers trem- bled. Then she remained in the room until Mr. Roscorla went, sitting by a window and not overhearing their con- versation, but very much inclined to break in upon it by asking him how he dared to come there and propose to marry her sister Wenna. Oh, Wenna, she said, one evening some time after, when the two sisters were sitting out on the rocks at the end of the harbour, watching the sun go down behind the sea, I cannot bear him coming to take you away like that. I shouldnt mind if he were like a sweet- heart to you; but hes a multiplication- table sort of sweethea~ everything so regular, and accurate, and proper. I hate a man who always thinks whathes going to say, and always has neat sen- tences ; and he watches you, and is so self- satisfied, and his information is always so correct. Oh, Wenna, I wish you had a young and beautiful lover, like a prince My dear child, said the elder sister, with a smile, young and heaiAiful lovers are for young and beautiful girls, like you.~~ Oh, Wenna, how can you talk like that! said the younger ~ister ; why will you always believe that you are less pretty than other people, when every one knows that you have the most beautiful eyes in all the world. You have! Theres not anybody in all the world has such beautiful and soft eyes as you you ask anybody and they xvill tell you, if you dont believe me. But I have no doubt I have no doubt whateverthat Mr. Roscorla will try to make you believe you are very ugly, so that you maynt think youve thrown yourself away. Miss Mabyn looked very indignant, and very much inclined to cry at the same time but the gentle ~ister put her hand on hers, and said You will make me quarrel with you some day, Mabyn, if you are so unjust to Mr. Roscorla. You are continually ac- cusing him of things of which he never dreams. Now he never gets a chance that he does not try to praise me in every way, and if there were no looking-glasses in the ~vorld I have no doubt he would make me believe I was quite lovely; and you shouldnt say those things of him, Mabyn it isnt fair. He always speaks kindly of you. He thinks you are very pretty, and that you will grow up to be very beautiful when you become a woman. Mabyn was not to be pacified by this ingenuous piece of flattery. Yot~ a~ such a simpleton, Wenna, she said, he can make you believe any- thing. He does not try to make me believe anything I dont know already, said the elder sister, with some asperity. He tries to make you believe he is in love with you, said Mabyn, bluntly. Wenna Rosewarne coloured up, and was silent for a mi ujite. How was she to explain to this sis~ r of hers all those theories which Mr. Roscorla had de. scribed to her in his first two or three letters? She felt that she had not the same gift of expression that he had. You dont understand you dont 86 THREE FEATHERS. ural shyness and modesty which she con. sidered was probably common to all girls in these strange circumstances. Mr. Roscorla wished to convoy the two young ladies back to the inn, and evi- dently meant to spend the evening there. But Miss Wenna ill requited his gallantry by informing him that she. had intended to make one or two calls in the evening, which would occupy some time: in par- ticular, she had undertaken to do some- thing for Mrs. Lukes eldest girl; and she had also promised to go in and read for half an hour to Nicholas Keam, the brother of the wife of the owner of the Napoleon Hotel, who was very ill indeed, and far too languid to read for himself. But you know, Mr. Roscorla, said Mabyn, with a bitter malice, if you would go into the Napoleon and read to Mr. Keam, Wenna and I could go up to Mother Lukes, and so we should save all that time, and I am sure Wenna is very tired to-day. Then you would be so much better able to pick out the things in the papers that Mr. Keam wants ; for Wenna never knows what is old and new, and Mr. Keam is anxious to know what is going on in politics, and the Irish Church, and that kind of thing. Could he refuse? Surely a man who has just got a girl to say she will marry him, ought not to think twice about sac- rificing half an hour to helping her in her occupations, especially if she be tired. Wenna could not have made the request herself; but she was anxious that he should say yes, now it had been made, for it was in a manner a test of his devo- tion to her; and she was overjoyed and most grateful to him when he consented. What Mabyn thought of the matter was not visible on her face. understand at all, Mabyn, what you talk of as love. I suppose you mean the sort of wild madness you read of in books well, I dont want that kind of love at all. There is quite a different sort of love, that comes of respect and affection and an agreement of wishes, and that is far more valuable and likely to be lasting. I dont want a lover who would do wild things, and make one wonder at his hero- ism, for that is the lover you get in books ; but if you want to live a happy life, and please those around you, and be of service to them, you must have a very different sort of sweetheart a man who xviii think of something else than a merely selfish passion, who xviii help you to be kind to other people, and whose affection will last through years and years. You have learnt your lesson very well, said Miss Mabyn, with a toss of her head. He has spent some time in teaching you. But as for all that, Wen- n-a, its nothing but fudge. What a girl wants is to be really loved by a man, and then she can do xvithout all those fine sentiments. As for Mr. Roscorla I do not tlink we are likely to agree on this matter, dear, said Wenna, calm- ly, as she rose ; and so xve had better say nothing about it. Oh, I am not going to quarrel with you, Wenna, said the younger sister, promptly. You and I xviii always agree very xvell. It is Mr. Roscorla and I xvho are not likely to agree very xvell not at all likely, I can assure you. They were xvalking back to Eglosilyan, under the clear evening skies, xvhen xvhom should they see coming out to meet them but Mr. Roscorla himself. It was a pleasant time and place for lovers to come together. The warm light left by the sunset still shone across the hills ; the clear blue-green xvater in the tiny har- bour lay perfectly still ; Eglosilyan had got its days xvork over, and was either ~ . WENNA S FIRST TRIUMPH. chatting in the cottage gardens or stroll- THE txvo girls, as they xvent up the ing doxvn to have a look at the couple of main street of Eglosilyan (it was sxveet coasters moored behind the small but xvith the scent of floxvers on this beauti- powerful breakwater. But Mr. Roscorla ful evening), left Mr. Roscorla in front of had had no hope of discovering Wenna the obscure little public-house he had alone; he was quite as xvell content to undertaken to visit; and it is probable find Mabyn xvith her, though that young that in the whole of England at that mo- lady, as he came up, looked particularly ment there was not a more miserable fierce, and did not smile at all xvhen she man. He kn~w this Nicholas Keam, and shook hands with him. Was it the red his sister, an his brother-in-law, so far gloxv in the xvest that gave an extra tinge as their names went, and they knexv him of colour to Mr. Roscorlas face? Wen- by sight; but he had never said more na felt that she xvas better satisfied with than good-morning to any one of them, her engagement when her lover was not and he had certainly never entered this~ preseut but she put that down to anat- Rot-house, where a sort of debating ~ CHAPTER VIII. THREE FEAThERS. ciety was nightly held by the kczbi/ids. But, all the same, he would do what he had undertaken to do, for Wenna Rose- warne s sake ; and it was with some sen- sation of a despairing heroism that he went up the steps of slate and crossed the threshold. He looked into the place from the pas- sage. He found before him what was really a large kitchen, with a spacious fireplace, and heavy rafters across the roof; but all round the walls there was a sort of bench with a high wooden back to it, and on this seat sate a number of men one or two labourers, the rest slate- workerswho, in the dusk, were idly smoking and looking at the beer on the narrow tables before them. Was this the sort of place that his future wife had been in the habit of visiting ? There was a sort of gloomy picturesqueness about the chamber, to be sure ; for, warm as the evening was, a fire burned flicker- ingly in the grate ; there was enough light to show the tin and copper vessels shining over the high mantel-piece ; and a couple of fair-haired children were playing about the middle of the floor, little heeding the row of dusky figures around the tables, whose heads were half- hidden by tobacco-smoke. A tall, thin, fresh-coloured woman came along the passage; and Mr. Ros- corla was glad that he had not to go in among these labourers to make his busi- ness known. It was bad enough to have to speak to Mrs. Haigh, the. landlady of the Napoleon. Good morning, Mrs. Haigh, said he, with an appearance of cheerfulness. Good evenin, zor, said she, staring at him with those cruelly shrewd and clear eyes that the Cornish peasantry have. 1 called in to see Mr. Keam, said he. Is he much better ? A thousand wild suggestions flashed upon his mind. She might not recog- nize him. She would take him for a Scripture reader, come to hasten the poor mans death ; or for the agent of some funeral company. He could not smile, as he was asking about a sick man ; he could not sigh, for he had come to administer cheerfulness ; and all the while, as Mrs. Haigh seemed to be re- gardi ng him, he grew more and more vexed and vowed that never again would he place himself in such a position. If ydd like vor to see n, zor, said she, rather slowly, as if wajting for further explanat~ou, ydll vind. a in the rti.m and with that she opened the door of a room on the other side of the passage. It was obviously the private parlour of the household an odd little chamber with plenty of coloured lithographs on the walls, and china and photographs on the mantel-piece; the floor of large blocks of slate ornamented with various devices in chalk; in the coiner a cup- board filled with old cut crystal, brass candlesticks, and other articles of luxury. The room had one occupant a tall man who sate in a big wooden chair by the window, his head hanging forward be- tween his high shoulders, and his thin white hands on the arms of the chair. The sunken cheeks, the sallow-white complexion, the listless air, and an oc- casional sigh of resignation told a suf- ficiently plain story ; although Mrs. Haigh, in regarding her brother, and speaking to him in a loud voice, as if to arouse his attention, xvore an air of brisk cheerfulness strangely in contrast with the worn look of his face. Dont yil knaw Mr. Roscorla, Brother Nicholas ? said his sister. Dont yii look mazed, when hes come vor to zee if yiire better. And yd be much better to- day, Brother Nicholas Yes, I think, said the sick man, agree- ing with his sister out of mere listless- ness. Oh, yes, I think you look much bet- ter, said Mr. Roscorla, hastily and ner- vously, for he feared that both these people would see in his face what he thought of this unhappy mans chances of livino. But Nicholas Keam mostly kept his eyes turned towards the floor, except when the brisk, lbud voice of his sister roused him and caused him to look up. A most awkward pause ensued. Mr. Roscorla felt convinced they would think he was mad if he offered to sit down in this p~h~r and read the newspapers to the invalid ; he forgot that they did not know him as well as he did himself. On the other hand, would they not consider him a silly person if he admitted that he only made the offer in order to please a girl? Besides, he could see no news- papers in the room. Fortunately, at this momeet, Mr. I{eam himself came to the rescue by saying, in a slow and lan~uid way I did expect vor to zee Miss Rose- warne this evenin yaas, I did; and she were to read me the news; but I suppose now Oh I said Mr. Roscorla, quickly, 88 THREE FEATHERS. I have just seen Miss Rosewarne took his leave. When he ~vent outside a she told me she expected to see you, but clear twilight was shining ovcr Eglosil- was a little tired. Now, if you like, I will yan, and the first of the yellow stars were read the newspapers to you as long as palely visible in the grey. He walked the light lasts. slowlyd own towards the inn. Why dont yii thank the gentleman, If Mr. Roscorla had any conviction on Brother Nicholas ? said Mrs. Haigh, I any subject whatever, it was this that who was apparently most anxious to get no human being ever thoroughly and away to her duties. That be very kind without reserve revealed himself or her- of yii, zor. Tis a great comfort to n to self to any other human being. Of course, hear the news and Ill send yii in the he did not bring that as a charge against papers to once. Yii come away ~vith me, the human race, or a~ainst that member Rosana, and yii can come agwain and of it from whose individual experience he bring the gentleman the newspapers. had derived his theory himself; he She dragged off with her a small girl merely accepted this thing as one of the who had wandered in; and Mr. Roscorla facts of life. People, he considered, was left alone with the sick man. The might be fairly honest, well-intentioned, feelings in his heart were not those which and moral ; but inside the circle of their Wenna ~vould have expected to find actions and sentiments that were openly there as the result of the exercise of declared there was another circle only charity. The small girl came hack, and gave him known to themselves; and to this reoion the foul bird of suspicion, as soon as it & ie newspapers. He began to read; she was born, immediately fled on silent sate down before him and stared up into wings. Not that, after a minutes con- his face. Then a brother of hers came sideration, he suspected anything very in, and he, too, sate down, and proceeded terrible in the present case. He was to stare. Mr. Roscorla inwardly began more vexed than alarmed. And yet at to draw pictures of the astonishment of times, as he slowly walked down the steep certain of his old acquaintances if they street, he brew a little angry, and won- had suddenly opened that small door, and dered how this apparently ingenuous found him, in the parlour of an ale-house, creature should have concealed from him reading stale political articles to an ap- her correspondence with Harry Trelyon, parently uninterested invalid and a couple and resolved that he would have a speedy of cottage children. explanation of the whole matter. He He was thankful that the light was was too shrewd a man of the world to be rapidly declining ; and long before he had tricked by a girl, or trifled with by an reached his half-hour he made that his impertinent lad. excuse for going. He was overtaken by the two girls, and The next time I come, Mr. Keam, I they walked together the rest of the way. said he, cheerfully, as he rose and took Wenna was in excellent spirits, and was his hat, I shall come earlier. very kind and oi-ateful to him. Some- I did expect vor to zee Miss Rose- I~ how, when he heard her low and sweet warne this evenin, said Nicholas Keam, laughter, and saw the frank kindness of ungratefully paying no heed to the ~y p0- her dark eyes, he abandoned the gloomy critical offer ; vor she were here yes- suspicions that had crossed his mind terday marnin, and she told me that Mr. but he still considered that he had been Trelyon had zeen my brother in London ir~u~d, and that the injury was all the streets, and I want vor to know mower greater in that he had just been per- about n, I dii. suaded into making a fool of himself for Size told you? Mr. Roscorla said Wenna Rosewarnes sake. with a sudden and wild suspicion filling He said nothing to her then, of course his mind. How did she know that Mr. and, as the evening passed cheerfully Trelyon was in London? enough in Mrs. Rosewarnes parlour, he How did she knaw? repeated the resolved he would postpone enquiry into sick man, indolently. Why, he zaid zo I this matter. He had never seen Wenna so in the letter. pleased hers ~f, and so determinately So Mr. Trelyon, whose whereabouts bent on pleasi r~ others. She petted her were not even known to his own family, mother, and said slyly sarcastic things of was in correspondence with Miss Rose- her father, until George Rosewarne roared warne, and she had carefully concealed with lauohter she listened with respect- the fact from the r~an she was going to ful eyes and attentive ears when Mr. marry. Mr. Rosc~r~ rather absently Roscorla pronounced an opinion on the THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 89 affairs of the day; and she dexterously cut rolls of paper and dressed up her sis- ter Mabyn to represent a lady of the time of Elizabeth, to the admiration of every- body. Mr. Roscorla had inwardly to confess that he had secured for himself a most charming and delightful wife, who would make a wonderful difference in those dull evenings up at Bassett Cottage. He only half guessed the origin of Miss Wennas great and obvious satisfaction. It was really this that she had that evening reaped the first welcome fruits of her new relations in finding Mr. Ros- corla ready to go and perform acts of charity. But for her engagement, that would certainly not have happened ; and this, she believed, was but the auspicious beginning. Of course Mr. Roscorla would have laughed if she had informed him of her belief that the regeneration of the whole little world of Eglosilyan something like the Millennium, indeed was to come about merely because an innkeepers daughter was about to be made a married woman. Wenna Rose- warne, however, did not formulate any such belief; but she was none the less proud of the great results that had al- ready been secured by by what? By her sacrifice of herself? She did not pursue the subject so far. Her delight ~vas infectious. Mr. Ros- corla, as he walked home that night under the throbbing starlight, with the sound of the Atlantic murmuring through the darkness was, on the whole, rather pleased that he had been vexed on hear- ing of that letter from Harry Trelyon. He would continue to be vexed. He would endeavour to be jealous without measure; for how can jealousy exist if an anxious love is not also l:resent and, in fact, should not a man who is really fond of a woman be quick to resent the approach of any one who seems to interfere with his right of property in her affections ? By the time he reached Bassett Cottage, Mr. Roscorla had very nearly persuaded himself into the belief that he was really in love with Wenna Rosewarne. From Nature. THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS.* I HAVE chosen for the subject of my address to you from the chair in which the Council of the British Association has done me the honour of placing me, the carnivorous habits of some of our brother- organisms Plants. Various observers have described with more or less accuracy the habits of such vegetable sportsmen as the Sundew, the Venuss Fly-trap, and the Pitcher-plants, but few have inquired it~to their motives; and the views of those who have most accurately appreciated these have not met with that general acceptance which they deserved. Quite recently the subject has acquired a new interest, from the researches of Mr. Darwin into the phenomena which accompany the placing albuminous sub- stances on the leaves of Drosera and Pinguicula, and which, in the opinion of a very eminent physiologist, prove, in the case of Dion~a, that this plant di- gests exactly the same substances and in exactly the same way that the human stomach does. With these researches Mr. Darwin is still actively engaged, and it has been with the view of rendering him such aid as my position and oppor- tunities at Kew afforded me, that I have, under his instructions, examined some other carnivorous plants. In the course of my inquiries I have been led to look into the early history of the whole subject, which I find to be so little known and so interesting that I have thought that a sketch of it, up to the date of Mr. Darwins investigations, might prove acceptable to the members of this Association. In drawing it up, I have been obliged to limit myself to the most important plants ; and with regard to such of these as Mr. Darwin has studied, I leave it to him to announce the discoveries which, with his usual frankness, he has communicated to me and to other friends ; whilst with regard to those which I have myself studied, SarracThi~and Nepenthes, I shall briefly detail such of my observations and ex- neriments as seem to be the most sug- gestive. Dioueez. About 1768 Ellis, a well- known English naturalist, sent to Lin- n~us a drawing of a plant, to which he gave the poetical name of Dion~a. In the year 1765, he writes, our late worthy friend, Mr. ~ eter Collinson, sent me a dried speci ~en of this curious plant, which he had received from Mr. John Bartram, of Philadelphia, botanist British Association, Belfast, August 2I~ by Dr. Hooker, * Address in the Department of Zooiogy and Butauy, GB., DCL., Pres. R.S. 90 THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. to the late King. Ellis flowered the irritated, just as the sensitive plant does; plant in his chambers, having obtained and he consequently regarded the cap- living specimens from America. I will ture of the disturbing insect as some- read the account which he gave of it to thing merely accidental and of no import- Linn~us, and which moved the great ance to the plant. He was, however, too naturalist to declare that, though he had sagacious to accept Elliss sensational seen and examined no small number of account of the coup degrace ~vhich the in- plants, he had never met with so won- sects received from the three stiff hairs derful a phenomenon in the centre of each. lobe of the leaf. The plant, Ellis says, shows that Linn~uss authority overbore criticism, Nature may have some view towards its if any were offered and his statements nourishment, in forming the upper joint about the behaviour of the leaves were of its leaf like a machine to catch food faithfully copied from book to book. upon the middle of this lies the bait for Broussonet (in 1784) attempted to ex- the unhappy insect that becomes its prey. plain the contraction of the leaves by sup- Many minute red glands that cover its posing that the captured insect pricked surface, and which perhaps discharge them, and so let out the fluid which previ- sweet liquor, tempt the animal to taste ously kept them turgid and expanded. them ; and the instant these teuder parts Dr. Darwin (1761) was contented to are irritated by its feet, the two lobes suppose that the Dion~a surrounded rise up, grasp it fast, lock the rows of itself with insect traps to prevent depre- spines together, and squeeze it to death. dations upon its flowers. And further, lest the strong efforts for Sixty years after Linn~eus wrote, how- life in the creature just taken should ever, an able botanist, the Rev. Dr. Curtis serve to disengage it, three small erect (dead but a few years since), resided at spines are fixed near the middle of each Wilmington, in North Carolina, the head- lobe, among the glands~ that effectually quarters of this very local plant. In 1834 put an end to all its struggles. Nor do he published an account of it in the the lobes ever open again, while the dead Boston 7ournal of Natural History, animal continues there. But it is never- which is a model of accurate scientific theless certain that the plant cannot dis- observation. This is what he said tinguish an animal from a vegetable or Each half of the leaf is a little concave mineral substance ; for if we introduce a on the inner side, where are placed three straw or pin between the lobes, it will delicate hair-like organs, in such an order grasp it fully as fast as if it was an in- that an insect can hardly traverse it with- sect. out interfering with one of them, when This account, which in its way is the two sides suddenly collapse and en- scarcely less horrible than the descrip- close the prey, with a force surpassing tions of those medixval statues which an insects efforts to escape. The fringe opened to embrace and stab their victims, of hairs on the opposite sides of a leaf is substantially correct, but erroneous in interlace, like the fingers of two hands some particulars. I prefer to trace out clasped together. The sensitiveness re- our knowledge of the facts in historical sides only in these hairlike processes on order, because it is extremely important the inside, as the leaf may be touched or to realize in so doing how much our ap- pressed in any other part without sensi- preciation of tolerably simple matters ble effects. The little prisoner is not may be influenced by the prepossessions c~usl~d and suddenly destroyed, as is that occupy our mind, sometimes supposed, for I have often lib- We have a striking illustration of this erated captive flies and spiders, which in the statement published by Linn~us a sped away as fast as fear or joy could few years afterwards. All the facts which carry them. At other times, I have I have detailed to you were in his posses- found them enveloped in a fluid of a sion; yet he was evidently unable to bring mucilaginous consistence, which seems to himself to believe that Nature intended the act as a solvent, the insects being more plant to use Elliss words to receive or. less consumed in it. some nourishment from the animals it To Ellis bel~ongs the credit of divining seizes and he accordingly declared, the purpose oNhe capture of insects by that as soon as the insects ceased to the Dion~a. But Curtis made out the struggle, the leaf opened and let them go. details of the mechanism, by ascertaining He only saw in these wonderful actions the seat of the sensitiveness in the an extreme case of~sensitiveness in the leaves ; and he also pointed out that the leaves which caused them to fold up when secretion was not a lure exuded before the capture, bet a true digestive fluid poured out, like our own gastric juice after the ingestion of food. For another generation the history of this wonderful plant stood still but in i868 an American botanist, Mr. Canby, who is happily still engaged in botanical research while staying in the Dion~a district, studied the habits of the plant pretty carefully, esl)ecially the points which Dr. Curtis had made out. His first idea was that the leaf had the pow- er of dissolving animal matter, xvhich was then allowed to foxy along the somewhat trough-like petiole to the root, thus fur- nishing the plant with highly nitrogenous food. By feeding the leaves with small pieces of beef, he found, however, that these were completely dissolved and ab- sorbed the leaf opening again with a dry surface, and ready for another meal, though with an appetite somewhat jaded. He found that cheese disagreed horribly with the leaves, turning them black, and finally killing them. Finally, he details the useless struggles of a curculio to escape, as thoroughly establishing the fact that the fluid already mentioned is actually secreted, and is not the result of the decomposition of the substance which the leaf has seized. The curculio, being of a resolute nature, attempted to eat his way out when discovered he was still alive, and had made a small hole through the side of the leaf, but was evidently becoming very weak. On opening the leaf, the fluid was found in considerable quantity around him, and was without doubt gradually overcoming him. The leaf being again allowed to close upon him, he soon died. At the meeting of this Association last year, Dr. Burdon-Sanderson made a com- munication, which, from its remarkable character, was xv ell worthy of the singu- lar history of this plant ; one by no means closed yet, but in which his ob- servations will head a most interesti-ng chapter. It is a generalizationnow almost a household word that all livino thin os have a common bond of union in a sub- stance always present where life man- ifests itself which underlies all their details of structure. This is called ~rotopZasm. One of its most distinctive properties is its aptitude to contract and when in any given organism the particles of protoplasm are so arranged that they act as it were in concert, they produce a cumulative effect which is very manifest in its results. Such a~manifestation is 9 found in the contraction of muscle; and such a manifestation we possibly have also in the contraction of the leaf of Dioni~ea. The contraction of muscle is well known to be accompanied by certain electrical phenomena. When we place a fragment of muscle in connection with a delicate galvanometer, we find that betxveen the outside surface and a cut surface there is a definite current, due to what is called the electro-rnotive force of the muscle. Now, when the muscle is made to contract, this electro-motive force momentarily disappears. The needle of the galvanometer, deflected before, swin~s back towards the point of rest; there is what is called a 7zegdtive variaziou. All students of the vegetable side of organ- ized nature were astonished to hear from Dr. Sanderson that certain experiments xvhich, at the instigation of Mr. Darxvin, he had made, proved to demonstration that when a leaf of Dionzea contracts, the effects produced are precisely similar to those which occur when muscle con- tracts. Not merely, then, are the phenomena of digestion in this xvonderful l)lant like those of animals, but the phenomena of contractility agree with those of animals also. Drosera. Not confined to a single district in the New World, but distribut- ed over the temperate parts of both hem- ispheres, in sandy and marshy places, are the curious l)lants called Sundews the species of the genus Drosera. They are now knoxvn to be near congeners of Dion~a, a fact which was little more than guessed at when the curious habits which I am about to describe were first dis- covered. Within a year of each other, txvo per- sons one an Englishman, the other a German observed that the curious hairs~vh~h every one notices on the leaf of Drosera xvere sensitive. This is the account which Mr. Gardom, a Derbyshire botanist ,gives of what his friend Mr. Whateley, an eminent Lon- don surgeon, made out in 1780 On inspecting some of the contracted leaves we observed a small insect or fly very closely imprisoned therein, which occa- sioned some astonishment as to how it happened to ~et in~ so confined a situa- tion. Afterwards, on Mr. Whateleys centrically pressing xvith a pin other leaves yet in their natural and expanded form, we observed a remarkably sudden and elastic spring of the leaves~ so as to~ THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 92 THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. become inverted upwards, and, as it were, encircling the pin, which evidently showed the method by which the fly came into its embarrassing situation. This must have been an account given from memory, and represents the move- ment of the hairs as much more rapid than it really is. In July of the preceding year (though the account was not published till two years afterwards), Roth, in Germany, had remarked in Droser~ rotimndfo7z~z and lo;zgtifolk, that many leaves were folded together from the point towards the base, and that all the hairs were bent like a bow, but that there was no apparent change on the leaf-stalk. Upon openin~ these leaves, he says, I found in each a dead insect hence I imagined that this plant, which has some resemblance to the Dion~a musc~pula might also have a sim- ilar moving power. With a pair of pliers I placed an ant upon the middle of the leaf of D. rotu;z- dfoli~z, but not so as to disturb the plant. The ant endeavoured to escape, but was held fast by the clammy juice at the points of the hairs, which was drawn out by its feet into fine threads. In some minutes the short hairs on the disc of the leaf began to bend, then the long hairs, and laid themselves upon the insect. After a while the leaf began to bend, and in some hours the end of the leaf was so bent inwards as to touch the base. The ant died in fifteen minutes, which was before all the hairs had bent themselves. These facts, established nearly a cen- tury ago by the testimony of independ- ent observers, have up to the present time been almost ignored and Trecul, writing in 1855, boldly asserted that the facts were not true. More recently, however, they have been repeatedly verified : in Germany by Nilschke, in i86n in America by a lady, Mrs. Treat, of New Jersey, in 1871 in this country by Mr. Darwin, and also by Mr. A. W. Bennett. To Mr. Darwin, who for some years past has had the subject under investiga- tion, we are indebted, not merely for the complete confirmation of the facts at- tested by the earliest observers, but also for some additions to those facts which are extremely important. The whole investigation still awaits publica- tion at his hands, but some of the points which were established have been an- nounced by Professor Asa Gray in Amer- ica, to whom Mr. Darwin had communi- cated them. Mr. Darwin found that the hairs on the leaf of I)rosera responded to a piece of muscle or other animal substance, while to any particle of inorganic matte r they were nearly indifferent. To minute frag- ments of carbonate of ammonia they were more responsive. I xviii now give the results of Mrs. Treats experiments, ~in her own words: Fifteen minutes past ten I placed bits of raw beef on some of the most vigor- ous leaves of Drosera longfolia. Ten minutes past twelve two of the leaves had folded around the beef, hiding it from sight. Half-past eleven on the same day, I placed living flies on the leaves of D. lo;zgi/olia. At twelve oclock and forty-eight minutes, one of the leaves had folded entirely round its victim, and the other leaves had partially folded, and the flies had ceased to struggle. By half-past txvo, four leaves had each folded around a fly. The leaf folds from the apex to the petiole, after the manner of its vernation. I tried mineral substan- ces, bits of dried chalk, magnesia, and pebbles. In twenty-four hours neither the leaves nor the bristles had made any move in clasping these articles. I wetted a piece of chalk in water, and in less than an hour the bristles were curving about it, but soon unfolded again, leaving the chalk free on the blade of the leaf. Time will not allow me to enter into further details with respect to Dion~ca and Drosera. The repeated testimony of various observers spreads over a cen - tury, and thou~h at no time xvarmly re- ceived, must, I think, satisfy you that in this small family of the Droserace~ we have plants which in the first place cap- ture animals for purposes of food, and in the second, digest and dissolve them by means of a fluid which is poured out for the purpose and thirdly, absorb the sol~tiO~ of animal matter which is so prod u ced. Before the investigations of Mr. Dar- win had led other persons to xvork at the subject, the meanin~ of these phenomena was very little appreciated. Only a few years ago, Duchartre, a French physi- ological botanist, after mentioning the views of Ellis and Curtis with respect to Dion~a, expr~essed his opinion that the idea that its ld~ves absorbed dissolved animal substances was too evidently in d;sagreement with our knowledge of the function of leaves and the whole course of vegetable nutrition to deserve being seriously discussed. THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 93 Perhaps if the Droserace~ were an isolated case of a group of plants exhib- iting propensities of this kind, there might be some reason for such a criti- cism. But I think I shall be able to show you that this is by no means the case. We have now reason to believe that there are many instances of these carnivorous habits in different parts of the vegetable kingdom, and among plants which have nothing else in common but this. As another illustration I shall take the very curious group of Pitcher-plants which is peculiar to the New World. And here also I think we shall find it most convenient to follow the historical order in the facts. Sarraceizza. The genus Sarracenia consists of eight species, all similar in habit, and all natives of the Eastern States of North America, where they are found more especially in bogs, and even in places covered with shallow water. Their leaves, which give them a charac- ter entirely their own, are pitcher-shaped or trumpet-like, and are collected in tufts springing immediately from the ground and they send up at the flowering season one or more slender stems bearing each a solitary flower. This has a singular aspect, due to a great extent to the um- brella-like expansion in which the style terminates ; the shape of this, or perhaps of the whole flower, caused the first Eng- lish settlers to give to the plant the name of Side-saddle Flower. Sarracenia ~urj5urea is the best known species. About ten years ago it enjoyed an evanescent notoriety from the fact that its rootstock was proposed as a remedy for small-pox. It is found from Newfoundland southward to Florida, and is fairly hardy under open-air cultivation in the British !sles. At the commence- ment of the seventeenth century, Clusius published a figure of it, from a sketch which found its way to Lisbon and thence to Paris. Thirty years later Johnson copied this in his edition of Gerards Herbal, hoping that some or other that travel into foreign parts may find this elegant plant, and know it by this small expres- sion, and bring it home with them, so that we may come to perfecter knowl- edge thereof. A few years afterwards this wish was gratified. John Tradescant the younger found the plant in Virginia, and succeeded in bringing it home alive to England. It was also sent to Paris from Quebec by Dr. Sarraz~jn, whose memory has been commemorated in the name of the genus, by Tournefort. The first fact which was observed about the pitchers was, that when they grew they contained water. But the next fact which was recorded about them was curiously mythical. Perhaps Morrison, who is responsible for it, had no favoura- ble opportunities of studying them, for he declares them to be, what is by no means really the case, intolerant of culti- vati on (respziere culturam videutur~. He speaks of the lid, which in all the species is tolerably rigidly fixed, as being furnished, by a special act of providence, with a hinge. This idea was adopted by Linn~us, and somewhat amplified by suc- ceeding writers, who declared that in dry weather the lid closed over the mouth, and checked the loss of water by evapo- ration. Catesby, in his fine work on the Natural History of Carolina, supposed that these water-receptacles might serve as an asylum or secure retreat for numer- ous insects, from frogs and other animals which feed on them ; and others fol- lowed Linn~us in regarding the pitchers as reservoirs for birds and other animals, more especially in times of drought; ~r~bet aqua;n sitientibus aviculis. The superficial teleology of the last century was easily satisfied without look- ing far for explanations, but it is just worth while pausing for a moment to ob- serve that, although Linn~eus had no materials for making any real investiga- tion as to the purpose of the pitchers of Sarracenias, he very sagaciously antici- pated the modern views as to their affini- ties. They are now regarded as very near allies of water-lilies precisely the position which Linn~us assigned to them in his fragmentary attempt at a true natural classification. And besides this, he also suggested the analogy, which, im- probable as it may seem at first sight, has ~ee~ ~vorked out in detail by Baillon (in apparent ignorance of Linn~uss writ- ings) between the leaves of Sarracenia and water-lilies. Linn~us seems to have supposed that Sarracenia was originally aquatic in its habits, that it had Nymph~a-like leaves, and that when it took to a terrestrial life its leaves became hollowed out, to con- tain the water in which they could no longer floatin ~ct, he showed himself to be an evolutionist of the true Darwin- ian type. Catesbys suggestion was a very infe- licitous one. The insects which visit THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 94 these plants may find in them a retreat, The cause which attracts flies is evi- but it is one from which they never re- dently a viscid substance resembling turn. Linn~uss correspondent Collinson honey, secreted by or exuding from the remarked in one of his letters that many internal surface of the tube. From the poor insects lose their lives by being margin, where it commences, it does not drowned in these cisterns of water; but extend lower than one-fourth of an inch. William Bartram, the son of the botanist, The falling of the insect as soon as it en- seems to have been the first to put on ters the tube is wholly attributable to the record, at the end of the last century, the downward or inverted position of the fact that Sarracenias catch insects and put hairs of the internal surface of the leaf. them to death in the wholesale way that At the bottom of a tube split open, the they do. hairs are plainly discernible, pointing Before stopping to consider how this downwards ; as the eye ranges naward is actually achieved, I will carry the his- they gradually become shorter and atten- tory a little further. uated, till at or just below the surface In the two species in which the mouth covered by the bait they are no longer is unprotected by the lid it could not be perceptible to the naked eve nor to the doubted that a part, at any rate, of the most delicate touch. It is here that the contained fluid was supplied by rain. But fly cannot take a hold sufficiently strong in Sarraceni~ variolaris, in which the lid to support itself, but falls. closes over the mouth, so that rain cannot Dr. Mellichamp, who is now resident readily enter it, there is no doubt that a in the district in ~vhich Dr. MBride made fluid is secreted at the bottom of the his observations, has added a good many pitchers, which probably has a digestive particulars to our knowledge. lie first function. XVilliam Bartram, in the pref- investigated the fluid which is secreted ace to his travels in 1791, described this at the bottom of the tubes. He satisfied fluid, but he was mistaken in supposing himself that it was really secreted, and that it acted as a lure. There is a sugary describes it as mucilaginous, but leaving secretion which attracts insects, but this in the mouth a peculiar astringency. He is only found at the upper part of the compared the action of this fluid with tube. Bartram must be credited with the that of distilled water on pieces of fresh suggestion, which he, however, only put venison, and found that after fifteen forward doubtfully, that the insects were hours the fluid had produced most change, dissolved in the fluid, and then became and also most smell he therefore con- available for the alimentation of the cluded that as the leaves when stuffed plants. with insects become most disgusting in Sir J. E. Smith, who published a figure odour, we have to do, not with a true and description of Sarracenia variolaris, digestion, but with an accelerated decom- noticed that it secreted fluid, but was con- position. Although he did not attribute tent to suppose that it was merely the any true digestive power to the fluid se- gaseous products of the decomposition creted by the pitchers, he found that it of insects that subserved the processes had a remarkable an~esthetic effect upon of vegetation. In 1829, however, thirty flies immersed in it. He remarked that years after Bartrams book, Burnett wrote a fly when thrown into water is very apt a paper containing a good many original to escape, as the fluid seems to run from ideas expressed in a somewhat quaint its wings, but it never escaped from the fashion, in which he very strongly insisted S~rr~enia secretion. About half a mm- on the existence of a true digestive pro- ute after being thrown in, the fly became cess in the case of Sarracenia, analogous to all appearance dead, though, if re- to that which takes place in the stomach moved, it gradually recovered in from of an animal. half an hour to an hour. Our knowledge of the habits of Sari-a- According to Dr. Mellichamp, the cenia variolaris is now pretty complete, sugary lure discovered by Dr. MBride, owing to the observations of two South at the mouth of the pitchers, is not found Carolina physicians. One, Dr. MBride On- either the young ones of one season or made his observations half a century ago, the older ones~ of the previous year. He but they had, till quite recently, com- found, howeve~that about May it could pletely fallen into oblivion. He devoted be detected without difficulty, and more himself to the task of ascertaining wh yitKvonderful still, that there is a honey- was that Sarracenia variolaris was visit- baited pathway leading directly from the ed by flies, and ho~ it was that it cap- ground to the mouth, along the broad tured them. This is what he ascertained, wing of the pitcher, up which insects are THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 95 led to their destruction. From these 4. A detentive surface, which occupies narratives it is evident that there are two the lower part of the pitcher, in some very different types of pitcher in Sarra- cases for nearly its whole length. It cenia, and an examination of the species possesses no cuticle, and is studded with shows that there may probably be three. deflexed, rigid, glass-like, needle-formed, These may be primarily classified into striated hairs, which further converge those with the mouth open and lid erect, towards the axis of the diminishing cay- and which consequently receive the rain- ity; so that an insect, if once amongst water in more or less abundance; and them, is effectually deta~ned, and its those with the mouth closed by the lid, struggles have no other result than to into which rain can hardly, if at all, find wedge it lower and more firmly in the ingress. pitcher. To the first of these belongs the well- Now, it is a very curious thing that in known S. turturca, with inclined pitch- S. Jzu~~urea, which has an open pitcher, ers, and a lid so disposed as to direct all so formed as to receive and retain a max- the rain that falls upon it also into the imum of rain, no honey-secretion has pitcher; also S.fava, rubra, and Drum- hitherto been found, nor has any water mondil, all with erect pitchers and ver- been seen to be secreted in the pitcher; tical lids ; of these three, the lid in a it is, further, the only species in which young state arches over the mouth, and (as stated above) I have found a special in an old state stands nearly erect, and glandular surface, and in which no glands has the sides so reflected that the rain occur on the detentive surface. This which falls on its upper surface is guided concurrence of circumstances suggests down the outside of the back of the the possibility of this plant either l~iving pitcher, as if to prevent the flooding of no proper secretion of its own, or only the latter. giving it off after the pitcher has been To the second group belong S. ~sitta- filled with rain-water. dna and S. variolaris. In S. flava, which has open-mouthed The tissues of the internal surfaces of pitchers and no special glandular surf ace, the pitchers are singularly beautiful. I find glands in the upper portion of the They have been described in one species detentive surface, among the hairs, but only, the S. ~u~~urea, by August VogI; not in the middle or lower part of the but from this all the other species which same surface. It is proved that S. flava I have examined differ materially. Be- secretes fluid, hut under what precise ginning from the upper part of the pitch- conditions I am not aware. I have found er, there are four surfaces, characterized none but what may have been accident- by different tissues, which I shall name ally introduced in the few cultivated spe- and define as follows cimens which I have examined, either in i. An attractive surface, occupying the the full-grown state, or in the half-grown inner surface of the lid, which is covered when the lid arches over the pitcher. I with an epidermis, stomata, and (in corn- find the honey in these as described by mon with the mouth of the pitcher) with the American observers, and honey-se- minute honey-secreting glands; it is creting glands on the edge of the wing of further often more highly coloured than the pitcher, together with similar glands any other part of the pitcher, in order to on the outer surface of the pitcher, as attract insects to the honey. seen by Vogl in S. j5ur~u rca. 2. A conducting surface, which is E~ dYe pitchers with closed mouths, 1 opaque, formed of glassy cells, which have examined those of S. variolarts are produced into deflexed, short, coni- only, whose tissues closely resemble cal, spinous processes. These processes, those of S. flava. That it secretes a overlapping like the tiles of a house, fluid noxious to insects there is no doubt, form a surface down which an insect though in the specimens I examined I slips, and affords no foothold to an insect found none. attempting to crawl up again. There is thus obviously much still to 3. A glandular surface (seen in S. j5ur- be learned with re~,ard to Sarracenia, purca), which occupies a considerable. and I hope that merican botanists will portion of the cavity of the pitcher be- apply themselves~o this task. It is not low the conducting surface. It is formed probable that three pitchers, so differ- of a layer of epidermis with sinuous ently constructed as those of S. flava, cells, and is studded with glands; and Jur~urea, and variolaris, and presenting being smooth and p~lished, this too af- such differences in their tissues, should fords no foothold for escaping insects, act similarly. The fact that insects nor- 96 THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. mally decompose in the fluid of all, would suggest the probability that they all feed on the products of decomposi- tion; but as yet we are absolutely igno- rant whether the glands within the pitch- ers are secretive or absorptive, or both if secretive, whether they secrete water or a solvent and if absorptive, whether they absorb animal matter or the products of decomposition. It is quite likely, that just as the sac- charine exudation only makes its appear- ance during one particular period in the life of the pitcher, so the digestive func- tions may also be only of short duration. XVe should be prepared for this from the case of the Dion~ea, the leaves of which cease after a time to be fit for absorption, and become less sensitive. It is quite certain that the insects which go on ac- cumulating in the pitchers of Sarracenias must be far in excess of its needs for any legitimate process of digestion. They decompose; and various insects too wary to be entrapped themselves, seem habitu- ally to drop their eggs into the open mouth of the pitchers, to take advantage of the accumulation of food. The old pitchers are consequently found to contain living larv~ and maggots, a sufficient proof that the original properties of the fluid which they secreted must have become exhaust- ed and Barton tells us that various in- sectivorous birds slit open the pitchers with their beaks to uet at the contents. b This was probably the origin of Linn~- uss statement that the pitchers supplied birds with water. The pitchers finally decay, and part, at any rate, of their contents must supply some nutriment to the plant by fertiliz- ing the ground in which it grows. Darliugtonia. I cannot take leave of Sarracenia without a short notice of its near ally, Darlingtonia, a still more ~von- derful plant, an outlier of Sarracenia in geographical distribution, being found at an elevation of 5,ooo ft. on the Sierra Ne- vada of California, far ~vest of any local- ity inhabited by Sarracenia. It has pitchers of two forms one, peculiar to the infant state of the plant, consists of narrow, somewhat twisted, trumpet- shaped tubes, with very oblique open mouths, the dorsal lip of which is drawn out into a long, slender, arching, scarlet hood, that hardly closes the mouth. The slight twist in the tube causes these mouths to point in various directions, and they entrap very small insects only. Before arriving at a~tate of maturity the plant bears much larger, sub-erect pitch- ers, also twisted, with the 11R produced into a large inflated hood, that completely arches over a very small entrance to the cavity of the pitcher. A singular orange- red, flabby, two-lobed organ hangs from the end of the hood, right in front of the entrance, which, as I was informed last week by letter from PrQf. Asa Gray, is smeared with honey-on its inner surface. These pitchers are crammed with large insects, especially moths, which decom- pose in them, and result in a putrid mass. I have no information of water being found in its pitchers in its native country, but have myself found a slight acid se- cretion in the young states of both forms of pitcher. The tissues of the inner surfaces of the pitchers of both the young and the old plant I find to be very similar to those of Sarraceniz variolaris and fla va. Looking at a flowering specimen of Darlingtcmnia, I was struck with a remark- able analogy between the arrangement and colouring of the parts of the leaf and of the flower. The petals are of the same colour as the flap of the pitcher, and be- tween each pair of petals is a hole (iormed by a notch in the opposed margins of each) leading to the stamens and stigma. Turning to the pitcher, the relation of its flap to its entrance is somewhat sim- ilar. Now, we know that coloured petals are specially attractive organs, and that the object of their colour is to bring in- sects to feed on the pollen or nectar, and in this case by means of the hole to fer- tilize the flower and that the object of the flap and its sugar is also to attract insects, but with a very different result, cannot be doubted. It is hence conceiv- able that this marvellous plant lures in- sects to its flowers for one object, and feeds them while it uses them to fertilize itself, and that, this accomplished, some of its benefactors are thereafter lured to it~pi~hers for the sake of feedina itself l But to return from mere conjecture to scientific earnest, I cannot dismiss Dar- lingtonia without pointing out to you what appears to me a most curious point in its history which is, that the change from the slender, tubular, open-mouthed to the inflated closed-mouthed pitchers is,in all the specimens which I have ex- amined, absol ~tely sudden in the indi- vidual plant. find no pitchers in an intermediate stage of development. This, a matter of no little significance in itself, derives additional interest from the fact that the young pitchers to a certain de- gree represent those of the Sarracenias THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. with open mouths and erect lids; and the old pitchers those of the Sarracenias with closed mouths and globose lids. The combination of representative char- acters in an outlying species of a small order cannot but be regarded as a mar- vellously significant fact in the view of those morphologists who hold the doc- trine of evolution. Nej5entkes.The genus Nepenthes consists of upwards of thirty species of climbing, half shin bby plants, natives of the hotter parts of the Asiatic Archipel- ago from Borneo to Ceylon, with a few outlying species in New Caledonia, in Tropical Australia, and in the Seychelle Islands on the African coast. Its pitch- ers are abundantly produced, especially during the younger state of the plants. They present very considerable modifi- cations of form and external structure, and vary greatly in size, from little more than an inch to almost a foot in length; one species, indeed, which I have here from the mountains of Borneo, has pitchers which, including the lid, measure a foot and a half, and its capa- cious bowl is large enough to drown a small animal or bird. The structure of the pitcher of Nepen- thes is less complicated on the whole than that of Sarracenia, though some of its tissues are much more highly special- ized. The pitcher itself is here not a transformed leaf, as in Sarracenia, nor is it a transformed leaf-blade, like that of Dion~a, but an appendage of the leaf developed at its tip, and answers to a water-secreting gland that may be seen terminating the ibid-rib of the leaf of cer- tain plants. It is furnished with a stalk, often a very long one, which in the case of pitchers formed on leaves high up the stem has (before the full development of the pitcher) the power of twisting like a tendril round neighbouring objects, and thus aiding the plant in climbing, often to a gre at height in the forest. in most species the pitchers are of two forms, one appertaining to the young, the other to the old state of the plant, the transition from one form to the other be. ing gradual. Those of the young state are shorter and more inflated; they have broad fringed longitudinal wings on the outside, which are probably guides to lead insects to the mouth ; the lid is smaller and more open, and the ~vhole in- terior surface is covered with secreting glands. Iking formed near the root of the plant, these pitchers of~n rest on the ground, and in species which do not form LiVING AGE. VOL. Viii. 371 97 leaves near the root they are sometimes suspended from stalks which may be fully a yard long, and which bring them to the ground. In the older state of the plant the pitchers are usually much longer, narrower, and less inflated, and are truin- pet-shaped, or even conical; the wings also are narrower, less fringeQ, or almost absent. The lid is larger and slants over the mouth, and only the lower part of the pitcher is covered with secreting glands, the upper part presenting a tissue analo- gous to the conducting tissue of Sarrace- nia, but very different anatomically. The difference in structure of these two forms of pitcher, if considered in reference to their different positions on the plant, forces the conclusion on the mind that the one form is intended for ground game, the other for winged game. In all cases the mouth of the pitcher is fur- nished with a thickened corrugated rim, which serves three purposes : it strength- ens the mouth and keeps it distended ; it secretes honey (at least in all the species I have examined under cultivation, for I do not find that any other observer has noticed the secretion of honey by Nepen- thes), and it is in various species devel- oped into a funnel-shaped tube that de- scends into the pitcher and prevents the escape of insects, or into a row of in- curved hooks that are in some cases strong enough to retain a small bird, should it, when in search of water or in- sects, thrust its body beyond a certain length into the pitcher. In the interior of the pitcher of Nepen- thes there are three principal surfaces: an attractive, conductive, and a secretive surface; the detentive surface of Sarrace- nia being represented by the fluid secre- tion, which is here invariably present at all stages of growth of the pitcher. The attractive surfaces of Nepenthes are two : those, namely, of the rim of the l)itcher, ~nd~of the under surface of the lid, which is provided in almost every species with honey-secreting glands, often in great abundance. These glands con- s;st of spherical masses of cells, each embedded in a cavity of the tissue of the lid, and encircled by a guard-ring of glass- like cellular tissue. As in Sarracenia, the lid arid mouth of the pitcher are more highly coloured than ~y other part, with the view of attracting insects to their honey. It is a singular fact that the only species known to me that wants these honey-glands on the lid is the N. ampul- lana, whose lid, unlike that of the other species, is thrown back horizontally. Th~ THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. 93 secretion of honey on a lid so placed wei~hing 8 or io grains are half gelati- would tend to lure insects away from the nized in twenty-four hours, and in three pitcher instead of into it. days the whole mass is greatly dimin- From the mouth to a variable distance ished, and reduced to a clear transparent down the pitcher is an opaque glaucous jelly. After drying some cartilage in the surface, precisely resemblin, in colour open air for a week, and placing it in an and appearance the conductive surface of unopened but fully formed pitcher of N the Sarracenia, and, like it, affording no R~ffZesia~ia, it ~vas acted upon similarly foothold to insects, but otherwise wholly and very little slower. different; it is formed of a fine network That this process, which is comparable of cells, covered with a glass-like cuticle, to digestion, is not wholly due to the and studded with minute reniform tran~s- fluid first secreted by the glands, appears verse excrescences. to me most probable; for I find that very The rest of the pitcher is entirely occ~i- little action takes place in any of the sub- pied with the secretive surface, which stances placed in the fluid drawn from consists of a cellular floor crowded with rs, and put in glass tubes ; nor has pitche spherical glands in inconceivable num- any ollowed after six days immersion of hers. Each gland precisely resembles a cartilage or fibrine in pitchers of N am- honey-gland of the lid, and is contained Jzdlaricz placed in a cold room; whilst in a pocket of the same nature, but semi- on transferring the cartilage from the circular, ~vith the mouth downwards, so pitcher of iV. amj5ullaricz in the cold that the secretive fluid all falls to the hot- room to o~ie of Rajjlesiaiza in the stove, tom of the pitcher. In the Nepe;zthes it was immediately acted upon. Coin- Rafl7esiana 3,000 of the glands occur on paring the action of fibrine, meat, and a square inch of the inner surface of the cartilage placed in tubes of Nepenthes pitcher, and upwards of i,ooo,ooo in an fluid, with others in tubes of distilled ordinary-sized pitcher. I have ascer- water, I observed that their disintegration tamed that, as was indeed to be expected, is three times more rapid in the fluid; they secrete the fluid which is contained but this disintegration is wholly different in tbe bottom of the pitcher before this from that effected by immersion in the opens, and that the fluid is always acid. fluid of the pitcher of a living plant. The fluid, though invariably present, In the case of small portions of meat, occupies a comparatively small portion of I2 to 2 grains, all seem to be absorbed the glandular surface of the pitcher, and but with 8 to ic grains of cartilage it is is collected before the lid opens. When not soa certain portion disappears, the the fluid is emptied out of a fully formed rest remains as a transparent jelly, and pitcher that has not received animal fi.nally becomes putrid, but not till after matter, it forms again, but in compara- many days. Insects appear to be acted tively very small quantities; and the for- upon somewhat differently, for after sev- mation goes on for many days, and to eral days immersion of a large piece of some extent even after the pitcher has cartilage I found that a good-sized cock- been removed from the plant. I do not roach, which had followed the cartilage find that placing inorganic substances in and was drowned for his temerity, in the fluid causes an increased secretion, two days became putrid. In removing but I have twice observed a considerThle the cockroach the cartilage remained in- increase of fluid in pitchers after puttincY Lodorous for many days. In this case no animal matter in the fluid. 1doubt the antiseptic fluid had permeated To test the digestive powers of Ne- the tissue of the cartilage, whilst enough penthes I have closely followed Mr. Dar- did not remaip to penetrate the chitinous wins treatment of Diomea and Drosera hard covering of the insect, which con- employing white of egg, raw meat, fibrine, sequently decomposed. and cartilage. In all cases the action is ln the case of cartilage placed iii fluid most evident, in some surprising. After taken from the pitcher it becomes twenty-four hours immersion the edges putrid, but not so soon as if placed in of the cubes of white of egg are eaten distilled water. away and the surfaces gelatinized. Frag- From th\above observations it would ments of meat are rapidly reduced; and appear probable that a substance acting pieces of fibrine weighing several grains as pepsin is given off from the inner dissolve and totally disappear in two or wall of the pitcher, but chiefly after pla- three days. With cartilage the act ion is cing animal matter in the acid fluid; but most rernarkabl~ of all; lumps of this whether this active agent flows from the THE CARNIVOROUS HAB1~TS OF PLANTS. glands or from the cellular tissue in which they are imbedded, Ihave no evidence to show. I have here not alluded to the action of these animal matters in the cells of the glands, which is, as has been ob- served by Mr. Darwin in Drosera, to bring about remarkable changes in their l)rotoplasm, ending in their discoloration. Not only is there aggregation of the pro- toplasm in the gland-cells, but the walls of the cells themselves become discol- oured, and the glandular surface of the pitcher that at first was of a uniform green, becomes covered with innumera- ble brown specks (which are the discol- oured glands). After the function of the glands is exhausted, the fluid evaporates, and the pitcher slowly withers. At this st~e I am obliged to leave this interesting investigation. That Nepen- thes possesses a true digestive process such as has been proved in the case of Drosera, Dion~a, and Pinguicula, can- not be doubted. This process, however, takes place in a fluid which deprives us of the power of following it further by direct observation. We cannot here wit- ness the pouring out of the digestive fluid; we must assume its presence and. nature from the behaviour of the animal matter placed in the fluid in the pitcher. From certain characters of the cellular tissues of the interior walls of the pitcher, I am disposed to think that it takes little part in the processes of either digestion or assimilation, and that these, as ~vell as the pouring out of the acid fluid, are all functions of the glands. In what I have said I have described the most striking instances of plants which seem to invert the order of nature, and to draw their nutrimentin part, at leastfrom the animal kingdom, which it is often held to be the function of the vegetable kingdom to sustain. I might have added some additional cases to those I have already dwelt upon. Probably, too, there are others still un- known to science, or ~vhose habits have not yet been detected. Delpino, for ex- ample, has suggested that a Plant, first described by myself in the Botany ~f the Antarctic Voyage, Gait/ia dion~foiia, is so analogous in the structure of its leaves to Dion~ea, that it is difficult to resist the conviction that its structure also is adapted for the capture of small insects. But the problem that forces itself upon our attention is, How does it come to pass that these singular aberrations from 99 the otherwise uniform order of vegetable nutrition make their appearance in. re- mote parts of the vegetable kingdom ? why are they not more frequent, and how were such extraordinary habits brought about or contracted ? At first sight the perplexity is not diminished by consider- ingas we may do fora m~mentthe nature of ordinary vegetable nutrition. Vegetation, as we see it everywhere, is distinguished by its green colour, which we know depends on a peculiar sub- stance called chlorophyll, a substance which has the singular property of attract- ing to itself the carbonic acid gas which is present in minute quantities in the atmosphere, of partly decomposing it, so far as to set free a portion of its oxygen, and of recombining it with the elements. of water, to form those substances, such as starch, cellulose, and sugar, out of which the framework of the plant is con- structed. But besides these processes, the roots take up certain matters from the soil. Nitrogen forms nearly four-fifths of the air we breathe, yet plants can possess themselves of none of it in the free un- combined state. They withdraw nitrates and salts of ammonia in minute quanti- ties from the ground, and from these they build up with starch, or some analo- gous material, albuminoids or proteine compounds, necessary for the sustenta- tion and growth of protoplasm. At first sight nothing can be more un- like this than a Dion~ea or a Nepe~nthes capturing insects, pouring out a digestive fluid upon them, and absorbing the albu- minoids of the animal, in a form proba- ably directly capable of appropriation for their own nutrition. Yet there is some- thing not altogether wanting in analogy in the case of the most regularly consti- tuted plants. The seed of the castor-oil plant c~t4ns, besides the embryo seed- ling, a mass of cellular tissue or en- dosperm, filled with highly nutritive substances. The seedling lies between masses of this, and is in contact with it and as the warmth and moisture of ger- minati~n set up changes which bring about the liquefaction of the contents of the endQsperm and the embryo absorbs them, it grows in so doing, and at last, having taken up all~ can from the ex- hausted endosperm, develops chlorophyll in its cotyledons under the influence of light, and relies on its own resources. Alargenumberof plants, then, in their young condition, borrow their nutritive 100 THE CARNIVOROUS HABITS OF PLANTS. compounds ready prepared; and this is such a leaf first becoming hollow, and in effect what carnivorous plants do later allowing ddbris of different kinds to ac- in life, cumulate; these would decompose, and That this is not a merely fanciful way a solution would be produced, some of of regarding the relation of the embryo the constituents of which would diffuse to the endosperm, is proved by the in- themselves into the subjacent plant tis- genious experiments of Van TieThem, sues. This is in point of fact absorption, who has succeeded in substituting for and we may suppose tl~at in the first in- the real, an artificial endosperm, consist- stance as perhaps still in Sarracenia ing of appropriate nutritive matters. ~ur~urea the matter absorbed was Except that the embryo has its food merely the saline nutritive products of given to it in a manner which needs no decomposition, such as ammoniacal salts. digestion a proper concession to its The act of digestion that process by infantine state the analogy here with which soluble food is reduced without the mature plants which feed on organic decomposition to a soluble form fitted for food seems to be complete. absorption was doubtless subsequently But we are beginning also to recognize acquired. the fact that there are a large number of The secretion, however, of fluids by flowering plants that pass through their plants is not an unusual phenomenon. lives without ever doing a stroke of the In many Aroids a small gland at the apex work that green plants do. These have of the leaves secretes fluid, often in con- been called Saprophytes. Monotropra, siderable quantities, and the pitcher of the curious birds-nest orchis (Neottia Nepenthes is, as I have shown elsewhere, nidus-avis), Epipogium, and Corailorhiza only a gland of this kind, enormously de- are instances of British plants which veloped. May not, therefore, the wonder- nourish themselves by absorbing the ful pitchers and carnivorous habit of Ne- partially decomposed materials of other penthes have both originated by natural plants, in the shady or marshy places selection out of one~uch honey-secreting which they inhabit. They reconstitute gland as we still find developed near that these products of organic decomposition, part of the pitcher which represents the and build them up once more into an tip of the leaf? We may suppose insects organism. It is curious to notice, how- to have been entangled in the viscid se- ever, that the tissues of Neottia still con- cretion of such a gland, and to have tam chlorophyll in a nascent though perished there, being acted upon by useless state, and that if a plant of it be those acid secretions that abound in these immersed in boiling water, the charac- and most other plants. The subsequent istic green colour reveals itself. differentiation of the secreting organs of Epipogium and Corallorhiza have lost the pitcher into aqueous, saccharine, and their proper absorbent organs ; they are acid, would follow ~ari ~assu with the destitute of roots, and take in their food evolution of the pitcher itself, according by the surfaces of their underground to those mysterious laws which result stem structures. in the correlation of organs and functions The absolute difference between plants throughout the kingdom of Nature; and which absorb and nourish themselves by which, in my apprehension, transcend in the products of the decomposition of wonder and interest those of evolution plant structures, and those which make a ~ncLth e origin of species. similar use of animal structures, is not Lielpino has recorded the fact that the very great. We may imagine that plants spathe of Alocasia secretes an acid fluid accidentally permitted the accumulation which destroys the slugs that visit it, and of insects in some parts of their struc- which he believes subserves its fertiliza- ture, and the practice became developed tion. Here any process of nutrition can because it was found to be useful. It only be purely secondary. But the fluids was long ago suggested that the recep- of plants are in the great majority of cases tacle formed by the connate leaves of acid, and, when exuded, would be almost Dipsacus might be an incipient organ of certain to bring about some solution in this kind; and though no insectivorous substances ~h which they came in con- habit has ever been brought home to tact. Thus the acid secretions of roots that plant, the theory is not improbable. were found by Sachs to corrode polished Linna~us, and more lately Baillon, have marble surfaces with which they came in shown how a pitcher of Sarracenia may contact, and thus to favour the absorp- be regarded as a i~odification of a leaf of tion of mineral matter. the Nymphxa type. We may imagine The solution of albuminoid substances THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. or requires, however, besides a suitable acid, bridge, and turns sharp round to the the presence of some other albuminoid right towards the village of Milford. substance analogous to pepsin. Such They pass through the village, and substances, however, are frequent in drive on till they come to the row of cot- plants. Besides the well-known diastase, tages tenanted by Sailor and Skim. ~vhich converts the starch of malt into Here one of them dismounts, and enters sugar, there are other instances in the the cottage it is Skim; and he comes synaptase ~vhich determines the forma- out carrying a lantern in one hand, a mat- tion of hydrocyanic acid from emulsine, tock and pick in the other~ He leads and the myrosin which similarly induces the horse past the cottages, and opens a the formation of oil of mustard. We field-gate. There is a rough sort of cart- need not wonder, then, if the fluid Se- shed here, and beneath this the horse is creted by a plant should prove to possess tied up. Then the two men make their the ingredients necessary for the diges- way rapidly on foot towards the manor- tion of insoluble animal matters. house. They both wear goloshes, and These remarks will, I hope, lead you move silently along, like ghosts. Whilst to see, that though the processes of they were yet a little distance from the plant nutrition are in general extremely house, Skim, who was slightly in advance, different from those of animal nutrition, turned round suddenly, and clutched in and involve very simple compounds, ye~ terror the arm of his companion. that the protoplasm of plants is not ab- I see a light, he whispered hoarsely solutely prohibited from availing itself of a light shining through the brick- food, such as that by which the proto- work. Shes about to-night, she is. plasm of animals is nourished ; under What shall we do? which point of view these phenomena of Collops teeth chattered in his bead, carnivorous plants will find their place, bur he affected to be unconcerned. as one more link in the continuity of What l you afraid, Skim? Why, you nature. used to be as bold as a lion. Ah, but Ive had a couple of years of it since then, cried Skim. I tell you I hear her keys jingling lots of times; and when I hear the door of her box creak, I am out of my mind with terror. From Chambers Journal. Its only your fancy, Skim. Shes THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. safe enough in, and dont walk about at niohts CHAPTER XII. b Tell you she do, cried Skim, and Are you drawn forth among a world this is one of her nights. 0 master l lets To slay the innocent? of men. go back. IT is a cold winters night ; the stars Go on, you fool. Why, if fifty old are sparkling frostily overhead ; the thin women, alive or dead, were in the way, Id pale crescent of the moon has just disap- go on now. Suspense and disappoint- peared behind that dark clump of firs; ment, which had made Skim a coward, here and there a light shines in a cottage had made Collop bold. They made their windo~v, but for the most part the village way into the barn, and pulled up the is abandoned to darkness and repose. A boards in the corner, and crawled on silence that may be felt broods over the hands ~an~ knees into the subterranean scene, only disturbed, as you stand here passage that led into Milford Manor. on the bridge, by the feeble brattle of Collop went first, and was alarmed at the the stream. A thin white vapour rises clink of iron behind him. Whats that, from its course, through which you may Skim ? he whispered. see the reflected gleam of a star in that Its only me, sir, locking up the old still reach. Faintly round about are the grating with a chain and padlock. Well shadows of hills, hardly to be distin- have no followers to-night, master. guished from the sky. There is a light The passage came out under the cel- in the belfry tower; the ringers are up lar stairs in an arched recess, that held a there, about to ~vake the bells into music. set of wooden sh& ves. These swung Now the sound of wheels breaks into back, and admitted the treasure-seekers the stillness that was almost oppressive, into the haunted house. They made and a dog-cart, without lamps, driven by their way directly into the kitchen, and a tall thin man, another stouter, burlier Skim silently examined the place with his man sitting beside him, rattles over the lantern. THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. 102 Whats that? cried Collop, seizing him by the arm. Why, the clocks go- ing! Ah, said Skim, I set him agoing. I didnt like the look of her standing al- ways at one oclock. So saying, he threw off his smock and waistcoat, and set vigorously to work. He removed the bricks from the middle of the kitchen, and began to dig out a hole. Collop helped, by remoying the dirt as fast as it was thrown out. The earth had evidently been previously disturbed, and this gave them encouragement to persevere, and presently Skims mattock struck with a harsh, ringing sound against some metal- lic substance. Weve got him ! cried Skim, jump- ing out of the hole in great glee. Its an iron chest, old man, and full of money. Sure enough, as they cleared away the loose earth, the lid of a stout iron chest was revealed to them. There was a han- dle at the top as if to lift it by. Skim seized the handle, and tried to draw up the box, but it resisted all his ef- forts. Then he put a rop.~ through it, and Collop and he hauled away with their united strength, but they could not make it stir an inch. Whats to be done now? cried Skim, looking ruefully at Collop. Cant you get the lid open ? I doubt it. We must get the box up first. We aint got nothing strong enough to burst that open. Stop a bit; theres a hop-pitcher in the house some- where if I can think where its put. A hop-pitcher is a heavy bar of iron, with a broad-pointed end, used by hop- growers for pitching or drilling holes in the ground about the hop-plants, for the poles on which the vines are trained to be inserted. It forms a very likely in- strument for such a purpose as Skims. I remember now, cried Skim. I put it down in the cellar. Come with me down there, wont you ! Im afraid to go alone. The two men cautiously descended the steps into the cellar, holding each other by the arms, and flashing the lamp in front of them. Dont it smell, cried Skim, like a doctors shop ? Poh ! it makes me feel quite queer and giddy. Here Skim gave vent to something between a shriek and a shout, dropped the lantern upon the steps, and fled up the cellar stairs. Its the old lady I Its old Mother Rennel! Shes c~ming out! Collop was as much frightened as Skim; but he had more self-control, and he had more at stake. He snatched up the lan- tern, and advanced into the cellar. Yes, there stood Aunt Betsy at the end, in her habit as she lived the black poke bon- net ; the brown French mnerino dress the silk jacket, with fringe on ; the black kid gloves, with swollen knuckles and finger-joints. My good old friend; faltered Collop and then he saw his mistake. The head was lolling forward from out the poke bonnet; the chin had fallen ; it was only a mummy after alla poor, dried husk of humanity. There was something else in the cellar which Collop had not before noticed. Stretched out in front of his aunts last resting-place was Tom Rapley, who had been in a dead faint, but who now, as Col- h~p watched him, shewed symptoms of reviving animation. Skim! cried Collop, who was now master of himself, come down, I tell you. The old womans still and safe enough. Ive shut her up now. He suited the action to the word, and closed the door upon the body. It closed with a catch; and a piece of string that was wound round the knob, had probably been the means of releasing the catch when Tom snatched the letter away. Skim, come down; heres Tom Rap- ley down here. Skim came down the stairs, half- ashamed of his terror, half-overpowered by it. But when he saw Tom Rapley, his countenance assumed an expression of malignant ferocity. I shall do for this man, he said; Ill not have him coming in my way any longer. Dont harm him, cried Collop. Re- member thou shalt do no murder. Tom here began to move. He raised himself on one elbow, rubbed his eyes ~4th~is disengaged hand. What! Mr. Collop, he cried. Skim ! You see, whispered Skim, he knows us. Hell tell upon us. Pop him in the well afore he gets his strength back. The well was at the foot of the cellar stairs, you will remember, its mQuth cov- ered by a stone slab the well, of in- definite depth, and of icy coldness. Skim ran and~astily pulled off the stone covering. A few pebbles dislodged fell in, and presently splashed in the water far below with a faint hollow sound. Tom was now rising to his feet, be- wildered. Skim rushed upon him, and THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. 103 hurled him down. Rapley read his fate in a moment from Skims face. He was to be murdered to be flung alive into the xvell. You take his legs, master Ill take his head, cried Skim to Collop. Tom lay there quiet, like one dead; but the moment that Skim laid hold of his shoulders to drag him alo~, he be- gan to shriek piteously. Help, help he cried. Lizzie help, help Hold that noise, cried Skim furi- ously, striking him over the head with the loaded stick he carried beneath his jacket. Torn gave a groan, then all was still. Ive done it now, said Skim in a low, husky whisper. All we can do after this is to hide it. Take hold of the legs do you hear? ~Collop obeyed mechanically. It had all happened in a moment; and now he was blind with agitation, sick at heart, and only half-conscious of what he was doing. Then he saw a black chasm open out under his feet, and that Skim was motioning to him to let go. I wont, I wont cried Collop. I wont let him go. Skim, you are a mur- derer ! At that moment they both started back in horror, for a voice was sounding shrilly through the house. Wheres Tom? Wheres my Tom? 0 Tom, Tom, speak to me I Heres his wife, cried Skim. Down with him ; down into the water and her after him, if she will have it. Skim, I wont ; I wash my hands of it. Tom, Tom! speak to me, Tom, for the love of Heaven ! repeated the fran- tic voice above. Still no answer. You wont let go you wont! cried Skim. Let go, I tell you, let go. There was a moments struggle, then a heavy, thunderous roar, and a dull, heavy splash, reverberating hollowly from the sides of the well ; then the quick wash of circling ripples beating a~ainst the brick-work, after that silence. Tom I cried the voice, yet more piteously and despairingly. Still no an- swer. CHAPTER XIII. This is fairy gold, and twill prove so. WHEN the carriage containing Frewen and the police superintendent drew up at the Royal Oak, they were met by Con- stable Bridger, who was in a state of high importance and delight. ive got him, sir, he cried, as he as- sisted his chief to alight. Who? Rapley ? The pedler, sir. Pooh ! Nonsense about the pedler. But he have very important evidence to give about the robbery. Robbery stuff I Wait a bit, cried Frewen, with lawyer-like caution ; let us hear what hes got to say. Where is h~ ? Here at the Royal Oak, sir. They xvent inside, and entered the sanded parlour. Pedler sat there by the fire, his basket on the floor in front of him, looking pale and nervous. Well, what have you got to say for yourself? said Mr. Brown the superin- tendent, eyeing the man severely. Do you know anything about this gold rob- bery? Only what I told this gentleman here, said the pedler, indicating Bridger. I slept in the barn last night, sir, close by the old house, and I see two chaps crawl into a hole in the ground. Were they rat-catching? said Brown with a sneer. I dont know what they was catching, said pedler, but I wouldnt have liked em to have catched me. Humph I Well, what happened after your friends had gone to earth? Well, sir, I lay hid among a lot of old hop-vines; and when an hour or more had gone, they came back, and then I see their faces by the light of the lamp. Do you know who they were? I know one of em a chap they calls Skim ; the other was a tall, lanky chap I didnt know. Well, sir, theyd got a little bag with em, and they sat down and opened the bag, and began to count out money; I could hear it chink- ing ; and they quarrelled a bit at first. The long chap wanted to have the most, and Skim wouldnt stand it; Fair deal- ing, he says, share and share alike. Thinl~I4or a minute, Ill cry shares too;but then I see the twinkle in the chaps eye, and perhaps, says I to my- self, Ill get knocked on the head for my pains. And what happened next? They puts the boards down theyd taken up, and goes off. And you heard nothing more Only I heard Skim call his friend by his name ; but ~ cant recollect the name; it was a funny one Cutlet, or Chop, or something like that. Was it Collop? suggested Frewen. That was the very name, cried the pedler. 104 THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. After a short consultation between Frewen and the superintendent, it was agreed that pedler should lead the way to the barn and point out the place where the men disappeared. As they went tramping past the old house, they noticed Sailor standing at the gate, on the look- out. He gave them a civil good-night, and Bridger loitered behind for a moment to tell Sailor the news: how he had been the means of arriving at the real truth of the matter, and how probably Tom Rap- ley would come off clear, owing to his (Bridgers) activity and foresight. Were going to the barn now, said the policeman, to 4nd out where the thieves got it. 0 me ! cried Sailor, the recollection of his own experience in the barn flash- ing upon him; I must go with you; I can give a bit of evidence there only Ill just run up and tell Mrs. Rapley the good news. Sailor ran up the garden-path, and presently returned, bringing with him Toms wife. She must come, she says, he cried apologetically to Bridger ; she must see fair play to her Tom. When they reached the barn, they found that the police had already removed the boards at the further end of the flooring, and were standing, several of them, up to their middles in a shallow excavation beneath. Its nothing but a drain, said Brown. Drain or not, it may lead into the old house.~~ I dont believe the story a bit; fancy anybody crawling into this dirty hole People will crawl into dirtier holes than that for a bit of money, cried Sailors voice from among the group of lookers-on. I beg your pardon, sir, but I can give a bit of testimony about this. I see two chaps crawl in here one night, and I believe as it do go to the old house. Very well; there is nothing for it, then, but for some one to crawl up and look. Now, then, men, which of you is inclined for a bit of sewer-work? No volunteers appeared among the police. Ill go! cried Sailor, throwing off his pea-jacket. Im suppler than you chaps with your helmets, and buckles, and belts, and long-tailed coats. Every one drew back from the excava- tion ; and Sailor, tightening his girdle, and kicking off his shoes, descended, and taking one of the ~olicemens bulls-eye lanterns in his hand, began to c rawlup the narrow stone tube. He had scarcely disappeared, however, when he began to back rapidly out. What is it? cried every one eagerly. I can get no farther, said Sailor; there is a grating across. I tok~ you so, said Brown, trium- phantly : a drain ; thais all. But the grating would open fast enough, only its fastened with a new chain and padlock. Break it open, then. Thats easier said than done ; I couldnt hardly get at it if Id the tools. Has anybody got a hammer? No one had a hammer; but a man was hastily despatched to the village to get one. Sailor remained there, crouching by the hole, with his head inside, eagerly listening. Hush! he cried; theres people there now; I hear them moving about. Theyre quarrelling too. I hear some- body struggling. Hark! A narrow circle of light, in which white intent faces are distinctly visible, every- thing else dusky and uncertain. One of the faces nearest to the opening is a wo- mans, who is listening greedily. Noises sound clearly but hollowly through the passagea gruff husky voice, a high shrill one, and another. Yes, the woman recognizes that voice instantlyit is Toms, it is her husbands, and he is call- ing for help ! Help, murder, help ! in quick agonized tones. They are kill- ing him in that deserted house, and help is far away! Every one hears the voices now, and they gather in a closer circle about the sunken passage. A strange instinctive excitement takes possession even of the stolid constables. A dozen incoherent suggestions are gasped out Knock the grating in. Blow it up with gv~np~wder. Tie a rope to it, and drag it out. But nothing is done. Help, help, help ! The sounds rang out with fearful but subdued clamour, striking a chill into all hearts, and filling them with a strange agitation. To one ear in that little group the cry came with appalling significance: Lizzie knew the voice, and foreboded at once the worst. Some of you men, cried Frewen, get a crowb~, and break through the brick-work of the windows. There were no tools, however, nearer than the village, and nothing could be done with naked hands against stone and iron. THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. 105 CcIt~s all over now, said Sailor, looking there on th~ steps, moaning and crying, up; there had been a hollow groan, and with her husbands head in her lap. then a heavy fall. Somebody look out Lizzie pointed to the well, but could after Mrs. Rapley. not speak. She had disappeared. She had run Well, it looks as if somebody had swiftly back to their own house, had torn tumbled in, said the superintendent, open the nailed-up door, and was now the margin of the well. rushing wildly through the deserted rooms Theres been a scuffle too and heres of the old house, calling loudly for Tom. a couple of hats. Where is there a But there ~vas no answer. rope ? At that moment she heard a sound so Theres one belonging to the wind- pitiable and full of agony, that her heart lass of the other xvell, cried Sailor. ceased for a moment to beat and her That was brought ; but before any- blood to circulate. It was a smothered body could descend, it was necessary to sound, almost like a roar of some wild test the air down below. Lamp after animal caught in the toils; and yet there lamp that was lowered went out, and was a human voice about it too, unintel- then they got together a lot of brushwood ligibl e, and yet unmistakable. It was a from Toms fagot-stock, and made a fire cry of wild anguish and intolerable de- at the mouth of the well. By this time spair; and not of one voice alone, but the Tom had recovered a little, and was able blending of two voices, one hoarse and to speak. He knew the names of his as- fran tic, the other shrill and importunate, sailants, he whispered they were Skim uniting in a strange horrible discord. and Collop ; but he didnt know what had The sound was from the cellar, and she become of them. Then he was carried ran down the stairs in frenzy. At the off to his own bed, and thesurgeon of foot of the stairs she stumbled over some the village was sent for, who bandaged up soft yielding substance, and almost fell his head, and assured his weeping wife forward, but she recovered herself with that there was no danger to life. an effort. The cellar was not quite dark, The police bivouacked that night in for a lamp lay upon the floor, which was the old manor ; they lit a big fire in the smoulderin~ and smoking still she kitchen ; Mrs. Booth sent them beer, and seized it, and opening the door of the bread and cheese, and on the whole they lamp. a breath blew the flame into light, were merry enough. Before morning, Then she saw what she had escaped the they had recovered the bodies from the yawning mouth of the well was open at well. They were locked firmly in each her feet, and at the foot of the stairs was others gripe, their features distorted with the body over which she had stumbled rage, terror, and despair. her own Tom, bleeding from a deep cut Frewen came over in the morning, and in his forehead. Where were they ? the iron box was raised from its bed with Who had done it? much difficulty, as it had been firmly se- The pit which the two wretches had cured to a large stone slab beneath. dug for another they had themselves When it was opened, it was found to be fallen into. Skim had slipped at the nearly full of gold, all Aunt Betsys margin of the well; he had seized Collop, hoardings, no doubt. Counted, the amount to save himself, and had involved him in proved to be ten thousand pounds ex- the same horrible fate. That terrible actly, neither more nor less. It seemed cry of anguish and despair ~vas their last that t~is ~ad been her final place of de- farewel to life, posit ; an dit was afterwards ascertained When once they found a crowbar, the that she had ordered the iron chest and police had little difficulty in breaking into stone slab to be prepared in London, the deserted house. They attacked the by a firm she had long dealt with, and new brick-work in the kitchen window, that they were fixed there by the confi- and it came away in great flakes, so that dential servants of that firm. It must not a practical breach was soon made. With be supposed that Aunt Betsy. had dug no litde curiosity and expectation, they down to her iron chest every time she crowded into the place. The first thing made a deposit there. There had been that struck their eyes was the hole in the an iron tube let ~to a slit in the top of floor and the half-excavated iron box. the chest, the mouth of which reached to Then they followed the tracks of sandy the surface of the ground, and was coy- feet to the cellar. Here the sight they ered by one of the bricks of the flooring. saw was at once perplexing and disap- The old lady had only to remove one of pointing. Only Lizzie Rapley sitting the bricks and drop her money down coin i o6 THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. by coin, and when she had completed her this was the lawyers sarcastic way of tale, the tube could be unscrewed, and telling him he had been dismissed. taken away. It was afterwards discov- Why, Tom, Ive been working hard ered, from papers in Frewens possession, for you, and Im happy to tell you that that one of Aunt Betsys leading ideas Ive succeeded in establishing your claim was, that the inhabitants of the earth to the money that was found in your were destined to be swept away by a aunts house. She made no mention of second deluge all but the faithful ; and it in her will, and she didnt dispose of with a strange mixture of practical saga- her residue, and as ther& s no reasonable city and flighty whimsey, she had come to doubt but that its your aunts money, it the conclusion, that even in the new state comes to you as her heir. The crown of things, a supply of ready money would wont claim it, Ive ascertained, and be an inestimable advantage, and had theres nobody else to dispute it with you. taken the most ready way of securing it. So Ive had the money paid into the bank Flocks and herds, houses and barns, to your account; and all Ive got to say is, might be swept away, but the floods take care of it, for youll never get such would surely spare Aunt Betsys hoard. another haul. The first question that arose was To What, sir ! cried Tom, his lips dry whom does the money belong? Frewen and pallid with emotion; arent you had a long fight with himself before he joking, sirlaughing at me? No ! Is could make up his mind to let it go with- the money really mine? Ten thousand out a struggle. If he had only got Tom pounds, and all mine! 0 Lizzie, Liz- to convey the manor to him before this zie was found, he would have seized the coin Tom broke down, and began to cry. as treasure-trove, and fought both the Presently, when he had recovered him- crown and Aunt Betsys heirs valiantly, self a little, he turned to Frewen and before he would have given it up. As it said Sir, Ive a confession to make. was, however, he didnt see that he would I hope it wont make any alteration do himself any good by trying to keep about the money, but I must speak out. the money; and so he quickly made up Then he went on to tell about the letter his mind that Tom with ten thousand he had found in the cellar addressed to pounds was likely to be more useful as a Mrs. Rennels successor. And I opened friend than as a foe. it, said Tom. It was very wrong, I So he drove over to see Tom a few know, but I did it. days after the discovery, and found him Frewen put his hand before his face sitting up in bed quite convalescent. It to conceal a smile. Well, and what was Christmas eve ; a fine bright spark- was there in the letter ? ling winters day. Oh, a lot of rigmarole, it seemed to Well, Tom, said Frewen, shaking me~ but there was something at the end him cheerily by the hand, glad to see of it that made me think she meant the you round again. money for whoever came to the prop- Youre very kind, sir, to come and erty. see me, after all thats happened. There ~Well, you know, said Frewen, laugh- wont be much loss though, I think. ing, thats their look-out. I know all Skim had spent about fifty po~inds of the about that letter. Like you, I thought money, but pretty near all the rest is got it all rigmarole ; but you see there was back ; and Im sure, sir, if the parish will sqxrie4dng in it after all. It was meant keep me on, Ill work it all out before for her successor ; well, let him have it, long. and you stick to the money. Tom had heard of all the money that Then you think there is nothing in had been found in Aunt Betsys iron that letter to take it away from me? chest, but he never dreamt that any of it Certainly not, said Frewen. could po~sibly come to him. Nothing Another thing I want to ask you, had been left him in the will, and it had said Tom how did she come there ? not occurred to him that he could ever ~ Oh, that was in the secret instruc- take any benefit under it. tions she left me. She was to be kept Oh, well have a better place than that there in her fl~e-boat all the time the for you, Tom ; you shant be the assist- house was shut up. She forgot to say ant overseer of the parish any longer ; how she was to be kept ; and as I didnt you shall be the squire of it. want to raise the parish against me for a What do you mean, Mr. Frewen? nuisance, I sent for some Italian chaps said Tom, quite fri~htened; he thought to come and petrify her. THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD. 107 To petrify her ? cried Torn in amaze. Yes, said Frewen, chuckling: a new device theyve got. They couldnt do it in their best style, of course, the time was so short, but they warranted her to keep for twenty years ; and as I got a hundred a year for acting as her guardian, there she shall stop till her times ~ And youre going to have the house blocked up again ? Yes as soon as the inquest on Collop and Skim is over.~~ XVell, old woman, said Tom, as soon as Frewen had gone, theres plenty of time for you to run over to Biscopham and get a new bonnet; and just to test the thing, Lizzie, and make sure its true, call and ask at the bank if theyll let me have a five-pound note. Lizzie borrowed Mr. Browns dog-cart, and drove over to .Biscopham, returning in a few hours laden with packages. There were warm bright things for the children, a bonnet and shawl for her- self, a gay scarf for Tom, groceries for the Christmas pudding, and above all a goose, a very paragon of geese, young and fat, and of enormous size. Then they gave you the money at the bank ? cried Tom. 0 yes. They said you ought to have sent a cheque, but it would do if I signed your name for you, as you were ill; and so I did; and 0 Tom, when I saw the money come out so easily, I was sorry I didnt ask for more. Sailor was the only guest at the Rap- leys Christmas dinner, in gala costume, ~vith the medals he won in China hanging on his best blue coat. I call this first- rate, he cried, as they sill drew round the kitchen fire, a jug of fragrant punch mel- lowing on the hob. And now, com- rades, Ill finish telling you about what happened to me and Jack Waters when we was rouning Cape Horn. But here a doleful wail from the baby caused Mrs. Rapley to hurry away up- stairs ; and then Farmer Brown came in to congratulate Tom on his luck, and drink success to him in the often replen- ished jug, and in the noise and clatter, poor Sailors voice was finally lost and swallowed up. The inquest on Collop and Skim re- sulted in a verdict of accidental death and after that, the old house was once more walled up, the secret passage filled in, and Aunt Betsy left to her repose. Many years have yet to run before Mil ford Manor will be opened to the light of day, and the old ladys bones finally con- si. ned to consecrated earth. Young Herbert Rapley, however, bids fair to live to claim the prize ; for since the lucky discovery of Aunt Betsys hoard, he has been brought up in the sunshine, with plenty of modest co~nforts about him. Tom Rapley still lives at Milford, in a neat little house that he has built for himself at the end of the village, beyond the Royal Oak. He has invested part of his money in the brewery at Biscopham, and drives over there daily to look after his affairs. He has a young family grow- ing up about him; and Emily Collop acts as their governess, and lives with the Rapleys as friend and companion. Sailor superintends the garden and poultry- yard and the amusements of the boys, and might live with them altogether if he liked, but he will not abandon his old cottage. Aunt Booth and he still carry on a time-honoured placid flirtation, which shews no signs of developing into any warmer attachment or nearer tie. Coming down the hill from Brooks clump, you may see the village of Milford lying warm and snug in the sunshine; the mill is grinding merrily, the ducks are squattering about noisily in the pla- cid stream. The resonant hum of a threshing-machine in ypnder stack-yard tells of the golden grain that is pouring plentifully into the farmers sacks ; the lark is shrilly singing at heavens gate and the bells from the old gray tower are clanging out a lazy chime. Everything tells of tranquil pleasant life and passa- ble content. But from one time-stained roof no curling smoke ascends ; the barns and stables about it are empty and bare of stock or store ; a chilly silence has brooded long over the place. Even the home.~o4g swallows refuse to build under its eaves ; it is shunned alike by man, and beast, and bird. No one cculd be got for love or money to act as cus- todian of the dismal house at Milford. One or two, tempted by the advantages offered, have tried it for a while, but have soon given it up, declaring that starva- tion is better than a residence at Milford Manor. Still, after a fashion, Aunt Betsy has had h~r ~vay, and kept her memory green, thbugh in very sorry fashion ; and thus it will remain till time shall rid this pleasant valley of its dis- mal blot. zoS ROBERT SOUTHEYS SECOND WIFE. From The Corohill Magazine. garden and mossy lawns, call~cl Buck- ROBERT SOUTHEYS SECOND WIFE. land Cottage. There, in I787, Caroline CAROLINE BOWLES, who, somewhat Bowles was born, a first and only child. late in life, became the second wife of Two years afterwards, on the 27th of Robert Southey, the Poet Laureate, June, 1789, George the Third, accompa- belonged to the same family as Canon nied by the Queen and three elder Prin- Lisle Bowles ; from whose ~vorks he was cesses, honoured Sir Harry and Lady wont to say he had derived even more Neale with a visit ; and were received at benefit than from Cowpers. Her the Town-hall (then standing in the mid- mother was sister to General Sir Harry dIe of the High Street) by the Mayor and Burrard, who was made a baronet for his Corporation, who, being introduced by services, and died in command of the Lord Delawarr, had the honour of kiss- First Grenadier Guards, at Calshot Cas- ing their Majesties hands. At that tIe; of which old fortress on the Solent moment the Kings attention was drawn be was the governor, to a gaunt figure draped in a red gown On an arm of the sea, not very far ornamented with yellow braid, who held from Calshot, and opposite the Needles, what looked like a gilt club, and gazed at stands the ancient borough-town of him with the profoundest veneration Lymington, which sent two members to from the further end of the hall. Parliament under the patronage of the What is that singular-looking person- Burrards of XValhampton, until the pass- age? asked the King of Lord Delawarr. ingof the Reform Bill. At that eventful Our mace-bearer, your Majesty, Jedi- time the senior member was Admiral diah Pike, was the whispered answer. Sir Harry Burrard-Neale, Bart, K.G.C., But the name caught its owners ear, who had long been Naval Aide-de-Camp and supposing that he had been sum- and a Groom of the Bedchamber to moned, he advanced hastily. Overcome, George the Third ; and it is noteworthy however, by his feelings, and seeing the that he was at once re-elected as the royal eyes fixed upon him, honest Jedi- Conservative member, by the free elect- diah prostrated himself, mace and all, at ors of Lymington. the foot of the hauf-~as, looking up A beautiful obelisk which overlooks from the ground with an expression of the town from the opposite side of the such l)assionate loyalty that the King not river, backed by the Walhampton woods, only burst out laughing, but also told him marks the esteem in which he was held to get up and kiss his hand, which he by them, in the navy, and in Parliament, was sure so good a subject deserved to by the royal family, and by all who ever do. Long afterwards he spoke of old knew him. Pike, ~vith the same hearty laughter. A century ago Lymington retained a This incident illustrates the general peculiarly quaint and picturesque char- feelincr of Lymington in those days, when acter; travellers then rode well armed a divinity did, indeed, hedge a through the dangerous tracts of the New king. Forest on their way towards London, and Nowhere was loyalty more truly a reli- prayers were duly offered in church for gion than at Buckland Cottage. The their safe arrival there. little daughter of the house was educated The town carried on a good coasting- entirely at home. Her father, who had trade as far as Cornwall, and was famous been in the army, was remarkably silent, both for its salterns, and its timber-yards an~ d~oted to the quiet art of angling. and shipwrights. The principal street This taste was easily gratified in a forest- ran from the quays on the river, straight country abounding in shadowy l)ools up a long hill (as it still does), and